Move Your Blooming Corpse (14 page)

Eliza was stunned. This was the most she had ever heard Rachel Turnbull speak.

Turnbull looked disgusted. “Why don't we invite him home as well, my dear? I'm sure he has nothing else to do but trail after us. Too bad he wasn't following his wife around at Ascot. Diana might still be alive if he had.”

Everyone gasped.

Longhurst grew pale. “How dare you say such a thing to me?”

“And how dare you come here? You have no place among us now that Diana is gone.”

Sir Walter cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, you are making a spectacle of yourselves.”

As Longhurst shot to his feet, the Duchess quickly turned to Freddy. “Mr. Eynsford Hill, you must be pleased at the LRC's victories yesterday against the Thames Rowing Club. And with Pinks and Wise both winning by four lengths.”

Freddy nodded. “It was ripping, I must say. And I believe we have the Diamond Challenge safely in hand. It helps that the prevailing wind is not coming from the Bushes side.”

“I don't think the Bushes wind prevailed last year either,” the Duchess added. “Of course, storm clouds are gathering now. That could change the direction of the—”

“You beastly cad,” Longhurst said between clenched teeth. “As if I would ever harm a hair on Diana's head! I did everything to make her happy, even if it meant looking the other way when she dallied with pigs like you and Saxton.”

“See here, chap, I'm not drunk yet,” Saxton said loudly. “Say one more word, and I'll chuck you into the Thames.”

Waving a delicate painted fan, Lady Tansy gave an exaggerated sigh.

Amazingly Eliza's stepmother defused the situation. Rose Doolittle wagged a ringed finger at the men. “Look here, gents. You want to box each other's ears, fine by me. Only take it behind the boathouse. Where I come from, it's bloody bad manners to be scrapping over the lunch dishes. 'Specially if you got guests. So either take yourselves off, or put your blooming arses back in your seats.” She adjusted the violet satin and gauze hat pinned atop her red curls. “Me and Alfie came here for a picnic, not to watch you swells have a dustup.”

Alfred kissed his wife on her freckled cheek. “Ain't she a marvel?”

“First thing she's said that made a drop of sense,” Eliza whispered to Freddy.

Saxton, Longhurst, and Turnbull broke eye contact. Longhurst sat down on the bench, while Lord Saxton drained his claret. Turnbull paced in front of the bramble bush. After an uncomfortable silence, Sir Walter struggled to stand up. At his age, a bench might have been the wiser choice than sitting on the ground. Still, he looked remarkably vital in his boating tie, socks, and blazer, all of which matched Lord Saxton's claret.

“This is our first business meeting since the tragic events at Ascot sixteen days ago.”

With a groan, Longhurst buried his face in his hands.

“I did not wish to offend anyone, but postponing this meeting would have been unwise. The Eclipse Stakes are less than two weeks away. We must deal with a few business details before then,” Sir Walter continued. “Of course, those of us who placed individual bets on the Donegal Dancer have already claimed our Ascot winnings.”

Freddy leaned close to Eliza. “You lucky girl.”

She grinned at the thought of those additional sixty guineas in her bank account.

Sir Walter pulled several thick sealed envelopes from a leather valise near his feet. “As per the Wrexham Racing Syndicate bylaws, I have calculated the various expenses incurred by our racehorse since our last business meeting. They are explained in detail, along with the dates of the aforesaid expenditures. You will also find a check made out to each owner for his or her share of the Ascot purse.” He smiled. “The Dancer is now officially undefeated this season.”

“Hear, hear.” The Duchess clinked her glass with Lord Saxton's.

Sir Walter walked around the circle, distributing envelopes. He stopped at Brody and handed him an envelope as well. “Although Brody is not an owner, he did ride our colt to victory. According to our bylaws, he is entitled to a jockey's share of the purse.”

Brody tucked the envelope inside his blazer while his young lady cuddled closer.

“Brody isn't an owner?” Longhurst appeared puzzled. “I thought these meetings were only for owners and their families.”

“It is illegal for jockeys to own a racehorse, Mr. Longhurst,” the Duchess explained. “They are not allowed to bet on the races, either. It's a conflict of interest, you see.”

“My record is a pretty stellar one, so I do all right,” Brody said to Longhurst.

“I bet you do, lovey.” The young brunette smiled up at the jockey.

“You're the luv, Patsy.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “That you are.”

When Sir Walter closed his valise, Longhurst got to his feet again. “Wait a minute. Where is Diana's share? Her death doesn't make her less of an owner than all of you.”

“Actually it does,” Saxton said.

“What are you talking about? Diana was a part owner of the Donegal Dancer, and I am her lawful husband. That means one of those checks should be handed to me.”

Sir Walter looked uncomfortable. “As I feared, your late wife did not apprise you of the particulars spelled out in the syndicate's contractual agreement. If she had, you would know that the shares each owner holds cannot be passed on to anyone else. They can only be sold.”

“What!”

“Yes, we thought it best if only the owners could lay claim to any of the shares. That means they are not transferable. Not even in cases of an owner's death.”

“He's quite right, Mr. Longhurst,” Lady Tansy said with a shrug. “If my beloved husband were to die choking on his kippers at tomorrow's breakfast, I would have no legal claim on that horse. Not that I ever cared a farthing about owning a racehorse.”

“Exactly,” Sir Walter said. “For this accounting period, the other owners will pay Miss Price's share of the expenses that have been incurred since the last meeting. But they will also share her profits from this last race, divided according to the proper percentages.”

“But I'm her husband, and the law says I inherit whatever belongs to her.”

“The law may say that, but not the contracts signed by each of the owners of the Donegal Dancer. Those owners are Turnbull, Saxton, the Duchess, Doolittle, and myself.” Sir Walter frowned. “Tragically, your wife is no longer an owner.”

Longhurst flung his hat to the ground. “I'll see the lot of you in court!”

“Go ahead,” Turnbull said. “Waste your money—and our time.”

“I do wish this had been handled privately, Sir Walter,” the Duchess said.

“I thought it only right that he be informed as soon as possible,” he replied. “And I hoped the public setting would curtail any histrionics.”

“Histrionics? I'm angry, and rightly so. You're cheating me!”

Lady Tansy rolled her eyes. “It appears there will be histrionics after all. I was also surprised by your appearance here today, Mr. Longhurst. I do believe you are officially in mourning.” She looked pointedly at his black suit.

“He looks like a damn undertaker,” Saxton muttered.

“I am grieving for my sweet wife. It's the decent thing to do. Shows a lot more respect for her memory than you,” he said to Saxton. “Sitting there in your fancy gold blazer and silly white pants. Do you think you honor my wife's memory because you stuck a black armband on your sleeve? You filthy hypocrite.”

Saxton pushed himself to his feet.

“Maitland, really. Behave yourself.”

He ignored his wife. “Don't call me a hypocrite! I cared about that woman. I still can't believe she's gone. And for what? Her murder makes no sense. Unless we listen to the papers who claim the killer is some lunatic supporter of women's suffrage.”

“We don't know Harold Hewitt is guilty,” the Duchess said.

“I don't think it was that madman. I suspect someone else did the deed.” He narrowed his eyes at Longhurst. “It wouldn't be the first time a jealous husband was driven to murder.”

Eliza agreed with him. At least three people at the picnic might have wanted Diana dead.

With a growl, Longhurst lunged at Saxton. Although his sudden attack threw the taller man off balance, Saxton kept upright. The two of them gripped each other's arms and pushed like battling stags. Freddy and Brody hurried to pull them apart.

“Stop this right now!” The Duchess smacked both men with her parasol.

Freddy held Saxton's arms, while the wiry jockey managed to pull Longhurst off to the side. “Just like a Saturday night at the Ten Bells, ain't it, Lizzie?” Her father winked.

Eliza thought it best to leave before the next fight began. “We should go, Mrs. Turnbull,” she said. “The luncheon interval is almost over, and Freddy must get back to his rowing team.”

“No, please.” Rachel Turnbull rose to her feet. She smoothed down her silvery gray skirt. “I do not want the luncheon to end in such disarray. Please release Lord Saxton, Mr. Eynsford Hill. I think we can trust him to keep his composure now.”

After Freddy obliged, she whispered something in Saxton's ear. Like a disobedient pupil told to return to his desk, he sat back down on the blanket next to his haughty young wife. Eliza stared wide-eyed when Rachel approached Longhurst next.

“I apologize for the harsh words that have been spoken this afternoon. You have been dealt a bitter blow, and are deserving of our sympathy. Not our censure.”

Longhurst's face crumpled at her gentle words, and he bent over sobbing. Rachel led him back to his cushioned bench. He collapsed onto it, one hand covering his eyes.

“I think we all need to calm down before the races resume,” Rachel said. “There is another hamper with more sweets, and I encourage everyone to drink something. The day is warm, and a bit of lemonade, tea, or water may help bolster our spirits.” She looked over at Lady Tansy. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, but it's too beastly hot for tea.” She fanned herself faster.

“I'll have another cup.” Turnbull snapped his fingers for the maid. “Be more generous with the cream and honey this time.”

While the maid headed to the silver tea urn with his cup, Rachel turned to Longhurst. “Would you like a cup of tea as well?”

He shook his head violently. “I'd rather die of thirst. Any tea bearing the Turnbull name is no better than swill.”

That remark seemed to hurt Rachel, so Eliza gestured to the nearby footman. “I'd like a cup of tea, please. Cream, three lumps of sugar.”

She elbowed Freddy, who piped up, “Me too. Only lemon with mine.”

An uneasy but welcome silence followed. It was so quiet, Eliza could hear the Leander Rowing Club singing by the shore, accompanied by the chatter of chickadees. Brody's friend Patsy looked at what remained of the food and drinks.

“Are there any dates left? Or some sugared berries? And I might have a bit of tea as well,” she said. “Cream, honey,
and
one lump, please. I do like it sweet.”

Eliza smiled at her and sipped her own tea.

“How can you drink hot tea in this weather?” Lady Tansy fanned herself with a weary expression. “It's as warm and humid as the Amazon jungle. All we need are toucans.”

Brody suddenly jumped back, waving his hands in front of him. “Damned bees! They're attracted to the honey pots. Do you have lids to cover them?”

Rachel signaled to the maid, who rummaged about in a hamper.

“I never liked bees.” Brody eyed the tea table nervously. “Had a horse stung by a bee during practice once, right above the eye. He reared up and threw me over the paddock fence.”

“Let's sit somewhere else, luv.” Balancing a teacup in one hand, Patsy struggled to get to her feet. Several bees swarmed over her cup, and she froze.

“Watch out, Patsy!” Brody waved them away.

She let out a tiny scream before dropping the cup. Tea spilled all over her crisp white shirtwaist. “My beautiful new dress!” Patsy howled. “It's ruined now.”

“I'll get you a new one, darling. Never you mind.” Brody handed Patsy his handkerchief to dab her wet skirt. “But that's the last time I sit near honey pots.”

“That's what men were like around Diana,” Longhurst said suddenly. “Like bees drawn to honey. They couldn't resist her.” He looked at both Saxton and Turnbull. “And one of those bees stung her to death, didn't they?”

“Not again,” Lady Tansy murmured.

“I got something to say to the other owners.” Alfred stood up. “I was right nervous to hear about these horse thieves snatching champion horses the last five years. So I says we all fork over some winnings and hire proper security for the Dancer.” He shoved his boater to the back of his head. “'Cause any thief what lays a hand on my horse, I'll hunt him down. And when I find him, I'll stick him and his mates beneath a headstone in Kensal Green.”

“He does have a point,” the Duchess said to the others. “Only grooms and stable hands guard the Dancer now.”

“Right you are. Let's hire a few brawny fellows to guard our colt.”

Sir Walter nodded. “We can put it to a vote now, if you like. Although we must agree on how much to pay for the extra protection.”

“The horse? You're worried about the horse?” Longhurst looked at them in disbelief. “Why didn't anyone worry about protecting my Diana?”

“I've had enough of this,” Turnbull said to Longhurst. “I want you out of here now.”

“The whole lot of you are cold, unfeeling monsters. Every one of you should be dead, not Diana.” At Longhurst's hateful words, Eliza felt a chill down her spine.

Turnbull yanked the man up by the collar. “I said get out!”

Longhurst slapped his hand away. “And I said you all deserve to die. Especially you and that drunken sod of a lord over there.”