Move Your Blooming Corpse (27 page)

“Then who is left?” Mrs. Higgins sounded perplexed.

“Me, for one. After all, I am a syndicate member. Although I own twenty racehorses, I certainly would enjoy having the Donegal Dancer all to myself. Therefore it makes sense to include me on your colorful list of suspects. Or don't you think I'm capable of murder?”

Higgins smiled. “You may joke about trampling any man who would dare strike you, but I doubt you'd go that far.”

Minerva patted him on the hand. “My dear boy, anyone is capable of murder.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.” Minerva sat back with a laugh.

Higgins and his mother laughed as well, but he couldn't help wondering if he was sitting across from the murderer right now.

 

SIXTEEN

If there was a heaven, Eliza hoped it looked like Selfridges. Renowned for its excellent service, fine merchandise, rooftop terrace, and five floors boasting a hundred departments, the store cemented its premier status with artfully designed windows. Eliza gazed in admiration at the current window, which showed a lady's boudoir peopled by elegant mannequins draped in silk and satin dressing gowns. Tall potted ferns arched over brocade divans, a marble fireplace, and two stuffed Persian cats. On a lacquered table sat glass atomizer bottles of French perfume, each one in varying shades of purple, rose, and blue.

She heard Clara clear her throat. The girl was obviously restless. Eliza didn't blame her. Both of them had waited far too long for Lady Tansy.

“Let's go inside,” Eliza said. “The perfume counter is right in front. This way your friend can't miss us when she finally arrives.” She frowned. “If she ever does.”

“Thank you for coming with me,” Clara said. “Though if she introduces me to another widower today, I shall scream. Literally, I will scream right in his face.”

“I spoke to Lady Tansy at Henley about these gentlemen. She promised to come up with a potential suitor who didn't turn everyone's stomach.”

“One of them had rotting teeth from the cigars he smoked. And all he talked about was his hunting hounds. I hate hounds. They frighten me.” She shivered. “He did, too.”

The two women walked past the uniformed doorman into Selfridges. As always, Eliza delighted in the magnificent high ceilings and bright chandeliers that added to the natural light pouring through the windows. Today, colorful red, white, and blue bunting hung everywhere. Must be some sort of national holiday. Dozens of customers strolled along the spacious aisles. And polished glass counters displayed every type of goods imaginable: men's waistcoats and other attire, soaps and toiletries, parasols and feather boas, brooches and earrings in costume jewelry, shoes of all kinds, silk and linen handkerchiefs.

Best of all, perfume and cosmetics were on display front and center. One of the female shop assistants flashed a winning smile at them. Her smart navy dress had an ecru lace collar, making her look as stylish as the customers. The young woman focused her attention on Eliza.

“May I help you, madam?”

“No thank you. We're waiting for someone,” Clara blurted out, but Eliza shushed her.

“I'd like to choose a new perfume.” She glanced around the display, uncertain. “The scent I have is a bit flowery. Very nice, but something different might be more to my taste.”

“May I suggest Houbigant's
Quelques Fleurs
?”

The sales assistant selected a pale bottle, removed the stopper, and dabbed a bit on her own wrist. After she motioned for Eliza to extend her arm, she demonstrated how to rub her other wrist against the tiny smudge of scent. She waited as Eliza breathed in the heady citrus mix of orange and lemon, with a musky undertone.

“It's wonderful. Thank you, I do like it.”

Lady Tansy suddenly appeared. “I assumed you both would wait for me outside.”

Eliza bit back a curt reply at the young woman's haughty tone. She also thought her plum gown was too regal for daytime, with its sheer lace sleeves and tasseled sash. As for Lady Tansy, she didn't bother to conceal her sharp interest in Eliza's blue and white pinstripe dress and white plumed hat. Perhaps the young viscountess was a bit jealous of her new summer outfit, which was all the rage in Paris. Poor Clara's pale pink ensemble couldn't compete with either of them. But the girl's wide-brimmed hat festooned with rose satin bows and ribbons was perfect. Eliza had bought the expensive chapeau for Clara only last week.

Lady Tansy shook her head at the shop assistant. “That perfume is much too old-fashioned for her. Try a bit of my
Nuit de Chine
, Clara. ‘Chinese Night' is the translation, quite exotic. Sandalwood and civet.”

“The perfume is for me, not Clara. And I find the scent delightful.” Eliza leaned toward the sales assistant behind the counter. “Please box it for me.”

The young woman nodded. “Shall I put it on Colonel Pickering's account, Miss Doolittle?” Eliza shopped here so often, the staff knew her by name.

“Not this time. I recently opened my own account. Charge it to that one.” When Eliza looked around, Lady Tansy had whisked Clara away to examine parasols.

“Thank goodness we're here today, and not tomorrow.” Lady Tansy inspected a carved parasol handle. “No one comes on Wednesdays except ‘value' shoppers from the suburbs.”

“Their money is as good as anyone else's,” Eliza said. If only the Viscountess didn't take on such airs. It was quite maddening. No wonder Lord Saxton drank so much.

“Next you'll be showing sympathy for the unionists.”

In dismay, Clara mouthed a “Please don't,” as if the problem were Eliza and not Lady Tansy's snobbish attitude. “What shall we look at first, Your Grace?” Clara asked.

“I've told you to call me Tansy. We're old school friends. And Lord Richard Ashmore is my second cousin on my maternal side. If you do marry him, we'll practically be sisters.”

Eliza tried not to laugh at the woman's attempt to make her jealous. Ever since Lord Saxton had insisted she call his wife “Lady Tansy,” she noticed it irritated her whenever Eliza did so. If she imagined Eliza had any interest in what Clara called her, she was mistaken. Clara could call Tansy “sweetheart” for all Eliza cared.

“Who is Lord Ashmore?” Eliza asked as they strolled over to view the gloves.

“He has lately returned from India,” Lady Tansy said. “His brother, the fourth baron, died last year of either pleurisy or some other inconvenient illness. Richard's a captain in the King's Hussars. He was, that is, until he resigned his commission to inherit the barony.”

Lady Saxton prattled on about the Ashmore estate in Kent, a Jacobean house known as Banfield Manor. When she was done with her exhausting description of its extensive gardens, she went on to discuss every aristocratic guest at the shooting party she'd attended last autumn at the manor house. This went on for the better part of an hour.

By the time they reached the topmost floor of Selfridges, Lady Tansy was explaining how Richard's oldest brother died in a car accident two years ago. If this went on much longer, Eliza would fling herself over the fifth-floor balustrade.

“Are we done hearing about your cousin?” Eliza didn't bother to hide her exasperation. “Or are there a few details you've left out? Like his shoe size and what he eats for breakfast.”

Lady Tansy shot her an offended look. “Richard will join us for lunch, and I thought it proper for Clara to know all she can about him.”

That set off Clara's nerves. “What if he doesn't like me?”

“I know my cousin. He'll adore you, darling.”

Eliza halted by the hat display, her eye caught by a new design for fall, but Clara dragged her away. Thirty minutes later, the women had finished exploring the fifth floor. They headed for the lift, where Lady Tansy continued to extol the virtues of Lord Ashmore. They hadn't even met the fellow, but Eliza was already sick of him. When Eliza announced her plan to return downstairs to Cosmetics, Clara gushed in excitement.

“I'd love to try a bit of color. It's all the rage now. Powder and rouge, I mean.”

“Whatever for? Your complexion is like cream and roses,” Lady Tansy protested.

“Clara's rather fair.” Eliza carefully exited the lift. “Besides, it might be fun to try it.”

“I imagine Richard will be surprised by all the changes since he's been away from England. Cosmetics, women driving motorcars, the nightclubs. It's all too much.”

“I've never driven a motorcar,” Clara said wistfully.

Eliza led them to the cosmetics counter once more. “You've never attended a nightclub, either. Not that I would expect you to. By the way, I think this pale pink rouge would be perfect. And you'd only need a hint.” She picked up a tin of powder. “What is this made from?”

“Finely ground safflowers. Brush on a dab rather than pinching your cheeks.” The saleswoman smiled at her.

Although Lady Tansy rolled her eyes in disapproval, Eliza could tell she applied color to brighten her complexion. Clara swept the lightweight powder just below her cheekbones. The effect lent a sparkle to her eyes. Next she picked up a long metal tube, and the saleswoman demonstrated how to apply a tiny amount on her lips.

“It's wonderful,” Clara said with enthusiasm.

Eliza decided to buy it for her. She was actually grateful for this little shopping expedition, since it gave her a reprieve from sitting at her father's hospital bedside. He was recovering nicely in a private room, with nurses at his beck and call. The train trip back and forth to Windsor was tiring, however; so was the crowd who visited her father, from the old neighborhood as well as his new friends. Her stepmother's family also visited, shoving and pushing to sit on the few chairs. They even dragged their children along despite the staff's pleas to leave them home. The brats climbed all over “Uncle Alfie.” Her father didn't seem to mind the bantering and fussing, as long as it didn't go on for too long.

Her father's recovery had lifted her spirits. Now she needed to find a moment to ask Lady Tansy about Longhurst's friendship with Rachel Turnbull. Higgins expected her to confirm the information he'd gleaned yesterday from the Duchess of Carbrey.

“How old is Lord Ashmore?” Clara sounded worried.

“Twenty-eight,” Lady Tansy said. “I haven't seen him since before he left for India.”

“Are you sure he's not a confirmed bachelor?”

She laughed. “You will find out for yourself soon enough. But I rather doubt he'd agree to meet you if he was, don't you think? Now stop worrying. He's an excellent catch.”

Clara seemed rattled by the upcoming meeting. “Oh dear. My hat is coming loose from its pins.” She stood before a counter mirror and fussed with it.

Eliza took Lady Tansy aside. “Given what happened to my father, I imagine you're relieved your husband sold his share of the Donegal Dancer.”

“Heavens, yes. The last thing I want is to be widowed because of that fool horse. Maitland is no prize, but he is useful in his own way. Now that he's sold his share, he should be safe. At least until he drinks himself to death.”

“Who do you think is behind these murders and the attack at the stables? Gordon Longhurst, perhaps? He could very well have killed both Diana and Turnbull out of jealousy.”

She shrugged. “If so, he ought to be knighted for it. I may not agree with the methods for their eradication—murder is a messy business—but neither of them will be missed.”

“I had tea with Rachel Turnbull the other day. She didn't seem at all heartbroken.”

“And you're surprised by that? I wouldn't blame her if she threw a party to celebrate.”

Eliza lowered her voice even more. “There is talk that she and Longhurst are lovers.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Why is it so unbelievable?” Eliza wondered if she should reveal what the Duchess had mentioned to Higgins.

“Rachel is no more capable of romantic passion than one of those mannequins over there.” She cast a wary eye at Eliza. “You're full of questions today. Are you playing police detective again, as you did this past spring? If so, you no doubt suspect Maitland
and
me.”

“I believe someone wants the horse all to themselves. Since Lord Saxton sold his shares, he no longer has a motive. Forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem all that interested in passion either. Nor did you show any jealousy of Diana at Ascot. Just wounded pride.”

That prompted a bitter smile. “Although Maitland chases after the dregs of womanhood, I would not risk my own neck to murder him. Trust me. I have other ways of punishing my husband for his bad behavior.” She leaned closer to Eliza. “I ordered a lavish new wardrobe for fall from the Paris salons. Along with a ruby ring the size of a cherry. That's what hurts him the most—my spending habits. It's less money to gamble away, or spend on his latest paramour.”

“Aren't you afraid Lord Saxton will cut off your allowance one day?”

Lady Tansy seemed amused. “He's not that stupid. Maitland knows I would not kill him over some dreadful woman. But if he ever cuts off my clothing and jewelry allowance, he'd best sleep with one eye open.”

*   *   *

Fragrant bouquets of red roses, lilies, and carnations filled two tall Chinese vases near the door of the Palm Court restaurant. The headwaiter welcomed them and led the way through the room. Selfridges proved an ideal lunch spot for Londoners. An orchestra played softly, taking care not to drown out the conversation of the patrons. A small bud vase of roses and ferns decorated each linen-draped table, while leaded glass chandeliers glittered overhead. Waiters in black tie and tails swept around guests, filling water goblets and serving plates of braised lamb chops, cod cakes, or luscious desserts.

At one table, a nervous young gentleman waited to greet them. Eliza was pleasantly surprised by his appearance. Tanned and good-looking, with green eyes and wavy brown hair, Lord Richard Ashmore stood just shy of Clara's taller than average height in her low heels. And his light gray linen suit fit his trim figure well. Once Lady Tansy finished the introductions, he pulled all the ladies' chairs out, Clara's last, with a courtly bow.