Wouldn't It Be Deadly (25 page)

“Me, for one. It's ridiculous to think Professor Higgins could kill anyone.”

“Oh, you just can't see straight 'cause he taught you to speak proper and took you to balls and such. But the Governor is a danger to you, and you'd best not forget it, Lizzie girl.”

“How is he a danger?” Eliza asked. “And when have you ever cared a brass farthing about me?”

He drained his glass. “I'm your father, ain't I? It was me what brung you into this sorry world. Your mum, too, only she ain't here. She'd be worried sick, though. She'd want me to warn you about the Governor and take you back.”

“Take me back?” She looked around the parlor in disbelief. “You mean move in here?”

“We've a big house. There's plenty of room yet. Didn't Mrs. Higgins say I should take you back and provide for you? It's my duty as a father.” He pointed his finger at her. “Murder's a bad business, and you're in the thick of things. We want you back home where you belong.”

The visit had gone on long enough. “I am exactly where I belong at this moment, residing with Professor Higgins and the Colonel at Wimpole Street. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other errands to see to.”

“Sit down. I got more to tell you, if you gimme half a minute.”

“You won't convince me the Professor had anything to do with the murder.”

Rose Cleary Doolittle suddenly swept into the room carrying a maroon silk robe. Without sparing a glance for Eliza, she pulled her father up by the neck ruff. “Oh, Alfie! Wasn't I telling you to take off that tartan rag? Come on, old thing.”

Her husband grumbled loudly, but exchanged his old bathrobe for the silk one. Rose smoothed his lapels while the parlor maid brought in a tray with tea and tiny cakes. Rose handed a cup to Eliza, who not only refused to accept it, but got to her feet.

Rose shot her a forced smile. “So good to see you again, luv. And ain't you the height of fashion. Although I have two new hats in that same style as yours.”

Her gaze fixed on Eliza's beribboned hat before traveling over her smartly tailored navy suit and high-topped shoes. Rose's own ensemble was nearly as expensive: a bright pink daytime silk gown over a cream lace underskirt, with a large lace collar overlay. She was also decked out in too many jewels for this hour of the morning, with a ring for nearly every finger as well as large pearl earrings.

Rose turned to Alfred. “Spread your napkin, Alfie. Over your lap, for heaven's sake. Like this.”

Done fussing over him, Rose plopped herself on the divan with a grunt. Too much powder layered her freckled face. And her thick hair seemed streaked with some odd dye, making her copper-colored curls appear orange. Rose always did remind Eliza of an Irish witch, but now she looked like a clown as well.

She turned her demanding gaze on Eliza. “Your da and I are worried sick over you.”

“It will be the first time then.” Still refusing to sit, Eliza returned Rose's hard stare with one of her own. “Neither of you gave a thought as to what would happen to me when you tossed me out of my home with not even a shilling in my pocket.”

“Not that again,” Alfred said as he slurped his tea.

“You were seventeen, high time you were on your own.” Rose reached for a tea cake. “My own parents kicked me out when I was just fourteen so you were lucky, girl, and don't you forget it. Anyway, you were selling oranges and violets long before I moved in. Your da and I knew you could make a honest living at Covent Garden.”

“At least I got to keep my earnings once I left, instead of you taking every last penny I made.”

“And why shouldn't you be paying rent, I ask you?” Rose shook her head. “Even then, you thought you were a bleeding duchess.”

Eliza looked at her father. “No doubt this is why you asked me to visit. Now that I'm making good money giving lessons, you want me to pay rent again.”

“Why would I be wanting your rent money when I'm getting three thousand a year?” Alfred said, peering at her above his teacup. “In fact, we'll let you stay here rent-free as long as you give us lessons on how to speak proper.”

Finished with her tea cake, Rose brushed crumbs from her skirt. “Now ain't that a grand idea? And you could steer clear of that Higgins fellow. I been reading how your Professor accused that dead foreigner of stealing his pupils. The coppers seem to think he's the one what done him in.”

“Not that it's any of your business, but the Professor and I have been working hard to see that the killer is caught. And we're getting assistance from Detective Inspector Shaw at Scotland Yard. You remember Jack Shaw, Dad. He's Mum's sister Polly's oldest boy.”

“Little Jack Shaw? From Kennet Street, back in Wapping?” Alfred sat back with a shocked expression. “That little blighter is working for the Yard! Jack was always nicking an onion or tater for Polly to add to the soup. Quick fingers, little Jackie had. A real nice touch.”

“Jack's a proper detective now, he is.”

“Garn!” Alfred slapped his knee. “That's even harder to choke down than you swanning about London like the Queen Mother.”

Eliza heard the clock chime the half hour. She had already wasted too much time here. “As charming as this visit has been, I have no interest in hearing the two of you sling insults at Jack and me. I also have no intention of moving into your household. Let's say our good-byes since I must get back to helping the police solve the murder.”

“And how are you doing that? By working alongside that bloke what killed the foreigner?” Rose asked.

“Professor Higgins did not kill the Maestro. In fact, he was wandering about London on the day of the murder conducting phonetics research.”

Rose and Alfred exchanged meaningful glances. “Was he now?” Alfred asked. “According to the papers, no one remembers seeing him that day.”

Eliza's frustration had reached its limits where Higgins's alibi was concerned. It troubled her that no one could verify his whereabouts. But it rankled deep to see her father and Rose pointing out that unhappy fact. “We just need more time. London's a big city, you know. I'm sure to find someone who saw him in London that day.”

“Maybe it's not London you should be asking around in.” Rose tipped back her teacup for a sip, taking care to lift her pinkie finger.

Eliza's headache returned full force, along with a sense of uneasiness. “What are you talking about?”

Rose took her time sipping tea, then leisurely placed the cup back on the tray. “I seen your shifty Professor Higgins that day, and he weren't in London. I happen to know he left London right after he killed the Hungarian bloke.”

“That's a lie, you blooming witch!”

“Witch, am I?” With a great push, Rose got to her feet. “At least I ain't no murderer.”

“Neither is the Professor.”

“Then he's a bloody liar, 'cause I seen him in Surrey the day the Hungarian was stabbed.”

Eliza could scarcely take this information in. She knew Rose resented her. Indeed, she probably hated Eliza, and the feeling was mutual. But to think she would concoct such a terrible lie to get back at her. Rose knew Eliza would be heartbroken if the Professor was thrown into prison. And it seemed the blasted woman was willing to help convict an innocent man just to wound her.

“First, you've never even met the Professor,” Eliza said, trying to keep her temper in check. “You wouldn't know if you'd seen him or not.”

“Is that so? Your da pointed him out to me just three days after the wedding,” Rose said. “We was taking a hansom ride through Hyde Park—we do that regular now—and Alfie pointed out Professor Higgins. He was listening to the speakers on the corner. And when your da yelled at him, the Professor tipped his hat to us as we drove by. Ain't that right, Alfie?”

“Right as rain, luv,” Alfred said. “It was the Governor for sure.”

“So I know what that tall fellow looks like,” she went on. “And I saw him in Tilford village in Surrey when I went to visit me Aunt Sarah. He was sitting in a motorcar waiting for a herd of sheep to cross the road. I walked past with Sarah, and I saw him close up, I did.”

“Let me guess. You were returning from the pub at the time.” Eliza glared at her.

“How d'ye know that?” Rose seemed taken aback by Eliza's correct guess. “Anyways, that don't matter. Aunt Sarah and me always enjoy a pint or two during my visits. I weren't drunk if that's what you're implying, Miss La-dee-dah. And I seen the Professor in that motorcar. I also know it was the day the Hungarian got killed. When I got back to London that night, the newsies were screaming it out from every corner.”

Despite her morning vow never to drink ale again, Eliza wished she had a glass of Guinness at that moment. “I don't believe you.”

“But you believe that lying Professor, don't you? And lying he is if he swears he was in London all day.” Rose stalked to the parlor door. “I told Alfie it was no use trying to help you. Run back to that fancy house in Wimpole Street for all I care. Only don't turn your back on the Professor, else you might find a knife sticking out of it!”

Eliza waited until Rose stamped her way upstairs before turning to her father. “Is this true? Did Rose tell you she saw Professor Higgins in Surrey?”

“That she did, my girl.” With his wife out of the room, Alfred reached for the gin bottle.

“Why hasn't she gone to the police with the information?”

“What? Are you bleeding daft? Did you forget everything you ever learned in the East End, Lizzie? You was taught to run the other way any time you saw a bluebottle on the streets. Coppers don't help people like us, no matter how much money we come into or how fancy we start talking. And don't tell me about your cousin Jack. Now that I learn he's working for the Yard, I trust him even less than when he was nicking potatoes.” He gave her a world-weary look. “Me or Rose go to the police with a tale like this, they ain't gonna believe us. They may even start to think we're involved in this murder. Before you know it, I'll be forking over solicitor fees, and then I'm back to being a poor dustman.”

Eliza stood silent for a time. Rose was mistaken in what she saw that day in Surrey. And probably drunk into the bargain as well. After all, she had seen the Professor only once before, and just for a few seconds. No doubt the man in the motorcar merely resembled the Professor.

“Professor Higgins doesn't even own a motorcar,” Eliza said finally.

Alfie shook his head. “If I can rent a hansom carriage every week, Higgins can rent a motorcar to drive to Surrey.”

“I simply don't believe it.” Indeed, the longer she thought about it, the less likely it seemed. Goodness knows, she had a far higher opinion of Professor Higgins's character than she did of either her father or Rose.

“I knew you wouldn't listen to reason. Stubborn as your mum, and that's the sad truth. Leastways I did what I could to save you from being knocked off by that fellow.”

Eliza allowed herself a smile. “I'll be all right. We'll solve this murder. Jack's sure of it.”

“The offer's still open if you be wanting a room upstairs,” he said, wiping his nose on his handkerchief. “And you don't even have to give us lessons. Fact is, I'll kick out her worthless brother-in-law for you, I will.”

“Thanks, Dad. Take care of yourself.” She pecked his cheek, more out of sympathy than affection.

Once outside, she almost broke into a run. Cor, it felt good to be out of that house. It was nearly noon, and her stomach growled. Not surprising since she hadn't felt well enough to eat breakfast. Eliza couldn't wait to sit down to Mrs. Pearce's lunch, while exchanging pleasantries with the Colonel and Redstone. And she was eager to set off for the Drury Lane Theatre with Higgins later today. Hang Rose Cleary Doolittle and her silly accusations.

Humming a favorite music hall song, Eliza headed back to Wimpole Street, where she belonged.

 

FIFTEEN

Higgins shook the raindrops from his lapels with a muttered curse. “I grew too accustomed to the sun and heat in Spain. Every rainy day since I returned sets my teeth on edge.”

“I don't mind the rain so much as the fog.” Eliza ducked under the portico. “Never liked trying to find my way in that pea soup. And if you can't see where you're going in Whitechapel, you might end up with a cut purse or a cut throat.”

“Yes, I can see how that could be bothersome.” Higgins walked behind stacks of newspapers while a boy yelled out the headlines in a singsong patter.

A moment later Higgins strode into the theater, but Eliza didn't follow. Instead she gazed in awe at the fancy colonnade and imposing front of the Theatre Royal, also called Drury Lane, on Catherine Street. On performance nights, she'd seen gorgeously gowned ladies swathed in velvet, satin, and fur walk right up these steps escorted by gentlemen in black tie and tails. Eliza tried to be on her best behavior when approaching them to make a sale. The violets they bought paid her weekly rent at Angel Court.

Eliza looked over her shoulder. Her shabby “piggery” was but a few blocks away. It now seemed as distant from her present life as the moon. After all her bowing and scraping on these very steps, she would attend the theater on Thursday evening with the rest of the swells. What a blooming miracle.

She was almost as excited about today. What a thrill to see Drury Lane from the inside instead of standing out in the street. Eliza hoped for a tour of the backstage area, too, especially since they had come here to speak with Miss Page.

Higgins stood waiting in the theater lobby, and Eliza hurried to catch up to him. She let out a cry of delight at the gilt trim, marble columns, and red carpet. Higgins explained that the columns were called “Doric.” Next he drew her attention to the grand staircase leading to the boxes and the vast rotunda with its three statues of Shakespeare, Edmund Kean, and David Garrick. A peek into the Grand Saloon revealed more marble columns and statues, along with a magnificent glittering chandelier.