Wouldn't It Be Deadly (31 page)

“Impossible.” Even Jack looked shocked.

“Come out here right now if you don't believe me. I'm telling you, they're a sight. I can't hardly believe it meself.”

She tugged at her pearls again, which sent the beads flying. With a cry, Eliza fell to her knees to retrieve them. Jack and Higgins tried to scoop up the rest.

“What is so interesting on my floor?”

Everyone looked up. Lady Gresham stood in the doorway, as serene and majestic as Queen Mary.

“I broke my necklace.” Eliza held up a fistful of pearls.

“Pity. You'll have to have them restrung.” The older woman swept past her.

Eliza handed her pearls to Higgins, who slipped them into his pocket.

The Marchioness settled into the chair recently vacated by Higgins. “I'm glad all of you could come this afternoon. We have something important to discuss.”

Jack nodded. “Indeed we do, ma'am.”

“We hope you will ask the Commissioner to extend the investigation,” Eliza said.

Lady Gresham shook her head. “Out of the question.”

“Why?” Jack asked. “We have at least three excellent suspects: Kollas, Nottingham, and Page. We simply need more time to pursue our inquiries.”

Harrison entered the room carrying a silver tea tray. He set it down on the table nearest the Marchioness.

“You can't mean Miss Rosalind Page?” Lady Gresham raised a haughty eyebrow. “Really, Inspector, Scotland Yard has no business bothering such a lovely young woman.”

“Lovely young women murder people all the time,” Jack said.

“Lovely young men, too,” Higgins muttered.

Harrison poured tea into a delicate china cup and handed it to the Marchioness. Eliza caught the two exchanging quick but affectionate glances.

“Did you hear that, Harrison?” Lady Gresham took a sip of tea. “The Inspector thinks an actress may have killed the Maestro. Isn't that the most absurd thing you have ever heard?”

“Begging your pardon, madam, but an actor did kill President Lincoln.” Harrison poured another cup, this one for Eliza, who took a seat on the divan.

“I should warn all of you that Harrison is rather biased against people in the acting profession,” Lady Gresham said.

“Actors, Your Ladyship, not actresses. I bear no prejudice against women treading the boards. But it is no fit profession for a man.”

Eliza thought him quite cheeky for a servant. And now that he stood so close, she was struck once more by his startling resemblance to Bransley Ames. “A pity you don't care for actors. I was telling the Professor only today that you seem very like one of my favorite actors of the cinema: Bransley Ames.”

The teacup in Harrison's hand rattled, and some of the tea spilled onto the saucer.

“That will be all, Harrison,” Lady Gresham said. “Miss Doolittle can finish pouring.”

With a curt bow, the butler left the parlor.

“Did I say something upsetting?” Eliza poured two cups of tea for Jack and Higgins and handed them out.

“Only to Harrison,” Lady Gresham said. “Bransley Ames is his younger brother.”

She almost spilled her own tea. “What?”

“True. Bransley Ames's real name is Billy Harrison.”

“I told you Harrison looked just like him,” Eliza said to Higgins.

“I disagree, Miss Doolittle. I've seen photographs of the young man, and Harrison is far more attractive than his brother. Fortunately for me, he finds acting a disreputable profession, at least for a man. He is most excited at the prospect of seeing Miss Page perform tomorrow night, however.” She shrugged. “Then again, aren't we all?”

“Harrison is attending the performance as your chauffeur?” Jack asked.

“No, I have kindly given him the night off. The fellow wants to dress in his best clothes rather than a uniform. It is the Drury Lane, after all. For a servant he has amassed quite a wardrobe, thanks to my generosity. I was reluctant to grant such a frivolous request from a mere butler, but Harrison can be most persuasive.”

Eliza gulped the rest of her tea.

“Back to why we were summoned here,” Jack said. “I assume it concerns the investigation into Nepommuck's murder.”

“Of course it does.” Lady Gresham set down her cup. “I discussed this at length with Commissioner Dunningsworth and we are in complete agreement. The investigation ends Friday.”

“That is not your decision to make,” Jack protested.

“But it is my decision, as well as the decision of the Commissioner. Sir Wilfred and I both concur. This sorry affair has gone on long enough.”

“It's not even been a week,” Eliza said. “The police need more time to find the killer. You're not being fair.”

“Fair? Do you think it's fair that I am made to suffer because my fiancé was murdered? Bad enough Emil was killed in such a lurid manner, but that dreadful newspaper article trumpeted the most sordid accusations about his past. I have been the unwitting subject of innuendo and foul gossip every day since. Another week of this, and I shall become a complete laughingstock in my circle.”

“Surely your friends do not blame you for anything the Maestro did,” Eliza said.

“You are ignorant of how society works, Miss Doolittle. One has friends only as long as one does not become a figure of fun. Oh, the horror of this past week. My late husband, the Marquess, was vigilant about
not
having our name bandied about in the press, and here I am being mentioned in the penny dailies with the frequency of a music hall singer. No, someone must be arrested by the end of the week, with a speedy trial to follow.”

“And it doesn't matter if the person arrested is actually guilty.” Higgins put down his teacup with so much force it nearly broke.

Her expression grew even stonier. “I had hoped the police would have found a likelier suspect than you by now. But it appears you have run out of luck while I have run out of patience. Unless a better suspect turns up by Friday, you shall indeed be arrested.”

“You're a fine piece of work, Verena.” Higgins rose to his full towering height. “First you were stupid enough to get engaged to that charlatan. And when he's murdered, you care more about getting your name out of the papers than seeing justice done. You quite shame all those Bristol dockworkers you're descended from. At least they were honest folk.”

The Marchioness pushed herself out of her chair. “I should have Detective Shaw arrest you right now.”

“I am not arresting an innocent man,” Jack said. “Not for you, not for a Scotland Yard Commissioner, not even for Prime Minister Asquith.”

“I'll have your job then, Inspector. I intend to ring Sir Wilfred immediately.”

“Ring away. I am a Detective Inspector, not your bleeding footman.”

Lady Gresham gasped.

“And he's not your bleeding butler, either,” Eliza said. “So don't expect him to be pawing you behind the stairs like Harrison does.”

Lady Gresham turned as white as her hair. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

“Don't act all innocent like Nan of Northumberland,” Eliza said. “I saw you out there kissing the butler. And his hand was on your blooming arse, too.”

“Emil told me you were common as Cockney dirt, and he was right.” Lady Gresham's expression turned murderous. “You should be sent back to the squalor of the East End where you belong.”

“At least in the East End we put on a bit of black when someone dies, even if it's only an armband. We don't go flouncing about like we're off to a spring wedding.” Eliza pointed at the Marchioness's ivory silk gown. “If you had a veil and an orchid bouquet, you'd look just like a blooming bride. Although you're a bit long in the tooth to be wearing a white dress, you are.”

“Let's go, Eliza,” Higgins said. “In another moment, you'll be dropping your aitches.”

“I'll drop what I like. She ain't even in half mourning. Then she's all cozy with the butler, and the Maestro only six days cold in the ground. Looks to me like she might have done her fiancé in 'erself.”

“One more word, and I will ask the Commissioner to arrest
you
as Professor Higgins's accomplice.” Lady Gresham trembled with anger. “You both deserve to be behind bars.”

“I got an alibi, and probably a better one than you 'ave!”

“And you're a worthless girl that Emil saved from the streets, where no doubt you will soon return. By next month, you'll be back to selling flowers, along with yourself!”

“Not bloody likely. I'm a good girl, I am. Not like you. I'm not the one who went straight from burying a sweetheart to diddling with the butler. So don't try to harm the Professor because if you do, we'll have a right dustup. And Jack 'ere will tell you I knows how to play dirty!”

“Lizzie, stop.” Jack tried hard not to laugh.

“Let her babble on, Eliza.” Higgins grabbed her arm. “She can't simply snap her fingers and have people arrested like an Oriental potentate. This is England, not Siam.”

“If they arrest you, Professor, I'll go to the papers and raise such a stink about her and the butler, they'll both have to run off to Siam—wherever that is—to escape the gossip!”

“Harrison!” Lady Gresham tugged frantically at the cord to summon him.

“I ain't afraid of that pretty boy of yours, neither.” Eliza grabbed the teapot as Harrison rushed into the room. “Don't you be laying a finger on me, boyo, or I'll crown you with this.”

“Get that filthy girl out of here,” the Marchioness cried.

Harrison stood before Lady Gresham. “If all of you do not leave immediately, I shall ring for the authorities.”

Eliza pointed at Jack. “He is the authority, you steamin' Friar Tuck!”

Harrison took a step toward her—and slipped on one of her missing pearls. He landed flat on his back with a grunt.

“We're done here, Eliza.” Higgins took the teapot from her hands. “But I believe this has been more entertaining than anything we will see tomorrow night.”

 

EIGHTEEN

Higgins found it difficult to eavesdrop over the din of the packed theater lobby. He leaned so close to two conversing women, the feathers from their headpieces tickled his nose.

“I had quite a gelder when I learned Francis bought tickets for tonight,” one lady whispered to her companion. “They say Miss Page is lovelier than a spring morning of sea mist and flowers.”

Higgins scribbled the phrase down. “Blast,” he said when his pencil broke.

“Don't tell me you're working, Professor.” Inspector Shaw pushed through the crowd of richly dressed theatergoers to join him.

With a sigh, Higgins tucked his notebook and pencil into the inner pocket of his formal suit jacket. “The linguistic pickings are slim. Most everyone here is from the greater London area. However, that lady behind me in the purple-feathered monstrosity had an interesting turn of phrase. It is obvious she spent a forlorn decade or two in the Orkney Islands.”

Jack shook his head. “Don't know how you do that, Professor. It would be a handy skill to have when questioning suspects.”

“Speaking of suspects, any sign of Major Redstone yet?”

“No, but I have men posted at several train stations in the area, as well as detectives watching your residence.”

“I hope they're not going to make a scene. The Colonel is with him, and he has no idea the police want Redstone for questioning. Pick will be most alarmed.”

“When he arrives at Wimpole Street, my men will take him directly to the Yard. If he comes here first, we shall let him enjoy the play. No need to disrupt everyone's evening, especially since the Major has no idea he's under suspicion.” Jack lowered his voice. “But as soon as the curtain falls, we'll bring him in.”

“That's assuming they make it in time for the performance. Pick called from Cardiff to complain about a delay with the trains. He said they would come straight here from the station. And I won't be able to miss them since they're sitting with my mother and me in our box.”

Jack frowned. “Please try to keep Eliza calm. I don't want her accusing Redstone of anything until we've got him safely at Scotland Yard.”

Both men exchanged rueful glances. They remembered too well the scene Eliza threw yesterday at Hepburn House. Granted, she had been a marvel to watch, and Higgins was touched more than he would admit by her staunch defense. However, it would be a disaster if she did the same thing tonight. The theater was packed with peers, Cabinet ministers, and the titled women who controlled society. This was not the time or place for an angry Cockney flower girl to confront a possible murderer.

“Eliza won't be in the gallery box with us,” Higgins said. “The besotted Mr. Eynsford Hill insists that she sit with him and his family. Good thing, too. They're in the orchestra seats, stage right. I can keep an eye on her from our box.”

Jack looked around the lobby, which was a sea of top hats, feathers, and jewels. “Where is Lizzie, by the way?”

“She and my mother went to remove their cloaks.” Higgins was taller than most, and saw both ladies approaching. “Here they are.”

Jack whistled. “My little cousin can clean herself up proper, now can't she?”

Indeed she could, Higgins thought with approval. The crowd made way for the two women, both of whom were as finely dressed as any lady boasting a coronet. Higgins was accustomed to his mother's unerring elegance, so he was not surprised when people nodded in deference to her regal figure. Just as many appreciative glances were cast Eliza's way as she walked arm and arm with Mrs. Higgins.

“Who is buying Lizzie's wardrobe? You?”

“Don't be mad. Pick is the fellow with the bottomless wallet and the paternal desire to dress her like a princess.”

“It's money put to good use.” Jack grinned. “Don't know I've ever seen her look more like a grand lady—and with a pearl tiara, too.”