Wouldn't It Be Deadly (6 page)

That was true enough. Drat Henry Higgins. She'd developed quite the sweet tooth ever since he'd plied her with those scrumptious chocolates last year as bribes for good behavior.

“Maybe a tiny slice of the cake,” she replied. No need to mention it would be her fourth today.

“Excellent. Then we can relax and spend time catching up.”

“I would love that. We didn't have much opportunity the last time we met.”

They exchanged rueful glances, remembering the scene twelve days ago when Higgins and Nepommuck argued in her classroom. Pickering set off for the nearest white tent. After he left, Eliza looked over at Redstone. He was the Colonel's friend, a scholar, and he seemed kind. He would be honest, or so she hoped.

“What did I say that was so stupid?”

“Ophelia is a character in the Shakespearean play
Hamlet,
” Redstone said. “Miss Page will make her debut on the London stage in that role.”

Eliza nodded. For a terrible moment, she fought back tears. There was so much she didn't know—couldn't hope to know—not without years of study. Higgins could teach her not to drop her aitches, Mrs. Higgins could instruct her in manners, and Pickering could buy her all the right clothes. But God help her, she was stupid, a stupid girl who used to sleep in her street clothes at night because she had nothing else to wear. How dare she presume to think she could ever find a life outside the desperate poverty she was born into?

“I am stupid. The stupid daughter of a dustman who pretends to be a lady.”

Redstone shook his head. “I see a lady before me, Miss Doolittle. A lady more gracious and refined than any peer listed in Debrett's. You are a lovely, intelligent young woman. And the Colonel believes you've accomplished more in six months than most people do in a lifetime.”

“But I didn't know who Ophelia was. I've never even heard of her. In fact, I've never read a word of Shakespeare.”

“It's just a play,” Redstone said. “And plays can be read. Books, too. No one is born knowing who Ophelia is.”

When he led her to a nearby table and pulled out a wrought iron chair, she sat down with a sigh. “That's kind of you to say, Major, but you're a great scholar.”

He sat across from her, looking amused. “I certainly was not born knowing how to translate Sanskrit poetry, Miss Doolittle. It took many years and no small amount of effort. Everything in life has to be learned. And it's not simply what comes from books. We learn how to walk and talk when we are babes, how to act in polite society, and how to love from those who care for us.” His pale eyes seemed to darken. “We even learn how to hate. That is perhaps the most difficult lesson of all.”

Eliza was about to ask if someone had taught him that lesson, but Pickering returned with a footman. The man set down a silver tea tray filled with scones, cucumber sandwiches, and tarts with strawberries. A maidservant brought a tray of teacups and a teapot.

The Colonel perched on a chair. “I fear there is no more Charlotte Russe, my dear.”

Eliza felt guilty about that. After tea was poured, she, Redstone, and Pickering enjoyed good food and conversation until Lady Gresham's voice rang out over the garden.

“May I have everyone's attention?” Lady Gresham stood on the terrace, with Nepommuck a few feet behind her. The guests at the farthest reaches of the gardens strolled within earshot of the terrace. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to welcome you to my Annual Foundling Hospital Garden Party. Your donations will help the cause immensely. Countless children are abandoned on the streets of London each week. Please contribute to this worthy charity. And thank you for joining us today.”

Eliza had a few crowns in her pocketbook. She made a note to drop them in the donation basket before she left.

Lady Gresham continued. “Some of you are pupils of the distinguished language expert, Emil Nepommuck, also known affectionately as the Maestro.”

Even from where she was sitting, Eliza could see that Lady Gresham's cheeks had grown quite pink. Lord, she was blushing like a young girl. Nepommuck now stood beside her. He looked even more pompous than usual.

“The Maestro and I have personal news to share. It appears that I am about to add another title to my name, albeit a Hungarian one.” Lady Gresham reached for Nepommuck's hand. “I am both pleased and proud to announce that just this morning, I accepted Emil's proposal of marriage.”

Gasps from several hundred people greeted her words. Pickering choked on his tea. A crash of china sounded from one of the tables, and Eliza noted even the servants seemed stunned. The butler Harrison stood a few feet behind the couple, and she almost laughed at the look of shock on his face.

A smattering of applause finally erupted, overpowered by dozens of people talking among themselves. After a long pause, guests began to approach the couple on the terrace.

Eliza turned back to Pickering and Redstone. “I knew the Marchioness was taken in by the Hungarian, but not to this extent.”

“Taken in?
Taken in?
” Pickering wiped the tea he'd spilled over his cravat. “Why, she has completely lost her senses! What is she thinking, to marry some foreign mountebank, and at her age. Nepommuck is no more than thirty-two. That fortune hunter should be horsewhipped for taking such cruel advantage of a seventy-year-old woman.”

This time, Eliza choked. “Lady Gresham is seventy?”

“Seventy-one this November. And yes, I know it is not gentlemanly to speak of a lady's age, but this … this is too much!”

“Calm down, old chap,” Redstone said. “You'll make yourself ill.”

“He's right,” Eliza began. “After all, if Lady—” She caught sight of Mary Finch running through the crowd.

Eliza stood up for a better look. Pushing guests aside, Mary raced from the other end of the garden. With her feathered aigrette askew, the sobbing young woman shouted, “I won't believe it! It cannot be true. Emil! Emil! Tell them it's not true.”

Her husband ran after her.

Guests jumped out of the way as Mary barreled past. At one point, she knocked over a maid carrying a tray of tarts, which flew into the air. Cornelius grabbed her just before Mary reached the terrace steps, but the hysterical woman had now caught everyone's attention. Nepommuck stared down at her with a look of pure hatred … and fear.

Mary struggled in her husband's arms, but he refused to let her go. “You don't understand. He promised to marry me. You did, Emil. Tell her that you love me. Tell her. You can't marry that old woman!”

“Good heavens.” Pickering gulped down the rest of his tea.

Lady Gresham said in a loud voice, “Harrison!”

The handsome butler appeared behind the Marchioness, who whispered something in his ear. He nodded.

Meanwhile Cornelius still held Mary tight, his face beet red. “Mary, stop this. You are making a fool of yourself. Of us both!”

“But I love him. And he loves me. We made promises to each other. Emil!”

Without warning, Mary suddenly went limp. Cornelius struggled to keep her from falling to the ground. When Harrison reached the couple, he picked up the young woman as if she weighed no more than one of the pink feathers bobbing above her head. She revived briefly as the butler carried her past. Eliza could have sworn she heard her sob, “The baby.”

Cornelius muttered a terrible oath, his face a mask of fury and grief. After they'd left the grounds, the crowd began to buzz. James Nottingham stood by the fountain, a champagne glass in his hand. He raised it in Eliza's direction and mouthed, “I told you.”

She turned to Redstone. “This can hardly be what you expected, Major. After all your years away from England, I can't imagine what you must think of us.”

He smiled. “What I'm thinking is that English garden parties are far more interesting than I remember.”

 

FOUR

“If that's my son, send him away,” Mrs. Higgins said. The doorbell chimed again. “Tell him I've gone to call on Cousin Bertie. Better yet, say Bertie and I left on a trip to the Hebrides. We won't be back for a fortnight.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The parlor maid dropped a curtsey and hurried off.

Mrs. Higgins settled back in her favorite chair by the window. Below, the Thames sparkled in the morning sunlight. Due to the mild weather, the drawing room windows were open and she smiled with pleasure at both the sight and fragrance of the potted hyacinth on her balcony. Reaching for her teacup, she took an appreciative sip. It was an exquisite Ceylon brew purchased on the recommendation of Colonel Pickering. She found him such an agreeable chap, always brimming with useful information about the most recent imports from the subcontinent and Asia. On his next visit, he promised to bring her a new tea blend from India.

Unfortunately Henry often accompanied the Colonel, and she did not need to see her dear boy more than once a month. Henry had already paid her a call over two weeks ago, filled with deafening rage over that Hungarian phonetician. And with no small amount of animosity reserved for Miss Doolittle. Ever since Henry and the Colonel met Eliza, her household had been filled with more drama than Drury Lane Theatre.

Mrs. Higgins almost spilled her tea when her son charged into the room.

“Mother, I don't understand why I must ring that bell half a dozen times before anyone answers the door.” Henry thrust a large bouquet of flowers at her. “You ought to give me a key.”

“Heaven forbid, and take off your hat. This is a drawing room, not the platform at Paddington Station.”

He flung his hat and coat onto a nearby ottoman.

The parlor maid entered, looking chagrined. “Sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Henry insisted on coming up.”

“If you thought that story about visiting Cousin Bertie would fool me, then you must think me as dotty as he is.” He raised an amused eyebrow. “The next time you wish to lie about going on holiday, do not choose a place as lugubrious as the Hebrides.”

“Daisy, I commend you for doing your best to rein in my son. But since he has already breached the walls, please take these flowers he manhandled. And bring more tea.” She accepted his kiss on her cheek. “Well, Henry, two visits in two weeks. I don't know whether to be flattered or afraid. And bearing lilacs, too. I'm certain Mr. Eynsford Hill will not be pleased that you brought a spring bouquet for Eliza.”

“The flowers aren't for that ungrateful ninny. I brought them for you.” He sat back on the chintz-covered divan with a smug grin.

“For me? Whatever for, dear?”

“For helping turn that little traitor into something resembling a lady. And for being so charitable as to offer her a roof over her head after she ran away from Wimpole Street.”

“I don't see it as a charitable impulse. I quite enjoy her company. Eliza is a charming girl. As I am sure you have had occasion to learn.”

“Hah,” he snorted.

“Eliza has wanted to pay room and board since she began working for Mr. Nepommuck. A proposition I would not hear of, I might add. The girl has pride. Although you seem to have done your utmost to break it.”

“Is that what she's been saying? That impudent siren of Covent Garden.”

“Henry, really. It is entirely too early in the day for such purple prose. I've a dressmaker appointment at eleven. Do you have some other purpose beyond delivering lilacs?”

“I've just come from Sibley & Moffett.”

“Our solicitors?”

He nodded. “I am bringing charges of fraud and professional sabotage against Emil Nepommuck. They will be serving papers later today.”

“I had hoped you would change your mind since we last spoke.” Mrs. Higgins was not pleased. “This will play out in the papers, not just in the courts. Nepommuck will not take these charges lightly. Some of his clients move in circles close to 10 Downing Street. And numerous friends reported to me that the Dowager Marchioness of Gresham announced her engagement to him Sunday at her charity garden party.”

“Pickering passed on the ridiculous news.” His smile grew even more devilish. “Rarely have I been happier to hear some lunatic couple decided to wed. Ah, to be there when that worm learns he has lost Lady Gresham's fortune along with his students, and what is left of his reputation.”

“Henry, try to be reasonable for once in your exasperating life. Is it really worth all this trouble and expense just to strike back at him for stealing Eliza away?”

“He did not steal that urchin away. She went to him, cap in hand, begging for a job. And with my teaching methods in her purse.”

She put up a hand. “I refuse to sit through this litany again. My hearing has only now recovered from the hours of shouting you subjected me to on your last visit.”

“You don't think I am going to let that hairy hog publicly take credit for my work, do you? Eliza Doolittle is my creation. No one else's.”

“Eliza is her own creation, Henry. You simply provided the tools and the opportunity. A year ago she was fighting to survive in the East End. Now she's instructing businessmen and mill owners' wives on how to speak proper English. In less than a year! Give her credit for talent and intelligence. It wasn't only your vocal exercises.”

“Damnation. Why does everyone take that girl's side against me?”

Mrs. Higgins sighed. “No tantrums, dear. You are much too old for that to be attractive.”

“Well, I am not going to let those bald-faced lies continue in the paper.” Henry paused. “I've responded in kind.”

“Should I plan a six-month tour of the Continent so I can avoid the uproar?”

“No, you must stay here. I am sure that a court deposition will be taken from everyone who witnessed how Pickering and I turned that Covent Garden turnip into a lady.” He grinned. “What a lark it will be exposing that pompous Hungarian. Let's see how many students he has after Sibley, Moffett, and I are done with him.”