Wouldn't It Be Deadly

by D. E. Ireland

  “Henry, if our Eliza wishes to make an honest man of Mr. Eynsford Hill, then we should support her,” Pickering said.

  “No doubt financially as well.”

  “I’ll make my own way, Professor, as I always have. I wouldn’t take a shilling from you, even if I have to go back to Tottenham Court Road with me blooming flowers.”

  “I believe you owe me more than a shilling. Your father demanded five pounds from me last year, otherwise he threatened to remove you from Wimpole Street.”

  Eliza glared at him. “Don’t drag my father into this. I’ve known him to try to sell everything from a barrow of old clothes to an actual building off Bishopsgate. None of which he actually owned. I’m not surprised he tried to shake you down. More fool you for giving him so much as a halfpenny.”

  Higgins shrugged. “You came cheap. I offered to give him ten.”

  “I’ll pay you back your blasted five pounds as soon as we get out of here.”

  “I’d prefer you work it off as my assistant,” he said with a grin. “It’s the least you can do after running off to teach for that dishonest Hungarian.”

  Eliza didn’t know if Higgins was serious about taking her on as his assistant. The prospect of working with him did tempt her. But if he was teasing, she’d box him about the ears, she would. “I have to talk about this with Freddy first. He has his heart set on having a shop.”

  “Oh, hang such girlish nonsense. I thought you learned to think for yourself. You are my handiwork, Eliza, and I don’t fancy my efforts being wasted on a fellow with the brains of a bilious pigeon.”

  “Henry, really,” Pickering protested.

  Furious, Eliza snatched off one of her shoes and flung it at Higgins’s head. He ducked at the last second and it bounced off the window. “You’re nothing but a bullying monster. And I’ll throw my other shoe at you if you say one more insulting thing about Freddy!”

  “I believe you owe Miss Doolittle an apology, Professor,” Redstone said.

  “For what? Speaking the truth about that boy with the floppy hair and insipid prattle? By the way, I engineered their first meeting at my mother’s when we were training Eliza to enter society. Of course, I get little thanks for that.”

  Eliza stood to face him. “You weren’t the one to introduce Freddy and me. I met him the same time I first laid eyes on you, at Covent Garden that rainy night.”

  Higgins beamed, obviously pleased. “Just so. You did meet Freddy that night, while trying to harangue him into buying your violets. But he had no recollection of it because you were just a squashed cabbage leaf of a girl who called every man ‘Freddy.’ He left that night without a backward glance at you. While I left you with the correct impression that I could better your life. Else why did you turn up on my doorstep the next day, asking for lessons?”

  Eliza sat back down. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “You must hate me a great deal of the time then.” Higgins tossed her shoe back and Eliza caught it.

  “Don’t know why I’m trying so hard to prove your innocence. I should let Scotland Yard drag you off to prison.”

  “If they did, Eliza, you’d miss me.”

  That she would. Drat the man, but sometimes she felt he knew her better than anyone else. And there was no one she trusted more than Higgins. Not even the Colonel. It was true that she’d met Freddy at Covent Garden the same night Higgins scared her by writing down her Cockney speech. But Freddy didn’t recognize her weeks later when he and his family were invited for tea at Mrs. Higgins’s. All he saw then was a young woman, cleaned up and dressed like she had been born with an “Honorable” before her name. Of course, Freddy knew all about her past now, but he thought her transformation from poor Cockney girl to Belgrave Square lady was an amusing lark. He didn’t understand how difficult her life had been, or how damnably hard she had worked to better it.

  Maybe that was why she found Freddy endearing. He was such an innocent, and he loved her so much. Eliza couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else. And if she wanted to support him while he enjoyed a life of leisure, it was no one’s concern but her own. But no matter how she decided to make her living, it would be best to wait until Cornelius Finch’s double-murder trial was over.

  Jack must be dancing on air right now. Surely he’d be given a commendation for solving the case so soon. Pride swelled in her bosom for her cousin. As if in answer to her thoughts, Jack hurried into the office. Lines of worry creased his forehead. Her high spirits tumbled at his troubled gaze.

  “What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?” Eliza asked.

  “Trouble, that’s what. You won’t like the news, either.”

  “But you’ve solved the Maestro’s murder.”

  “Not exactly, Lizzie.”

  Higgins moved closer to the center of the room, while Redstone and Pickering both got to their feet.

  “Is he refusing to talk to the police?” Pickering asked.

  “Oh, Finch refused to cooperate at first, but we managed to change his mind. He’s still in the interrogation room in fact. He did confess to his wife’s murder.”

  “What about Nepommuck’s murder?”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry, Professor, but Finch claims he did not kill Emil Nepommuck. And he has an alibi.”

  “What?” Eliza exchanged shocked looks with Higgins. “Finch admitted killing her and he had the best motive to kill the Maestro as well.”

  “Maybe so, but his alibi is airtight.”

  “Alibi? By George, if that man has an airtight alibi, then I’m the King of Bohemia,” Higgins said.

  “There’s your crown then, Professor.” Jack pointed at a set of handcuffs on his desk. “We’ve spent the day checking his story. It appears he is telling the truth.”

  “That can’t be,” Eliza said, dismayed beyond belief. “Finch had the perfect reason to want him dead. And he showed that he’s capable of murder. Jack, he must have killed the Maestro. He must.”

  Her cousin shook his head. “According to Finch, he took the train from London to Leeds the day before the murder. We could gather hundreds of people as witnesses. We’ve already talked to some of them. At his woolen factories, at King’s Cross station—half a dozen reliable people verified seeing him at his factory office on the morning of the murder. He spent the rest of the day in Leeds before returning.”

  “Then what about Mary Finch?” she asked. “Perhaps she stayed here while Cornelius went to Leeds. She was very upset that the Maestro was marrying another woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed him.”

  “Finch claims his wife was with him in Leeds.” Jack shrugged. “And even if she wasn’t, I don’t see how she could have killed Nepommuck given the force of the wound. Most women wouldn’t have the strength to deliver such a blow.”

  “Unless she had good reason,” Eliza said. “Jack, it had to be one of the Finches who killed him.”

  Jack sighed. “I’ll have the detectives question the witnesses we have on record about whether they saw Mrs. Finch at King’s Cross and on the train. But don’t get your hopes up. Chances are the Finches went back to Leeds together. Especially if she was that upset.”

  “Damnation,” Higgins said. “I regret the day I ever agreed to teach that infuriating Hungarian.”

  “What should we do now, Inspector?” Pickering asked. “Can we go home?”

  “Not quite yet. It seems that Mr. Finch has something he would like to say.” Jack paused. “To Professor Higgins.”

  * * *

  Higgins followed Jack out into the hall. Eliza kept step with them, her chin jutting out defiantly. Even though Jack insisted that Finch wanted to speak only with Higgins, she wouldn’t hear of them leaving her behind. And Higgins was glad of her company. He needed to be reminded that someone believed in his innocence.

  The busy hallways were filled with uniformed police and a dizzying variety of Londoners, some victims of a crime, others the likely perpetrators. Just walking along the corridors, Higgins hear
d at least a dozen fascinating dialects amid the cacophony. If only circumstances were different, how instructive this setting would be. He frowned. No doubt he’d be privy to an even wider variety of speakers if and when he ever found himself in prison.

  They followed the inspector down a narrow hall until they reached a door, one all too familiar. Higgins had spent hours being interrogated in that room. Jack poked his head inside, spoke a few hushed words, and then stepped back. Detective Hollaway emerged, letting the door shut behind him. He avoided glancing in Eliza’s direction.

  “Finch clammed up again, sir. Not about his wife, but about Nepommuck,” Hollaway said. “Can’t get him to confess no matter how much I tried to convince him.”

  “I won’t have any of that, Detective,” Jack said in a sharp voice. “He has witnesses who verify his innocence in the Nepommuck murder.”

  Hollaway flushed. “But sir, he did kill the lady. Don’t see why we’re treating him so gentle.”

  “Mr. Finch has not been brought to trial yet. When he does, he may very well get off. Or have you forgotten that he’s a rich man? I can assure you, whenever you cross a man of means, you are likely to regret it. Stop playing the bully boy and get to work.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hollaway was so eager to get away, he nearly broke into a run.

  Jack shook his head. “Bloody idiot. He’s fool enough to cuff a duke about the head if he had the chance.”

  “I’d like to think the police treated everyone fairly, duke or dustman,” Eliza said. “Unfortunately I know that isn’t the case.”

  Jack gently touched the bruise behind Eliza’s ear. “I’m sorry about that, Lizzie.”

  Higgins cleared his throat. “May I see Finch now? I’d like to get this over with.”

  After he opened the door, Jack allowed Eliza to enter the room first. The businessman was slumped in a chair at the table.

  “Here’s the Professor.” Jack stood against the far wall. “But whatever you want to say to him, you’ll have to say in front of me as well.”

  Surprise registered on Cornelius Finch’s face at the sight of Eliza. “Miss Doolittle. I didn’t expect you to be the one to discover my wife’s body. My apologies if I upset you.”

  “I’ve been upset since finding the first body.” Eliza sat across from him.

  He nodded. “Ah yes, the Hungarian. I forgot you’d found that body, too.”

  Higgins sat down beside her. “I hope there are no more bodies after this.”

  “I can only be blamed for one of them,” Finch said. “I was in Leeds with Mary the day Nepommuck was killed.”

  This close to Finch, he could see a bruise had formed on his cheek. Higgins frowned. No one dared touch him when he was brought in for questioning. And he didn’t see the need for any roughhousing now, especially if the man had confessed to one of the murders. Pickering told him one of the detectives by the name of Grint had struck Eliza. If Higgins saw that man outside of the Yard, he’d give him a bruised face and maybe a broken bone or two to go along with it.

  “Why did you do it, Mr. Finch?” Eliza said in a soft voice, as if they were in danger of being overheard. “Why did you kill Mary?”

  “I had good reason.” He looked as exhausted as he sounded. “As well you know.”

  “I know the Maestro had a talent for seducing ladies. He even tried on occasion with me.”

  Higgins stiffened. This was the first he had heard of it.

  “I watched him play the romantic swain with a dozen or more of his pupils,” she continued. “Sometimes, they couldn’t resist. His being an aristocrat and all.”

  “You resisted, Miss Doolittle. Mary should have done likewise.”

  Jack leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Higgins wondered how many times the Inspector had listened to a murderer’s words.

  “I’m sure Mary meant no real harm. You two were quite happy when I first met you. And she seemed to love you so.”

  “I loved her, too,” Finch said. “How could a man not love Mary? She was the prettiest girl in west Yorkshire. Ask anyone. She was a bit of a flirt, though. That always was a worry for me, seeing as how men liked to flirt with her as well. How could they not, looking as she did. Like a little golden bird, that’s how I thought of her. How fitting she took on the name of Finch. And when the money started coming in, I could finally afford to buy her the fancy things she’d always wanted. It made her even more beautiful.”

  Higgins hadn’t thought Mary Finch a particularly attractive woman, but then he had no patience for empty-headed ladies who cared about nothing except fashion and flattery.

  “Beautiful enough that Nepommuck had to have her.” Finch’s voice grew hard. “Oh, I knew he was a poncy fellow, with no regard for decent hardworking people like us. But he was a good teacher. I’ll give the blighter that much. He had Mary and me sounding like gentry.”

  “How long did you take lessons from him?” Higgins asked.

  “Three months. We were almost done. That’s the joke in all this. He said we only needed a few more weeks of instruction. I thought it would remain a harmless flirtation until then. I was glad when you began working for him, Miss Doolittle. I insisted that Mary finish her lessons with you. I hoped things wouldn’t get out of hand. But I was wrong.”

  “Perhaps it did remain a flirtation.”

  Finch let out a harsh laugh. “I can’t believe you were as blind and stupid as I was. Oh, I suspected Mary had taken a strong fancy to the bloke, but I didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t know the whole truth until that garden party she dragged me to. I didn’t want to go. I’d already learned how to speak proper. I didn’t like being forced to show off what that bloody Hungarian taught me. Mary insisted, though.”

  “Yes,” Eliza murmured. “She was keen to attend.”

  “Keen? She was desperate to see Nepommuck and tell him she was carrying his child.” Finch pounded the table with his fist. “Bloody whore! That’s what she was. Can’t deny it now.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t your child?” Eliza asked.

  “We’ve been married ten years, Miss Doolittle. How many children do you think we have? None. We went to doctors, too many doctors. Seems the problem lies with me, and I won’t go further than that, seeing how you’re a lady.”

  “So you didn’t know the whole truth until the garden party?” Higgins asked.

  Finch ran his fingers through his hair, as if he wanted to tear it out in frustration. “She took bad at that party. You saw her, Miss Doolittle. Running through the crowd, yelling at the top of her lungs, begging for a second’s notice from a man who had just announced his engagement to another woman. Bloody nightmare, what with all the swells watching us. And then the butler had to carry her off the lawn. She was so hysterical, I called a doctor.”

  “Is that when you learned about the child?” Eliza asked.

  He nodded. “She’d been muttering about a child all the way home, but it was the doctor who confirmed it. Hell, he even congratulated me!” Finch pounded the table again. “And how do you think that felt? I’d wanted a son since I married the girl. And now I learn some nasty foreigner fathered the child I wanted for ten years.” He turned to Higgins. “Do you blame me? Would any man blame me?”

  Higgins only stared back at him. It would be futile to explain wounded pride was no justification for murder.

  “I wonder that you waited so many days to kill her,” Eliza said quietly. “Seeing how upset you were.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I loved the woman. Don’t you understand that? God help me, I love her still. I felt gutted, destroyed. It took days just to process the truth, and the whole time she was weeping and wailing with grief, like a bleeding widow.”

  “Seeing how upset Mary was about Nepommuck’s engagement, perhaps she was the one who…” Eliza’s voice trailed off.

  “What? You think Mary killed him?” His laughter had a horrible sound. “She would never have harmed a hair on that devil’s head. Oh, she
might have stuck a knife in the Marchioness, but never the Hungarian. She was talking so crazy, in fact, that I worried about her hurting Lady Gresham. When I had to go to Leeds on business, I forced her to come with me. She fought me tooth and nail. But I couldn’t let her stay in London after making a spectacle of herself at the party.”

  “Then you were both in Leeds the day of the murder?” Higgins asked.

  “We heard the news in the papers about him being stabbed, and Mary had another knockdown fit. She created such a ruckus while we were in Leeds that I gave in to her demand that we return to London. We have family and friends in Leeds, and there’s only so much humiliation a fellow can tolerate.”

  “Indeed.” If Higgins ever had a moment’s doubt about the perils of matrimony, these last few minutes dispelled it.

  Jack finally spoke up. “Did Nepommuck threaten either you or your wife with blackmail?”

  Finch shook his head. “He’d have no cause to blackmail me. Mary perhaps, but she never admitted to it. Sure, she played fast and loose with her pin money. I never kept track of what she spent. Mary did love to shop. She squawked on and on about your wardrobe, Miss Doolittle, enough to make me sick.”

  Eliza knew that was true, given Mary’s obsession with every fashionable article she wore from Whiteleys and Harrods. “She may have given her lover blackmail money.”

  “I can’t say for sure. She seems to have given him everything else.”

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Finch. You were enraged to learn your wife had been unfaithful and was carrying another man’s child. But you left her unharmed for over a week. Why did you decide to kill her when you did?”

  “The shock finally wore off, Miss Doolittle. I was beginning to feel something besides pain and humiliation. And she never stopped carrying on for the man, never stopped weeping and sobbing, falling to the floor, talking to his ghost in the middle of the night.”

  “She sounds a bit mad,” Higgins said.

  “I think we both went a little mad.” Finch sat silent a moment. “This morning was worse than ever. It appears today was that devil’s birthday. And she was grieving as if she hadn’t already cried an ocean’s worth of tears. I didn’t know what to do. I was near the end of my patience, and maybe my sanity. When I went to get dressed, I’d left Mary weeping on the couch. But when I came out, she was gone.” His face hardened. “I knew exactly where she went.”