Eliza sighed. “All right, I’ll come round this morning. But it may take me some time to get to Wapping.”
“Nah, we’ve moved up in the world. We ain’t in Wapping no more.”
She memorized the directions he gave and the address. Wasn’t that in Pimlico? What were they doing there? After her father nattered on for a good five minutes about how easy this newfangled telephone was to use, compared with the old days of finding a boy to send a message and pay him a halfpenny, Eliza finally rung off in relief.
As soon as she hung up, Eliza had second thoughts about the visit. She didn’t relish seeing Rose Cleary. Her father claimed respectability had transformed Rose from a bullying harridan to a meek housewife. Unicorns trotting down Oxford Street would be easier to believe.
An hour later, Eliza emerged from the tube station in Pimlico. The day threatened rain again, and she set off along Belgrave Road through a fine mist. She glanced around at the white stucco terraces lining the road. Her father had moved up in the world, all thanks to Professor Higgins. On the day Eliza visited 27A Wimpole Street to ask for speech lessons, Alfred Doolittle came banging on the door soon after to shake Higgins down for a few quid. Not only did he get his five-pound note, the Professor had been so amused by the dustman’s gift of gab that he mentioned him to an American millionaire. Although Higgins did this as a joke, the wealthy Ezra D. Wannafeller thought an articulate Cockney dustman sounded like the perfect person to work for the Wannafeller Reform Moral Societies. And when Mr. Wannafeller died, he left Alfred Doolittle an annuity of three thousand pounds if he would lecture for his Moral Reform League six times a year. Now her father was a respectable gentleman with the money—if not the manners—to prove it.
Finally spotting the correct address, she crossed the street. “Would you look at that?” she said aloud. “Flowers in the window and polished railings on the stoop.”
Eliza couldn’t help admiring the pristine house with its narrow portico and colorful mass of pansies planted in window boxes. This house had cost her father a pretty penny. She lifted the heavy brass knocker shaped like a horse’s head and rapped three times.
A parlor maid in black with a crisp white apron and cap opened the door. “Yes, miss?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Doolittle. I’m his daughter.”
The maid led her through a hallway covered in gold-and-white striped wallpaper and into the large parlor. The familiar smell of boiled cabbage and corned beef wafted through the house. Even with a windfall of three thousand a year, her father had apparently not developed a taste for mint jelly and capon.
The parlor also reassured her that newfound wealth hadn’t resulted in either her father or her stepmother acquiring good taste. The crowded room was crammed full of tapestries, paintings of horses, potted ferns, and plush velvet furniture. Whatnot shelves stood in every corner filled with ceramic vases and souvenirs. And framed family photographs were scattered on every possible surface. While Eliza didn’t recognize any of the people in the photos, she did notice a distinct resemblance to Rose Cleary. She frowned when she caught sight of the framed marriage certificate propped against a carved statue of an Indian elephant.
From upstairs came the sound of a slammed door and shrill voices. More noises and footsteps rippled above the parlor. She swore she heard a baby’s muffled wail. Had the entire Cleary family emigrated from Ireland and taken up residence here in Pimlico?
Eliza leaned out of the doorway and peeked up the carpeted stairs. Two small heads stared back at her between the topmost banister’s spindles and then vanished. A moment later her father appeared at the top of the stairs. Despite his age, he had more energy than an Eton boy and nearly galloped down the steps. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to get dressed. Instead he sported a tattered plaid robe over his trousers. He hadn’t shaved yet, either, and his eyes looked bleary. Even three thousand a year couldn’t change some things.
“Well, well, my girl, high time you got here.” He charged past her into the parlor.
“You never mentioned moving out of Wapping the last time I saw you,” Eliza said as he sat back in a large velvet wingback chair.
“Ah, your stepmother rooked me into buying this place. Ain’t it a beaut, though? We’re movin’ up in the world, that we are.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him this area of Pimlico was on its way downward in terms of the fashionable neighborhoods. Still, it was a damn sight better than the rundown streets of Wapping.
“Why is there a photograph on the mantel of a horse and jockey?”
“Noticed that, did you? That’s the sire of the horse I bought,” he said, puffed with pride. “All his offspring have been winners, and so will the Donegal Dancer. Thought the name was a bit of luck, too, since your mum was from Donegal. That little colt is sure to beat the rest of the field at Ascot. Wait and see if I’m right.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. First a house and now a racehorse! Oh well, it wasn’t any skin off her nose. Let him waste his money at the races while Rose filled these rooms with lavish knickknacks. Before too long they’d have to make do on a budget—or head back to Wapping. Her father spotted a decanter on a side table and rose to pour a glass of water. She suspected the water might be gin.
“Money can be a terrible burden, Eliza. Here I am tied hand and foot, and the ropes tightening every day.” He took a hefty swig and sighed. “Me wife’s family moved in lock, stock, and barrel. Her nephew and his family are stuffed in the attic, and her brother and sister-in-law in the spare bedroom. Blimey, there ain’t no room left for the rats, although some of those Clearys could pass for ’em.”
“I haven’t heard from you in months, Dad. I near fainted from shock when you called me today.”
He returned to the armchair. “You’re my daughter. Why shouldn’t I call you? Wonder what your mum would think of you now, all gussied up like a lady. She’d be proud as a peacock, I wager.”
“I wish that were true.” Eliza sighed. “I also wish I could remember her.”
“You were barely three when she passed. No reason you should remember.”
Eliza sat down on a settee. “What did Mum die from again? You once told me it was a fever that took her, but Aunt Maud said it was the croup.”
“I didn’t call you here to talk about your mother. It’s about the Governor what put me in this muddle. That Professor of yours.” He tossed back another swig, and then wiped his mouth. “Wish now I’d never shown up on his doorstep, I do. That was the end of my free and easy life, the day I asked him for five quid.”
“You can’t blame Professor Higgins for giving you what you asked for.”
“Well, I never asked him to send my name to that rich American bloke, did I? Now I’m one of the blasted middle class, and it’s a sorry state to be in.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his robe pocket and blew his nose. “Then I hears about you and all the messy business you’re in, so what’s a father to do, I asks ya!”
“What are you talking about?” Eliza resented his sudden interest in her welfare. He had never worried about her before. “I’m not involved in any messy business.”
“You telling me you ain’t involved in that murder business with the Hungarian?”
“It’s hardly my fault that my employer was killed. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing, is it? Are you knackers? Come on, girl. I read the papers. You know as well as I do that the Governor ain’t above taking a rival down. Who’s to say he didn’t stab that foreign bloke in the back?”
“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 i
nto 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 wh
at 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.
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