With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  “Yes, yes. However, Jack isn’t the only one who’s uncomfortable, you know.”

  Trying to ignore his grumbling, Eliza turned her attention to the papers scattered on top of the filing cabinet. Hadn’t she predicted the roadster would continue to bring bad luck? And that was before she realized Higgins drove even worse than her dad. She felt far more sympathy for Jack, his reluctant passenger in the car. And now look at her poor cousin. Because he couldn’t climb stairs, Jack’s broken leg and collarbone had confined him to the parlor where she normally taught her students.

  She missed giving lessons, too. Being taught how to speak correctly had transformed her life. It gave her pleasure to do the same for others. But with her teaching space turned over to Jack – and Higgins’s incessant demands – she had no opportunity to work. Accustomed to the intense rigors of police work, Jack was even more frustrated with his idle status than Higgins and Eliza. Thank heaven it was Sybil, Jack’s wife, who was responsible for his care.

  As though she knew Eliza had been thinking about her, Sybil hurried into the room. She wore a frustrated expression familiar to Eliza. “Is the Times here? Jack’s read through every paper this morning, including The Police Gazette and The Suffragist. If I can’t find more reading material to distract him, he’ll start describing the Professor’s driving skills. I can’t listen to that litany of woe again.” She glanced at Higgins. “Sorry.”

  Higgins frowned. “I expect he’ll be wheeled in here soon, so I can receive my daily dose of guilt.”

  “I’m afraid that’s true.” Sybil tucked in her white blouse, then straightened the belt on her teal blue skirt. “I’ve finished shaving him. His fractured collarbone doesn’t allow much freedom of movement.”

  “Sybil, you know how damnably sorry I am,” Higgins began.

  She waved him away. “The accident wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s not what Eliza thinks.”

  Eliza looked up from the filing cabinet. “You were driving too fast.”

  “The fault lies in whoever left the wagon in the road.” Sybil spotted the rolled up Times on the piano. “And I’m grateful you offered Jack and me a home while he recovers. Our new lodgings won’t be vacant for another week, and our old flat is on the fourth floor. Without a lift, I don’t know how we would have gotten Jack up there. We owe you our thanks, Professor.”

  “I’m only glad the gentlemen’s bathroom is on the first floor here.”

  “Amen to that,” Sybil said with a laugh.

  A loud shriek resounded through the house, followed by two trilling calls.

  “Oh no! That peacock is probably after Jack’s scones again. He snatches it right out of his hand.”

  “Percy may take it right from his mouth.” Eliza chuckled. “I’ve seen him do it. He’s fond of scones and cake.”

  “Get this bird off my lap!” Jack yelled from down the hall.

  Eliza and Sybil ran out of the room. By the time they reached the parlor where Jack’s bedroom had been set up, Percy had gotten his scone. The bird swept past the two women as they arrived. He left a line of crumbs in his path.

  Jack looked like he wanted to bolt out of his wheeled chair and pursue the thief. “By heaven, that peacock is nimbler than the Artful Dodger.”

  “Percy does love his cake,” Eliza said as she looked closely at her cousin. His skin appeared pasty and his thick black hair needed a trim, but thankfully Sybil had removed two days’ growth of stubble on his jowls. A light blanket covered his plastered leg. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not a whit,” he growled. “How can I sleep with my shoulder on fire?”

  “If you’d take your medicine, you’d sleep like a proverbial babe,” Sybil reminded him.

  “Gives me headaches! I won’t.”

  A shame the Shaw marriage was being tested so early. Indeed, their wedding day had been disrupted when someone shot at the bridal party. Jack had been lucky to survive the attack. This was followed two months later by the motorcar crash. Fortunately, both Jack and Sybil were level-headed, mature people who deeply cared for one another. Still, it was more than most newlywed couples weathered.

  “How about some treacle pudding?” Eliza picked up the bowl from the tray Mrs. Pearce had delivered earlier. “Remember how Aunt Marie used to nip a bottle of treacle from Mr. Ardle’s shop when we all lived on Chancery Lane? She never did get caught. Auntie was even quicker then Percy.”

  Sybil kissed Jack’s brow. “Have a bite while I read to you about the arrest of those bank robbers on Fleet Street. That will cheer you up.”

  He dutifully spooned up some of the treat as she opened the Times. “Any word on the accident?” Jack asked. “Has a witness come forward about that wagon?”

  “I’m afraid not. Now enjoy your pudding.” Eliza collected an armful of towels and linen and shut the door, giving them privacy.

  Eliza considered Jack’s question. No one had any idea why an abandoned wagon had been left in the middle of the road that day. Seemed most irresponsible. It might have proved deadly had another car been speeding along behind them. Instead, a brougham filled with churchgoers came upon the accident from the opposite direction. They were the ones who brought help, and comforted Jack and Higgins as they lay injured. Eliza got the family’s address from the police and sent them an enormous basket of flowers from Covent Garden. At Christmas she’d have a fruitcake delivered to the family as well.

  However, no one had come forward with information. This didn’t surprise the police. Being a Sunday morning, dutiful Christians were at church; less dutiful ones were still asleep or enjoying a late breakfast. Even on a weekday, that road saw little traffic. And the trees from Wandsworth Park largely hid the road from view.

  Eliza had no time to worry about it. What she did worry about was Higgins’s intention to drive again. Wasn’t one brush with disaster enough? After the accident, the unlucky car had been towed to the Scotland Yard garage. Jack insisted their mechanics were among the best in London. He included in that group his younger partner, Detective Colin Ramsey, who came from a family of mechanics. Eliza hoped Ramsey declared the car unfit to drive again. Perhaps she could bribe him. If not, she wondered how difficult it would be to set a motorcar on fire.

  4

  Colonel Pickering stopped Eliza in the hallway later that day. “Another tantrum is about to ensue,” he told her. “Higgins can’t find the buttonhook. His arm is itching inside the plaster.”

  “I’ve no idea where it is. And don’t ask the servants.” She sent him a warning look. “They’re itching as well. But to leave.”

  With a resigned expressions, Pickering returned to the drawing room. Eliza did not follow him. She had just spoken with Cook about dinner, and for one brief wonderful moment, she had nothing to do.

  If only she dared leave the house. Eliza missed her weekly trips to the cinema and the shops on Oxford Street. And it had been almost two weeks since she visited the stables where her racehorse was kept. Instead, her only excursions had been to the local chemist for pain medication and liniment. Dismal.

  Things had to improve soon. Eliza regretted inviting her cousin to recover at Wimpole Street, even though she welcomed Sybil’s company. Caring for two short-tempered men plagued by boredom had grown wearisome. Maybe she could snatch a few minutes of peace on the front steps or take a stroll down the street. It was warm enough that she needn’t retrieve a jacket.

  On the way out, she passed the hall table where the morning post had been placed. She’d already given today’s mail to Higgins, but a fancy envelope sat propped against a yellow vase. Eliza picked it up, admiring once more the gold-embellished, black inked letters swirled over the vellum. Clara had sent this invitation to her two days ago. If only she could attend the week-long house party. Lord and Lady Ashmore cordially invite you to Banfield Manor on Monday, the thirteenth of October… Eliza sighed.

  With a grateful smile, Eliza stepped onto the small front porch. She welcomed the sun on her face and
the sound of motorcars driving up Wimpole Street. Because the house felt stuffy, she left the door open to let in some fresh air. Also she could hear if Higgins began to harass the servants. Eliza glanced down at the vellum card.

  “Reading the party invitation again?” Colonel Pickering stood behind her in the open entrance. “You really should attend, Eliza. It will do you good.”

  “I thought you were looking for the button hook.”

  “Higgins has the entire staff searching for it. They’ve begun to turn over cushions and look under the carpet.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And don’t change the subject.”

  “I’d love to go to the house party. The invitation says there will even be a fox hunt. And a hunt ball! But I can’t.”

  “Why ever not? Clara’s your friend and it’s the first house party she will give as the new baroness. You ought to attend.”

  “And leave poor Mrs. Pearce and Sybil with two irascible monsters?” Eliza shook her head sadly. “I couldn’t.”

  “Eliza, you need a holiday. After all, I can escape to my club. You’ve worked harder than anyone here since the accident. Take the time for a bit of fun and relaxation. You’re twenty, not sixty. I insist you get away.”

  How tempting. She’d enjoyed her last visit to Banfield Manor for Clara’s wedding. Except for that part where a murderer attacked her. But the beautiful mansion was filled with artwork and servants and the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in. Also her sweetheart, Freddy Eynsford-Hill, was already there. Indeed, he’d been spending all his time at Banfield Manor since Clara and Richard returned from their honeymoon. Eliza thought he enjoyed his younger sister’s new elevated status even more than Clara did.

  “Higgins will be out of that plaster cast in no time,” Colonel Pickering went on. “Despite his complaints, the injury is not serious. And Jack has a wife to tend to him.”

  “But the Professor will be in an even worse mood if I leave.” She brightened at a sudden thought. “What if he comes, too? Both our names are on the invitation. And I could bring Percy with us. I’m sure he’d love to see his peacock friends again.”

  Pickering looked doubtful. “Higgins has never seemed overly fond of Clara and Freddy.”

  “Banfield Manor is so huge, he never has to set eyes on them.”

  A black motorcar drove past, diverting Eliza’s attention. She strained to see inside the closed car, but the driver remained hidden behind goggles and a cap covering their hair.

  “Is something wrong, Eliza?” Pickering asked.

  The motorcar disappeared around the next corner. “The black car that just went by. I swear, the same one has driven up and down Wimpole Street every day for a week. Several times a day, too. It always goes slow, as though the driver is looking for something. Once I saw it parked down the street with the driver in it.” Eliza shivered. “I can’t help feeling he’s watching this house.”

  His expression turned wary. “That’s disquieting.”

  “I hope it isn’t a criminal with a grudge against Scotland Yard. Or against one particular Scotland Yard detective. Think of all the nasty people Jack has helped put away. What if one of them wants revenge? Or one of their dangerous cronies do?”

  “You should tell Jack.”

  Eliza shook her head. “My cousin has broken bones to deal with, and Sybil has to deal with Jack. My worries about a black car will make things worse. Besides, I have no proof of anything. It could be a jealous husband spying on his wife.”

  “But if you think this person is watching this house. . .”

  She thought about the garage at Scotland Yard and the men repairing Higgins’s car. “The Professor asked me to ring Detective Ramsey. What if I invite him to Sunday dinner tomorrow? I’ll find a moment alone to mention the black car to him.”

  “Higgins should like that. He’ll have a chance to talk about his roadster.”

  “And Jack will be happy to see him, too.” Eliza didn’t mention that Ramsey’s presence would also please her. Even though she and Freddy were a couple, Eliza was not immune to the appeal of another young man. A bit of flirting might lighten her mood.

  “Where is that button hook?” Higgins shouted from inside. “If I can’t get at this scratch, I shall rip this cast off with my teeth! Just see if I don’t!”

  “Oh my,” Pickering said. “I’m afraid he may actually do that.”

  “Damnation!” Higgins yelled, followed by the sound of a loud crash. “Bloody hell!”

  Pickering left to assess the damage.

  With a last look at the sun-filled street, Eliza slowly shut the door. House parties, fox hunts, and mysterious black cars had to wait. For now, attention must be paid to Higgins’s latest temper tantrum. But things needed to change soon. Or else Eliza would lose her patience – and her sanity.

  Higgins banged his knee on the bedpost and cursed. Blasted dressing gown. Why couldn’t he tie a simple knot one-handed? Bad enough he’d lost to Jack at chess this afternoon. Yesterday, actually. In the moonlight, he noted the bedside alarm clock. Nearly three. It maddened him to be up so early in the morning. But he’d been too restless to sleep long. He blamed his sore body and his idle days.

  If he didn’t resume teaching soon, Higgins feared he might alienate everyone in the household, including Pickering. Mrs. Pearce had warned him they might even lose staff if he didn’t ‘put a lid on the boiling pot.’ That was the last thing he wanted, but idleness and pain kept him in a foul mood.

  His arm beneath the plaster cast began to itch again. And that miserable button hook remained missing. He wouldn’t be surprised if Eliza’s bloody peacock had made off with it. Higgins’s itchy skin soured his mood even more. Only tea would help.

  The small lamp left on in the stairwell helped Higgins make his way to the ground floor. He snuck past the closed door to the parlor, careful not to wake Jack and Sybil. The sound of Jack’s snores mingled with the usual creaks and noises from the house. Outside, Higgins heard the clopping hooves from a hansom cab horse, and then a motorcar drive past. Big Ben’s three chimes reminded him of the lateness of the hour.

  He entered the kitchen and switched on the light. Thankfully, no one had been alerted to his presence, especially that peacock. Percy often slept in the small back garden, but he’d been known to spend the night somewhere in the house depending on his mood. Higgins did wonder where Percy was at the moment.

  As usual, the door to the back garden had been left slightly ajar, which meant Percy was probably outside. Eliza insisted on this in case Percy wanted to come in. This decision appalled Cook and Mrs. Pearce, who warned that any number of mice could now make their way into the house as well.

  “I don’t care about mice,” Higgins muttered, “but the door stays closed come winter. I’m not paying for extra coal just so that infernal bird can traipse about at will.”

  He fiddled with the cook stove until a flame appeared, then filled the kettle. Higgins fetched a teacup and tea tin. Once his brew had steeped, he carried his cup upstairs.

  After settling into his bedside armchair, he sipped with a sigh. The glow of a nearby lamp illuminated the book he managed to prop open. Before too long, Higgins dozed off, his tea forgotten on the table beside him.

  An ungodly shriek woke him. He sat bolt upright.

  A series of piercing shrieks rang out from downstairs. What the devil was the matter with that bird? Had Percy become injured? Confused, Higgins looked about his bedroom. Maybe he was dreaming all this.

  Footsteps ran past his door, accompanied by shouts. He lurched to his feet as Eliza burst into the room.

  “Professor, we have to get out!”

  “Get out? What are you talking about?”

  Pickering stuck his head in “The kitchen is on fire! I’m going to make certain all the servants leave the house. Hurry, both of you!”

  Eliza shoved Higgins into the hallway and down the stairs. Not only did he smell smoke, his eyes began to water. Percy strutted near the front door. His shriek
s and cries grew even louder, no doubt prodded by the loud bells now clanging in the street.

  Mrs. Pearce took Higgins by his uninjured arm and ushered him outside. Eliza and Sybil, supporting Jack between them, were a few steps behind. The fire brigade rushed past, and thick smoke poured out of the kitchen door to choke them all. A fireman helped them outside and across the street to safety. Eliza and Sybil coughed, trying to clear their lungs.

  “Where’s Percy!” Eliza cried suddenly. “Why didn’t he follow us? After he made sure we all left, I bet he went to the back garden. I must get him. He saved our lives!” She sprinted across the street, then around the ironwork fence to the side gate.

  “Eliza, come back!” Higgins ran after her. Flames and black smoke billowed from the ground floor windows. He watched Eliza race to the garden’s corner and gather the peacock into her arms. She then ran lopsided, the bird’s feathers trailing her, to the gate. Higgins pulled her to safety, cursing under his breath.

  Tears filled Eliza’s eyes. “He’s done it once again. Saved my life. Saved all our lives, he did! If he hadn’t made so much noise, we would have slept while the fire burned the house down around us. What a good bird. Yes, you are, you precious darling.”

  Higgins wondered again if this was all a dream. If so, it was a bloody loud one.

  Residents of the neighborhood, along with their servants, now watched the brigade’s efforts to put out the fire. Maids in caps and dressing gowns gossiped with footmen, despite one wearing only his nightshirt; Mrs. Pearce wagged tongues with the housekeeper next door.

  Dressed in a flannel robe, Jack leaned on his crutches, his plastered leg propped on the curb. A shocked Sybil stood beside him, watching the flames. Higgins and Eliza joined Colonel Pickering, who seemed the calmest of anyone. Meanwhile, Percy stretched his neck over Eliza’s shoulder and crowed in the chill night air.