With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  “Lost your interest in cinema, have you?” Sir Anthony remarked. “Don’t know how. Beautiful young actresses like Miss Marlowe would seem to be attraction enough. Who cares about patents when pretty girls decorate the screen?”

  Lily pointed her fork at Sir Anthony. “Actresses are also talented. Unless you think any old person can be dragged in front of a camera and move an audience to tears or laughter. I’d like to see you try, Mr. Explorer. You’d be as lost in front of the camera as you were in that jungle.”

  Higgins and Eliza burst into laughter. Freddy snatched up Lily’s hand, which still clutched the fork, and kissed it. But she pulled away.

  “Enough, honey. Let a girl finish her dinner.”

  Pentwater raised his wine glass. “That should teach everyone not to mess with anyone from Brooklyn.”

  She finally smiled and exchanged a knowing look with Pentwater, which aroused Higgins’s curiosity further. Sir Anthony resumed eating, muttering under his breath.

  “This dinner is pretty swell, Baron Ashmore,” Pentwater said. “Only I was hoping to see game hen on the table.”

  Higgins thought someone should have told Pentwater that the correct way to address his host was ‘Lord Ashmore’. Although rich American businessmen probably cared as little about such things as former Cockney flower sellers did.

  “The shooting begins tomorrow,” Richard replied. “We’ll be after hares. Later in the week, we’ll take to the fields for grouse and pheasant. Our dinners will include whatever we bag during the day.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Pentwater said. “Always did like pheasant.”

  Count Rudolf pushed his empty plate away. A footman quickly removed it. “A shame we are not on my estate in Bavaria. This is the season for hunting stag.”

  “These English country house shoots are famous for the number of kills,” the American said. “I look forward to bagging more game than you gents.”

  Higgins let his attention wander while the conversation dwelt on bagging birds and skinning deer. An unappetizing dinner table subject. He didn’t perk up again until he heard a comment by Richard Ashmore.

  “—about that cricketer being killed. Samuel Cody’s floatplane broke up over Hampshire,” Richard was saying to Philippe Corbet. Higgins turned to hear more.

  “Flying aeroplanes does seem a risky endeavor,” Lady Annabel said.

  “Every new technology has its problems,” Pentwater said. “People forget there were plenty of boiler explosions when trains first began to run.”

  “Cody hoped to win the five thousand pound prize in the Daily Mail race that day,” Richard said. “He’d flown his bi-plane several times without any trouble.”

  “I wonder if the craft had a structural weakness,” Sir Anthony mused.

  “C’est possible. No matter how careful we are, la situation cannot always be controlled. The worst does happen.” Corbet bowed his head. “So it was with Henri Vennard. His plane fails off the coast of France, between Calais and Dieppe. I am sorry to say mon ami s’est noye. My friend drowns.”

  “How horrible,” Eliza said. “Didn’t your friend know how to swim?”

  “Mais oui, but one must survive the crash before one can swim to safety.” He paused. “The aeroplane breaks into many pieces.”

  “And no one found his body?” Eliza asked.

  “Non,” Corbet said stiffly. “Many ships went searching. Nothing is found.”Higgins tried to recall anything he’d read about this accident. “Was the weather a factor? Storms come up fast as lightning over the sea.”

  “It is not the weather. Henri’s aeroplane fails him.” His expression grew grim. “Or rather, the men who manufacture the aeroplane. They are responsible.”

  “Lots of people have a hand in building trains, motorcars and aeroplanes,” Pentwater said. “Hard to figure out exactly who’s to blame if something goes wrong.”

  “Sometimes.” Philippe drained his wine. “Other times it is not difficult at all.”

  Footmen delivering dishes of apple crumbles, a variety of cheddar and other cheeses, plus savarins with Chantilly cream, interrupted this somber conversation. This was followed by iced plates topped with tiny glass cups of pink sherbet shaped like a rose. Trays of fruit and nuts finished the dessert course.

  “Delicious,” Lady Annabel said, although she’d barely touched any of the desserts. “An exquisite dinner, Lady Ashmore.”

  “Thank you.” Clara sounded forlorn.

  The countess rose to her feet. “If the ladies will join me for coffee in the drawing room, we’ll leave the gentlemen to their after dinner conversation.”

  Lady Annabel did as requested, followed by the other women. Freddy looked like an abandoned puppy when Lily left. Higgins almost expected him to whimper.

  Count Rudolf signaled for brandy and cigars, but Higgins refused to smoke. He preferred his pipe, a comfortable armchair, and wittier companions. Instead, Higgins nursed his brandy while the others discussed the unrest in Ireland and the recently approved Army Expansion bill in Germany – which the count supported, and the others opposed.

  Something about a stolen ancient artifact caught his ear. Philippe Corbet flicked ash from his cigar. “Whoever this thief is—”

  “There’s been no confirmation that the tip of the spear was stolen,” Count Rudolf said, “but if true, it must be returned immediately.”

  Richard chuckled. “About as likely as finding the Holy Grail.”

  “The whole thing sounds made up.” Pentwater laughed. “I’ve certainly never heard of this so-called Holy Lance.”

  “I have,” Higgins said. Everyone seemed startled. It was the first thing he’d said since brandy and cigars were served. “It’s also known as the Spear of Destiny and the Spear of Longinus.”

  “Who is this Longinus?” Philippe asked.

  “Legend claims one of the Roman centurions at the crucifixion of Jesus was called Longinus. He was the soldier who pierced the side of Jesus with his lance. The lance is said to still be in existence.”

  “My father was a lover of ancient history, so I heard this story as a boy,” Richard said. “I dreamed of finding the spear one day and presenting it to the Crown.” He laughed. “Savior of the country and all that.”

  Pentwater shook his head. “I’m still stumped.”

  “Some people believe whoever is in possession of the Sword of Longinus will rule the world,” Higgins explained. “That’s why it’s also referred to as the Spear of Destiny. Of course the lance is no longer in one piece.” He shrugged. “After all, it would be nearly two thousand years old. And subjected to a lot of wear and tear during that time.” Higgins took a sip of brandy. “I only know this because I had a classics teacher at Eton with a whimsical turn of mind.”

  “Are you saying this ancient lance is still floating around?” Pentwater asked.

  “Pieces of it,” the count said. “In Rome, Vienna, the Holy Land.”

  Sir Anthony snickered. “With enough pieces spread about, dozens of countries could rule the world.”

  “One needs the entire spear for such a thing to occur,” the count said.

  “There are other legendary objects rumored to confer power,” Richard informed them. “The sword of Excalibur, the Golden Fleece, the cross of Charlemagne, David’s Harp.”

  The count and Sir Anthony now returned the conversation to politics, specifically the intransigence of Montenegro in the Balkans. Higgins yawned and glanced at the clock. Only half past nine, but he was ready for bed. He stood, prompting a restless Freddy to also rise to his feet.

  “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me,” Higgins said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Already?” Richard asked. “But I forget you are recuperating. I envy you. The rest of us will soon discover what parlor games my wife and sister have planned for our entertainment.”

  “I hear the piano.” Freddy looked like he was about to swoon. “That must be Lily singing. Isn’t she marvelous? I think she sounds as good a
s Ada Crossley.”

  Sir Anthony and Richard raised their eyebrows at that. Miss Crossley was one of the most gifted singers of the age. Higgins quickly exited the dining room before Freddy subjected them to more insane drivel about Lily. He also looked forward to the peace and quiet of his bed. But after climbing the stairs, he let out a yowl as his foot hit a narrow table along the hallway’s wall.

  “Professor, is that you?” Eliza stuck her head out of one of the bedrooms. She had changed into her favorite dressing gown, the one with the Oriental print. Her long hair now hung in a braid down her back.

  He gritted his teeth while the pain in his stubbed toe subsided. “Why aren’t you with the others in the drawing room?”

  “As if I want to listen to Lily Marlowe sing for the next hour, then watch her dance the turkey trot with Freddy. I brought lots of fashion magazines to read this week. Along with a marvelous new novel called The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu. I need to relax after being at your beck and call since the accident. Although I feel bad that Sybil is still playing nursemaid to Jack. I hope his leg heals soon.”

  “I hope my arm heals quickly too, because it’s giving me fits.” Higgins squinted at the oak door. “What’s the name of the bedroom they put you in. I’m in Mallard.”

  “Mine’s Sparrow. I don’t know why all these bedrooms are named after birds. There’s not a single thing involving birds inside.”

  “Some baronial birdbrain probably came up with the idea.”

  “What about the hunt? You can’t possibly shoot with your arm in a sling.”

  “I’ll decide in the morning. For now I need to collapse into bed. Good night.”

  Higgins lurched past her, heading to the end of the hall. When he reached the Mallard bedroom, Higgins twisted the brass knob with a relieved sigh. Luckily, a footman had unpacked his luggage.

  He groped for the light switch, but couldn’t find it. Higgins fumbled his way to the wardrobe in the dark and found his dressing gown. He struggled out of his sling and tweed coat, loosened his tie and undid his shirt collar. Before he could don his dressing gown, a whooshing sound startled him, as if a match had been struck. Candlelight suddenly glowed behind him. Next, he heard linens rustling. He slowly turned.

  Annabel smiled coyly from the middle of the enormous four-poster bed, looking comfortable under the bedcovers. She nestled against the feather pillows plumped against the massive headboard. Her coppery hair tumbled over one bare shoulder.

  “High time you arrived, Henry. I hoped you would retire early.”

  “Have you lost your bloody mind, woman?” Afraid Sir Anthony would find his wife in Higgins’s bed, he pointed to the door. “Get your clothes on and leave. Now! Before your husband discovers you are not where you belong.”

  “Is that all you’re worried about?”

  “Madame, you are trying my patience. Go.”

  “I don’t see why I should. My husband will not be looking for me.” She laughed softly. “You ought to see how funny your eyes look. As if they’re ready to pop out of the sockets, but surely you’ve seen a woman in your bed.”

  Anger now rose in him. “If you don’t leave of your own volition, I shall physically throw you out of that bed.”

  “I’d like to see you try with a broken arm,” she replied in a purring tone, “Henry, be a sport and let’s have some fun. But silly me. I should have realized you need help undressing with that arm of yours.” Annabel slid out of bed, letting the covers fall behind her. The woman was stark naked!

  Higgins flattened himself against the wardrobe. If her husband chose to come looking for his wife . . .

  Cursing under his breath, he fled into the hallway and rushed to Eliza’s room. Higgins pounded against the carving of two birds on a branch. Eliza flung the door open.

  “What is it now?” She looked exasperated. “Don’t tell me there’s another fire.”

  “You must come deal with her. I cannot. She is simply impossible. Found her in my bed, naked as Lady Godiva. Her husband may come upstairs any moment, and that red-haired madwoman refuses to leave. Eliza, you must throw Lady Annabel out.”

  Eliza doubled over with laughter.

  “Quiet. I don’t want anyone else to hear us. And this isn’t funny.”

  She tried to get her laughter under control. “Actually, it is.”

  “Eliza, please.” Higgins wasn’t often heartfelt or reduced to begging for favors. But he’d get down on his knees if it would do the trick.

  “Blimey, you are upset.” Eliza patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”

  Tightening the belt on her dressing gown, Eliza marched down to his bedroom. He followed a few paces behind. When they entered his room, Lady Annabel was once more languishing beneath the covers. She looked stunned to see Eliza.

  “Miss Doolittle, what are you doing here?”

  Eliza braced her hands on her hips. “Lord, love a duck! You ’ave nerve, Lady Annabel, I’ll give you that. And no shame bein’ in yer Adam and Eve’s togs, to boot!”

  “You assured me that you and Henry weren’t an item,” she hissed. Higgins peered over Eliza’s shoulder.

  “And so we ain’t,” Eliza retorted. “That doesn’t mean you can come waltzin’ into any gent’s bed like some Whitechapel light-skirt. You’re off yer chump, you are. Now listen, ’cause I’ll not be sayin’ it twice. He don’t want you, Lady A. That should be clear as mud.”

  “But it was the countess’s idea to put me right across the hall—”

  “Save it. I’m bettin’ you asked her to do that ten minutes after you got here. Now move yer bloomin’ arse and find yer own bed.”

  “I won’t!”

  “Think you got ’im by the bollocks, do you?” Eliza took her by the wrist and pulled her off the bed. Lady Annabel let out a shriek.

  “Keep quiet or you’ll have everyone up here,” Higgins warned, his nerves strained to the breaking point.

  Eliza snatched the woman’s clothing from a reclining chair. “Take these and get out. Now! Otherwise I’ll be callin’ Professor Higgins’s friend at the Times. I’m thinking he’d like a juicy bit of gossip about a famous explorer’s wife.”

  Lady Annabel bit her lip. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.” Eliza gestured towards the door. “Now use yer loaf and get along with you. Go on. Toodle pip!”

  With her clothes clutched to her chest, Lady Annabel ran out of the room. Higgins held his breath until he heard a door slam.

  He finally relaxed. “You’re a wonder, Eliza. What would I do without you?”

  “In this instance, I believe you would have been at the mercy of Lady Annabel.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Although I do admit it was fun to act like a proper Cockney cabbage again.”

  “More like an improper one.” Higgins shot her a grateful smile.

  “Go to sleep. You need it. You also need a little light in here.” Eliza walked to the night table and switched on the lamp. “Lord, she even lit candles for you. Lady Annabel seems a hopeless romantic.”

  “Hopeless, for certain.” Higgins sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted. “I could sleep for days, but now I’ll have to rise at dawn.”

  “Why?”

  Higgins looked at her in disbelief. “You don’t think I can stay behind while the men go off shooting? Not with Lady Annabel in the house.”

  “Be careful and try not to get shot.” She laughed again. “But knowing you, you’d prefer that to facing a love-struck Lady Annabel again.”

  “You know me too well, Eliza.” He sighed. “Too well.”

  9

  For the first time in her life, Eliza regretted not being a married woman. The sentiment had nothing to do with romance. The talkative maid sent to dress her hair this morning informed Eliza that married ladies were not expected to come down to breakfast at country house parties. Instead, they stayed warm and cozy beneath the covers as toast and tea were served to them in bed. But
unmarried women had to get themselves to the breakfast room between nine and half past ten. And the only other unmarried female guest at Banfield Manor was Lily Marlowe.

  Eliza gritted her teeth at the prospect of sharing a meal with the woman who was now the object of Freddy’s rabid attention. And what if Freddy had preferred to stay with Lily instead of joining the hunting party? That prospect sank her spirits further. Glancing out the windows as she walked through the drawing room, she noticed the skies matched her gray and dank mood.

  Higgins probably felt worse. After discovering Annabel in his bed, he chose to watch men shoot furry animals rather than remain behind with the ladies – especially that lady.

  Eliza heard Lily give a tinkling laugh, echoed by a much deeper one. So Freddy was here. Pasting a smile on her face, Eliza breezed into the breakfast room. She welcomed the warmth from the fire crackling in the fireplace along the far wall. Banfield Manor held almost as many drafty corners as it did rooms. She suspected the manor house grew as chilly in winter as her shabby Angel Court flat where she’d lived during her flower selling days.

  Lily and Freddy sat at the table, heads bent together as if sharing some private joke. They were so caught up with each other, they didn’t even see her.

  Eliza took one of the plates stacked on the oak sideboard. Her stomach growled at the sight of kippered herring, toast, curried eggs, sliced ham, fried bacon, mushrooms, cranberry muffins, and tea cakes. Embossed trays held pears, apples and grapes artfully arranged. A silver coffee urn sat on an adjacent tiered table, the aroma of fresh coffee permeating the air. While Lily and Freddy continued their whispered conversation, Eliza heaped food upon her plate, certain today would try both her stamina and her patience.

  A footman standing at attention near the window cleared his throat. “If you require tea or hot cocoa, miss, it can be brought up.”