With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  “Please shuffle the cards,” she said in a soft voice. “They may tell you there is no need to remain sad. Although I believe it is time you learn that men can be inconstant.”

  “Looks like I’ve had that lesson.” Eliza regarded her with interest. “You can read my future with playing cards?”

  “These are Tarot cards. The information gleaned from a reading can help you in decision making. While you shuffle the cards, think of a simple but important question. But do not tell me what is in your mind until I am finished with the reading.”

  Eliza picked up the deck. “There’s more than fifty-two playing cards here.”

  “Seventy-eight in number. They are not playing cards. Each has a meaning and a reversal. You will see once I do the reading. When you finish shuffling, hand me the first six cards. Or choose any six out of the deck.”

  After Eliza followed her instructions, the medium placed the first of the six cards she’d chosen in the table’s center and arranged the others around them in a pattern. Evangeline turned them over and studied them for several minutes before tapping the middle card.

  “This represents you – the Querent, or one who questions. Temperance refers to the soul, and you see the angel mixing water as if blending energies. But I believe this card represents a tempering, like metal which forges anew.” She held up her hand when Eliza started to speak. “Do not interrupt. We will discuss afterward.”

  Eliza’s excitement grew. She did feel as if she’d been hammered at a forge. Professor Higgins’s laboratory, in fact. Forged into a new person. She’d left the Cockney East End flower seller behind, along with poverty and hunger, to become a lady. How extraordinary to be able summarize her life in one card!

  “This card, the Four of Cups, represents the Earth element of stability and also security,” the woman added, her voice soft. “The Four of Cups may point to a longing for change, a restlessness you feel. But see here. In the Air element position is the Queen of Swords. Your feminine side. That shows independence and non-reliance upon others. Perhaps it is advising you to leave sentimental attachments behind.”

  Madame Evangeline tapped the next card. “In the Fire element position, which can both create and destroy, is the Ace of Wands. Hmm. Trust your instincts, Miss Doolittle. You may need to spring into action at a crucial moment. But here, for the Water element, is the Two of Swords. It reflects conflicting ideas. Mixed signals.”

  Eliza suddenly thought of the fickle Mr. Eynsford Hill.

  Evangeline touched the next card. “Wait until the time is ripe. Be patient. And the last position, Spirit, is the Six of Wands. You shall celebrate a victory, earning respect from someone important.” She tore her attention from the cards and looked at Eliza. “Now, what was your original question?”

  “Will there be another suitor in my future? Someone more worthy of romance, I mean. You said men are inconstant. Are they all inconstant?”

  “No. And this last card indicates a victory in winning a better man’s heart.” She smiled. “A promising future, Miss Doolittle.”

  “Thank you. But it doesn’t clear up what you said at breakfast. About how a murderer waited in the forest. And it came true.”

  “I do not remember saying such a thing. I never do. Only I am not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.” Madame Evangeline gathered up her cards.

  Eliza nodded at the Tarot deck. “How will I know if any of this will come true?”

  “Pay attention to everything and everyone around you. Look for signs. The cards are open to more than one interpretation, as are the events of our lives.”

  “Excuse me. What’s this?” Lily appeared at their table in a swirl of blue silk, her trademark scent of lily of the valley accompanying her.

  “Are you reading the Tarot cards for Eliza?” Lily asked with an excited smile. “I once had my fortune told in Coney Island. Could you read the cards for me next?”

  Madame Evangeline stood up. “I never give more than one reading at a time. And the cards still bear the imprint from Miss Doolittle. Tomorrow will be better.” She quickly hid the Tarot deck in her lace and silk bag.

  Disappointed, Lily turned her attention to Eliza. “If you tell me what she told you, I’ll tell you what the gypsy fortune teller in Coney Island said.” She laughed. “Although the woman sounded like she came from Bushwick, New York, not Romany.”

  “Excuse me. It’s been a tiring day. My energy is nearly gone. I must retire.” Madame Evangeline nodded gravely, then left the room.

  “A bit of a crepe hanger, that one,” Lily said. “A real looker though. She’d do well in the movies. The camera loves actors with big eyes. Only hers are a little scary, don’t you think?”

  Eliza had to agree. Even scarier was the presence of a ghostly child in the room. And who knew how many other ghosts were floating around the house? Maybe Dwight Pentwater was now one of them.

  She needed to think of something else. “I believe I will sing,” she announced.

  Higgins looked up from his book with a puzzled expression.

  Clara clapped her hands in delight. “The Racehorse Rag, please.”

  Eliza walked over to the piano. She’d sing a dozen songs for them tonight. If it took her mind off dead bodies and ghosts, she’d bloody well give them a music hall performance. Because if Madame Evangeline’s prediction about a murder in the forest was true, the murderer was in the room with them right now.

  11

  “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Higgins declared when he saw Eliza the next morning.

  “Shh.” Eliza scanned the empty hallway with a nervous expression. “We don’t want to attract their attention. Madame Evangeline saw the ghost of a child by the fireplace in the music room. She says ghosts are all over the house. One of them woke her up the other night.”

  Higgins snorted. “Lucky her. I’d rather have a ghost disturb my sleep than Lady Annabel. I’d even welcome three of them, like Ebenezer Scrooge.”

  “Don’t joke. I believe her.” Clutching her shawl tight about her, she whispered, “What if Mr. Pentwater is a ghost now? He could be around the corner, listening to us.”

  “If he’s eavesdropping on this conversation, the afterlife is duller than I imagined.” Higgins pointed in the direction of the breakfast room. “Can we discuss ghosts while having our coffee and poached eggs?”

  “I’m not hungry. You go ahead. I’ll wait in the library.”

  Ignoring his rumbling stomach, he followed her. Luckily, the library’s floor to ceiling windows provided much needed light on such a rainy morning. The only other illumination came from the coal fireplace where Eliza now stood, warming her hands.

  “If you’re not hungry, the Apocalypse is imminent. What the dickens is the matter?”

  “That should be obvious,” Eliza replied. “Madame Evangeline told me someone was about to be murdered in the forest. And she was right.”

  “Not again. The fact that it came true probably surprised her as well. It’s like the old saying, ‘even a stopped clock is right twice a day’.”

  “This has nothing to do with broken clocks. She sensed someone was about to be murdered and it happened. Don’t pretend I’m not right. You should be ashamed of yourself for not agreeing with me when the police were here.” She shook her head. “We failed.”

  “Failed at what? And why are you shivering? Every room in this mausoleum has a blazing fire.” Higgins looked at her fringed paisley shawl. “The only time I’ve seen you wear that Indian shawl Pickering gave you is in the dead of winter. It’s nowhere near that cold now.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Eliza shivered again, despite the heat radiating from the coal grate. “And don’t use words like mausoleum and dead.”

  With a resigned sigh, Higgins chose a seat on a brown leather settee. It gave him an excellent view of the raindrops streaming down the windows. Only an hour ago, he’d been awakened by a torrential downpour, but it had slowed to a shower. He suspected the rain would cease soon, lea
ving only gray skies and a chill wind. Foul weather for a hunting party week.

  “What’s this all about? How have we failed?”

  “On the day we arrived, Madame Evangeline warned that death and darkness surrounded the house and only we could stop it.” Eliza abandoned the warmth of the fireplace and walked over to him. “But we didn’t stop it. Mr. Pentwater is dead.”

  “Eliza, listen to me. Madame Evangeline is a fraud. A predatory spiritualist who lines her pockets by telling the fortunes of gullible, rich people.”

  “I’m neither rich nor gullible. She foretold a death. It came true. Unless you believe Mr. Pentwater’s death was an accident.”

  Higgins stretched out his long legs. “Please remember how thick the fog was. And hundreds of bullets were flying about. Although, I do agree it looks a bit suspicious. He was shot as soon as I left his side, almost as if someone waited until I was out of the way.”

  “Exactly. The murderer probably followed Pentwater through the fog until the perfect moment. I only wish Madame Evangeline had told me earlier. By the time she did, it was too late. She said I couldn’t prevent the death. It was destiny.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Now the death and disaster were fated? I guess Madame Evangeline changed her mind about how we were the only ones who could avert it.”

  Eliza sat down beside him. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. But I’ve been so anxious since she told me about the ghosts. I kept the covers over my head all night. I barely slept.”

  “You do look rather awful.” Higgins now noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  “I can’t stop thinking about what Madame Evangeline told me. Ghosts are everywhere. She also said people sensitive to the presence of spirits often feel cold when they’re around.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve felt cold from the moment I set foot in this house,” she wailed. “They’re probably following me. What if they start to appear? I shall go stark raving balmy if they do.”

  “And I’ll go balmy if we stay here a moment longer.” Higgins readjusted the sling about his left arm. “I knew this visit would turn nightmarish the moment I saw Lady Annabel.”

  “How do you think I feel having to watch Freddy throw himself at a cinema actress?”

  “The boy’s made a complete fool of himself.” Higgins had never thought much of Freddy Eynsford Hill, but the chap’s behavior the past two days had exceeded even his low expectations. “Freddy’s done everything but serenade Miss Marlowe outside her window. Although he’ll probably do that tonight. Right after he bays at the moon.”

  Eliza’s expression turned stubborn. “I don’t care what he does any longer. Yes, he hurt my feelings, I’ll not deny that. But Freddy’s been a nuisance for months, always begging me to marry him. And he flew into an awful temper each time I said I wasn’t ready. It will be a relief to not have him badger me.” She sighed. “I’ll miss him though. He was my first sweetheart.”

  Higgins grunted. “You can do better. As for Pentwater, let the police decide if it was murder or not. It’s nothing to do with us. That’s why I’ve already packed.”

  “Poor Clara. Once the police give their approval, I’m sure her guests will leave.”

  “As should we. Life will be calmer for us at my mother’s flat in Chelsea. No ghosts there. Only a cook with a talent for steak and kidney pie.” Higgins looked at the shelves of books lining the room. Two wooden ladders stood propped against the wall, an aid to the top shelves which reached to the fresco painted ceiling. “A pity. Under normal circumstance, I might have welcomed my stay here, especially with a library such as this to explore. Except for the hunting. Bloody useless activity unless one is a character in a James Fenimore Cooper novel.”

  “Speaking of novels, have you read any of the ones Lady Annabel has written?”

  “I struggled through several. I wanted to understand the byzantine workings of her brain. It left me further convinced I needed to stay clear of her.”

  “What exactly happened between the two of you?” she asked. “Is it a scandalous tale?”

  “Maddening, but not scandalous. Seven years ago my Universal Alphabet was about to be published overseas. The publisher threw a reception at the Criterion in London to celebrate. Not just my book. Four other authors had books scheduled for release, too.”

  “Including Lady Annabel?”

  “Yes. I think it was the latest in what they call her ‘sensation’ novels: The Daring Sin of Julia. Or something like that. She was known as Mrs. Annabel Taggart then, the widow of some wretched fellow who died a year earlier.”

  “Why was he wretched?”

  “From all accounts, he became mired in debt and drank himself to death. I believe the only thing keeping them afloat financially were her novels.”

  Eliza looked puzzled. “But why did Lady Annabel take such a fancy to you?”

  “Ask her why she pursued me up and down the length of England. I went on a lecture tour and that bloody woman turned up at every stop for three months. I had to flee the country like a felon. I spent five tedious weeks traveling through Switzerland. Deadly dull people, the Swiss. The only worthwhile things they’ve ever produced are cuckoo clocks and chocolate.”

  “What happened to Lady Annabel?”

  “When I finally dared return to England, my publisher informed me she had embarked on a speaking tour of America. Her novels always did create excitement, proving that one should never underestimate the taste level of the reading public.”

  “Was she in America long?”

  “Long enough for me to put the lurid escapade out of my mind. For all I know, she spent years there. I’ve no idea. I certainly wasn’t aware she had married Sir Anthony Dennison.”

  Eliza sat up, excited. “Maybe she knew Pentwater while she was in America.”

  “They gave no sign of it at dinner.”

  “If she had a reason to murder him, she might pretend not to know him.”

  “But why would Pentwater pretend not to know her?” he asked.

  “For the same reason. Lily, too. She doesn’t sound truthful when she claims that she barely knew Pentwater. I think both women are hiding something. We need to look into this.”

  “You need to get some sleep.” Higgins stood up. “And I need coffee and breakfast.”

  “Someone deliberately shot Pentwater yesterday.” Eliza got to her feet, too. “Someone filled with anger and fury, according to Madame Evangeline. And the murderer was in the forest with all of you. I doubt it was a gamekeeper or any of his men. That leaves the guests.”

  Higgins’s stomach growled once more. He had no wish to become involved in another murder investigation. At least not until after he had eaten a proper breakfast. Besides, this past year he’d seen enough dead bodies. But he found it hard to ignore Eliza’s pleading gaze.

  “Who do you think is the prime suspect?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind the murderer being the count or the countess. They’re so disagreeable, like sausage gone bad. Plus Clara would be thrilled if that awful pair weren’t around.”

  “How about the Frenchman? Unless you believe handsome men are always innocent.”

  “Oh, no. Philippe Corbet is a suspect along with the other guests. Except for Freddy, of course. Philippe acted cold to Pentwater at dinner, didn’t you think? Especially when he brought up the death of his friend. The one whose aeroplane crashed.”

  Higgins decided her instincts could well be correct. “Let’s wait until we return to London. I have a cousin who works at the Times. I’ll ring him up and ask him to look into this dead French aviator. See if there’s any connection to Dwight Pentwater.”

  “I believe I can save you the phone call, Herr Higgins.” A figure stood in the doorway.

  Even in the dim morning light, Higgins spied the gleam of medals pinned to the man’s jacket. He wondered how long Count Rudolf had been listening to them.

  Eliza whis
pered, “Do you think he heard me compare him to spoiled sausage?”

  Higgins nodded, then pointed to a chair. “Perhaps you could enlighten us, count.”

  Instead of taking a seat, Count Rudolf walked over to a large terrestrial globe attached to a walnut pedestal. He stood beside the globe as though posing for a portrait, one arm held behind his back. “We do not have time for a lengthy conversation. I actually came in search of you and Fräulein Doolittle. The local police have returned and wish to speak with all of us again.”

  “Have they learned anything important about Mr. Pentwater?” Eliza asked.

  “That I have not been told. But it seems likely, otherwise why would I be asked to gather the guests. Neither of you appeared for breakfast. It is fortunate I heard your voices.” He scowled at them. No doubt he’d overheard their whole conversation.

  “You mentioned you could save me that phone call to the Times,” Higgins reminded him. “How? All we know about Philippe’s friend is that his name was Henri Vennard and that he died in an aeroplane crash two years ago.”

  “We wondered if Pentwater was involved somehow,” Eliza said.

  “Herr Pentwater involved himself in many things. Some less successful than others. One of his failures was Argo, a company which made parts for aeroplanes.” The count spun the globe. “Pentwater made unwise decisions. And he schneiden Sie finanziell ab. How do you say? He cut corners where financing was concerned.”

  “Does that mean some of those machine parts were defective?” Higgins said.

  “Ja. Three aeroplanes built with those parts made emergency landings. A fourth aeroplane crashed. The one Henri Vennard was flying.” He abruptly stopped the spinning globe. “Vennard was a man much respected and liked. Of course his death would be looked into. When the results of the investigation became known, Argo ceased operation.”

  Eliza looked thoughtful. “It’s possible Philippe blames Pentwater for Henri’s death.”