With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  Count Rudolf let out an exasperated breath. “Maybe that is how much this séance will cost us.”

  “Could we please bring this to en end?” the countess asked in a shaky voice. “I find none of this amusing.”

  “We still haven’t learned who killed Pentwater,” Freddy reminded her.

  “Who cares about that dreadful man?” the countess cried. “We are fools to waste a minute more on his life or death.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Higgins said.

  “Let Madame continue.” Philippe glowered at everyone.

  Evangeline took a sharp breath. “The gold of the great king. The king who unites many.” Her voice had once more turned low and masculine. “A talisman of gold. It passes – like power – through many hands. The payment is high. In blood. And war. But it gives power, too.”

  “What does this have to do with Pentwater?” Freddy seemed bored now.

  “What is hidden shall be found,” she continued in such a slow voice, Eliza feared she would soon stop. “And there the danger lies.”

  Eliza now glimpsed something over the medium’s head, a pale strange substance that shimmered, almost dancing in the air. As it dipped toward Evangeline’s head, Higgins broke free of the medium’s hands. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed hold of whatever it was. In response, Evangeline fell off her chair in a noisy tumble.

  All the candles guttered out, sending the room into pitch darkness. The only sounds were Clara and Lily’s screams.

  “Gauze! I knew it,” Higgins said in a triumphant voice.

  Someone turned the electric lights on, revealing Higgins waving a thin material.

  Eliza stared in shock. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a common trick used by mediums,” he told her. “This ghostly looking material was attached to a thin filament of fishing line. Her bodyguard must have hidden it up in the chandelier and rigged it so he could lower the fabric at the proper time.” He snatched up the red feather. “And I bet he lowered another filament to make this move.”

  Zoltan Batur stomped over to them. “I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Madame, Madame! Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” Philippe knelt beside Evangeline.

  Batur shoved him aside. “Don’t touch her! Get away. Give her room to breathe.”

  She stirred and sat up. “What happened?”

  “You conveniently fainted,” Higgins replied. “You probably planned to swallow this gauze and then pretend to regurgitate it. I believe this is called ectoplasm in your trade.”

  “Madame is not a trickster,” Philippe protested. “You must not say such things.”

  “What gauze are you talking about?” Evangeline appeared startled when Higgins held up the bit of fabric. “I have never seen that before—oh!”

  “Here we go again,” he muttered as the medium began to thrash, struggling against both Philippe and Batur. “Blast and damn.”

  Everyone gathered around the trio crouched on the hard parquet floor. Evangeline actually foamed at the mouth; Higgins guessed that Batur must have broken open an ampule of something to give her that physical effect, a clever ploy to distract her audience.

  As he suspected, the séance was no more than fraudulent dramatics. Melodramatics, given the extremes to which Madame Evangeline was willing to go in her tricks. During the séance, Higgins had heard faint footsteps behind his chair. No doubt when Zoltan Batur snuck around the room to tug at the nearly invisible fishing line.

  He also guessed that when the medium manipulated their hands around the table, it acted as a diversion for Batur to create a ghostly breeze and lift the red feather.

  “I don’t know whether this woman is having a seizure or acting,” Lady Annabel said in indignation. “Whatever it is, I demand you stop it this instant, Mr. Batur.” She kicked him to get his attention.

  Batur threw her a surly glance. “I have seen this before. She recovers quickly.” He paused. “Unless there are people nearby who have evil in their hearts.”

  “My patience is at an end with this nonsense.” Annabel turned to her husband. “Let us retire, my dear. Things have become too grisly.”

  Sir Anthony ushered his wife out of the room, but not before throwing everyone a look of seething contempt. The countess hurried after them. Higgins thought she might be weeping, but that made no sense.

  Clara wrung her hands as she watched Evangeline slowly revive. “We should ring for Baxter. Ask him for water or brandy.”

  “I shall find a pitcher of cold water.” A concerned Philippe quickly left.

  “Brandy might help Madame feel better,” Batur said. “So will one of my tisanes.”

  Lily perked up. “I’m keen for some brandy myself. Freddy and I will go to the drawing room and bring back a snifter for her.” She and Freddy hurried out.

  “Will Madame Evangeline be all right?” Richard asked Batur.

  “Yes. But she is exhausted after such exertions.” He looked down with love at the woman cradled in his arms. “When her strength returns, she may explain what the Cardinal revealed.”

  “I can figure it out for myself,” Higgins said. “Your employer uncovered a few secrets about the guests here. And her trances allowed her to throw out hints of these secrets. Spare me your outraged looks, Batur. The pair of you are frauds.”

  “You know nothing,” Batur snarled.

  “I agree with you, Herr Higgins,” Count Rudolf said stoutly. “And I am ashamed my brother-in-law thought such people were suitable for polite company.” After the customary click of his heels, the count left the room.

  “Excuse me,” Richard said with irritation. “I need to have a word with Rudolf.”

  “I’d best go with you,” Clara told him. “Your quarrel may turn into fisticuffs and I don’t want to miss that.”

  Higgins shook his head in resignation after they left. “The Drury Lane Theater witnesses less drama than this house.”

  Eliza laughed. “Not always.” She no doubt recalled the explosive climax she and a murderer had presented at that very theater this past spring.

  Evangeline moaned again. “I’m fine now, Zoltan,” she said. “Please help me stand.”

  Eliza assisted the bodyguard in getting the medium back on her feet. She appeared tired, but calm. Higgins judged her a superb actress, one of the best he’d seen.

  “I recall that you waved something at me, Professor Higgins.” She leaned against Batur. “You called it ectoplasm. But I assure you that ectoplasm looks nothing like that.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t put a lot of faith in your assurances.”

  “He’s a skeptic,” Eliza said, “but he hasn’t yet seen the truth of your gifts.”

  “Barbarian,” Batur muttered.

  “Shh, Zoltan. He simply does not understand the great mysteries.”

  Eliza’s face creased in a wide smile. “Just like in Hamlet, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Act One, Scene Five.”

  Higgins groaned. “I curse the chap who gave you a copy of that play.”

  Evangeline gave him a penetrating look. “You believe in curses then?”

  “Absolutely not.” He paused. “But if this house party gets any worse, I may start believing in them.”

  15

  Higgins looked over his shoulder as he went downstairs for breakfast. Not for ghosts. He left that sort of idiocy to Eliza. Instead, he searched for any sign Madame Evangeline and her exotic manservant might be lurking in a corner.

  The medium’s revelations yesterday left him convinced she and Zoltan Batur had spied on the guests before their arrival. Evangeline’s network of informers could be spread around the world. She was, after all, a highly sought medium invited into the homes of Europe’s privileged classes. He blamed this public interest on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s well known fascination with spiritualism. Some said the author of Sherlock Holmes even believed in thought transference.

  Higgins had no faith in telepathy or tal
kative spirits. But he did believe Evangeline came to her séances armed with information about everyone at the table. How else could she have known Pentwater abandoned Sir Anthony in the jungle? Along with the reference to a manuscript being burned in a fire. From the reaction of Lady Annabel, he assumed this related to some painful event in her past. What troubled him more were the hints during the séance that she had investigated Higgins.

  He needed to talk this over with Eliza. Before coming downstairs, he knocked on her bedroom door; there was no answer. A peek inside revealed an unmade canopy bed but no occupant. Eliza’s ravenous appetite had probably led her to the breakfast sideboard. As he approached the breakfast room, he was met with the clatter of silver against plates. But only Richard, Philippe, and the count sat at the table. None of the men spoke while they ate.

  Higgins retreated before anyone spotted him. No matter how much he wanted coffee and eggs, he had no desire to sit down with that taciturn trio.

  Uncertain, he paused in the library. Maybe he should wait here until Eliza showed up. Then again, she might be upstairs in Clara’s bedroom, giving endless sympathy to the overwhelmed baroness. And the windows revealed a sunny morning. Their enforced stay –combined with foul weather – made Banfield Manor seem more confining than Wandsworth Prison. But it looked like the rain and brisk winds had disappeared. A walk might do him good.

  On the way to the front entrance, Higgins passed the butler walking in the opposite direction. In his hand he held a salver tray with a stack of mail on it.

  “Good morning, sir. Off for a walk, are we? It’s a splendid day for it.”

  “Good to hear. By the way, have you seen Miss Doolittle?”

  “Yes, sir. She went out riding over an hour ago.”

  “Riding? As in horses?”

  “I believe so. The young lady wore a riding costume.”

  When did Eliza learn how to ride? Confused, Higgins nodded. “Thank you, Baxter.”

  He headed for the stables, curious as to why he’d never heard of Eliza’s equestrian endeavors. Cockney urchins who sold fruit and flowers in the street weren’t likely to have much opportunity to mount any horse other those hitched to a vegetable wagon.

  The day had indeed brought fine weather. Despite the hoarfrost earlier in the week, the temperature this morning felt better suited to May. By the time he reached the paddock, he’d even unbuttoned his tweed Norfolk jacket. While looking for a groom to question, Higgins heard the sound of galloping hooves.

  Eliza, mounted on a white horse, not only cantered into view, she jumped a fence!

  She lifted her riding crop in greeting as she rode past. Two grooms waited for her by the stable door. Higgins watched as she dismounted, then spent a moment stroking her horse.

  Higgins leaned against the paddock fence as she made her way over to him. “When did you become a lady jockey?” he asked.

  “Since I became part owner of a racehorse this summer. All that time spent at the track watching the Donegal Dancer win gave me horse fever. Like you have motorcar fever. Only horses are much more beautiful than any car.” Eliza looked back at her mare, now being led away by a groom. “Especially that one. She’s the only white horse in the stable.”

  “How did you learn to ride so well? You sat that horse as expertly as my sister Victoria, and she’s the best rider in Buckinghamshire.”

  “For the past two months, I’ve spent every Friday taking lessons.”

  “I thought you went to the cinema on Friday.”

  “Not when the weather is agreeable. Instead, I take the train to the horse farm in Windsor for my lessons. I also go on the days when I don’t have students.”

  “You’ve never said a word to me. Does Pick know?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s been most encouraging. Colonel Pickering believes every woman should know how to sit a horse. We thought it best not to tell you, at least for awhile.” Eliza waved her riding crop at him. “You can be an awful tease.”

  Higgins felt offended at being left out, but refused to show it. “From what I saw, you’re a quick study. And you certainly dress the part.”

  “It is a fine costume, isn’t it?” Eliza slowly turned to give him a better look at her two-piece outfit. The black riding habit boasted a notched collar, slightly puffed sleeves, and a split apron skirt which concealed the breeches underneath. As customary, a top hat sat jauntily upon her head. “Special ordered from Charles William Davis.”

  Although not a rider himself, he knew Davis was London’s most sought after tailor of riding outfits. Higgins also recognized proper riding attire. This was up to the standards of the Bilsdale Hunt, England’s oldest fox hunt. “A pity you can’t ride to hounds while we’re here.”

  “What do you mean? I have every intention of doing so.”

  “Because the Ashmore Hunt is supposed to take place in two days. An event which seems unlikely to occur, given that a member of the house party has died.”

  Eliza laughed. “The Ashmores will not cancel the hunt. Clara would go into hiding if the hunt didn’t go as planned. Richard, too, most likely. The death of a houseguest won’t stop them.”

  “You make them sound as insensitive as Count Rudolf.”

  “Not really. They’d never even met the American until two nights ago. You can’t expect them to go into mourning for a stranger. Anyway, I’ve spent hours talking about this with Clara. The hunt and the ball formally introduces the couple to every snob from here to London. Their reputation is at stake.” She pointed at the manor house. “If you don’t mind, I need to change out of these clothes before they clear the sideboard in the breakfast room. I’m starving.”

  As they walked past the stables, hounds barked from a nearby kennel. From somewhere on the grounds, peacocks shrieked. One of them was certain to be Percy. “We must speak about last night before we go in. I’m troubled by what Madame Evangeline said during the séance.”

  Eliza looked at him with wide eyes. “She was blooming amazing yesterday. I wonder who in the house party is connected to the money she mentioned. And the number thirty-five. As for that manuscript destroyed in a fire, it must be related to Lady Annabel. Your redhead’s eyes popped open when Madame Evangeline talked about that.”

  “Lady Annabel is not my redhead,” he snapped.

  “You were also rude last night to Madame Evangeline. Accusing her of fraud.”

  “She is a fraud. So is that bodyguard. Or didn’t you see the fishing line hanging from the chandelier? That clearly exposed their trickery.”

  “Who cares about fishing lines? She saw Pentwater’s death. That should impress you.”

  “I’m more impressed by something else she said. Something about me.”

  Eliza stopped and faced him. “You mean when she spoke about the fire in the kitchen and the teacup? She was right about that, too. How can you not see she has a real gift?”

  “A gift for ferreting out information, certainly. Please remember everyone in the house party is aware we suffered a kitchen fire before our arrival. I’m not referring to that.” He lowered his voice although no one was in sight except for a stable boy with an armful of hay. “She spoke about a black motorcar that meant to harm someone.”

  “Yes. I was shocked she knew about the motorcar I kept seeing on Wimpole Street.”

  “What?” This jarred Higgins. “When did this happen?”

  “During that endless week when you and Jack drove me and Sybil crazy with all your demands. I saw a black motorcar go past our house at least three times a day.”

  “Blast it all. You never told me. I don’t like this at all.”

  Eliza shrugged. “At first, I assumed the man was lost. Or maybe he’d recently bought the car and was learning how to drive. Then I worried he might be watching our house.”

  Higgins grabbed her arm. “You said a man was driving. Can you describe him?”

  She shook off his grip. “Calm down. You’ll be having the vapors next. I assumed it was a man by the hat. However, he wore
goggles so I have no idea what he looked like.”

  “Eliza, a few days before my accident in Putney, a driver in a black motorcar attempted to race me. I thought he was simply another motorist eager to push his machine to the limit. He drove damned recklessly, forcing me to do likewise. And don’t give me that look. I realize I do not always drive with caution.”

  “According to Jack, you drive as if every detective in Scotland Yard is after you.”

  “This fellow was worse. He couldn’t catch up with me because he took a sharp turn and spun about. I didn’t see him again that day. Only now that I look back, I believe the same car trailed me from a distance at least twice that week.”

  Eliza chuckled. “Maybe that spin taught him to drive slower.”

  They resumed their walk to the manor house. “Madame Evangeline said the person who drove that black motorcar intended to harm someone,” he said. “But neither of us mentioned a black motorcar to anyone here. Or even to each other. So how did she know I encountered such a vehicle? Or that you saw a black motorcar drive past our house?”

  “She knew because the spirits told her. Honestly, how much proof do you require?”

  “What I require is an explanation. Why would someone want to pursue me in such a manner, and did he have sinister intentions? Was he the same man motoring up and down Wimpole Street?” Higgins didn’t like where his thoughts were leading him. “Even more troubling, was there anything sinister about the kitchen fire?”

  “That kitchen fire was caused by a grumpy elocution professor who didn’t pay any attention and left the gas jet burning on the stove.” Eliza kicked at the graveled path with her boot. “You’re nervous because Madame Evangeline and her spirits know the past and future.”

  “She knows something about us. I think we need to talk with someone not connected with the house party.” Higgins remembered Clara boasting about a telephone room in the house. “I’ll ring the exchange and put a call through to Jack. He’s staying with Sybil’s family, right? I assume they have a telephone.”