With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  “Oh, don’t bother Jack. My cousin needs to relax and get better. Tales of dead Americans and mysterious black cars will only rile him up.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And if Jack gets upset, it makes things much worse for poor Sybil.”

  Just then, they came upon Freddy and Lily, arm in arm.

  “What a surprise.” Lily glanced down at her own riding habit. “We’re going riding, too.”

  Although the couple wore expectant smiles, both Higgins and Eliza only nodded and walked past them. He heard Freddy mutter, “I say, that was a bit rude.”

  “You may be right about Jack,” Higgins said. “I won’t ring him.”

  “I’m glad I was able to talk sense into you.”

  Higgins didn’t tell her that he decided to ring Detective Colin Ramsey instead. He’d use the repairs on his car as an excuse. And after he inquired about his motorcar, he would see what Detective Ramsey thought about this Pentwater business. Maybe have him look into Madame Evangeline’s background. Too many people in this house had a reason to hate Dwight Pentwater, including Sir Anthony, Lady Annabel, and Philippe. Were there more? And was Madame Evangeline privy to their secrets?

  Higgins now agreed with Eliza. Pentwater’s death was not only unfortunate and unexpected. He also believed it was murder.

  Eliza wished it wasn’t regarded as rude to eat breakfast in dusty boots and a riding habit. As she passed the breakfast room, her stomach growled at the aroma wafting into the hallway. A quick peek revealed a footman clearing the table. She cast a longing look at the food laid out on the sideboard. Maybe she should wrap a scone and boiled egg in a napkin to bring upstairs. Something to fortify her until after she changed and came down for a proper breakfast.

  The footman turned around and saw her in the doorway. A wide grin crossed his face. “Milady Doolittle, as I live and breathe.”

  “Charlie Kenton!”

  She rushed over and embraced him. He quickly stepped away.

  “Need to be careful the swells don’t catch me actin’ cozy with the guests. I’d be sacked for sure. But I’m glad to see a friendly face, even if it does belong to someone upstairs.”

  “I’ll never really belong upstairs,” she told him. “I’ve only learned how to act as if I do. How long have you been working for the Ashmores?”

  “Lord Ashmore hired me when he and the missus got back from their wedding trip.”

  “I heard you’d taken up boxing.”

  “Not for long.” He pointed at his left shoulder. “Shattered the bone two years ago during a bare knuckle match in Holborn. Mum carried on like I’d been run over by a bus. Certainly felt like I had. Took me a year to recover. When I did, the shoulder and arm weren’t the same. Never goin’ to be a featherweight champ like Jim Driscoll now.”

  “Do you like being in service?”

  “Beats starvin’. At least I get to wear clean clothes with shiny gold buttons.” Charlie smoothed down his crisp black uniform. “Also don’t have to get my hands dirty or bloodied. Thinkin’ I might join the army. That way I can wear a uniform and carry a gun. Mum don’t want me to join up, worried I’ll get killed. But I’m nineteen and make my own decisions. Like I be tellin’ her, how can I get killed if there ain’t no wars goin’ on?”

  “I don’t know how long that will last.” Eliza bit her lip. “Now that I live with Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering, I’ve started to read the newspapers. I have to, if I hope to keep up my end of the conversation. There are rumblings of war, Charlie. And they’re getting louder.”

  He looked delighted at the thought. “Even better. Could be my big chance to win a medal. Ladies love a soldier what’s got medals on his chest, Lizzie.” He frowned. “Can I still call you Lizzie? Or should I call you ‘Miss Doolittle’ even when we’re alone.”

  She laughed. “Call me anything you like, only don’t call me late for a meal, as Da always says.” Eliza looked over at the sideboard. “And I’d love to have a meal right now. Except the countess would have a conniption if she saw me eating in the breakfast room while still in my riding habit. However, I might snatch a scone or two to take upstairs.”

  Charlie leaned closer. “Not much chance of the countess findin’ you here. Ain’t never seen her near the breakfast room. Go on. Sit down and I’ll make a plate for you.”

  “I don’t know if I should.” But even as she said this, Eliza pulled out a chair. She whipped off her riding gloves, then unpinned her hat. Cor, she was hungry. She wondered if Higgins had eaten yet. In fact, she wondered where he was. If he had lied to her and went off to place a call to Jack with the phone exchange. . .

  Eliza soon forgot all that as Charlie put a plate of eggs, smoked salmon, and toast in front of her. A moment later, he’d also brought her coffee. She dropped three sugar cubes into the cup.

  “Let’s catch up while I eat,” Eliza said between mouthfuls. “We haven’t seen each other for at least eight years.”

  “Dorset Street Ragged School.” He sighed. “Never did take to the classroom meself. You was a sharp though. Smarter than any teacher we ever had.” Charlie walked over to the entrance to the breakfast room and peered out. “Think I’ll keep an eye out while you eat. Don’t want the guests or that foreign count to hear me jawin’ with you like we was old friends.”

  “We are old friends. The count can hang himself.”

  “Ain’t so easy to say if your livelihood depends on pleasin’ the bluebloods. And they’re damned hard to please. Same with famous people, which is what this house party seems filled with. A few right odd ones, too. Like that lady what talks to ghosts.”

  “She has a gift, Charlie.” Eliza turned solemn. “Remember Old Mary who read palms in Angel Court.”

  He nodded. “Old Mary told me sister she’d marry a fisherman from Cornwall. We thought she was daft. A girl in the East End ain’t likely to meet a fishermen from so far away. But two years later, Mabel up and marries a pilchard fisherman from Sennen Cove. He’d come up to London for his uncle’s funeral. They been married five years now. Three children.” Charlie snickered. “Not a one of them ever stops cryin’ or eating.”

  “Madame Evangeline is even better than Old Mary,” Eliza assured him. “She revealed secrets about Sir Anthony she couldn’t possibly have known if her spirits hadn’t told her.”

  He looked as skeptical as Higgins. “Don’t know about any spirits, but that foreign fellow she brought with her bears watchin’.”

  “What do you think of Zoltan Batur? You know him better than I do since he’s staying below stairs.”

  “We all keep our distance from him. Ruder than the countess, he is. Treats us like we’re his servants. He reminds me of the Geary boys in Whitechapel. They’d crack your head open just for smiling at ‘em.”

  Eliza nodded. She remembered the notorious Geary boys all too well.

  “I wasn’t surprised when Batur turned a knife on the police yesterday,” Charlie continued. “Sure was glad Mr. Baxter sent both Albert and me to restrain him. I couldn’t have done it on me own. Not with this shoulder. Also don’t think it was right he weren’t arrested. If I’d pulled a blade on a copper, I’d be trussed up in a cell. Because he’s the servant of some fancy guest, he gets away with it. And a foreign bloke, too.”

  Eliza ate the last of her eggs and salmon. She’d eaten so quickly, she feared a stomachache would follow. “He’s more than a manservant. Mr. Batur is Madame Evangeline’s bodyguard. He protects her. That’s why he came to her rescue when he heard her cry out.”

  Charlie peeked his head out the doorway to scan the hallway again. “If you ask me, he’s a damned sight more than her bodyguard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He talks about the ghost lady like she was something he owned. He won’t even let the housemaids press her clothes. Batur does it himself. Same as he cleans her shoes. He also don’t trust the maids to make his lady’s evening tea. Some herbal brew they call a tisane. He prepares it, then gives it to one of the maids t
o bring to her bedroom.”

  “Sounds like he’s obsessed with her.” If true, Eliza feared that made him even more dangerous than he looked.

  “That he is. If I was any of the gents here, I wouldn’t get too close to Madame Evangeline. Her bodyguard’s the jealous type, he is. I think he’d put a fella in the ground just for standin’ too close to her.”

  This worried Eliza. Madame Evangeline had made no attempt to disguise her warm feelings for Philippe Corbet. What if Batur grew jealous and tried to harm the Frenchman? Poor Philippe had been through quite enough for one house party.

  “If Mr. Batur posed a danger to anyone, Madame Evangeline’s spirits would warn her.” Eliza said this more to convince herself than Charlie. “When we had breakfast the other day, she foretold the death of Mr. Pentwater in the forest. He was killed within the hour.”

  Charlie shot her a rueful smile. “Bad luck for him and me. Lord Ashmore asked if I’d serve as the American’s valet. Thought it was my chance to get more responsibility. And a little more pay. Then he gets himself shot.”

  “That’s right. You were Mr. Pentwater’s valet, at least for one evening,” Eliza said. “Did you notice anything unusual about him?”

  “Didn’t have much chance. I did unpack his bags. Lots of fine suits with New York labels on them. He had some of the nicest cufflinks I ever laid eyes on. Gold, mother of pearl, black onyx. Even finer than the ones worn by Lord Ashmore.”

  “How did he treat you?”

  “Like any gent. Polite, but expected me to know what he wanted before he did. Typical rich man.” Charlie paused. “Maybe not typical, now I think about it. He acted strange when I helped him undress. Kept laughing to himself, like he was in on some private joke. I even asked him what was so funny. If I’d said that to the count, he would have reported me to Mr. Baxter for talking above my station.”

  “What did Mr. Pentwater do when you asked him?”

  “Said he found the English amusing because they cared more about how things appeared instead of how things really were.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what he meant by that.”

  “Did he mention any of the other guests?”

  “Let’s say he had a private encounter with one of them.” His smile grew into a leer. “A most private encounter.”

  “With who?”

  “That pretty cinema star. Lily Marlowe. I was right jealous of Mr. Pentwater that night.”

  Eliza sat back. “Wait. You saw Mr. Pentwater and Lily having a private conversation?”

  “A lot more than a conversation. After I helped him get ready for bed, he asked me to take a shirt down for pressin’. He wanted to wear it the next morning for the hunt. I brought it back up, past midnight, but he told me that he’d still be awake. I heard a woman’s voice in his room right before I knocked. Then Pentwater opened the door. Said he’d take the shirt from me. No need for me to put it away. But before he shut the door, I caught a glimpse of her.”

  “You saw Lily in his bedroom?”

  “In his bed. And she didn’t have a stitch on.”

  Eliza’s mouth fell open. “Are you certain, Charlie?”

  “Hard to mistake a naked girl for anything else.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “Indeed she did,” he said. “Looked right upset about it, too. Can’t say as I blame her. Like I said, she was naked as a jaybird.”

  “Lily must have been so embarrassed.” Eliza almost felt sorry for her.

  “That she was. She turned red as a strawberry. No need for it neither. Mr. Pentwater didn’t have to open the door as wide as he did to take the shirt from me. I think he wanted me to see the lady. Maybe he planned the whole thing to embarrass her. Don’t know. I can’t figure out half of what these rich swells do.”

  “Blimey.” Eliza had always assumed Lily knew more about Pentwater than she let on. Only she didn’t suspect the actress knew him that well. “Was she still in his bed when you woke him the next morning?”

  Before Charlie could answer, footsteps sounded from overhead. Muffled shouts followed. Something banged. More footsteps as if people were running.

  “What the devil are the maids doing up there?” Charlie looked at the ceiling.

  “Mr. Baxter! Mr. Baxter,” a woman cried out. “Something awful has happened!”

  Eliza ran into the hallway in time to see a frantic maidservant by the staircase.

  “What’s wrong, Dora?” Charlie hurried to meet her. Eliza was only a few steps behind.

  The maid looked as white as her apron. “She’s dead! I have to find Mr. Baxter.”

  Eliza grabbed her before she could leave. “Who’s dead?”

  “Madame Evangeline,” she wailed. “I went in to help her dress and found her cold as ice in her bed. She’s dead. She’s dead!” The maid tore free of Eliza’s grasp and ran off.

  “That can’t be true,” Eliza told a stunned Charlie. She raced upstairs to the bedrooms. Two housemaids held each other for comfort in the hallway. The door to Madame Evangeline’s bedroom stood open.

  When Eliza rushed inside, she saw the countess standing at the side of the bed, her fingers on Madame Evangeline’s wrist. The countess looked at Eliza. “The maidservant was correct,” she told her in a flat voice. “She’s dead.”

  Aghast, Eliza looked down at Madame Evangeline. There were no signs of blood. No marks of violence that she could see. Just a pale young woman lying motionless, like a sleeping beauty waiting for a prince to wake her with a kiss.

  The countess appeared grim. “I heard the maids making a commotion in the hall and came in to find her like this.”

  “What is going on, Eliza?” Clara stood in the doorway. She wore her nightgown and a panicked expression. “Why are the servants so upset? And why are you and the countess in Madame Evangeline’s bedroom?”

  “Prepare yourself for a shock, Clara,” Eliza said. “Madame Evangeline died during the night.”

  Clara screamed and collapsed to the floor in a faint. Muttering under her breath, the countess went over to her unconscious sister-in-law. Eliza, however, drew closer to the bed and the still figure lying on it. Poor woman. She would never hold a séance to speak to the spirits again. Then again, she didn’t have to.

  Madame Evangeline was now one of them.

  16

  Higgins watched an agitated Eliza stride about the drawing room. Muttering to herself, she smacked her boot several times with her riding crop, as if wanting to use it on something other than leather. Everyone kept their distance. A wise decision.

  Clara’s teacup rattled whenever she set it down on her saucer. Faced with the house party’s second death, the poor girl appeared numb. He wondered what would happen when gossip spread beyond this small circle of guests and servants. Would it reflect badly on Richard and Clara’s hosting abilities, or would it increase interest in the new baron and baroness? The aristocratic class could be unpredictable. Higgins knew any hint of mystery or intrigue titillated his older brother’s network of society friends. Boon or bane, as one would say.

  Sir Anthony and Lady Annabel sat at opposite ends of one sofa. Both seemed distracted. Higgins wished he had more details about the burned manuscript Madame Evangeline mentioned during the séance. Given Annabel’s reaction, the lost book must have been hers. Was the malicious man Pentwater? If so, that may have been a reason to murder him.

  Certainly, her husband was justified in hating Pentwater after being abandoned to an uncertain fate in the Amazon. Philippe also had reason to despise Pentwater. Was the same true for Lily Marlowe? Higgins agreed with Eliza. It couldn’t have been a hunting accident. Too many people here hated the dead man. The fog, combined with dogs, loaders, beaters, and so many people firing guns, served as perfect distraction for whoever aimed that lethal shot.

  A shame Madame Evangeline never gave any hints as to who killed Pentwater at the séance. Especially since his death had been the whole reason for that farce. Apparently, her ‘spirit guide’ hadn’t finished his res
earch before they sat down at the table.

  “This house party is driving me batty,” Lily complained. “People dying. Police everywhere. I’m afraid some cat burglar will make off with my jewelry next.”

  “Hush, darling.” Freddy took her hand. “I’ll take care nothing happens to you.” The couple huddled together on their loveseat.

  Lily whispered something to him, prompting Freddy to kiss her on the forehead.

  At that moment, Eliza strode past the couple, still swinging her riding crop. It barely missed hitting Lily in the cheek. Higgins bit back a chuckle. In a way, Freddy and the actress were well suited. Two pretty faces – and not much else. At least Lily was reputed to be talented, which is more than could be said for Freddy.

  Loud shouting came from upstairs. “Good heavens,” Lady Annabel murmured. “What is going on?”

  They heard Zoltan Batur yell at the top of his lungs, half in Turkish, and presumably at Chief Constable Brakefield. A bit unsettling. As were the policemen who now guarded every door in Banfield Manor. The entire constabulary must have been summoned to assist Brakefield and Constable Stevens in investigating this latest death.

  “I do wish Richard would come down,” Clara said. “Why must he remain upstairs with the chief constable? It was the maid who found Madame Evangeline.”

  “It’s his house, Clara” Eliza said. “He has to oversee things. If anyone isn’t needed upstairs, it’s Count Rudolf and his wife. They stick their noses into everything.”

  “This whole business is dreadful,” Clara moaned. “I simply can’t believe it. And did you see how distraught Philippe was by the news?”

  Indeed, the Frenchman appeared in a state of shock when he learned Madame Evangeline died during the night. The police were no doubt questioning him again; Higgins suspected they still believed Corbet had killed Pentwater. But it seemed ludicrous the aviator would have had any hand in Evangeline’s death. Despite his fiancée, he seemed fond of the spiritualist, clearly enjoying their private tête-à-tête’s in French.