“And you agreed.”
“I did. But meeting up with him bought me time, until I could figure out what to do.”
What if her solution involved murdering Pentwater? Eliza looked around. There wasn’t a person to be seen. If Lily was a killer, it may not have been wise to go riding off alone with her.
Eliza kicked her horse, turning back in the direction of the house. “So you arrived early.” She felt a pang of regret. Freddy might not have fallen so hard for Lily if she’d come as late as Pentwater. “Days early, in fact.”
Lily brought the stallion alongside her. “Dwight got delayed in London.”
“But you didn’t seem so welcoming when he finally arrived.”
“I knew he couldn’t do anything to me while we were at dinner. I should have known he’d be irritated that I snubbed him so publicly. He wanted to get back at me.” Lily leaned towards Eliza. “Letting that footman see me naked in his bed was his revenge. It was meant to show me that he was still in charge. And that I couldn’t do a thing about it.”
“You must have been relieved after he died. Grateful, even.”
“Grateful?” She laughed. “Try giddy. I wanted to break into song when I realized he was dead. But don’t get any ideas about me being the killer. There’s a whole gang of people at this house party who wanted to see Dwight in the grave. I’ve heard the police finally ruled the shooting an accident. So it looks like no one cares how or why he died. Case closed, as reporters say who cover the crime beat.”
“What about Madame Evangeline’s death?”
“What about it? That brute of a husband killed her.” Lily shivered. “Another reason not to rush into marrying anyone. I’m just glad this whole mess is behind us. I want to enjoy a real English fox hunt. And I’ve got a swell dress for the ball afterward.”
“Will you return to America?”
“Oh no. I’m heading to Italy for a little sun and fun.” She tucked a stray wisp of dark hair beneath her hat brim with a wide smile. “I’ve invited Freddy to come along. He’ll go mad for the Mediterranean. And what mischief we’ll get into when riding the gondolas in Venice. Although if those Italian gentlemen make eyes at me, I don’t know how I’ll be able to resist. I love their accents even more than English ones. Who knows? One of them may whisk me off to their villa and Freddy will have to make his own way home.”
“Please don’t play with his affections.” Eliza tightened her grip on the reins. “Freddy is younger than his years. It won’t take much to crush him.”
“Don’t know why you care. He’s treated you terribly.”
“I know. But I don’t want to see him destroyed.” She gave Lily a stern look. “Just be honest with him. Tell him the truth about you and Pentwater.”
“Why should I? And stop acting like Freddy’s mother. He’s a grown man. Time for him to act like it. I promise you, he’ll have fun.”
“If you don’t tell Freddy about Pentwater, then I will.”
Lily looked as if she didn’t know whether to stick her tongue out at Eliza or slap her. Instead, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and galloped away.
Eliza’s heart sank at the thought of Freddy going off to Italy with that woman. And she fully intended to warn him. Eliza had no idea if Lily was capable of murder, but she was certain of one thing. Lily was sure to break Freddy’s heart.
19
Eliza knelt on the ground and gave Percy a hug. “You’re such a darling,” she crooned.
“I can’t fathom why that bird lets you put your arms around him,” Higgins said. “He’d peck my eyes out if I tried such a thing. Not that I ever would.”
“Percy and I love each other.” Eliza stroked Percy’s handsome turquoise head. The bird closed his eyes in appreciation. “He took a fancy to me at Clara’s wedding, and a good thing he did. I might not be alive at this moment if he hadn’t.”
Two peahens emerged from a nearby coop. One of them let out a piercing call. Percy’s eyes flew open and he swept out of Eliza’s reach. With a grand flourish, he unfurled his fan of tail feathers for his admirers. The peahens responded with loud shrieks.
“I feel like a drab guttersnipe whenever he does that.” Eliza smoothed her pale rose fitted jacket and skirt. “I probably should have worn a feathered hat.”
“You still wouldn’t outshine Percy. And it’s time to take our leave. This shameless display of male vanity might continue for some time. Similar to the way Freddy behaves around Miss Marlowe. A shame we can’t get Percy to peck Freddy to death.”
“Oh, stop.” Eliza joined Higgins. “I fear Percy won’t want to leave when we return to Wimpole Street. The gamekeeper says he’s reached maturity. That means Percy now prefers the company of love-struck peahens to an English girl who feeds him cake.” She looked out over the rolling lawns of Banfield Manor to the forest beyond. “And it isn’t fair to confine him to our house in London. Not when he can roam free here.”
“The peahens have won, then?” Higgins grinned.
She smiled back. “Indeed they have. Next year, there will be peachicks to prove it.” Her smile dimmed. “It also appears Lily has won. But I expected as much.”
As they walked back to the manor house, Eliza told him about her ride this morning with the American actress. Higgins wasn’t surprised that a lurid relationship had existed between Lily and Pentwater. Or that Pentwater had treated her in such a threatening, self-serving manner. But hearing that Lily wished to continue her relationship with the empty-headed Freddy baffled him. More appealing young chaps could be found at every pub, cricket match or village lane in England. Women never failed to confound Higgins.
“Do you really think Freddy will go off to Italy with her?” he asked.
“Freddy always wanted to tour the Continent, only he lacked the money. But Clara’s given him an allowance now that she’s a rich baroness.” Eliza shrugged. “I’ll never forgive him for his behavior. Still, I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
Higgins thought she was being too kind. “He hasn’t shown one whit of concern for you.”
“True. But we both know Freddy isn’t the most intelligent man in London.”
He snorted. “There’s an understatement. A duck in Hyde Park is ten times cleverer than Mr. Eynsford Hill.”
“Exactly why I don’t fancy the idea of Lily trifling with his affections. It’s clear she enjoys his slavish attention. Something she probably gets from every man she meets.”
“Not Pentwater. According to her, his feelings were proprietary, not slavish.”
Eliza frowned. “And according to the guests here, he was a greedy, arrogant bully. Cruel for no reason, too. Why destroy someone’s life work? Poor Lady Annabel. From what you told me last night, I’d have bashed him in the head. Pentwater was a bad penny, he was.”
“I wonder if Lily killed him,” Higgins mused. “Except for me, everyone in the hunt carried a gun, including her. Who’s to say she couldn’t aim it accurately? We learned this past summer that some ladies possess an uncanny ability to hit their target.”
“Lady Annabel and the countess made no secret of the fact they’ve gone shooting before. It could be either of them as well.” Eliza considered that for a moment. “Although why would the countess decide to shoot one of her guests? She’s disagreeable, but I don’t think she’s off her chump. And only a madwoman kills someone for no good reason.”
“Agreed. That’s why the count isn’t on my suspect list. No motive.”
Eliza looked his way. “If the same person killed Mr. Pentwater and Madame Evangeline, we need to come up with a motive for both deaths.”
“Blackmail perhaps. Our ghost lady seemed the bearer of secrets. What if she demanded payment to keep quiet?”
She wrinkled her nose. “But Evangeline never stopped revealing those blooming secrets. Doesn’t sound like a blackmailer to me. We had a nasty run-in with one this past spring, so we should know.”
“Maybe there were other secrets she had yet to revea
l. One deadly enough to put her in danger. A common hazard in any fraudulent profession. And don’t give me that look,” Higgins warned her. “Madame Evangeline was a con artist. Albeit a most talented one.”
“She was not!”
“Of course she was. Evangeline knew the names on the guest list ahead of time. Except for us.”
That brought Eliza up short. “How?”
“Richard told me the house party guest list was compiled by his sister before he and Clara left on their honeymoon. Soon after, the newlyweds met Madame Evangeline in Paris and extended their own invitation to her.”
“So?”
“Clara and Richard were afraid she might turn them down. Mediums are apparently in high demand this season. To tempt her, they mentioned the celebrated people invited to their house party. That gave our ghost talker several weeks to investigate the lives and foibles of those individuals. Which she did quite well.”
Eliza nodded. “She probably asked her spirit guide about the guests.”
“By George, I think you’ve gone off your chump. It’s impossible to talk with ghosts.”
“Then how did she know Mr. Pentwater was about to be killed? Explain that if you can.”
“She and Mr. Batur were probably better detectives than we are. One of them may have heard something suspicious while they were here. Something that led them to believe Pentwater was in danger.” Higgins shook his finger. “You served as the perfect gullible vessel for her to spout nonsense about a death in the forest.”
Eliza seemed convinced. “You didn’t see her that morning. Her trance was different than the ones where she talked about Sir Anthony. Or Lady Annabel’s manuscript. Even the one where she brought up the number thirty-five. When she spoke about danger in the forest, it was in a different voice. Deeper. Strange. Like the voice she spoke in at the séance, when she mentioned the gold talisman. Whatever that means.”
“I do recall her saying ‘a great deal of money,’ and the number thirty-five.”
“That makes sense,” Eliza said. “Pentwater was on the run because he operated a criminal operation in America. What if someone here invested their money with Pentland Inc. and lost it all?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Our doomed spiritualist did her homework most thoroughly.”
“But Count von Weisinger spilled the beans about Philippe, not her. In fact, the count seemed eager to blame Philippe for Pentwater’s death. Why?”
“I don’t think he cares for the French. And the shooting seemed like a great nuisance to him. The sooner he could blame someone for it, the quicker he and his tiresome consort could move forward with this house party.”
“The motive for killing Pentwater is obvious,” she said. “Everyone hated him. And fear of Madame Evangeline revealing the next secret seems the likeliest reason for her death. Poor woman. To have such a gift, only to be killed for it.”
“Bloody hell, Eliza. You can’t still believe that woman chatted with ghosts and foresaw the future like Nostradamus. She was an unmitigated liar who—” Higgins stopped as he caught sight of a familiar motorcar pulling up the drive. “Is that my roadster? By heaven, it is!”
“Did you know it was being delivered today?”
“Not for certain, but I hoped.” He waved his good arm. “Over here! Hello! Over here!”
“Why don’t we just walk to the house?” Eliza asked. “That’s where they’ll stop.”
Higgins grinned as the blue roadster veered off the gravel drive and headed straight for them. “Because I want to see how well my Hudson ‘Mile-a-Minute’ beauty handles uneven ground. And it’s doing a damned fine job.”
“Blimey, you’re worse than my father. It’s just a machine.” She shaded her eyes from the sun. “Wait a minute. Is that Detective Ramsey in the passenger seat?”
Being an open-air car, they recognized that it was indeed Colin Ramsey. But the driver’s identity remained concealed by large goggles.
“I rang him up yesterday morning,” Higgins said.
“You what? Did you call Jack, too? I told you not to bother him and Sybil. You never listen to me. I swear, I should break your other arm.” She didn’t look happy.
“Stop screeching, I didn’t bother Jack. But I wanted to check on my roadster’s repairs.” Higgins shrugged. “I also wanted Ramsey’s opinion on what has been going on here.”
“Oh.” Eliza seemed placated by that. “What did he think?”
The roadster came to a stop a few feet away. “Ask him yourself.”
Higgins tried to hide his amusement as Eliza quickly readjusted the ribbons on her hat. He had sensed a few romantic sparks between her and the recently promoted Scotland Yard detective this past summer, although he suspected both would deny it. But with Freddy out of the picture, perhaps Eliza’s attention would drift to someone far more worthy of her. And he liked the young man almost as much as he liked Jack Shaw. He thought Ramsey smart, capable, and manly; his short muscular physique brought to mind a pugilist. Eliza could do far worse. Indeed, she had proved that with Freddy.
As soon as the motor was cut, Colin Ramsey jumped out. “What do you think, Professor? Does she look good as new?”
Higgins ran his hand over the curve of the fenders, the rims, the gold-trimmed lamp. “Marvelous. Just marvelous.”
“I believe he’s swooning,” Eliza remarked to Colin.
“So he should,” Ramsey said. “I’ve never heard a four-cylinder engine so quiet.”
“Like a large kitten, she is.” The driver pushed his goggles on top of his cap, but Higgins still didn’t recognize him.
Ramsey nodded at the fellow. “This is Officer Barnaby Lake of the Metropolitan Police.”
The man smiled. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“He’s also an expert mechanic,” Ramsey went on. “Spends a lot of his time working on Yard vehicles. I’ve a background in mechanics myself. Given how pretty this roadster is, I didn’t mind working on it with him whenever I could.”
“Good as new, I suppose?” Eliza asked.
“Better.” Ramsey gave her an appraising glance. Higgins could tell the detective liked what he saw. “And you’re looking well, Miss Doolittle. All in pink, like a spring flower.”
“Thank you.” Eliza smoothed her ribbed silk skirt. “But the fashion magazines call this color dusty rose.”
“Do they now? Whatever they call it, you look as striking as Professor Higgins’s motorcar. Only I’ve heard you’re not as quiet.” Ramsey lifted an eyebrow. “Then again, I seem to recall you having a lot to say.”
“I do.” She threw him a challenging look. “But are you clever enough to listen?”
He laughed. “Perhaps you’d be willing to school me.”
“Can we move on?” With his roadster ready for inspection, Higgins wasn’t in the mood to listen to coy flirtations. “Have all the repairs been made?”
“Every last one,” Barnaby Lake replied. “But we had to take the whole machine apart, then put it back together. Lots of small problems needed fixing.”
“Runs smooth as cream now,” Ramsey added. “And we fairly flew here from London. It gets amazing speed. No wonder they use the Hudson ‘Mile-a-Minute’ for racing.”
“Do you and Officer Lake plan to take the train back to the city today?” Higgins asked while he inspected the white-rimmed tires.
“We have no immediate plans to return to London,” Ramsey said. “In fact, I brought Lake here to watch over the motorcar tonight.”
Higgins straightened. “Lord Ashmore has a garage. It will be perfectly safe there.”
“I’m not convinced of that. Better to have one of us keeping an eye on it.”
“And why does Professor Higgins’s Hudson require a chaperone?” Eliza asked.
The detective glanced over his shoulder at the sprawling manor house, a lengthy walk away, apparently making sure they stood on a stretch of open lawn with no one close by. “It’s safe to talk here.”
“Safe?” Higgi
ns and Eliza said at the same time.
“I’ve been looking into your accident all week. Some details bothered me.” Ramsey shrugged out of his heavy driving coat, which had protected his suit on the open road. “Your accident in Putney seems to be anything but. Someone deliberately left the wagon in the middle of the road.” He flung the coat onto the car’s blue leather seat. “And I found a witness, an older fellow taking his daily constitutional in Wandsworth Park that morning. He claims he saw a man who unhitched a wagon, left it in the middle of the road, then led the horse away.”
Eliza and Higgins exchanged troubled glances. “What did the man look like?” she asked.
“The witness is over seventy and near-sighted. What he saw was mostly a blur.”
“Then his testimony is worthless,” Higgins said.
“Even though he couldn’t see details, he swears a man left the wagon on that road.” Ramsey tapped his fingers on the car’s bonnet. “I questioned the fellow and believe him. I also found a smithy who claims his horse and wagon went missing that Sunday morning. Stolen right out in front of his business. The horse showed up two hours later. But not the wagon.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. “Someone wanted to cause an accident. How vicious to do such a thing for sport! Jack and the Professor might have been killed.”
“I don’t think it was for sport. Whoever left the wagon intended to kill or gravely injure your roadster’s driver.” Ramsey gave Higgins a pointed look.
“In other words, me,” Higgins said. “After all, no one knew ahead of time that Jack would be my passenger.”
Eliza gasped. “It must have been the man in the black motorcar.”
With a Little Bit of Blood Page 22