With a Little Bit of Blood

by D. E. Ireland

  “What black motorcar?” Ramsey sounded puzzled.

  She told him about the black car she’d seen repeatedly driving down Wimpole Street. “It could have been the same one chasing Professor Higgins that day.”

  “Damn it all, for what purpose?” Higgins spoke more to himself than anyone else. “If they wanted my roadster, why cause it to crash?”

  “We think the person wanted what we found inside the car.”

  Ramsey beckoned Eliza and Higgins closer and removed a small pouch from his inner suit pocket. He scanned the surrounding area again, then pulled an object from the pouch. A gold cross, no more than three inches long.

  “You found that in my roadster?” Higgins shook his head. “Impossible. I inspected every inch of the car when I purchased it.”

  “Found it inside the auto-meter,” Barnaby Lake said. “Well-hidden, too.”

  Eliza gave him a curious glance. “What’s an auto-meter?”

  “The round gauge near the steering wheel,” he explained. “An auto-meter tells you how fast the motorcar is going, as well as total distance traveled. The crash caused the auto-meter to fall off. We wanted to see if the inner mechanism had been damaged, so we took it apart.”

  “It fit neatly inside the back metal cover,” Ramsey said. “Clever spot.”

  “Is it valuable?” Eliza seemed dubious. “It looks old. I assume someone wore this around their neck. There’s a small hole at the top for a chain or cord. Not very attractive though.”

  Higgins took the cross from the detective. The center held three dull red stones. Rubies? Garnets, perhaps? Whatever they were, they were too small to be worth much. He felt something on the other side. Turning the cross over, he spied an inscription.

  “What does it say?” Eliza peered at the writing.

  “Can’t make it out. The letters are too small.” Higgins looked up at Ramsey. “Have you or your men seen the inscription under magnification?”

  “We have. DCCC AD is inscribed along the left arm of the cross. We assume it’s Latin.”

  “DCCC is eight hundred. AD stands for Anno Domini, the year of our Lord.”

  Ramsey pointed at the cross. “The right side bears the inscription VAE VICTUS.”

  “Latin for ‘Woe to the Conquered’. If I remember my classics courses, the Roman historian Livy claimed this was a phrase first uttered by Brennus.” Higgins noticed their blank expressions. “He was chieftain of the Gauls. Brennus said this phrase about the citizens of Rome, the city he had just sacked.” He ran a fingertip over the inscription that ran the length of the cross. “What’s this?”

  “MUNDUS MEUS,” Ramsey said. “And there’s a space before the next inscription which is CHARLES MAGNUS.”

  “‘The world is mine’, followed by ‘Charles the Great’.” The inscriptions now made sense to Higgins. “That last one refers to Charlemagne. Pope Leo III crowned him Roman emperor in the year 800.”

  “I need to read more history books,” Eliza said in a mournful voice. “I only know about the Stuarts. And a little about Marie Antoinette. She had her head chopped off, you know.” Eliza suddenly grabbed both men by their sleeves. “The gold of the great king. That’s what Madame Evangeline said during the séance.”

  “What séance?” Ramsey asked her.

  “We had a séance the other night and her spirit guide spoke about a gold talisman. And a ‘king who unites many’. Sounds like this Charlemagne cross could be the talisman she mentioned. The one that gives power.”

  Ramsey and Higgins looked at each other. “Good Lord, she’s right,” Higgins said. “But why would anyone hide it in an auto-meter?”

  “Maybe as a way to protect the driver,” Eliza suggested.

  “Or it has a value we can’t yet guess.” He tried handing the cross back to Ramsey, but the detective waved him away.

  “The cross is yours, Professor, since we found it in your vehicle,” the detective said. “Someone wanted you to crash. Probably hoped you might be killed or knocked unconscious. If either had happened, whoever caused the accident would likely have removed the auto-meter from the car and fled.”

  “The Professor has a rock hard head,” Eliza said. “And he probably stayed awake because he was more worried about the roadster than he was about himself.”

  Higgins didn’t bother to contradict her. “Jack and I were lucky a carload of churchgoers happened upon us just then to rescue us. So what do you hope to accomplish here?”

  “We’re here to flush the guilty party out. There must be some connection between the motorcar and this house party.”

  “As Madame Evangeline warned us.” Eliza poked Higgins in the chest.

  “But what connection could there be?” Higgins asked Ramsey.

  “When we found the cross three days ago, I looked into the background of the roadster. Contacted the ship’s manifest from America, as well as the dealers where such a vehicle might be purchased there. I was especially interested in who owned the motorcar before you and Alfred Doolittle. Early this morning I learned the original owner’s name.”

  “Tell us, man,” Higgins demanded. “Who was he?”

  Ramsey’s expression grew stern. “Dwight Pentwater.”

  20

  Given her aggrieved expression, Countess von Weisinger looked like she objected to a Scotland Yard policeman sitting down to luncheon with them. But Eliza realized with pleasure that the insufferable woman could do little about it. After the deaths of two guests in less than a week, the countess’s influence had waned.

  Instead, Richard and Clara gave Colin Ramsey a warm welcome. The couple had been quick to remember his valiant presence at their recent wedding reception and insisted he join the guests at the dining room table. Officer Barnaby Lake took his meal in the Servants’ Hall, however. Social rules could only be bent so far.

  Eliza bit back a smile when Freddy scowled at Ramsey. He had been jealous of the young detective since he came on the scene during the wedding murders. Eliza had never given Freddy reason to be jealous, but from the beginning Colin Ramsey intrigued her. And he seemed interested as well. Both of which Freddy resented. Well, he could go to the devil now. If Colin’s interest in her grew, she had no intention of putting a stop to it. In fact, she wondered what his kiss would be like. He seemed the passionate type.

  “Are you daydreaming, Eliza?” Clara looked down the table at her. “I’ve asked you twice about your cameo. It’s not the one your friend Sybil gave you as a bridesmaid’s gift. Lady Annabel and I wondered where you purchased it.”

  “Italian, I’d say.” Lady Annabel picked up her wine glass. “Seventeenth century.”

  Eliza touched the brooch pinned to her lace collar. She’d been so deep in thought, she hadn’t heard the surrounding conversation. Ramsey sat directly across the table and shot her an impish grin. Had he guessed she’d been thinking about him?

  “Colonel Pickering gave it to me for a birthday present. He told me it had been in his family forever. Back to the time of Queen Elizabeth.” Eliza smiled, as she always did at the mention of her beloved Colonel. “I didn’t want to accept it. After all, the cameo’s a family heirloom, but he insisted I was his family now.”

  “Pickering is generous to a fault.” Higgins speared a smoked sardine.

  “He’s the kindest man in the world,” she added.

  “Given its antiquity, you should look into its provenance in my library,” Richard said. “Although credit should go to my father and grandfather. As art collectors and antiquarians, they amassed endless volumes. You should be able to research any antique object in there.”

  Eliza exchanged an excited glance with Higgins and Ramsey. Had the same idea occurred to them?

  “I assumed you brought the roadster so Professor Higgins and Miss Doolittle can drive back to Wimpole Street,” Richard said. “Since the motorcar is only a two-seater, you and your fellow officer will need to make other arrangements for your return. I am more than happy to have my chauffeur drive you to
the train station. This evening, if you like.”

  The detective set down his glass of burgundy. “With your permission, Officer Lake and I plan to spend the night. Repairs on the roadster were extensive. We wish to make certain it’s in full working order before we leave.” Ramsey sat back as a footman removed his plate. “I’d hate to learn the Professor and Miss Doolittle were left with a defective motorcar.”

  “Where do you and your associate intend to sleep?” the countess asked in a disdainful voice. “The village? Or the garage, perhaps?”

  “The garage will do fine. Your chauffer mentioned empty bedrooms above it.”

  Ramsey looked with approval at the plate of grilled mutton chops now set before him. Eliza thought it only polite if Detective Ramsey were invited to stay in the manor house, but she doubted even Richard and Clara were modern enough to suggest that.

  “If you insist on staying, Baxter will see about readying the garage rooms.” The countess threw a long-suffering look at the butler, who bowed.

  “I’d love to take the Hudson ‘Mile-a-Minute’ for a spin,” Richard said.

  “Let’s do it after luncheon, then,” Higgins suggested. “Wait till you see how it hugs the ground. And it’s as fast as a cheetah. We’ll scare all the peacocks.”

  “American, isn’t it?” Richard took a bite of his mutton.

  “Indeed it is. Like its original owner.”

  “Who was its owner?” Richard asked.

  “Dwight Pentwater,” Colin Ramsey said.

  Lily froze, her hand poised in mid-air. The count’s fork, however, clattered to his plate, while Sir Anthony choked on his peas.

  “Mr. Pentwater?” Annabel gulped down her wine with a trembling hand.

  “But it belonged to Eliza’s father,” Freddy said, “and he sold it to the Professor.”

  “He did,” Higgins said. “Alfred bought it this past summer at one of the shipping line auctions. Baggage which remains unclaimed too long goes on the auction block, including cars. It’s why Alfred got such a good price.”

  “C’est vrai,” Philippe said. “I once bought a leather trunk at an auction in Calais.”

  Eliza was surprised to hear him speak. Until now, the Frenchman seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts and oblivious to the conversation.

  “Professor Higgins’s motorcar once belonged to Mr. Pentwater?” Clara bit her lip. “How strange. They hadn’t even met each other until Monday night.”

  “A most peculiar coincidence,” Sir Anthony grumbled.

  “As a general rule, Scotland Yard doesn’t believe in coincidences,” Ramsey said. “A bit too neat. They make us suspicious.”

  “Are you saying there is no such thing as a coincidence?” Annabel still seemed shaken.

  “I think he’s saying that a coincidence is merely a term we give to something that defies logic or probability,” Higgins answered.

  “And most people are too lazy to figure out what’s really going on,” Eliza added.

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Miss Doolittle.” Ramsey’s smile deepened.

  “What do you imply, Offizier Ramsey?” the count snapped. “That there is something suspicious about Herr Pentwater’s motorcar? The American was chased by the police, ja? He escaped to Europe, and sent ahead his possessions. Including this motorcar.”

  “I wager Pentwater was unable to pick up his car, so it went on the auction block,” Sir Anthony said. “Unlike you, Detective, I do believe in coincidences. Too many unexplained things have happened to me on my travels. Must have been a trick of fate that Miss Doolittle’s father bought it. And that Higgins then bought it from him.”

  “Besides, who could have guessed the Professor would injure himself in a motorcar accident,” Richard said. “Clara and I were disappointed when Eliza called to turn down our house party invitation. But soon after another unpredictable event occurred. A fire broke out at their Wimpole Street home, which necessitated their visit.”

  Eliza set down her fork as those words sunk in. Like Higgins and Ramsey, she didn’t put much stock in coincidence. Except it was no trick of fate that a black car appeared on Wimpole Street, then followed Higgins on his drives. Especially since a mysterious cross had been found in the auto-meter. But she hadn’t connected any of this to the fire until now. It all fell into place.

  “Is something wrong, Eliza?” Ramsey asked in a low voice.

  “No, I’m fine. Something just occurred to me. We can speak about it later.”

  This certainly wasn’t the time to announce that whoever wanted the roadster enough to kill Higgins had also set the fire at Wimpole Street. The perpetrator had taken two big risks to get their hands on the car. If Higgins was gone, access to the roadster – and the cross – would be easier. Only they couldn’t have guessed the roadster would be delivered right to Banfield Manor. Or maybe they did. Now she really was worried.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Eliza.” Higgins said.

  Eliza picked up her fork once more. “They’re worth far more than a penny.”

  “This has been a most unusual house party, Lord Ashmore,” Ramsey said. “Two deaths.”

  “Both of them explained,” the countess replied. “No need to dwell on them. Or on Professor Higgins’s motorcar coincidence.”

  “What about the other coincidences?” Ramsey asked.

  “Whatever do you mean?” She signaled for the footman to remove her plate, even though the countess had touched little of the main course.

  Ramsey swallowed his peas first. “From what I learned, most of you here had past connections to Dwight Pentwater. Rather unpleasant ones.”

  “He was an unpleasant man.” Lily’s brusque tone suggested she’d gotten over her shock about Pentwater’s car, and now seemed irritated.

  “Monsieur Pentwater was also a criminal,” Philippe reminded everyone.

  “None of us knew about his past,” the count said.

  “I believe your wife did.” Ramsey nodded toward Countess von Weisinger at the head of the table. “In fact, she has suffered at his hands. In a manner of speaking.”

  She stiffened. “What an ill-mannered fellow you are.”

  “Leave this house.” The count rose to his feet. “You have insulted my wife.”

  “Sit down, Rudolf,” Richard ordered. “We’ve heard how Pentwater caused injury to others here. If my sister was also affected, I demand to know.”

  Eliza looked at Ramsey in surprise. What did he know about the countess?

  The countess flung her napkin onto the table. “Demand to know, Richard? I demand to know why you married a girl with no money, no property, or no sense.”

  Clara looked as if she hadn’t decided whether to burst into tears or throw a plate of mutton at her sister-in-law. But Richard shot to his feet. If this kept up, luncheon might be brought to a close before the sherbet could be served.

  “Louise, my tolerance is at an end.” Richard appeared more formidable at this moment than both von Weisingers combined. “I will not remind you again that I am Ashmore’s seventh baron and my wife is baroness. You will treat us with the respect we deserve. If not, you will no longer be welcome at Banfield Manor or any other family property.”

  “You cannot mean that. Mama and I have the right to—”

  “Where the Ashmore holdings are concerned, you and the Dowager Baroness have only the rights which I choose to extend. It would be wise to remember that.”

  The countess paled at his words. “You wouldn’t dare deny us.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Louise.” Richard also looked pale, but with anger. “I spent years being treated as an afterthought by our parents. Indeed, it would have suited everyone had I spent the rest of my days with the Army in India. But I am Lord Ashmore now. If you cannot accept that, I cannot accept you in my house.”

  Eliza had no wish for a ringside seat at a family argument. The other guests must be wishing to be elsewhere as well.

  After an awkward silence, Richard turned to Ram
sey. “Please continue. What was my sister’s connection to Dwight Pentwater?”

  The count sat down, looking at his wife with confusion. Eliza figured he had no knowledge about this either. Richard’s sister flushed beet red but avoided his gaze.

  “Professor Higgins rang me yesterday to ask about his roadster,” Detective Ramsey began. “He also told me about the deaths which occurred this past week at Banfield Manor. The name ‘Pentwater’ seemed familiar. This past summer, Scotland Yard received a wire from New York authorities regarding an American fugitive by that name. After my conversation with the Professor, I contacted them. They gave me was a list of everyone who’d invested in Pentwater’s company. Pentland Inc., to be exact. Countess von Weisinger was on that list.”

  “You invested with that dishonest man?” Richard asked his sister.

  The count smacked the table. “Mein Gott! Tell them they are wrong, Louise.”

  She remained as immobile as the marble bust on a pedestal behind her.

  Ramsey frowned. “Last year, the countess invested thirty-five thousand pounds. And lost it all when Pentland Inc.’s dishonest practices were exposed.”

  “Thirty-five thousand? Madame Evangeline mentioned thirty-five during the séance!” Eliza marveled anew at the deceased woman’s abilities. Higgins groaned aloud.

  “Is that true, Louise?” Richard asked.

  “Nein, it cannot be,” the count said to his wife. “Your dowry was not to be touched.”

  The countess stirred, as if she had fallen asleep and only now awoke. She turned her attention to Ramsey. “I was left to deal with our financial matters, since my husband is much preoccupied with politics. Though he has a respected name in Austria, it did not come with a fortune to match my family.” Contempt crossed her face. “Richard bemoans his status as the third son. How tragic. At least he had the chance to one day be baron. As a female, any claim to the Ashmore estate was denied me.”

  With a heavy sigh, Richard once more sat down. “That is the law.”

  “Our expenses have grown as of late,” she continued. “Last December, a friend returning from America told me they had invested in Pentland. The company reputedly paid tremendous returns on a small investment. My friend always made sound financial decisions, so I had no reason to doubt him.”