Move Your Blooming Corpse (36 page)

The orderlies rushed over with a stretcher while Freddy's voice rang out. “Where is she? Where is my darling? Let me pass! I'm her fiancé. You must let me see her. I am the only one who can help her. Where is my sweet angel? If I do not see her, we shall both die!”

Freddy burst upon them just as Eliza was lifted onto the stretcher. Grabbing her hand, he covered it with kisses. “My darling girl, you're alive. I was so worried. I had no idea you cared so much about women getting the vote. But you could have been killed!”

Eliza gave him a weak smile. “I'm fine. But very tired.” The men carried her to the ambulance. Higgins started to follow, but Freddy caught his sleeve.

“How could you let her run out on the track?” Freddy accused Higgins. “I told all of you for weeks she'd be trampled if she ran in front of the horses. Of course, no one listened to me. Even though I am the only one here with any sense! Instead, you nearly got her killed, Professor. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Higgins took a deep breath. “Jack, have you taken Sir Walter into custody yet?”

“I left three detectives in the tent, with orders to restrain them when they revived.”

“You're sure to find the bottle of poison on Sir Walter. When you do, I have a request.”

Jack lifted his eyes in surprise. “What's that?”

Higgins pointed at Freddy. “See if you can get this fellow to drink what's left.”

 

TWENTY-TWO

“I don't believe it!” A startled Mrs. Pearce dropped the tiered pastry dish. She looked over at Higgins. “The girl must be ill again. Should we take her back to hospital?”

Eliza patted the housekeeper on the arm. “I only said I didn't want any scones.”

“But you've refused everything but a boiled egg and tea. And you ate only consommé at dinner yesterday. Maybe you're running a fever.” Mrs. Pearce laid a hand on Eliza's forehead.

“Oh, for pity's sake, she was poisoned two days ago. Give her a bit more time to work up an appetite. No need to fling our breakfast to the floor.” Higgins bent to pick up the broken pieces of currant scones scattered over the carpet.

“The doctors advised me to eat nothing but soup, toast, and eggs for a few days,” Eliza said. “By Friday, I'll be ready to wolf down every scone in your kitchen.”

“I won't be happy until you're back to eating us out of house and home again.” The housekeeper kissed Eliza on the cheek. “You gave us quite a fright.”

Before Eliza could respond, Mrs. Pearce hurried from the room—but not before Eliza glimpsed tears in the housekeeper's eyes. Eliza was a bit amazed herself that she had so little appetite. Then again, she had never had a vial of poison forced down her throat.

Higgins dumped the broken scones on the table. “Are we supposed to eat these, Pick?”

To Eliza's dismay, Pickering seemed as upset as Mrs. Pearce. He threw down his napkin, his face a mask of misery. “I cannot believe how close we came to losing you, Eliza. If only I had been at the racetrack. I might have been able to stop that scoundrel.”

“I don't see how you could have done anything, Colonel. Sir Walter fooled us all.”

“Do not call that monster ‘Sir.' He is an affront to humanity, the lowest form of life to ever receive a knighthood. And to think we visited his home in Essex. Why, he might have tried to poison you there.” His face reddened with anger. “He might have poisoned all of us!”

“Calm down, old man. Eliza has recovered, and Fairweather's facing charges of multiple murders.” Sitting down once more, Higgins reached for a piece of toast. “And you didn't need to be at the racetrack, not while I was there. As everyone in the stands can tell you, I behaved with the utmost daring and courage. Saved the day I did, along with saving Eliza.”

She felt such a wave of affection for the Professor, Eliza had to fight back tears. She blamed the poison for her uncharacteristic weepiness. “You should have been there, Colonel. I was flat on the ground and couldn't see anything. But everyone says it was a miraculous sight to behold. Higgins spread-eagled on top of me, while racehorses leaped over his back.”

“I was quite magnificent,” Higgins said with a wide grin as he buttered his toast.

Laughing, Eliza got up from her chair. Before he could protest, she gave him a quick hug. “Thank you again, you marvelous preening hero.” She sat back down. “Maybe by Christmas you'll stop reminding me every hour that you saved my life.”

Higgins seemed thrown by her unexpected embrace, but she knew he'd pretend it hadn't happened.

“Let's strike a bargain,” he said. “I won't remind you that I saved your life, if you stop reminding me how you rescued me from prison this past spring.”

Eliza slapped her hand on the table. “Done.”

“Now I feel far worse.” Pickering stood. “Both of you have been in deadly trouble the past few months, and I have been no help at all. None.”

“Colonel, that's not true.” It bothered Eliza to see how upset the dear fellow was.

Higgins leaned back in his chair. “How about this? The next murder case Eliza and I stumble across, we'll let you be the one who nearly gets killed.”

Pickering shook his head. “I'm going to my club. All this talk of murder and poison is simply no way to start the morning.”

“Don't be silly, Pick,” Higgins called after him. “Come back.”

Higgins and Eliza shrugged at each other when he didn't return. A few minutes later, voices rang out from the entry foyer. Eliza frowned. Neither of them was dressed to receive visitors. As always, the Professor wore a tattered bathrobe at the breakfast table; she had come down this morning in her most comfortable satin wrapper. Eliza hadn't even bothered to put her hair up. Instead, a thick braid hung halfway down her back.

With a flurry of greetings, Jack, Sybil, and Rachel Turnbull entered the dining room. Eliza was taken aback to see all three in their Sunday best.

“I wish you'd telephoned first,” she said. “We're not properly dressed.”

“Oh, hang that.” Higgins snorted. “They're the ones being beastly rude. It serves them right to find us sitting here in our carpet slippers and bathrobes.”

Sybil laughed. “True. Forgive our ill manners, but we won't stay long.”

Higgins rang for Mrs. Pearce to bring in more coffee, scones, and eggs.

When everyone had taken a seat, Jack cleared his throat. “I thought you'd like to know that Sir Walter isn't the only one arrested for murder. Keene, Ingleby, Melling, and Owens have all been charged as accomplices.”

“And Mr. Longhurst has been released,” Rachel said. Although the widow wore a black mourning gown, she'd pinned a
VOTES FOR WOMEN
brooch to her collar. “I asked him to come with us today, but he's still unsettled from his past few days in jail.”

“Please tell him how sorry I am for believing he'd poisoned Sir Walter.” Eliza bit her lip. “I also apologize for thinking you poisoned your husband.”

Rachel smiled. “I would have believed the same thing in your place. Let's not speak of it anymore. I'm only glad to see how quickly you've recovered.”

“And I'm glad you saw me run out of the tent and found Jack. Sir Walter might have woken up and escaped if you hadn't.”

“Highly unlikely, Lizzie,” Jack said. “You broke his nose with that bottle. He was so disoriented from the blow, it took a solid day of interrogation before we got a coherent story out of him. Not that we needed it to arrest him. He still had the bottle of poison in his pocket.”

“He confessed, I hope?” Higgins asked.

“Indeed he did. And to much more than killing off the syndicate members.” Jack took a long sip of coffee. “We know now why Brody killed Diana Price at Ascot.”

Eliza sat forward in anticipation. “I've been waiting to learn this. Sir Walter wouldn't tell me. What did she overhear that drove them to murder?”

Before Jack could answer, someone knocked furiously on the front door. Mrs. Pearce left the room with a worried frown.

“Who the devil is here now?” Higgins asked. “If that's your father and Rose, I'm going upstairs to take a bath.”

“Don't be silly,” Eliza said. “Dad won't be released until Wednesday.”

“It's worse than I thought,” Higgins muttered as Freddy rushed into the room.

Eliza had only half risen before Freddy crushed her to his chest. When he was done with his painful embrace, she realized he had also smashed the bouquet of daisies he held.

“I'm so sorry, I've quite battered these flowers. But they're to welcome you back home from the hospital, my darling.”

“I was only there for a day, but thank you, Freddy.” Eliza handed the bouquet to Mrs. Pearce. “Sit down and have some breakfast. Jack's brought news about the murders.”

Luckily Freddy spotted fresh scones and jam preserves on the table. He sat across from Eliza without further protest and reached for a plate.

“As I was saying, we interrogated Sir Walter. I also sent men to his house in Essex, and to Brody's apartment in Chelsea. We found papers in both places confirming that Brody was a secret owner of the Donegal Dancer,” Jack said. “And that wasn't the only horse Brody owned with Sir Walter. We uncovered documents exposing their other criminal deeds.”

“I say, wasn't it a bit of ill luck the only jockey killed yesterday was Brody.” Freddy stopped smearing his scone. “The Donegal Dancer swerved at the last minute just as he reached you and the Professor. Perhaps the horse knew you were there, darling, and didn't want to harm you. But the horse veered so abruptly, it sent Brody flying. A most alarming sight.”

“It would have been more alarming had the horse trampled us,” Higgins said.

“Of course, but I feel sorry for that lady friend of his. What was her name again?”

“Patsy,” Eliza said. “The poor girl probably had no idea what Brody was up to.”

“It doesn't appear so.” Jack cleared his throat. “Now if I could continue.”

“If you don't let him finish, that eye of his will start twitching,” Sybil said with a grin.

“We shall be silent for as long as you want, Jack.” Eliza winked at Sybil.

“We'll see how long that lasts,” Higgins said.

“As I was saying, we found papers proving their joint ownership of several racehorses. We also found evidence that both men were part of the infamous horse kidnapping ring that has plagued the racing world for five years.”

Eliza's mouth fell open. “The one my dad was so worried about?”

“The very one.”

Rachel shook her head. “Sir Walter hired men to guard the Dancer, when all along the syndicate should have been protecting the horse from him.”

“How big a part did Brody and Sir Walter play in the ring?” Higgins asked.

“Part? They ran the organization. We've found at least eleven men who worked for them. Melling, Owens, Ingleby, and Keene were only a few.”

Eliza thought this over. “Sir Walter said he and Brody had been having an angry conversation at Ascot. Diana obviously heard them speak about the kidnappings. But was it really worth killing her over that?”

Jack looked at her as if she had just sprouted wings. “Worth killing for? Lizzie, these men were kidnapping champion racehorses and holding them for ransom. These horses are worth tens of thousands of pounds. Many of the thefts never even reached the papers. Owners paid the ransom without reporting it to the authorities for fear the horse—or they—would be harmed. However, several owners refused to pay. They either didn't have enough money, or they feared by paying the kidnappers, it would only encourage them to steal more horses. Regardless, those who didn't pay the ransom never saw their horse again.”

“Did they kill the horses?” Eliza's anger built once more.

“Only one horse was killed, and we believe that was accidental. At least according to Sir Walter. If the horses weren't ransomed, the kidnappers bred them with other horses they had stolen. In fact, they often bred the horses even if the ransom
had
been paid.”

“What would be the purpose in that?” Higgins seemed puzzled. “The kidnappers could never reveal the true bloodlines of these animals. If so, they'd be arrested.”

“Don't you see?” The truth seemed clear to Eliza. “By racing them! They knew these young horses were the offspring of champions, and likely to become champions themselves. To avoid suspicion, Sir Walter probably sold these horses when they were first foaled. Then he bought them back under assumed names when they were old enough to race.”

“By George, I believe she's right.” Higgins chuckled. “I told you we didn't need Sherlock Holmes, Eliza. We figured the mystery out ourselves.”

“What do you mean
we
?”

“Maybe you figured it out, but my detectives and I got the murderer to confess.”

Sybil winked at Jack. “If you ask, Eliza might promise to let you solve the next mystery.”

“And I promise she has no idea how valuable the Donegal Dancer really is,” Jack said.

“Is he the offspring of one of the kidnapped champions?” Higgins asked.

“Not just one champion. Two.” Jack made them wait while he took another sip of coffee.

Eliza snapped her fingers. “Red Glory and Maximus!”

Jack choked on his coffee as Freddy asked in confusion, “Who are they?”

“They're the champion racehorses Jack told us about when he questioned the syndicate members at Ascot,” she said. “Actually, Brody brought it up.”

“The girl does have a phenomenal memory,” Higgins said.

“I don't know why I bother. Scotland Yard should just come to her with their next case.”

“So the parents of the Donegal Dancer are two champions?” Freddy persisted.

Eliza nodded. “Brody said they stole Red Glory when she was pregnant. She was found a year later, unharmed, but her foal had already been born. No one knew what happened to the foal. I remember the Duchess was upset about that. But Maximus was taken the year before as well. The kidnappers must have mated them.” She let out a whistle. “No wonder Sir Walter and Brody wanted the Dancer all to themselves. The horse hasn't lost a race in two seasons. Except for this last one. And I've never been happier to see a horse lose than I was on Friday.”