Wouldn't It Be Deadly (17 page)

“Freddy, don't be absurd.”

“I'm not being absurd.” He pulled Eliza to her feet. “Come with me immediately.”

Higgins folded his newspaper and slapped it down onto the table. “What the devil, young man! What are you implying? That my home isn't fit for decent company? That I ought not tolerate ancient poetry, however bad it is?”

“Of course not—”

“Eliza is perfectly safe under my roof. And stop manhandling her. She will remain here until either she or I decide otherwise.” Higgins wagged his finger at the younger fellow. “And if you ever upset my breakfast again, I shall put my foot on your arse and send you flying out into the street!”

Freddy stammered, “B-but my darling is in danger and I cannot let her remain here.”

“Cor, I've had enough,” Eliza said. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

Ignoring his protests, she dragged Freddy into the foyer. Grabbing his hat from the wall hook with one hand, Eliza opened the front door with the other. She pushed him out on the steps. “Now stop making a scene and go home.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Eliza stopped him with a lingering kiss. When she finally broke away, Freddy was speechless and euphoric.

“You're sweet to worry about me, Freddy, but I shall be fine. And I'll be in touch after we make more progress on the case.”

“But Eliza, my darling, please let me—”

She shut the door on his pleas.
If
they made progress, she thought with a sigh.

Freddy had no reason to worry about the Major. Although Redstone could quote the most delicious poetry, Freddy was far more suited to her. He was such a dear boy, so handsome with his golden mane of hair and endless declarations of love. Even his hysterical concern for her was flattering. And he was easy to manage. Besides, Aubrey Redstone was a man of thirty-seven, just three years younger than Professor Higgins. Both of them were much too old for the likes of her. She had to keep reminding herself of that, especially now the Major had been kind enough to give her that lovely copy of
Hamlet
.

Higgins and Redstone were merely her friends, while Colonel Pickering was like a father, far more generous and loving than Alfred Doolittle had ever been. And she owed the Colonel and Higgins her loyalty for all their help. Without them, she'd be sitting next to Nan at Covent Garden tying bunches of violets. No matter what, she'd find a way to keep both Higgins and the Colonel safe from harm. That meant Freddy and his romantic plans would have to wait until she finished solving a murder.

*   *   *

“Here we are,” Eliza announced to the trio of men clustered about her.

Higgins looked up at the whitewashed building with its Ionic pillared porticos, ironwork balconies, and first-floor railings. “It cost that scoundrel a pretty penny to rent one apartment here, let alone two.”

“Do you know where Nepommuck kept his list of students?” Redstone asked.

“The writing desk in his sitting room.” Eliza entered the imposing building. She threw a quick glance at the heavy doors that led to the solicitors' office before walking toward the stairwell.

“Perhaps we should also take a look around his apartment for threatening letters or cryptic notes,” Pickering said as they climbed the stairs. “Anything to suggest blackmail.”

“Absolutely,” Higgins said. “Blackmail is the likeliest motive.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if the police missed something important when they searched his rooms,” Eliza added.

Higgins gave a bitter laugh. “Nothing the police do would surprise me.”

Upon reaching the second floor, Eliza faltered. The last time she was here, Nepommuck's corpse was lying in the hallway. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. It took every ounce of her will to continue walking toward the Maestro's apartment. But Eliza stopped cold when she saw the large dark stain on the carpeting in front of his door.

“Are you all right, Eliza?” The Colonel put his hand on her shoulder. “No need to go any farther. We can turn around and leave. Or we can simply send Higgins into the apartment to get the list you need.”

Higgins nodded. “Pick, why don't you take Eliza downstairs while I rummage about his desk. I just need the key.”

She took a deep breath. “No, I can do this. Besides, I promised to get the poetry books from my classroom for the Major afterwards.”

“Please don't worry about that now, Miss Doolittle.” The Major gave her a concerned look. “We should have known better than to allow you to return here so soon after your employer's death.”

“I'm fine.” None of them looked convinced. “I'm fine,” she repeated in a stronger voice.

She rummaged in her pocketbook for the brass key to the apartment. Eliza carefully stepped over the bloodstain. A second later, she stood before Nepommuck's door. She inserted the key into the lock, turned it, then tried the knob. It didn't budge.

“Why won't it open?”

“Maybe it was already unlocked, and you locked it again.” Higgins reached over and twisted the key. “Try it now.”

Click
.

“You're right. But why would it be unlocked in the first place? Maybe the police are inside.” Eliza pushed the door open.

Her gaze swept over the ornate furnishings of Nepommuck's apartment. It was hard to believe he was dead. She could still smell his Turkish cigarettes in the air, along with his favorite eau de cologne, Kölnisch Wasser. At any moment, she expected to hear him call her into the sitting room and give her the name of yet another new pupil. Nepommuck may have been an insufferable man—and possibly a criminal back in his native Hungary—but no one deserved to die such a terrible death.

“Eliza, are we going inside or not?” Higgins said from the hallway.

She stepped inside the apartment and froze. Cornelius Finch sat on the sofa in the middle of the room. He seemed not to notice Eliza and the others. Instead he stared down at the floor. Eliza craned her neck to see what he was looking at. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Higgins and the other two men crowded in behind her. “By Jove, what is this?” Pickering said in horror.

A woman in a black dress lay faceup on the Persian rug. Eliza instantly recognized the blond hair. “It's Mary Finch,” she whispered.

Higgins pushed her backward into Pickering, who stepped on Redstone's foot. When the Major let out a howl, it stirred Cornelius Finch into movement. He finally glanced over at them.

“My wife.” He spoke as if in a trance.

“Is she ill? Help me get her onto the sofa.” Eliza hurried to kneel by Mary. She let out a cry when she saw the woman's bruised neck and lifeless eyes.

“It's too late.” His calm voice stunned them.

Higgins knelt beside Eliza. “Damnation, man. What happened?”

“She's dead.” Cornelius sighed. “I killed her.”

 

TEN

Eliza tried to avert her gaze from the large map of London that hung on the wall of Jack's office. But her eyes kept coming back to it. The detailed street map of the city was covered with a profusion of colored pins. Jack told her yesterday the map showed where various crimes had been committed this year; each color represented a different offense. Red pins denoted a murder. She shivered to think another red pin had been placed at the Belgrave Square building where Nepommuck had lived.

“I can't believe we're back at Scotland Yard again,” Eliza said.

“If we come one more time, we may as well rent our own office.” Higgins stood by the window, staring down at Whitehall Place. “I doubt your cousin is thrilled we seem to have moved into his.”

“What a beastly day.” Colonel Pickering tamped tobacco into his pipe.

“If we'd been a few minutes earlier, we might have been able to stop Mr. Finch from strangling Mary.”

Higgins let out an exasperated sigh. “Eliza, you must stop saying that. Jack told you Mary had been dead for at least an hour before we got there.”

“I know, but maybe he's wrong. Maybe we could have saved her.”

“There was nothing we could have done, my dear.” Pickering reached over and patted her hand.

“I feel guilty.” Eliza couldn't get the image of poor Mary out of her head. It didn't seem possible that in only forty-eight hours, she had discovered the dead bodies of two people she had known well.

Redstone looked up from the periodical he was reading in a corner chair. “None of us has reason to feel guilty, Miss Doolittle, least of all you. We simply had the misfortune of stumbling upon a murder. At least this crime will be easy to solve.”

“Thank heaven,” she said. Although horrified at Mary's death, Eliza was immensely relieved they had the killer in custody. It seemed clear that Cornelius Finch had murdered both his wife and her lover. Higgins would now be seen as an innocent man.

“You'd think at least one blasted policeman would come in and tell us something.” Higgins rattled the loose change in his pocket, which Eliza knew he did only when he was agitated. “We've been here for three hours without even a cup of tea, let alone any useful information.”

“One good thing has come out of this tragedy, Professor,” Eliza said. “The Maestro's murderer has been caught and he isn't you.”

Redstone cleared his throat. “We may want to hold off on celebrating. After all, the Inspector has told us nothing aside from Mrs. Finch's approximate time of death. Who knows what sort of story Mr. Finch is telling the police?”

“What can he say?” Eliza said. “We caught Cornelius standing over Mary's body, and he even announced he killed her. It seems obvious to me.”

“But did he kill Nepommuck as well?” Pickering puffed on his pipe. The older gentleman invariably brought out his pipe when he felt uneasy. Higgins wasn't the only one in the office on edge.

“Of course he did. You remember the scene Mary created at the garden party when Lady Gresham announced their engagement. Mary was obviously in love with Nepommuck. And her jealous husband knew it.”

Pickering drew on his pipe. “I say, I feel awfully bad about it all. Especially when you consider that Mrs. Finch said something about a baby when Lady Verena's butler took her away. If she was carrying Nepommuck's child, this is a doubly tragic situation.”

Eliza had forgotten what Mary cried out during the party. How dreadful if the woman had been with child. She shuddered at the brutal consequences of an illicit tryst. The clock on the opposite wall chimed half past two. How much longer were they going to be kept here? She was weary of Scotland Yard, police detectives, and the uncertainty over the Professor's fate.

“Surely now, life can go back to normal,” Eliza said, not realizing that she had spoken aloud. The others looked at her.

“And what will that life be for you?” Redstone asked. “Will you continue giving lessons?”

“I don't know.”

“My dear, I have told you many times I will set you up in a flower shop.” Pickering squeezed her hand once more. “Or perhaps you'd care to be the proprietress of a millinery store. You've become the most fashionable young lady I know.”

“Due to you, Colonel,” she said with fondness. “I quite enjoy teaching, but Freddy would prefer having a shop.”

“I didn't realize this was Freddy's decision,” Pickering said as he tapped a finger on his meerschaum pipe.

“I'll make the final decision, of course, but you know he wishes to marry me. It makes sense that he's already thinking about our future.”

“He might think about finding a job,” Higgins muttered by the window. “He's twenty-one. High time he had a profession.”

“I wouldn't ask him to get a job.” Eliza was appalled at the very idea. “He was raised to be a gentleman, not a common laborer.”

“Gentlemen usually have private incomes,” Redstone said quietly. “That's how they came to be gentlemen.”

“But his family has fallen on hard times. It must be far worse to have known a life of wealth and lost it than to never have known it at all.”

Higgins only sneered. “I doubt the inhabitants of the poorhouse would agree.”

“I'm not saying that being without money is easy for anyone, but Freddy and Clara were brought up to expect a much different life than I was. I feel sorry for them.”

“You are much too kind,” Redstone said. “If you had remained a Cockney flower seller, Mr. Eynsford Hill would never have paid you a moment's notice.”

“No more than you would have,” Eliza said.

“Touché,” Redstone murmured.

“Let's not get carried away about Freddy's lamentable station in life,” Higgins said. “The Eynsford Hills boast no knights, dukes, or even baronets in their family tree. They are solidly middle-class, with the pretentious manners to prove it.”

Eliza didn't fancy the criticism about her Freddy. “I don't know why we're discussing his family or their manners. All I care about is that he loves me and I love him.”

The room fell silent.

“
Do
you love him, Eliza?” Pickering finally asked.

For a moment, she regretted her words. Did she love Freddy? Or was she just in love with the idea that a proper young gentleman was smitten with her?

“Of … of course I do. Why else would I defend him so?”

Higgins laughed. “Sheer pigheadedness.”

“As if you're in a position to talk about men and women in love. Unless a woman comes to you with a stammer or a Scots brogue that needs correcting, you don't give her a second's attention.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You would, you brute.” Eliza slumped down in her chair, arms crossed. Sometimes the Professor could make her forget all the pretty manners she spent so much effort to acquire.

“Henry, if our Eliza wishes to make an honest man of Mr. Eynsford Hill, then we should support her,” Pickering said.