Wouldn't It Be Deadly (15 page)

“Are we done sleuthing?” Higgins asked. “I wouldn't mind a nice cup of tea, with supper to go along with it. I say we get to the other end of this bridge and hail a cab.”

“Why wait to get off the bridge? Let's hire one of the cabs driving by.” She nodded toward the traffic barreling past them while they stood on the pedestrian walkway.

Higgins watched the steady stream of motorcars, omnibuses, and a few horse-drawn wagons. “Any cab on Waterloo Bridge is already hired. I am afraid you'll have to limp your way to the other side. That, or I'll sling you over my shoulder and carry you across like a side of Guernsey beef.”

“I can walk on my own, thank you very much.”

Wincing, Eliza jammed her left foot into a dainty rose-colored shoe. “Nan saved us a trip to the tailors on Threadneedle Street, but I'm disappointed we couldn't find anyone who saw you on the day of the murder. Still, I'm flat-out tired and ready for a cup of tea myself.”

“Let's get on with it then. The sooner we find a cab, the quicker we'll be back home at Wimpole Street.”

Eliza shook her head. “We have to go to Scotland Yard first. I promised Jack we'd bring the button to him before the end of the day. And it's nearly dark.”

Stubborn as always, he thought; however, he admired her resoluteness, especially since this was all done on his behalf. Although it was damned ludicrous that he and Eliza were playing Holmes and Watson simply because some lying foreigner got himself killed.

Behind her, Higgins caught sight of Westminster now illuminated by the last rays of the sun. He leaned over the bridge railing and took a deep breath, enjoying the pungent smell of the river's mudbanks and the view.

“Professor, I think we should hurry. No need to stand on the bridge looking over the edge.”

Amused by the concern in her voice, he grinned. “Are you worried I'll fling myself into the Thames, Eliza? You ought to know me better than that. Out of all the men in the King's empire, I am the last one to end it all in such a romantic and deluded manner. Unless you actually believe the tale Corporal Teddy spun for the police.”

“Even the strongest man has a weak moment. No shame in it,” she said. “You should be pleased that Boer veteran was worried about you.”

“He cares because I come around now and again to write down how that Welshman slaughters his native tongue. For which he is paid rather handsomely. Hence his concern that I was going to end it all in the river.”

“But he did tell the police that you confessed feeling guilty about something, and seeing as how it was the day that Nepommuck was murdered…” Her voice trailed off.

Higgins turned to face her, but he could barely see her features in the growing dusk. “And what do you imagine I was feeling guilty about? Do you honestly think I stuck a knife in that blighter's back?”

“No, I'd never believe that of you. Oh, you're careless of everyone's feelings, but you're not the type to put someone in the grave.” She frowned. “I think you're feeling guilty all the same.”

He sighed and turned back to the river. “Bloody Hungarian. Who would have thought one of his many enemies would actually do him in? All I wanted was to expose him as a liar and a mountebank. Something I did most effectively by the information I gave to the newspapers. I looked forward to watching his fraudulent house of cards come tumbling down around his ears. That was the fun I expected, Eliza.”

“Would it have been fun?”

“To watch my enemy suffer a well-deserved punishment, knowing all the while I was responsible for his pain? Yes, I would have found sport in it. Why in the world would I put Nepommuck out of his misery by killing him? I'd barely begun to savor my revenge.”

“But you do feel some guilt all the same.”

A long moment passed. “Yes. I wanted him disgraced, not murdered. And I don't know how or why, but the information revealed in the press somehow got him killed. For that, I do share responsibility and I am sorry. However, I didn't murder the charlatan. Nor did I wish the oily bastard dead by anyone's hand.”

“I know you didn't kill him, Professor. So does the Colonel and your mother and anyone who really knows you. But that doesn't include Scotland Yard.”

“They're idiots. By George, it's amazing any criminal is ever apprehended in this city.”

“Those idiots are the ones who will arrest someone for Nepommuck's murder. Right now, the most likely person is you. That's why we've been out here all day trying to find someone who will back up your alibi.”

“A fool's errand. I've spent years eavesdropping on vendors, thieves, and ladies on the streets of London. Damn few take any notice unless I want their attention.”

She drummed her fingers on the railing. “Then we have to find a more likely suspect. Starting tomorrow, we'll pay a call on Nepommuck's students. I suspect many of them are not unhappy he's dead. Nepommuck has a list in his apartment with the names and addresses of everyone who took lessons from us both. It has to be one of them.”

Higgins agreed with her. Gossip had long held that Nepommuck was a blackmailer, and he was confident that some of his students had been victims of the Hungarian. “I'd certainly like a few words with that phony Greek diplomat.”

“Yes, Dmitri Kollas,” she said. “He was furious at Nepommuck the day of the murder. And don't forget the Finches. Cornelius may have killed him out of jealousy. He certainly had a good reason, especially after that scene Mary caused at the garden party. And who's to say that Mary didn't do him in herself? After all, the man she loved had just announced he was going to marry another woman.”

“They sound a lovely pair,” Higgins murmured. “And people wonder why I never married.”

“I also met a young man at the garden party who didn't seem fond of the Maestro, either. We should pay a call on his students this week. Even if none of them did it, we may uncover information leading to the person who did. In fact, tomorrow morning we'll go to Nepommuck's apartment and—” Eliza tugged his sleeve. “Professor, are you listening to me?”

Higgins leaned as far as he dared over the gray granite wall of Waterloo Bridge. “Blast this traffic. It's drowning out that man on a coal barge beneath the bridge. If I'm not mistaken, he's singing a sea shanty in Old English.”

In an instant, he had his notebook out once more.

“You're off your trolley! You've no more sense than one of the ravens on Tower Hill. I've crippled myself walking about London on your behalf, and all you can think about is listening to passing boatmen.”

“Shhh.” Higgins scribbled in his notebook. “I must remember the verse he sang.”

“You can find me on the other side of the Thames when you're done. And I intend to hail the first cab I see. If you're not there when I do, you can find your own way home.”

Higgins chuckled as Eliza stomped off. Silly girl. Did she forget that she had given all her money to those flower sellers in Covent Garden? And by the time she limped to the other side, he would be ten steps ahead of her. But first he had to listen to the boatman. Dodging traffic, he ran to the bridge's other side to catch further snatches of the song. It was worth a dozen cabs just to listen to this fellow warble in the night like a figure out of Chaucer.

Suddenly he heard Eliza cry out. “Ah-ah-oh-ow-ow-oh-ow!”

Cramming his notebook back in his pocket, Higgins sprinted between traffic to the other side once more. “Eliza, are you all right?”

“Help, Professor! He's getting away!”

Racing down the walkway, he pushed past a delivery boy hauling an empty wagon. “Where are you? Eliza!”

How foolish he'd been to leave her alone on Waterloo Bridge at twilight. Although most of the thieves skulked along the river's edge below, a young girl dressed as expensively as Eliza was certain to attract unwanted attention.

“Give that back, you bloody thief!”

At the sound of Eliza's voice, he ran so fast he almost tripped over her fallen figure. Higgins knelt beside her. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

With a grunt, she pulled herself up. “The blooming dodger's gotten away!”

She pointed to a figure darting off into the shadows. Even in the dark, he could see pursuit was futile. In a few more steps, the thief would come to the end of the bridge and then fling himself into the Victoria Embankment traffic.

Higgins turned to Eliza, who was brushing herself off. “Are you injured?”

“Just my pride. I haven't had something nicked off me since I was five years old when Billy Rathbone stole my cornhusk doll. It's bloody embarrassing to have my purse snatched. I should have seen that lowlife from fifty yards away.”

“He attacked you?”

“I was walking along the bridge. Even said a ‘how d'ye do' to that delivery boy what passed. Then someone pushed me to the pavement from behind and yanked my purse.” She held up her hand. “I had the drawstring wrapped around my wrist. I gave him a bit of a struggle, but he got it off fast enough. Heard him rip that lovely pink silk, I did. If I could find him, I'd box his ears with these heels I'm wearing.”

“At least you're not hurt.” Higgins brushed the dirt off the back of her skirt. “Let's get you into a cab. The sooner you're home, the safer you'll be.”

“But we have to go to Scotland Yard to give Jack the button.” Eliza stopped. “Oh blimey! The button was in my purse.”

“That's one thief who won't be happy when he realizes all he's made off with is a torn bag and a button.”

“Thank goodness I gave all the money in my purse to Nan and Old Lucy. I'd rather they have it than some pox-faced pickpocket. But I've lost the button! It was a clue, too. Now we have nothing to show the police.”

“Eliza, we don't know if it was a clue or not. Dozens of students went to see Nepommuck every week. That button might have belonged to any of them.”

“No, it was a clue. And I'll wager that it belonged to whoever was hiding in the dark that day.” She straightened her straw hat. “I know it.”

“All right, Sherlock. I will concede that we lost a clue today.”

She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “I'll tell you something else. Whoever stole my purse has been following us all day.”

“Come now, Eliza. I doubt that very much.”

“I've had a funny feeling ever since we left the Yard. First I thought Jack sent a detective to keep me safe. But he'd have caught the thief, you see. That dodger who stole my purse had to be tracking us all along.”

Higgins moved to touch her cheek and then stopped himself. “Are you certain you didn't hit your head?”

“Oh bugger that.” She spun on her heel and began to limp away. “What a wasted day. Bad enough I lost the button. But we spent hours walking around the city, and couldn't find one person who saw you yesterday. Not one!”

Nor would they be likely to, Higgins thought as he followed close behind her. He didn't expect anyone to remember seeing him the day of the murder. And he had no intention of telling Eliza his alibi was a sham. In truth, he had an airtight alibi. However, he could never reveal where he had been. Not to Eliza, and not to Scotland Yard.

No one would ever know. It was a secret he would take to the grave. Or prison.

 

NINE

Stifling a yawn, Eliza slowly descended the stairs. Her feet throbbed from yesterday's search, and she winced with each step. But the delicious aroma of bacon, scones, pan-fried eggs, and freshly brewed coffee drew her downstairs.

How she loved to greet Mrs. Pearce in the morning, along with the other maids at the Professor's house. Not that his mother's residence wasn't as lovely or the staff as nice. But Mrs. Higgins's palatial apartment on the Chelsea Embankment was a tad too serene and quiet. Even more important, 27A Wimpole Street felt like home.

After the attack on Waterloo Bridge last night, Higgins brought her straight back here. While it was unlikely that the attacker had targeted her personally, Higgins and Pickering were uneasy about the situation. If someone had followed Eliza, leaving her alone with Higgins's mother would only serve to place both ladies in jeopardy. They decided Eliza should move her belongings back to Wimpole Street, where she would stay until this whole murder business was resolved.

Eliza didn't protest. She looked forward to sleeping once again in her old room with its blue canopy bed and cushioned window seat. How loverly to draw aside the blue silk curtains each morning and gaze out on the flower boxes, wrought-iron railings, and stone entrances that lined the street below. The neighborhood was elegant without being stuffy. Nannies wheeled prams to and from Regent's Park all day, while motorcars discharged well-dressed men and women calling on the many medical practices that dotted the street all the way to Cavendish Square. Eliza had even heard that a famous poetess once lived nearby. And the air of activity always present within the Professor's home—the staff setting out breakfast, the rooms being readied for the day—matched the congenial hustle and bustle outside the front door.

As she walked down the stairs, Eliza heard the maids hard at work cleaning Higgins's makeshift laboratory. She had spent so many hours in there practicing her vowels, consonants, and diphthongs, she nearly went mad. Eliza shook her head at the memory of trying to speak with a mouth full of marbles. Not to mention listening again and again to his bloody wax recordings.

It felt good to be back.

Eliza entered the dining room and smiled when both Colonel Pickering and Major Redstone jumped to their feet. Both in suits and ties, freshly shaved and their hair pomaded, they looked quite formal compared with the Professor. Like most mornings, Higgins was clad in a stained dressing gown with his hair uncombed. He lowered his newspaper to eye level and then raised it again without saying a word.