Wouldn't It Be Deadly (29 page)

It didn't take long to learn that Helen was trapped in a loveless marriage. The Duke came to her bed but twice a year, and only in the hope of producing a son. Despite the vivacious face she presented to the world, Lady Helen was lonely and unhappy. Indeed, she was almost as lonely and unhappy as he was. Soon after, Higgins and she became lovers and the most reckless—and unexpected—chapter of his life began.

Two older men turned onto the path. Lady Helen took her hand from Higgins's arm. She opened her parasol as they approached.

“Your Grace,” one of them said with a bow of his head.

She gave a playful twirl to the parasol resting on her shoulder and nodded in return. “Good morning, Sir Charles. I hear you have a horse running at Ascot. Should I tell my husband to place a wager?”

“Not unless he wishes to lose his money, Your Grace,” he said, laughing. “Prince Palatine is sure to win again this year.”

After the men moved out of earshot, she turned to Higgins once more. “Don't worry about those two. Sir Charles has such poor eyesight, I doubt he even knew I had a walking companion. If I weren't wearing this hat, he would have passed by without a word.”

“And the other fellow?”

She shrugged. “Some obscure German count who couldn't identify King George, let alone the author of the
Universal Alphabet
.”

“Speaking of Ascot, will you and the Duke be there this year?”

She gave him a stern look. “We were speaking of the murder investigation of Emil Nepommuck, not Ascot. Were you questioned by Scotland Yard?”

“Yes. Several times.” He avoided her penetrating gaze by focusing on what he could glimpse of the distant cricket match.

“No doubt your customary arrogance was on display during the questioning, which did you even greater harm.”

Higgins couldn't help smiling. She knew him only too well. “I told them I'd been walking through London the day of Nepommuck's murder. I always do, you know, writing in my notebook. I often find someone with a new dialect in the oddest parts of the city.”

“Speak plainly. Did the detectives believe your story or not?”

“I'm afraid it's not much of an alibi. Or so they tell me.”

Lady Helen twirled her parasol for moment, clearly trying to control her agitation. “I have heard that your arrest is imminent. Verena is calling in every favor she has, especially from the Commissioner. And everyone knows Wilfred Dunningsworth has the backbone of a jellyfish. Henry, I see no way around it. They are going to arrest you.”

He turned away from her obvious concern. “I'm afraid that is all too possible. Unless I find the real killer.”

“Nonsense. It is not your purview to hunt down murderers. What sort of buffoon passes as a police detective in London? A sheriff in the Wild West did a better job of tracking down killers. Anyone who believes England is a civilized country has never spent more than three months here.”

Higgins chuckled. “Seventeen years as an English duchess, and you're still as American as Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I merely added a title to my name, I didn't give up my birthright.” She halted. “And I will not let you give up your freedom. As soon as this match ends, I shall go to London and speak with Scotland Yard.”

“Out of the question.”

Her expression grew more stubborn. At moments like this, Higgins thought she could be Eliza's older sister. In truth, given the span of years between them, she could be Eliza's mother. That gave him even greater pause.

“You are not going on trial for a murder you did not commit, Henry. They could send you to the gallows.”

“You have no say in the matter, I'm afraid.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I have a say in. I am involved in this matter.” She paused before adding in a lower voice, “Intimately involved.”

“If you go to the police, you risk everything: your reputation, the Duke's good will, your family's honor—”

“I would not be the first duchess to take such a risk, as well you know.”

“Yes, and some of them came to bad ends.”

Helen frowned. “For pity's sake, I'm not Madame Bovary. Why are you being so obstinate? Louisa, Duchess of Manchester, had a thirty-year affair with the Duke of Devonshire.”

“And they were noted for their discretion. Their relationship did not become public fodder during a murder investigation.” Higgins held up his hand. “I don't require a list of titled names who had illicit unions. I refuse to allow you to sacrifice yourself.”

“Stubborn man.” She glared at him. “I will not see you arrested when I can end this matter with one conversation with the police. After all, I am your alibi for that day. And we have at least one other witness who could prove it.”

Higgins shook his head. On the day of Nepommuck's murder, he paid an early morning call on his mother. But directly afterward, he left for a quaint village in Surrey where he spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with Helen. Since the beginning of their romance, he and Helen always met at a remote cottage owned by his cousin, who also loaned him the motorcar. Leonard was discreet and dependable; the man also worked in the offices of a Cabinet minister. If anyone learned Leonard provided the secret love nest of Henry Higgins and the Duke of Waterbury's wife, it could spell the end of his career.

“Do you really wish to drag my cousin into a police investigation? He's been a decent fellow to us for many years.”

Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. Higgins decided not to tell her that Eliza's stepmother caught a glimpse of him in Surrey. It would make her only more upset.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. It was not a pleasant scenario either way. If Higgins stuck to his original alibi, the police would likely arrest him soon. But if Lady Helen explained that she and the Professor had been secretly meeting for fifteen years, her marriage would be in jeopardy—along with something much more important.

Higgins knew she meant well. But he wouldn't risk everything. Not even for her. “Remember the Cardinal Rule,” he said finally.

“Hang the rules.”

“It's one rule, not many. And crucial.”

She waved a hand. “Rubbish.”

“You wouldn't say that if you'd experienced what I've gone through the past week. Scandal is a heavy weight to carry.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No.”

Her sweet mouth thinned. “I don't care if anyone finds out. Not anymore. And why should they guess at the rest? There's no real resemblance.”

“I forbid you to interfere, Helen. No one must learn the truth.”

As far as he was concerned, their conversation was at an end. With a firm hand at her elbow, Higgins led Helen back toward the playing field before she could defy him again. He feared they had been gone too long. People may have taken notice of them speaking together for longer than a five-minute period in public. That would be unwise.

Lady Helen's shoulders drooped as she stumbled on the gravel path.

“Don't sulk,” he said, several yards before they neared the crowd's edge. “You know I'm right.”

“I'm trying to save your life.”

“And I'm trying to save your marriage.”

“If we divorced, I doubt the Duke would even realize I was gone. What would I really lose if I left him?”

“It's not what you or I would lose.”

They looked at each other. “I know,” she murmured.

He stepped away from her. They couldn't afford any hint of impropriety. Not after all these years of taking the utmost care to avoid it.

Higgins followed Lady Helen's gaze out over the brilliant green swath where the schoolboys continued the cricket match. The batsman hit the ball far over the fielder's head and ran back and forth, exchanging places with his partner.

Both he and Helen gave a jubilant yell, proud as always of fourteen-year-old Lord William Fairfield, Marquess of Woburn, Baron of Tarlington—and the only son of Lady Helen and Henry Higgins.

As the boy scored another run, Higgins felt his heart swell with paternal love. When William was born, Henry bitterly regretted not being able to claim him as his own. But he realized that as the only heir of the Duke of Waterbury, Will enjoyed a life of privilege and opportunity that would be denied him otherwise. And the boy loved the Duke, who was the only father he had ever known. Higgins and Helen had taken enormous pains these past fifteen years to hide their relationship and protect William as best they could. That must continue, no matter what.

Higgins would be damned before he let this sordid mess with Nepommuck interfere with his son's life. Nothing could be allowed to call into question the legitimacy of the next Duke of Waterbury. Even if it meant Higgins must sacrifice his own freedom.

 

SEVENTEEN

The oldest woman in the world stared down at Higgins. He thought her face remarkably unlined for someone who had seen more than one hundred winters. Then again, the caption appearing on the screen announced that she hailed from Brussels. After the French and Italians, there were few foreigners he trusted less than the Belgians.

“Blimey, she says she remembers the Battle of Waterloo.” Eliza sat beside him, gazing up at the cinema screen with a look of wonder. “Maybe she even saw Napoleon.”

Higgins gave a rude snort. “I'd like to know what a six-year-old girl was doing on the battlefield.”

“It has to be true.” Eliza never took her eyes from the screen. “Otherwise they couldn't put it up there as news, now could they?”

For someone reared in the back alleys of London's East End, Eliza had managed to remain far too gullible. What use to tell her that the newsreel was put together by blokes trying to mix a bit of current affairs with a lot of claptrap.

So far the Pathé News had reported on the birth of a monkey at the London Zoo, the opening of the Chelsea Flower Show, and the world's record set by aviator Frangeois, who kept his airplane aloft for an amazing seventy-five minutes.

The audience seemed especially entranced by the story of 104-year-old Jeannet Schell, the oldest woman in the world. And yes, one of the captions claimed she had indeed laid eyes on Napoleon. Such nonsense. Higgins watched in relief as the next news story appeared on the flickering screen. With luck, it would concern the recently failed women's suffrage bill in the House of Commons, or President Wilson's recognition of the new Republic of China.

Instead, film of a man scaling the outside of the U.S. Capitol building appeared onscreen. The crowded theater buzzed with excitement. He heard at least a dozen colorful turns of speech and local dialects murmuring around him, but the blasted theater was too dark for him to write legibly in his notebook.

“Lord, look at him,” Eliza said. “Climbing all the way up there just to put his hat on the Dome. No wonder they call him ‘the Human Fly.' Why doesn't an Englishman do something that daring, like climb Big Ben?”

“Because the idiot would be arrested, just like they're doing to the Human Fly up there.”

Higgins tried to find a comfortable position yet again in his odorous chair. Why had he let Eliza convince him to accompany her to the cinema? They had a four o'clock appointment at Hepburn House. Lady Gresham had requested the meeting, and he hoped to persuade her to allow the authorities more time to investigate Nepommuck's murder.

As things stood now, an arrest would be made the day after next, neatly meeting the deadline worked out between Lady Gresham and the Commissioner. And since he was still the prime suspect, he had few illusions about who would be hauled off by Scotland Yard.

Murder was a sorry affair. Not just for the victim, but for everyone under suspicion, each with a sordid tale. He could scarcely believe the lovely Miss Page was, in fact, a Mister. After Eliza told her cousin about their discovery, the lady—or gentleman—was brought in for questioning by Jack himself. Neither Eliza nor he had heard a word since. Surely if Rosalind Page had appeared guilty to Jack, she would have been arrested by now. But today's penny dailies still trumpeted her West End debut in
Hamlet
tomorrow night. And for all he knew, tomorrow might be his last day of freedom.

A new offensive odor assaulted him. Twisting about in his seat, Higgins spied one of the theater attendants walking down the aisle. Holding an enormous glass bottle aloft, she sprayed the air with some sort of liquid.

“What the devil is she doing?”

Eliza spared a quick glance before turning back to the screen. “Oh, she's spraying Jeyes Fluid. It helps to cut down on the stench. Otherwise the smell would be so awful in here, you'd faint dead away.”

“By George, what sort of pig attends the cinema?”

Eliza sat up straighter. “The pianist is here. That means the main feature is about to start. Be quiet now.”

“Why must I be quiet for a silent film?”

This finally caught Eliza's attention. “Have you really never been to the cinema before?”

“No, and I've never attended a rat fight, either. But I wouldn't be surprised if you had.”

“Look, it's starting.”

The title,
Nan of Northumberland,
appeared on the screen as an out-of-tune piano played what sounded like an Irish jig.

“I am not sitting through this.”

“But Bransley Ames is in it. You must see him. He's my favorite actor.” Eliza leaned forward. “Look, there he is. Isn't he the most handsome fellow you've ever laid eyes on?”

A dark-haired man costumed in a Victorian cloak and hat suddenly filled the screen. “He certainly is wearing more makeup than any fellow I've run across,” Higgins said with a smirk.

“I think Her Ladyship's butler looks very like him.”

“And I think the Jeyes Fluid is giving you hallucinations.”

“There's the actress who's playing Nan.” Eliza's eyes opened wide with excitement. “Her name is Jemima Castle and I read that she's only sixteen years old. Imagine, sixteen and already a leading lady in the cinema. You can see why, though. Looks like an angel, she does.”