Wouldn't It Be Deadly (34 page)

“Nepommuck.” Eliza was beginning to understand. “Knowing him, he probably used poetry to teach her, especially local poets.”

“Exactly. Arabelle wrote that he found her reading
The White Rose
one day and insisted they use it during her lessons. That was no hardship for her; she treasured my poems and welcomed the chance to read them aloud.”

Eliza cast a furtive look around her. The nearest shelf held goblets, a garland of artificial flowers, and a silver cross on a pedestal she recognized from the scene where Hamlet came upon Claudius praying. Her hopes rose when she also spied wooden lances used by the guards manning the ramparts in the first scene.

“Is all this fuss because Nepommuck nicked the book from your sweetheart?” If this was why Redstone was upset, he was more of a sentimental ninny than Freddy.

“Of course not. Or did you forget where the man's real talents lie?”

Eliza turned her attention from the lances back on Redstone, who was still crouched before her. “He blackmailed her? But how?”

“He surprised Arabelle when she was writing to me and snatched the letter away. We wisely never used our Christian names, but the letter's contents were incriminating. He threatened to take the letter to the Earl if she didn't give in to his demands, which included sexual favors along with money.” Redstone's face grew cold and hard. “He didn't know my Arabelle. Of course she refused and the bastard made good on his threat.”

Eliza inched to the left to get closer to the nearest lance.

“Get away from those lances, Eliza,” Redstone said.

Anger overwhelmed her fear. “What do you want me to do? Sit here like a rag doll while you decide when you're going to kill me?”

“I am not going to kill you!”

Eliza bit back a nervous grin. If she got him riled up, he might start yelling his fool head off. That would call attention to the noises in the prop room. But how far did she dare push him?

“Don't know why you wouldn't. Or are you going to tell me that you didn't want Nepommuck dead?”

“Of course I wanted him dead.” Realizing his mistake, Redstone lowered his voice, which made his words seem more sinister. “Because Arabelle thwarted him, Nepommuck exposed her to the Earl. And Thornton was notoriously jealous. He almost beat her to death.”

Fearful of the answer, Eliza paused before asking her next question. “Did you kill the Earl as well?”

Redstone laughed, a hollow sound. “I didn't have to. Thornton was certain that once Arabelle healed from the beating, she would run off to join her lover. He decided to take her to America. The pig booked passage for both of them.” He paused. “On the
Titanic
.”

Eliza didn't say a word. His malevolent expression scared the life out of her.

“I only learned about their deaths when Arabelle's maidservant wrote me the news. Yes, I wanted Nepommuck dead. Arabelle would still be alive if he hadn't gone to Thornton with the letter. I spent months plotting my revenge. When Pickering wrote to say he was remaining in England, I saw my chance.”

“Then you came here to kill Nepommuck, not work on the translations.” The walls of the prop room seemed to close in on her. There was nowhere to run and hide, and Redstone blocked the only escape.

He nodded. “Imagine my surprise when I learned the Colonel's young friend actually worked for Nepommuck.”

“I introduced you to him at the garden party,” she said in a whisper.

“Yes. Through you, I gained access to him. But I had no idea Nepommuck had taken Arabelle's book. It was an even greater shock when I realized you now owned
The White Rose
. Don't you see I had to get the book back before the police got their hands on it?”

“But I was going to give it to you.”

He shook his head. “The police would have gotten to it first. I had to retrieve it as soon as I could. But you went off to Pickering's club to play detective. You must give it back to me.”

“I don't have it.” Her heart began to race once more.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who does?”

She swallowed hard. “The police.”

Redstone stood. “The police! Why would you give it to the police? Do you know what you've done, you foolish girl? They'll clap me in prison before the week is out.”

Eliza leaped for the nearest lance. Startled, Redstone took several steps back, giving her enough room to point the lance at him. “Back up, mate, or I'll run you through.”

“Eliza, put that down. You don't want to hurt me.”

“Yes I do. Now let me by.”

Aiming the lance at his chest, Eliza inched her way along the wall until she was at the door. She took one hand off the weapon to turn the knob. When she did, Redstone grabbed the lance. For a moment they both struggled. A loud crack sounded. Eliza looked in dismay as the lance broke in two.

“Blooming prop!” She flung herself out the door and into the hallway.

Dashing through the wardrobe racks, Eliza wasn't certain which way to turn. Then she remembered Harrison. She hurried along the corridor. Behind her she heard a clatter. Redstone had probably collided with the suit of armor belonging to the ghost of Hamlet's father. When she reached the dressing room area, she almost burst into tears. Harrison was gone. The bouquet of flowers lay like a floral tribute before Rosalind's door.

Should she hide in Rosalind's dressing room? But if Redstone found her there, she'd be trapped all over again. When she turned to leave, she saw Harrison turning the corner.

Eliza couldn't have been happier if Bransley Ames had just strolled in. With a cry of relief, she rushed over to Harrison and threw herself in his arms.

“Miss Doolittle, what do you think you're doing?” He smelled of men's cologne and cigarettes. The butler must have stepped out for a quick smoke.

“Thank heavens you're here.” Her voice was muffled against his jacket. “We must call the police! Major Redstone is after me.”

She felt him nervously pat her on the back. “Why is he after you?”

“He killed Maestro Nepommuck, and I'm the only one who can prove it.”

Eliza felt better now that the strapping Harrison was there to protect her. She had to stop acting like a silly goose. Besides, her face was pressed far too tight against the buttons on his jacket. One nearly poked her in the eye.

She lifted her head, only to stare in disbelief. Harrison's buttons were made of gleaming gold—and embellished with the head of a lion surrounded by stars.

 

TWENTY

“I see you recognize the buttons, Miss Doolittle.” Harrison tightened his arms around her.

Eliza stared in shock at the gold-engraved lions' heads and stars, which gleamed in the light above the door. Impossible. Every button on his dress coat matched the one she'd found outside Nepommuck's apartment. The same button that was stolen from her on Waterloo Bridge.

“I knew someone was following me that day,” she said in a hoarse voice. “It was you.”

Harrison shook his head. “Not me, you little fool. I'm a handsome fellow, and that attracts attention. I had an old friend follow you about. You led him a merry chase, too: Covent Garden, Bloomsbury, Southwark. When you wandered onto the bridge after dark, you finally made it easy for him to snatch back the button. A pity he also didn't throw you in the river.”

“How did you know I had the button?” As soon as she said this, Eliza remembered that he had accompanied the Marchioness to Scotland Yard the day they released Higgins. Good grief. He stood right beside her as she told Jack about finding the button on the hallway carpet.

She tried to push him away, but his grip was like iron. What she wouldn't give right now to have only Redstone to deal with. “Let go of me! Let go!”

Harrison dragged her into Rosalind Page's empty dressing room and slammed the door shut. Eliza kicked his shins. When he let out a howl, she sprang for the door. But he blocked her. He raised his arm to hit her, and she threw herself backward. Eliza banged her head so hard on the wall she literally saw stars—and not just the ones on his buttons.

He put up his fists as if she were a boxer he faced in the ring. Cor, what a night. First Redstone chases her, and now this ape of a butler. Had the whole of London gone mad?

“Keep quiet, girl. You've caused enough problems. Poking your nose into what doesn't concern you, running around asking questions. Why in bleeding hell do you care who killed that damn Hungarian anyway?”

“Because everyone thinks the Professor killed him. And I know he didn't.” Eliza rubbed the back of her head. “I also know who the killer is now. You.”

“Brilliant deduction. What was the first clue? Oh, let me guess. It's these buttons.” He looked down at them with pride. “They're worth over twenty quid each. For blooming buttons, can you believe it? A gift from Verena. I was angry as hell when I realized one of them came off my coat that day in the hallway.” Harrison glared at her. “The day you interfered again. You and those stupid tuning forks.”

Eliza wished she had the tuning forks now. She'd throw them at his head. “Oh, did I stop you from killing the Maestro that day? My apologies. But if the likes of me scared you off, maybe you weren't ready to stick a knife in him.”

Harrison pinned her against the wall, and she let out a strangled cry. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut when crazy men held her prisoner?

“You're the one I should have killed that morning. Funny thing is, I went there only to scare Nepommuck. I didn't have a reason to kill him until the garden party.”

With his angry face only inches from her own, Eliza marveled she had ever thought him handsome. He was a devil, he was.

“You're hurting me,” she gasped.

“Good.”

Voices sounded out in the hallway. He released her, but only to clap his hand over her mouth. She prayed it was Rosalind Page or one of her many admirers. Eliza wanted to weep when the voices died away.

He waited another excruciating moment before releasing her. “You open your mouth again, and I'll snap your neck. Not that I wouldn't love to do it, but this isn't the most convenient place for a murder.”

“We're in the middle of a crowded theater,” Eliza said. “The actors will be coming back to the dressing rooms soon. If you kill me, they'll find you.”

“Idiot. Why would they even think to look for me? It never occurred to anyone to suspect me as Nepommuck's killer. Scotland Yard spent all its time questioning those students of his, and your Professor.” He smiled. “That's why I left the tuning fork on the body. The one I stole from you that day in the hallway. I only grabbed it because it felt like a weapon. Didn't even know what it was until I got outside. I figured it was something you language teachers used. Came in handy, though. Sticking the tuning fork in that scoundrel's mouth made it seem like an angry student finished him off.”

Eliza rubbed her sore shoulders. “Quite the theatrical touch.”

“Yes, it was. My actor brother isn't the only one with a flair for the dramatic.”

She groaned. How could she ever watch her favorite actor Bransley Ames again? The two brothers looked as similar as twins. It occurred to her that she might never go to the cinema again. Crikey, she'd probably never leave the dressing room—at least not alive.

After running from Redstone, she now wished he would burst through the door. Not that she trusted the Major, but the two madmen might be distracted by each other long enough to let her get away.

She pointed at the buttons on his coat. “You've no right to be calling me an idiot, mate. You're the one parading around Drury Lane wearing a jacket with gold buttons I'd be sure to recognize.”

He smirked. “I didn't plan on seeing you tonight. I don't even have a ticket for the play. My only purpose was to come backstage and introduce myself to Miss Page. Last time she saw me I was wearing a butler's uniform. To romance a famous beauty like her, I need to look like a proper gentleman.”

Gentleman my arse, Eliza thought. “I don't know if Lady Gresham would like the idea of you romancing Miss Page. The two of you seemed quite lovey the other day.”

“I work hard for Her Ladyship, in more ways than one. I deserve a night off now and then.” He laughed. “Besides, who's going to tell her that I'm with another woman? You?”

“I guess not,” Eliza muttered. The actors had to be in the middle of the play's final scene. Eventually the performers would take their bows and return to the dressing rooms. If only she could stay alive until then.

“Not that she would believe you anyway,” he continued. “The old woman is in love with me. She has been for the five years I've worked at Hepburn House. She adores me so much, I'm in the will as her primary heir.”

Eliza was stunned.

“Yes, that's right. Me—Frank Harrison from Putney—heir to the estate of the Dowager Marchioness of Gresham. I told you she was smitten with me. And why shouldn't she be? There aren't many men as good-looking as I am. And how many young men would even glance at a woman her age, let alone make love to them?”

“Nepommuck, for one,” Eliza said. She was determined to keep the conversation going for as long as possible.

His face reddened with anger. “That fraud. He spotted Verena two months ago at some reception for the Princess Royal, and saw how the bigwigs danced attendance on her. Being an ambitious clown, Nepommuck began dancing around her as well. He came to Hepburn House so often, he should have brought his steamer trunks and moved in. And when he was there, I had to play the servant. I even had to bow to that hairy fool.”

“That must have been hard to take.”

“You don't know the half of it,” Harrison said. “He put on more airs than a dozen dukes. And him just some silly Hungarian with a worthless title. I'd had enough. He spent too much time with
my
marchioness. I couldn't let this preening foreigner push me out of her bed. Not that he realized I kept her warm on the nights he wasn't there. I finally decided to pay him a visit at his apartment. Rough him up a little, shake some sense into him.” Then his voice hardened. “Scare him so much, he'd take his phony medals and run back to the Continent. But you got in my way.”