Move Your Blooming Corpse (11 page)

Eliza turned to Higgins. “Poor man. I bet he hasn't been to the cinema, either.”

“Following the Gold Cup, Diana's body was found in the stables,” Higgins said. “She'd been run through with a pitchfork.”

“How tragic.” Hewitt opened his Bible once more. “I still don't know her. But I will pray for her immortal soul. I shall now read from the Book of Judges.”

After several minutes of him reading aloud, an impatient Eliza interrupted. “Did you visit the stables while you were at Ascot?”

“I did not,” Hewitt said, then resumed reading.

Higgins and Eliza waited until he finished the account of Samson and Delilah. But when Hewitt began the biblical account of Micah and the young Levite, Higgins lost patience. “Read the biblical injunction against spreading falsehoods. You just said you did not visit the Ascot stables. Yet jockey Bomber Brody and a young groom both claim they saw you there that morning. Since you weren't an owner or racing official, Brody had you removed from the premises.”

“Perhaps I did.” Hewitt closed his Bible. “I believe I arrived at the racecourse early in the morning. I may have wandered into the stables at some point. Remember I suffered a head injury at Ascot.” He touched the bandage at the back of his head. “My memory may be faulty.”

“But why go to the stables at all?” Eliza asked.

He was silent for a moment. Higgins guessed he was trying to concoct a convincing lie. For certain, Hewitt was a slippery fellow.

“I wanted to see the horses,” he said at last.

“Why?” Higgins and Eliza asked in unison.

“I planned to run in front of them during the race and knew that might startle them. But if I showed myself to those horses scheduled to run in the Gold Cup—let them catch my scent, listen to my voice, note my appearance—perhaps they wouldn't take fright later.”

Higgins snorted. That was the first irrational thing Hewitt had said. “Where did you go after we spoke? Did you go back to the stables?”

He remained silent, his eyes on the Bible.

“Tell us where you went.”

Hewitt looked off into space. “‘If wishes were horses, blind men would ride,'” he chanted in a singsong voice, then stopped. “That's what you all are. Blind.”

“Blind to what?”

But Hewitt's attention turned unexpectedly to Eliza's tight skirt. He pointed a stern finger at her. “‘Cast away thy sinful raiment.'”

“I will as soon as I get home,” she replied. “I can barely breathe.”

Higgins's frustration grew by the minute. “Mr. Hewitt, do you remember where you were between the time we spoke in the paddock and the start of the Gold Cup?”

“Now you sound like a policeman.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I cannot sit a minute longer.” Eliza jabbed the tip of her parasol into the waxed floor and slowly pushed herself to her feet. “Bad enough I can hardly take a step. When I sit, it's like a giant snake is wrapped around me.”

Hewitt looked solemn. “It's too pink.”

“What? This is a lovely color. Freddy says pink makes me look like a ballerina.”

“Who is Freddy?”

“Never mind about Freddy.” With a sigh, Higgins stood up. He doubted they would learn anything more from this fellow. Hewitt wasn't mad. But he was stranger than most chaps. And probably more cunning than the asylum doctors realized.

“Did you go back to the stables after that first visit?”

“Why would I go back to the stables? There was evil in that place. And much falsehood.” Hewitt closed his eyes. “‘He hath blinded their eyes and hardened their heart, that they should not see with their eyes, nor understand with their heart.'” He looked once more at Higgins. “John, chapter 12, verse 40.”

“This is like being at Sunday service,” Eliza said. “I wouldn't be surprised if Stevens comes by with the collection plate.”

“What exactly are we blind to?” Higgins asked.

“That which seems hidden away, but is in plain sight. And you are not only blind but deaf. For I have seen
and
heard the truth. And it is a terrible truth indeed. One that I shall never reveal to the ungodly and the weak.” He pointed at them. “That is what you both are.”

“I bet he thinks you're the ungodly one,” Eliza said.

Higgins shook his finger at the man. “Enough of this nonsense. If you saw or heard something suspicious in the stables, then by heaven you're going to tell me or the police.”

Hewitt startled them both by springing to his feet. “Get behind me, Satan!” He shoved Higgins and Eliza, sending them both flying backward onto the settee. Higgins heard fabric ripping at the same moment Eliza shrieked.

Stevens rushed over. “There, now. It's time to say good-bye to your sister and solicitor. They have to leave.” He grabbed the suddenly docile Hewitt by the arm. “As soon as I take him to his cell, I'll come back and escort you and the young lady out.”

Higgins leaned over to examine the jagged tear along the side of Eliza's dress. The linen had ripped from her ankle to her waist. In fact, he could see the white cotton of her knee-length drawers through the bulging gap.

“That's one hobble skirt you'll never have to wear again.”

Eliza grinned. “It was worth a visit to the lunatic asylum just to get rid of it.”

 

SIX

Rainclouds threatened the final day of the Henley Royal Regatta, but not even a downpour could dampen Eliza's spirits. Although Diana Price had been killed only two weeks earlier, Eliza was thoroughly enjoying what Professor Higgins called the Carnival on the River. Murder was the furthest thing from her mind.

The town of Henley-on-Thames hosted the regatta and welcomed visitors by transforming into a fancy country fair. Every street held shops and cafés decked out in flowers, banners, and Chinese lanterns. Military bands performed long into the evening while illuminated houseboats drifted on the river. Rich attendees rented bungalows along the water for the four-day event, but Eliza traveled by train each morning. In fact, she looked forward to taking the day train from London's Paddington station and chatting with excited regatta fans.

Since all the festivities centered on the racing, the Thames naturally took center stage. Hundreds of onlookers clustered along the riverbank, with more on boats bobbing in the water. Despite its prestige, Henley was more casual than Ascot. Even lords and ladies sat on the grass or in punts, with food hampers piled around them. To Eliza, the regatta seemed like one long elegant picnic, and with boat racing besides.

Surprisingly, she found the actual regatta competition rather dull. The first race proved fun to watch; sculls floated expectantly near Temple Island, tense rowers and fans waited in anticipation for the starter pistol. But by the end of the first day, Eliza had wearied of the bewildering number of qualifying races. Each race—or “heat,” as everyone called it—lasted only a few minutes. The handsome young men striding about in their rowing uniforms did catch her eye. Just as the horses were the focus of attention at Ascot, the oarsmen were the stars at Henley. Pride filled her since one of those dashing oarsmen was her devoted Freddy.

From her vantage point on the Thames's Berkshire side, she often glimpsed the London Rowing Club team members. Eliza had no problem catching sight of Freddy. Cor, but he looked handsome in the LRC blue and white colors. She'd never suspected his forearms and calves were so nicely muscled. At times like this, she wondered if Freddy was right. Perhaps they ought to marry—and quickly, too.

“My son makes a fine figure in his colors, doesn't he?” Mrs. Eynsford Hill said.

“Indeed he does. And the LRC has performed so well this week. Do you think they'll win the Diamond Challenge?” Eliza asked.

“I have no idea. But Freddy is quite pleased to be a member of the team. I've never seen him care about anything so much. Until he met you.”

“He is a dear, isn't he?”

“If only his trust fund allowed us to send him to a university as fine as Oxford or Cambridge. He's missed making the sort of friends that would help him enjoy the life he deserves. The rowing team is like his second family, but I worry about my children.”

“They'll be fine.”

She didn't look convinced. Although Mrs. Eynsford Hill boasted the same blond hair and blue eyes as her children, she was a paler version of them. It was as if the anxiety she always carried about her like a shawl had drained her of color and vivacity.

“I hope so. You've been good for Freddy, but Clara is another matter.” Mrs. Eynsford Hill frowned. “Her school friend isn't helping matters with her matchmaking.”

Eliza agreed. Clara behaved as if she were nothing more than a piece of summer fruit waiting to be picked by any man with a title and a Mayfair address. Although she was only eighteen, the foolish girl feared she would soon be too old for the marriage market.

Since Ascot, Lady Tansy's matchmaking had progressed with a vengeance, requiring Eliza to see them both nearly every day. To make matters worse, her husband often joined them. Lord Saxton again insisted she call his wife “Lady Tansy”; Eliza now did so without thinking. The same lack of thought seemed to go into the choice of suitors for Clara. Each one had been unappetizing. One viscount was nearly seventy, with a body odor so strong, it would have knocked the Donegal Dancer to the ground. Eliza feared Lady Tansy had no intention of arranging a good marriage for the poor girl. Was she playing some sort of wicked game at Clara's expense?

Eliza suddenly spied Lady Tansy and Clara weaving through the picnickers on the lawn. They weren't alone. A stout young man walked between them. His crimson blazer and red-banded straw boater made him stand out.

“What about this latest gentleman Tansy introduced to Clara?” Mrs. Eynsford Hill pursed her lips in disapproval when the trio headed in their direction.

“Sir Giles is pushy and full of himself,” Eliza said. “I don't like him.”

“Neither do I.”

“There you are!” Clara broke away from the man who clung to her arm. “We've been looking everywhere for you two.”

“Eliza and I watched the last race from the bridge,” her mother said. “We couldn't see anything from the bank.”

“All the other boats were in the way,” Eliza added. A sea of punts and vessels lined the watercourse. And while they looked lovely—especially the houseboats heaped with roses and daisies—they sometimes made viewing the race impossible.

“After my man arranges for a punt, I shall escort Clara there,” Sir Giles announced. “You are welcome to join us for lunch. A hamper of food, pastry, chilled cider, and claret will be delivered within the hour. Only the best for Henley, of course.”

“Sorry,” Eliza said quickly. “I promised to visit friends at the Remenham Club.”

Lady Tansy flashed her a jaundiced look, as if to say, “What a pretty lie.” Despite her habitual haughty expression, the young viscountess had an innocent girlish air about her today due to her sprigged white cotton dress and wide-brimmed straw hat with bright pink streamers.

“Please come with us,” Clara whispered to Eliza and her mother. “Tansy is lunching with the syndicate owners, and I don't wish to be alone with him in that punt.”

Mrs. Eynsford Hill slid an arm around her daughter's waist. “I shall be happy to join you, Sir Giles,” she said loudly. “Thank you for your gracious invitation.”

He raised his hand in acknowledgment.

“You don't have to go,” Eliza whispered. “Tell the Baronet and his punt to shove off.”

Clara shook her head. “Tansy is trying so hard. I couldn't possibly offend her or Sir Giles. And as the fashion magazines say, ‘Better dead than unwed.'”

Eliza rolled her eyes, wishing Sybil would take Clara in hand. A week spent with a suffragette might do the girl a world of good.

Clara stepped back. “Do I look all right? It's the last of my good summer dresses.”

The hem of her cream and ivy patterned dress seemed a bit worn. But the low neckline made her appear more alluring than usual, especially paired with the green silk belt and feathered hat Eliza had lent her. She brushed a stray blossom from Clara's shoulder. She decided they both needed a shopping excursion. With her winnings from Ascot, Eliza could now afford to buy an outfit or two for Clara as well.

“You look wonderful,” Eliza said in a soft voice. “Far too good for the likes of him.”

Clara gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back with her mother and the pushy baronet. Eliza beckoned to Lady Tansy, who showed disdain at being summoned.

“I'm glad the mother will be on that punt,” Lady Tansy said. “Giles has a tendency to overplay the romantic swain. And I wouldn't want Clara to be embarrassed.”

“Then stop fixing her up with these blighters.” Eliza gave her a hard stare.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know blooming well not one of the chaps you've thrown her way since Ascot is marriage material. Unless one wants a total bore or an idiot for a husband.”

“My dear, all husbands are bores or idiots. And finding her a rich one isn't easy. Clara has little to entice them with.”

“She's a lovely girl. Any young man would be grateful to have her.”

Lady Tansy smirked. “Clara is attractive, but she doesn't possess the sort of beauty to make men lose their heads or empty their bank accounts.” Her expression grew stony. Eliza suspected she was reminded of Diana Price. “Even her pedigree is threadbare. Clara has nothing to offer but a string of bankrupt paper mills on one side of the family and a headmaster or two on the other. Not a family tree to interest a duke or marquess. If not for a generous aunt, all the Eynsford Hills would be selling cod and violets at Covent Garden.”

Eliza stiffened at the veiled insult directed at her former occupation. “At least selling fish and flowers is an honest way to earn a living. Better than selling yourself to some bloated baronet or viscount.”