Move Your Blooming Corpse (32 page)

“But I'm not part of your organization. These are my horse's racing colors.” Eliza dumped the papers back into the woman's arms. “I do support the cause, however. I've already bought my copy.”

“I saw you at the Palladium.” A sprightly suffragette joined them. “I love your outfit, it's perfect for today. Someone get her a sash!”

“No, please—”

Three other women hurried over. “Aw, be a good sport,” one said, and popped the sash over Eliza's hat. “Let's raise the grandstand roof! Give Women the Vote! Give Women the Vote!”

The older woman who had first approached Eliza shook her head. “No chanting. We've already got the authorities waiting for us to make the slightest bit of trouble. If we start shouting, the police and race officials will use that as a reason to throw us out of Sandown.”

As the ladies argued, Eliza slipped away. At a safe distance, she tore off the suffragette sash and dropped it onto the ground. Eliza wondered if she should start chanting “Votes for Women”; that might bring the police running. But she'd already asked several uniformed bobbies where Jack was, and they kept pointing her in different directions. Since she and Higgins split up, she hadn't seen a single plainclothes detective, either. Where were the police when you really needed them?

Up ahead Eliza saw yet another small group of suffragettes. Rachel Turnbull was not among them, which was lucky for the widow. Male onlookers jeered at the women, whose loud singsong chants drowned them out. Bobbies pushed their way between them, trying to quiet the group, but a young woman fell to the ground. Her screams only added to the chaos.

Eliza decided to head back the way she had come, hoping to find Higgins. He might have had better luck in this teeming crowd.

“Eliza, darling!” Freddy called out. He was accompanied by Sir Walter Fairweather. The two nattily dressed gentlemen strolled toward her.

Amazing. The one person she was not searching for had managed to track her down.

“We've been looking all over the racecourse for you.” Freddy pecked her cheek. She drew back. “You really should not have gone off in such a temper. It's deuced difficult finding anyone here.”

“You are looking well, Miss Doolittle,” Sir Walter said with a tip of his hat. “Everyone is heading for the Duchess's box. The race will begin soon, and you don't want to watch it in the middle of this crowd.”

“I'm looking for a detective just now. Especially my cousin Jack. It seems that Rachel Turnbull is at Sandown today.”

That had the same effect on Sir Walter as it had on her and Higgins. “My word, you don't say. How interesting. I don't like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I. That's why we need to—”

“Dash it all, Eliza. We didn't come to the Eclipse Stakes so you can play at being Sherlock Holmes with the Professor.” Freddy took her arm. “Can't we simply enjoy the races from the viewing box? If you want to run around afterward looking for clues or God knows what else, fine. But I didn't get all dressed up for this event to watch it alone.”

Eliza counted to ten. “Freddy, Rachel Turnbull is very likely Longhurst's accomplice, which makes her a murderer. And catching a murderer is more important than watching a blooming horse race with the Duchess.”

“She's right, young man.”

He ignored Sir Walter. “You're probably still angry with me over my proposal, even if I don't understand why. We'll discuss that later. For now I insist you come with me.” Freddy gripped her arm tighter. “I want us safely up into the grandstand, far away from any possible trouble. It is the only way to keep an eye on you. I would never forgive myself if you ran onto the track and got trampled by the horses.”

“For the last time, I'm not going to run onto the track! How much of a ninny do you think I am?” Eliza shook off his grip. “Now I must find Jack. I'll join you in the stands once I do.”

“But why are you getting involved at all? Let the police handle Mr. Longhurst and Mrs. Turnbull. They don't need you interfering in things again.”

Eliza gave him an icy stare. “I said I will join you later. But if you keep this up, you may not see me for the rest of the day.” She paused. “Or the rest of the summer.”

“Dash it! You're more stubborn than a hundred suffragettes, Eliza.” Frustrated and red-faced, Freddy stormed toward the grandstand.

Eliza sighed in relief. “I'm sorry about that little scene. Freddy can be most persistent.”

Sir Walter smiled. “No need to apologize, Miss Doolittle. The young man is only concerned for your welfare.”

“I'm concerned for my welfare, too. But I must find my cousin.”

“I believe Detective Shaw is making certain no one has tampered with anything in the Duchess of Carbrey's private tent. If another murder attempt is made today, it may occur at the syndicate luncheon.”

That made sense. “I should head over there before Jack and his men leave.”

“If you're right about Gordon Longhurst having a partner in crime, it's best you not be alone,” he said gallantly. “I'll be happy to escort you there.”

“Yes, please. I'd like that very much.”

Eliza slid her hand under his proffered arm, although she knew the older gentleman would not be much protection against a murderer. After all, he'd been poisoned two days ago. Sir Walter had been lucky to survive.

She only hoped Higgins found Rachel Turnbull before it was too late.

*   *   *

Squinting from the bright sunshine, Henry Higgins caught sight of two women waving copies of
The Suffragette.
One of them wore black
.
He hurried across the grassy racetrack and climbed over the white railing. Too bad he hadn't known Rachel was on this side of the course, or he'd have found her earlier. He noticed how most of the well-heeled racing fans ignored the women. One man in a shabby suit bought a paper and then shredded it, laughing with his friends.

“You dollies better not be plannin' some fool trick like at Ascot and the Derby,” he said loudly, “or me and my pals will make sure you're trampled good and dead.”

“Here now, that's uncalled for,” an onlooker said, but the ruffian's friends jeered him into silence. His wife hushed him, and they both hurried away.

The men next tossed the paper shreds onto the women's hats. Rachel looked miserable, but her sister Ruth stared them down. “This abuse is one reason why women ought to vote,” she cried in a ringing voice. “We have every right to free speech and assembly.”

“Take yer trash elsewhere!”

Higgins pushed the biggest bully aside. “Go on, you've made your point.”

“And who the devil do you think you are? I'll mash yer face—”

The fellow lunged, but Higgins grabbed his wrist and twisted it. When Higgins finally let go, the man fell backward with a loud curse into his group of friends.

Offering his arm to Rachel and her sister, he escorted them a few hundred yards down the track. Luckily the crowd had scattered during the altercation, making it easier to maneuver.

“Where the devil is Scotland Yard?” he murmured. “Are you ladies all right?”

“Yes, but however did you know how to disable that man?” Mrs. Lowell asked.

“A trick I picked up in my carefree youth.” Once he'd adjusted his sleeves, Higgins glanced around but saw no sign of the men. “A wrestler in northern Lancashire taught me. He had quite an interesting dialect, too.”

“Thank you so much,” Rachel said, her voice shaking. “I feared they would attack us next. I'd never have come today if I'd known the danger was this great.”

“Actually, Mrs. Turnbull, I am surprised to see you here.”

“Meaning I ought to have stayed home?” She bristled at his challenging tone.

“You
are
in mourning.” He glanced down at her black gown and gloves.

“Why shouldn't she be here?” her sister asked. “Rachel was mistreated by her lout of a husband. Why should she pretend to mourn his death?”

“Ruth, please. This is no time for a lecture.” She turned to Higgins. “I lived in silent terror of my husband for too long. Years, in fact. That's why I came today.”

“And he did all he could to fight women's suffrage, too.” Ruth sounded bitter.

“Yes. I was afraid to show the slightest sympathy for the cause. I let my sister and her friends down, especially since they risk prison and injury every day. I see now how much abuse they suffer, just as I did from Jonathon. It was long past time for me to gather my courage and join them. But thank you, Professor, for helping us avoid further trouble.”

“You're welcome. Still, I wouldn't have thought a racetrack was the right place for you to make your first appearance for the cause.”

“Ruth asked me to attend and wear a ‘Votes for Women' banner. I refused her so often in the past, it didn't seem right to do so again. After all, Jonathon is gone now.”

Despite her reasonable explanation, Higgins remained suspicious of the widow. “What did you think of Mr. Longhurst's arrest? Do you think he poisoned Sir Walter at the Criterion?”

“Absolutely not! Why would a gentleman like Gordon Longhurst kill someone over a horse? I don't believe he poisoned Jonathon or Sir Walter. He certainly didn't kill his wife.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“He loved Diana, even though she treated him with contempt. Like my husband did me.” Rachel regained her composure with a deep breath. “It simply isn't possible.”

“Jealousy may have driven him to murder,” Higgins replied.

“Gordon is innocent, I tell you. He's a good man.”

“Is that why you two have become such great friends?” He noted Rachel's cheeks flush dark red. “I've heard rumors that you and he have grown quite close.”

Ruth Lowell shot him a warning look. “Gossip, nothing more.”

“When my husband's affair with Diana became public, I turned to Mr. Longhurst in despair.” Rachel lifted her chin in defiance. “He understood my misery and humiliation.”

“Did your friendship grow into something more, perhaps?”

“That's enough, sir!” Her sister shoved him hard.

Rachel stared at Higgins for a long uneasy moment. “It's none of your business.”

“Well, it's Scotland Yard's business. In my opinion, Gordon Longhurst stabbed his wife and killed your husband. The bottle of poison was found in his jacket after Sir Walter nearly died. And he could easily have hired men to arrange the attack on Alfred at the horse farm, all in a scheme to gain sole ownership of the Donegal Dancer.”

Her gaze turned cold. “Someone slipped that bottle into Gordon's pocket to implicate him. It's circumstantial evidence, Professor.”

“The police will determine that, along with a court of law. Meanwhile your friendship with him seems highly suspicious,” Higgins said. “If Longhurst does have an accomplice, the most likely person is you.”

Ruth Lowell again sprang to her sister's defense. “How dare you accuse her? You have no right to spout such nonsense!”

Aware of the other suffragettes muttering their disapproval, Higgins forced himself to listen to Mrs. Lowell's harangue. She insulted his intelligence and status as a gentleman, accused him of pandering to the police, and even questioned his involvement with the syndicate.

“Who's to say that you aren't the murderer?” Ruth said at the end of her tirade.

“Wasn't he the governor accused of killing that Hungarian fellow?” another suffragette asked. She shook a fist at him. “I read about it in the papers, I did.”

“The police caught Nepommuck's murderer.” He scanned the angry women now pressing close about him. “Ladies, I insist you allow me free passage. I will use force if I must.”

“Do you mean to twist our hands like you did that bully's?” Ruth sneered. “I dare you!”

Higgins fought to keep his temper in check. “I mean you no harm. And I have no issues with your cause. I only want to ask Mrs. Turnbull a few more questions.” He turned to where Rachel had stood a moment ago.

Damn, damn, damn. Rachel Turnbull had vanished.

 

TWENTY

When Eliza entered the tent, she smiled at the sheer size of the billowing white silk structure, along with the green and purple balloons floating above a long table. The Duchess had marked off an entire piece of Sandown Park as her own—at least until the end of today's races. However, despite being surrounded by colored balloons and bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, her cousin looked unhappy.

“Glad you're here, Lizzie. And I'm relieved to see you're not alone.” Jack nodded toward Sir Walter. “But I thought Higgins or Freddy would be with you.”

“I sent Freddy to join the others in the Duchess's private box. He's driving himself mad with worry that I'll somehow run onto the racetrack.”

“Where's Higgins? If he's off writing down people's dialects at a time like this—”

“The Professor is figuring out if there will be another murder attempt at Sandown. And we've discovered something that should interest you and your detectives.”

Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Which is?”

Eliza sank in a chair by the banquet table, hands clasped over her parasol handle. “Rachel Turnbull is at the racetrack today.”

“Why would Turnbull's widow be at the Eclipse Stakes?”

“It does seem peculiar,” Sir Walter chimed in, and pulled out a seat at the table.

“Rachel's maid is at the racetrack and claims that her mistress is here. The girl is selling copies of
The Suffragette
near the paddock. She says Rachel Turnbull is doing the very same thing. And wearing her widow's weeds, too. Now that is a sight I'd like to see.”

“Then you and Higgins did not actually see Rachel?”