Move Your Blooming Corpse (35 page)

“Perfect.” Sir Walter gazed at her in approval. “I was irritated when the Duchess of Carbrey chose green and purple as the racing silk colors. Originally, the Dancer's colors were blue and red. But some lord with a connection to the royal family wanted those colors, and we had to re-register ours. Now I'm grateful the Duchess chose the suffragette colors.”

Keene snickered. “She's even dressed like one of them.”

Sir Walter smiled at Eliza's lilac skirt, white blouse, green-feathered hat, and pale green bolero jacket. “When the crowd sees her, they'll automatically assume she's with the WSPU. We don't really need the flag, but it's an excellent finishing touch.”

“I'm not just going to walk in front of the horses.” Eliza began to feel a bit queasy. Perhaps she could make herself ill and rid her stomach of the poison.

“We'll see.” Sir Walter reached inside his jacket and pulled out a watch on a silver chain. “Make certain no detectives are in the area, Keene. We'll leave as soon as it's clear.”

Keene hurried out of the tent.

Although Sir Walter had warned she would grow dizzy, Eliza still felt steady on her feet. If she didn't act now, she might not get another opportunity. Especially since they thought she'd been weakened by the poison. While Sir Walter tucked his watch into his vest pocket, Ingleby grabbed her by the elbow. When he turned her toward the tent entrance, Eliza tried to recall every minute of her ju-jitsu lessons with the Garruds.

As soon as Ingleby pushed her forward, she reached back with her free arm and grabbed his neck. An instant later, Eliza flipped him over her shoulder. He landed with a grunt at her feet. Then she promptly kicked him as hard as possible in the head.

Sir Walter let out a startled cry. Without hesitating, she grabbed his hand. Spinning about to face away from him, Eliza threw him over her shoulder. He fell on top of the half-conscious Ingleby. Before either man could move, she grabbed a champagne bottle and swung it at Sir Walter. He screamed as the heavy bottle smashed across his face. Blood gushed from his nose. When Ingleby's eyes fluttered open, she struck him as well.

But Eliza's heart sank when Keene's shadow fell across the tent entrance. Taking a deep breath, she ran through the tent flap, barreling right into him. They tumbled to the ground and lay side by side for a stunned second—just long enough for Eliza to remember the pain a kidney pinch could inflict. She reached out with both hands and squeezed hard. Keene yelled out. Eliza scrambled to her feet and flung herself into the crowd.

Although she dared not stop, Eliza shouted as she ran. “Help me! I'm being chased! Help me, please!”

Unfortunately, the flag wrapped about her waist caused everyone to view her with alarm or distaste. “It's one of those troublesome suffragettes,” someone muttered.

“Stay away from her,” a lady said. “The police are probably chasing her.”

The sun seemed far too bright. Her vision blurred. Images grew clear, but clouded again a moment later. It made her unsteady on her feet, and she nearly fell. She pushed forward, not knowing where she was going or why she was so afraid. And why was a man with striped hair chasing her? Nothing made sense.

Eliza suddenly stopped and held her pounding head. Why did she feel so sick? And what had happened to her hearing? One second the noise around her seemed deafening, then it hushed to a whisper. She turned slowly in a circle. What had just happened? Where did all the sound go? It was as if she had turned down the volume on Professor Higgins's Victrola.

“Professor,” she whispered. The image of a tall man with an impish grin appeared in her mind. But she couldn't remember who he was, or why the thought of him gave her comfort.

Dizzy and confused, Eliza rubbed her eyes. When her vision cleared, she saw the man with a white stripe through his hair heading in her direction. His mean expression frightened her.

“No! Stay away! Stay away!” Eliza turned and blindly groped past the crowd around her. She heard vague shouts. Someone shoved her hard. She had to keep going. She mustn't stop, not with that horrible fellow closing in behind her.

Confused, Eliza heard people shouting and pointing toward the left. What were they looking at? And where was she? She muscled her way to the crowd's edge. Ahead she saw only a single wooden railing and dirt beyond it. Far on the other side, other people stood waiting. Eliza only knew she had to escape from that vicious man. And one look over her shoulder revealed he was but a few steps away.

He pointed a finger and said something. She knew what he wanted—to kill her. Eliza ducked under the railing and ran. She almost wept with relief when he didn't follow. But the crowd along the railing now all pointed at her.

Coming to a halt, Eliza spun around. People were everywhere. They crammed against the railing, or jumped up and down in the stands. But she was totally alone. Why didn't the man with the striped hair follow? And why did everyone seem so upset with her? Several now pointed away from her, and she turned to see.

Eliza now realized she wasn't alone on this side of the railing. At least ten horses were here, too—and racing straight toward her.

*   *   *

Higgins suspected he had run faster than any of the horses that had burst from the starting gate. Good grief, those suffragettes must have legs of steel. He had dodged them for the past ten minutes. Their interference had caused him to miss his chance to cross the track and reach the Duchess's tent.

Somewhere out there, the Donegal Dancer was no doubt on his way to another victory. Higgins hoped the delay in reaching Jack would not be another cause for regret. Damnation, he had lost Rachel Turnbull, missed his chance to reach the police, and now he couldn't even watch the race. The track might be only fifteen feet away, but Higgins was exhausted. He'd have to push through the mob to reach the railing.

As he tried to catch his breath, a deafening cry rose from the crowd. Higgins felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. That cry sounded exactly like the one he'd heard when Harold Hewitt ran onto the Ascot racetrack. More shouts followed, and women screamed. Good lord, would someone be trampled again?

Higgins shoved through the crowd in earnest. Before he reached the railing, a man yelled, “Get that woman off the track!”

It must be Rachel Turnbull! Higgins's heart sank. Could that be why the widow had come to Sandown? The misguided lady apparently wished to do more than help her sister sell copies of
The Suffragette
. She had decided to become a martyr to the cause like Emily Davison. By Jupiter, why had he ever let Rachel out of his sight? Pushing aside several agitated men, Higgins finally reached the railing. When he did, horror washed over him.

A young woman with a suffragette flag wrapped about her stood in the middle of the racetrack. Higgins reeled with shock. It was Eliza!

He must be mistaken. Why would Eliza wear a suffragette flag and run onto the track? But she stood motionless only twenty feet down the racecourse from him. And she stared with wide eyes at the oncoming horses.

“Eliza! Good God!” Higgins ducked under the railing and ran toward her. More shouts and screams rose up from every direction.

When he reached her, she seemed oblivious to his presence. Instead, she pointed in front of her and whispered, “Look. Horses.”

Higgins didn't need to see them. He heard the cries of the jockeys, the whistling of the riding crops, and—worst of all—the pounding hooves. The horses were nearly upon them. It was too late to carry Eliza off the track. They'd never make it, not with more than ten horses racing like the devil right at them.

Grabbing Eliza by the waist, Higgins flung her to the ground. He threw himself on top of her. Between the crowd's roar and the labored pants of the horses, Higgins feared his eardrums would shatter, along with his terror-stricken heart. He stretched his body over Eliza, who lay beneath him without a struggle. Higgins could only hope he shielded as much of her as possible.

The horses were here. They were all around them. Higgins pressed himself hard against Eliza; the horses pounded an inch away from where they lay flattened on the ground. He bit back a cry as he felt first one set of hooves, then another, literally fly over his back. He heard curses from several jockeys. At least one horse gave a startled neigh. Clods of dirt showered his face and he pressed his eyes shut. The very earth trembled beneath them. At any moment, Higgins expected to be crushed by a thundering thousand-pound beast.

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Higgins felt weak with relief. Eliza's heart was still beating beneath him, and he didn't think either of them had been injured. He rose to his knees and looked down at her. Her eyelids fluttered open, but she didn't really see him. What in heaven's name had happened to her?

“Eliza? Are you all right?” He cradled her in his arms as a mob of people ran out on the track toward them.

“Where are the horses?” she asked in a weak voice.

Suddenly Jack was there. He looked white as a ghost. “Is she alive?”

“Horses?” Eliza repeated.

“What's wrong with her?” Jack's left eye twitched furiously. “Did the horses trample her? Any bones broken?” He snarled at the curious onlookers now swarming about. “Get back, everyone! Get back, I say! And call an ambulance!”

Higgins squeezed Eliza's arms and legs, but she didn't respond to the pressure. “I don't think any of the horses touched her. I covered her as best as I could. I wasn't hit either.”

Jack shook his head. “The most amazing thing I ever saw. Those bloody horses swerved around or jumped right over your back. I thought I was going to die of fright.”

Higgins suddenly spied a crumpled body in green and purple silks. He lay motionless with his eyes open. “Looks like one of the jockeys is dead. Is it Brody?”

“Dead?” Eliza opened her eyes. “Did I die?”

“No, but Mr. Brody did.” Jack wiped the dirt off her cheeks. “He probably broke his neck after he was thrown from his horse.”

“Watch out for Brody.” She closed her eyes again. “He killed Diana.”

“What!” Jack and Higgins said at the same time.

“Sir Walter told me. So I hit him with the champagne bottle.” Eliza seemed to lose consciousness. Terrified, Higgins shook her until she opened her eyes again.

“That explains why we found Sir Walter and another man bloodied and unconscious in the tent,” Jack said.

“Where did the horses go?” Eliza opened her eyes wider and tried to move.

Higgins helped her to a sitting position, but she slumped weakly against him.

“Eliza, did they give you something?” He felt equal parts rage and fear at the thought. “Is that why you ran out on the racetrack wearing that blasted flag?” He shook her again. “Eliza, stay awake. Please. Did you drink anything they gave you?”

She looked up at him, obviously disoriented. “Don't worry. Sir Walter said it's a gentle poison. I won't die for hours.”

“Bloody hell!” Jack ran his fingers through his hair so wildly, it stood straight up. “I'll kill the lot of them, I will.”

He shot to his feet. By this time, a half-dozen policemen had arrived. “Where is that damned ambulance? This young woman has been poisoned! She needs to be taken to hospital now!” Jack looked down at Higgins. “What the hell is that?”

“The antidote.” Higgins held up the bottle he'd removed from his jacket. “You didn't think I'd attend another event with the Wrexham Racing Syndicate without bringing ipecac syrup, did you?”

As Higgins forced Eliza to drink the syrup, Jack fell to his knees. “You're a blooming marvel, Professor. Sybil and I will name our first child after you, even if it's a girl.”

“Let's just get
our
girl back on her feet, shall we?”

Worried, Higgins stared at Eliza. Thank heaven she had swallowed it all down, but he had no idea if ipecac syrup worked for every poison.

The Duchess and the Saxtons appeared just as Eliza began to cough. “Is she alive? Have the horses killed her?” Lord Saxton asked.

“My heart stopped when I saw Eliza run onto the track,” the Duchess said in a trembling voice. “I had no idea she was so fervent about the suffrage cause.”

“She wasn't fervent, Minerva,” Higgins replied. “She was poisoned.”

Eliza suddenly jerked upright, leaned to one side, and became violently ill. Both Higgins and Jack held her while she vomited up the poison.

“I'm never coming to another horse race again,” he muttered to Jack. “From now on, it's nothing but cricket matches for me.”

Jack patted Eliza on the shoulder. “Sir Walter and his men must have put this damn flag on her. I'm glad now that Mrs. Turnbull came to the races. She's the one who found me and said something funny was going on at the tent.”

Higgins wiped Eliza's face with his handkerchief. She slumped once more against his chest. “Funny in what way?”

“Rachel saw Eliza run out of the tent and knock down some man with a white streak in his hair.”

“That sounds like one of the men hired to guard the Dancer at Bay Willow Stables.”

Jack nodded. “A fellow called Keene. When Eliza ran away, Keene chased after her. Rachel peeked into the tent and discovered Sir Walter and another man lying unconscious. That's when she came looking for me.”

“I'm going to buy that woman the most expensive bottle of French perfume I can find.” Higgins smoothed Eliza's hair back. She had lost her hat. No doubt it had been trampled to pieces on the racetrack. “Do you feel any better, Eliza?”

“A little.” Her color had improved. “But I might be sick again.” Eliza's voice sounded stronger.

“Be sick all you want. The more you are, the less poison remains in your stomach.”

As Eliza turned again to be ill, a horn sounded. Jack stood up. “It's the ambulance.”