Wouldn't It Be Deadly (21 page)

“Why is Scotland Yard especially interested in you?” the American asked. “As you say, there are many who wanted him dead.”

“That is true.”

“Do
you
have an alibi, Professor?”

A wave of fear swept over him. “No.”

Higgins now understood why Kollas fled his country and took on another identity. He hoped he would not have to do the same.

 

TWELVE

Pickering was in a rare bad temper. “I won't hear of it, Eliza. You are not going off to interview a murder suspect unchaperoned. What can Henry be thinking to let you put yourself in such jeopardy?”

“Calm down, Colonel. It's not dangerous.” Eliza stared at her image in the foyer mirror. Her hat needed another pin to keep it in place.

“Did you tell Detective Inspector Shaw that you and Henry intend to question Nepommuck's students?”

“Of course not. He has no idea I took the list with everyone's addresses on it when we were at the apartment yesterday. Jack thought we were in the building to retrieve the books from my classroom.” She frowned. “Of course, I forgot all about that once we found poor Mary.”

“By heaven, when you took the list from Nepommuck's desk, I assumed you had done so with your cousin's permission and knowledge.”

“Hardly.” She took a last poke to the hat's silk ribbons. “Jack would have my head if he knew. He thinks we're still asking people on the street if they remember seeing the Professor the day of the murder.”

Pickering flushed even redder. “Yes, the first murder. And now there's been a second. Eliza, if you keep throwing yourself in the middle of all this, you may be the next dead body that is found. I thought I taught you better behavior than this.”

She fought back a grin. “I didn't know there were rules of etiquette for chasing down murder suspects.”

“If not, there bloody well should be. See now, you have me so upset I have quite forgotten my own manners. Eliza, please don't put yourself in danger by asking questions of someone who may be a murderer.”

Eliza kissed him on his cheek. “If we do not discover who the murderer is very soon, Professor Higgins is certain to be arrested. And the Yard detectives are moving much too slow. It's up to me and the Professor to track this killer down.” She pulled on her white silk gloves. “And I have nothing to fear from the young Mr. Nottingham.”

“Then let me question this fellow. Along with the rest of the students on that list.”

“They would never open up to you, Colonel. No more than they will to Scotland Yard. But they know me. I worked with the Maestro, and that gives me a legitimate reason to speak with them. No, the Professor and I are the best ones to handle this.”

“Better than the police?” Major Redstone leaned against the open doorway to Higgins's laboratory, his arms folded.

Eliza nodded. “Police frighten people, whether they're guilty or innocent. They'll feel more relaxed talking to me. And if Professor Higgins keeps his temper in check, they might reveal themselves to him as well. Anyway, we're running out of time. Which is why the Professor is off right now speaking with Kollas while I plan to arrange an ‘accidental' meeting with Mr. Nottingham.”

Redstone shot her an approving glance. “Looking even prettier than usual, which I didn't think possible.”

Eliza didn't know whether to be flattered or unsettled by the older man's obvious interest. She was surprised to find that she was both. “Since Mr. Nottingham acted quite flirtatious at the garden party, I thought it wouldn't hurt to appear as appetizing as I could.”

“I believe you look a bit too appetizing,” Pickering said in exasperation.

She glanced at her reflection once more. The last time she appeared this elegant and alluring was at the Embassy Ball, and that was only because she'd been decked out in glittering borrowed gems and the finest Worth gown. But the results were just as gratifying today. She brushed her hair for an hour before the maidservant pinned it up in the latest fashion. A wide-brimmed hat decorated with a large apricot silk ribbon perched atop her coiffure. The ribbon matched the color of her sleek walking skirt, which clung to her figure. However, she suspected her white blouse had caught the attention of both Pickering and Redstone. While it boasted a high collar, bands of French lace running down the front were transparent enough to reveal a glimpse of her white camisole beneath.

Shocking no doubt to an older gentleman like Pickering, but according to the fashion magazines, the style was all the rage in Paris. And after all, she
was
wearing a bolero jacket over it. Although she was certain Pickering considered it a tad too snug. Yes, she believed Nottingham might be diverted enough by her appearance that he wouldn't mind her questions.

“Exactly how do you plan to arrange this so-called accidental meeting with Mr. Nottingham?” Redstone asked.

“When we spoke at Lady Gresham's garden party, he mentioned spending his Sunday mornings at Kensington Gardens. He said watching the other swells and listening to their conversation was as helpful as a lesson with the Maestro.” Eliza tightened one of her pearl earrings. “Time to be off.”

Pickering guarded the front door. “You must allow the Major and me to accompany you.”

“He will never be candid with me if the pair of you are within earshot.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “I am going to be in the middle of London surrounded by dozens of people enjoying a Sunday stroll. I shall be quite safe.”

“We should trust Eliza's judgment,” Redstone said.

“Very well.” His face a mask of disapproval, Pickering opened the front doors.

Eliza turned to smile at Redstone. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.

He nodded. Before Pickering could lodge another protest, Eliza picked up her parasol and darted out the door.

*   *   *

If she circled the pond one more time, Eliza planned to start feeding the ducks. Pickering ought to see her now. Far from being in danger, she was actually bored. She had already spent over an hour wandering about the vast expanse of gardens, hoping to catch sight of Nottingham. But she hadn't spotted him near the Albert Memorial or outside Queen Caroline's Temple. And she'd marched up and down the Lancaster Walk like a drilling soldier.

Given the daunting size of Kensington Gardens, Eliza wasn't surprised she had not been successful. Prepared to call it quits and leave, she finally caught sight of Nottingham sitting near a row of trees along Budge's Walk. He was close enough to the large pond that she could watch him safely from there. But Nottingham was not alone. Two young men sat on the bench with him, engrossed in conversation.

The dapper young Nottingham looked quite the swell this morning in his cream-colored pants, beige striped jacket, and jaunty straw boater. His companions were not dressed anywhere near as fancy, although they seemed roughly the same age as Nottingham.

She kept her distance during their conversation. It wouldn't do to have Nottingham recognize her while he was otherwise engaged. He might exchange a pleasant greeting, only to return his attention to his companions. Eliza opened her silk parasol. On such an overcast day, it might cast enough shade upon her face so she could watch the trio without attracting notice. If only she could overhear a few words of their conversation.

All three men were animated. Although they didn't appear angry, their conversation seemed intense. She doubted they were discussing the latest cricket scores.

Eliza stiffened. Cor, but she once more had the feeling of being watched. She looked over her shoulder with feigned nonchalance. Whenever her instincts told her to put up her guard, she did. And right now, the sensation of being observed was strong. But who watched her? At least four dozen people were in the immediate vicinity: couples, nannies with prams, men in their Sunday best, children and their mothers crowding around a cart selling fresh strawberries. No one, however, seemed interested in her. Perhaps it was time for another stroll around the pond.

Before she had time to move, Nottingham got to his feet.

He tipped his hat to the two fellows, who remained seated. Nottingham walked down the pathway toward the large pond. Eyes down, he didn't notice her standing there. Should she perhaps bump into him? Or call a greeting from several yards away, although that seemed brash.

While she mulled over her next move, Nottingham looked up. His broad grin was reassuring.

When he reached her side, he swept off his boater and bowed. “Miss Doolittle, what a delightful surprise. Or did you perhaps remember that I enjoyed a Sunday walk in the gardens? I'd be flattered to think that.”

“Actually, Mr. Nottingham, I hoped to see you today.”

His eyes narrowed with a bit too much interest. For a moment, he once again looked the image of a fox; all that was missing was the long luxurious tail. His gaze traveled over her figure with blatant approval. “This seems most promising. Perhaps we can find a quiet corner and enjoy a little privacy.”

“Lord, but you move faster than a horse at Epsom Downs. And I made a proper fool of myself there last year.” Eliza took his arm. “There's no need to go hunting for a lover's corner. A little turn about the park will suffice, Mr. Nottingham.”

“That still sounds promising, if a little mysterious. Should I worry?”

She gave a dramatic sigh while they strolled up Budge's Walk. “I don't know. It seems that everyone who knew the Maestro should be worried. After all, the police haven't caught his murderer. It must be someone we know.”

“Certainly someone Nepommuck knew. Don't know about the rest of us.” He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “And if anyone should worry, it's Professor Higgins. I heard he leaked the truth about Nepommuck to the papers. The man must have had a strong reason to destroy someone else's reputation like that. I believe the police call it a motive.”

“Professor Higgins did not kill the Maestro.”

“How do you know?”

“I know him. He isn't the type of fellow to do such a thing.”

“Anyone is capable of murder, although I admire your loyalty.” Nottingham leaned too close to her, and Eliza immediately put a few inches between them.

The young man seemed amused by her sudden skittishness. “You must admit Higgins had a serious grudge against Nepommuck.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe deadly serious.”

“He was not the only one who disliked the Maestro.”

“True enough. Cornelius Finch, for one. I told you his golden-haired wife had been indiscreet. And now the silly woman is dead. Although I never thought Cornelius had it in him for a crime of passion. He struck me as a milksop, but sometimes it's the quiet ones you have to keep your eye on. I could hardly believe it when I read about him being charged with her murder. I wonder if they have the right man.”

“I discovered the dead body,” Eliza said with a shudder. “Along with Cornelius Finch standing over it, announcing to us that he had done her in.”

That surprised Nottingham. “For an elocution teacher, Miss Doolittle, you lead quite an eventful life. Didn't you also discover Nepommuck's body?”

She nodded. So far the conversation had only dampened her spirits.

“Why are you concerned about the fate of Professor Higgins? If Finch killed his wife for being unfaithful, it seems likely he also killed her lover.”

“He was at his factory in Leeds on the morning of the murder, as well as the night before.” She sighed. “Finch has witnesses to vouch for his presence. Many of them.”

“I see. Now I wonder why you came to the park today to find me,” he said. “Do you believe I have information that will lead to the killer? Or do you think I have my own reasons for wanting the Hungarian dead?”

“I don't know. Do you?”

Nottingham laughed. “You may dress like a Mayfair miss, but you still have the brashness of a Cockney flower seller.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I have no more information than you do. Blimey, girl, it could be any of three dozen people. From what I could see, the bounder had seduced most of his lady students under fifty. Some of their husbands might be upset.”

“But aside from his womanizing, who else would want him dead? Professor Higgins said Nepommuck boasted at the Embassy Ball that he made his students pay, and for more than elocution lessons.”

“You believe he was a blackmailer?”

“Yes, I do.”

He shrugged. “Makes sense to me. All of us are trying to become something we're not. I suppose Nepommuck was the keeper of an alarming number of secrets.”

“What secret of yours was he hiding?” Eliza asked.

“I told you at the garden party why I took lessons,” Nottingham said. “Don't let me fancy dress and pretty vowels fool you, girl. I'm a rough lad from Liverpool. If I'd stayed there, I'd be a drunk by the time I was thirty. No money in me pockets and a face punched in from dockside brawls. But I'm not so ashamed of my Liverpool past to pay a blackmailer.”

“You did want to distance yourself from it, though. Enough that you came to London and paid the Maestro for lessons on speaking proper English.”

“Isn't that why everyone takes elocution lessons? I went to Nepommuck to learn how to sound like a gent, instead of a Scouser. What's suspicious about that? After all, you did the same thing last year. Did you have a sinister reason for wanting to speak like a lady? I doubt it.”

Eliza thought he was a clever fellow indeed. “I remember you said you wanted to work in a bank.”

“And so I do. In fact, I got hired as a bank clerk in the City. Starting tomorrow, I'll be off in my clean-pressed clothes and fancy cane and hat to help oversee the wealth of the Empire.”

“Congratulations,” Eliza said, and meant it. “Although you don't seem the bank clerk type.”

“Oh, I don't plan to remain a little clerk scribbling away. I aim to attract the notice of the influential gents who bring their money to the bank. After that, I shall very likely catch the eye—and the heart—of a wealthy man's daughter. It's a short step from there to becoming his son-in-law. Sometimes a good accent, fine clothes, and a handsome face are worth more than an Oxford degree, Miss Doolittle.”