Wouldn't It Be Deadly (7 page)

“Let's see how many of your students remain after this circus ends.”

“Of course, poor little Eliza will be out of a job,” Henry continued as if he hadn't heard a word she spoke. He gestured toward the drawing room door. “If she's at home, maybe we should have her join us. I warned her I'd engineer the demise of her Maestro. But it's only fair she know that she'll have to give testimony. Under oath, so if she doesn't tell the truth, I shall hang that Cockney cabbage from Tower Bridge by her—”

“Eliza isn't here,” Mrs. Higgins broke in. “She had a nine o'clock lesson this morning, so she left here an hour ago. Afterwards, she plans to meet Mr. Eynsford Hill and his sister at Belgrave Square for a tour of the gardens and tea. If you wish to speak with her, you'll have to go to her classroom later today when her afternoon pupils arrive.”

“She won't be giving lessons much longer.” Henry stretched back on the divan. “I have seen to that. In fact, I doubt that any of Nepommuck or Eliza's pupils will be wanting lessons today.”

“Why not?”

“Haven't you read this morning's
Daily Mail
?”

“Not yet.” She pointed to the writing desk. “Daisy put it there with my letters.”

Higgins retrieved the newspaper and unfolded it with a flourish. “Has Eliza read it?”

“She is courteous enough to wait until I have looked it over first.”

He seemed even more satisfied with himself. “Then it will come as a complete surprise when she arrives in Belgrave Square.”

“A nasty surprise, judging from your buoyant mood.”

“Of course it's nasty. Is there any other sort of surprise one should spring on an enemy? I've been busy since I learned what that poser was claiming in the papers. So rather than bash his hairy head in—which I admit I briefly considered—I struck back in the newspapers.” He handed the
Daily Mail
to his mother.

She started to read, then looked up. “Dear lord, Henry. What have you done?”

*   *   *

When would she learn that it was a mistake to send Freddy off to hire a cab? Eliza cringed as an omnibus almost ran him over. She waved in his direction, hoping to convince him to stop trying, or at least get out of the street.

Freddy's sister, Clara, let out a sigh. “Poor Freddy. I'm afraid he never acquired the trick of flagging down a cab.”

Actually, Eliza suspected he'd have trouble stopping a rag seller pushing his cart.

“A pity we can't afford our own driver and car,” Clara continued. “But that just isn't possible in our current situation.”

“I'm sure that will change soon.” She squeezed Clara's arm in a gesture of sympathy.

Eliza understood that Clara considered the family's financial condition as one step away from bleak poverty. But the girl was blissfully unaware how well-off the Eynsford Hills were compared with most Londoners. Thanks to a modest inheritance, the family lived a genteel—albeit frugal—life. Try hanging your food in a sack from the ceiling every night to keep the rats from eating it, Eliza wanted to tell her. But Clara was young and unsophisticated. And she regarded Eliza as the epitome of a modern young woman, the latest society fashion in brash elegance.

Freddy and his mother were just as unworldly. Even after learning that Eliza had been a Cockney flower girl, they treated her transformation as an amusing lark. Had any of them ever caught a glimpse of the East End's narrow dark streets? She didn't know whether to be amazed or angry.

Eliza bit back a scream as Freddy tripped mere inches away from a motorcar heading for Grosvenor Crescent. Hang the niceties. The fellow was going to get himself killed.

“Freddy, get your arse over here!” she shouted.

“Oh Eliza, I do love how you know all the new small talk,” Clara said in delight. “Yes, Freddy, move your arse!”

Two dowagers marched past, glaring at them in obvious disapproval.

Eliza breathed a sigh of relief when Freddy reached the curb. He looked dashing as always, with his blue eyes, thick mane of blond hair, and skin as clear and rosy as a country milkmaid's. That such a refined and handsome young man should adore her was another miraculous event in a year that had been crammed with them.

“Darling, I couldn't get the attention of even a single taxi,” he said with a sunny smile. “And I nearly got knocked down by an omnibus. It was rather exciting, though.”

Eliza adjusted his collar. “Don't worry, Freddy. As I told you before, we can easily walk to Belgrave Place from here. It's only a few blocks, and the day is glorious.”

Spring had made a stunning entrance the day of Lady Gresham's garden party. The weather had been almost tropical ever since. They stood along the edge of Belgrave Square Gardens, and the heady fragrance of its flowers was enough to make her swoon.

“But won't you be late for your lessons?” he asked.

“My next pupil doesn't arrive until one. It's not quite noon.”

Big Ben began tolling the midday hour at that moment. “See, we have more than enough time for a leisurely stroll.” Eliza linked arms with both Clara and Freddy.

“I do want to get there in plenty of time so you can introduce me to the Maestro,” Clara said. “He must be very busy. I wouldn't like to interrupt his lessons.”

“It's Thursday. He only has one lesson today at three o'clock.”

“I hope he doesn't think me too forward. I've been longing to meet him ever since you became his assistant. Do I curtsey? He's the first person of royal blood I've ever met.”

“Lord, no. Just shake his hand and say, ‘How d'ya do.'”

“You're so funny, Eliza. What should I call him? Baron? Prince? What do they call him back in Hungary?”

Eliza suspected they called him “Emil” but didn't want to disillusion Clara. “I've no idea what the Hungarians call him. ‘Maestro' will do for any Brits who make his acquaintance.”

“Will he flirt with me? I've heard he's quite the ladies' man.”

“Of course. He flirts with every female, and you're prettier than most.”

“Has he dared to flirt with you, Eliza?” Freddy asked, clearly outraged.

“He does now and then, usually when he's bored. But since Professor Higgins called, he's barely said a word to me.” Eliza smiled up at Freddy. “Don't be jealous, silly. I told you. He and Lady Gresham announced their engagement at the garden party last Sunday.”

“Maybe he shan't pay much heed to me at all.” Clara deflated like a pricked balloon. She dodged a pram pushed by a determined black-garbed nanny with a stern face. “I'm not a pupil, after all. Or a marchioness.”

“That won't stop him.”

Eliza knew that Nepommuck would lavish Clara with flattery and attention. Why not? She was a pretty young woman who thought the Maestro was as royal as the Hungarian king himself—assuming Hungary had a king. But once Clara left his sight, he'd forget he ever met her. Nepommuck preferred the company of older women: well connected, discreet, and wealthy.

“If he dares flirt with you, Clara, I shall have to get in his face,” Freddy said.

“If you are going to fly into a temper every time a man flirts with me, I don't know how I shall find a husband,” Clara said. “After all, why shouldn't I marry royalty? Lady Gresham is marrying the Maestro. And I heard she was the daughter of a Bristol engineer before she wed her late husband the Marquess. As for the Maestro, he must have aristocratic brothers or cousins. Do any of them ever visit him in London, Eliza?”

“You are not going to marry a Hungarian, Clara, no matter how royal his blood,” Freddy said. “When the time comes, you will marry a British chap. Not a foreign bounder.”

In defiance, Clara walked ahead of them, her heels clicking on the pavement. Eliza wished Freddy would be gentler with his sister. Until five weeks ago, Clara's energies had been directed at a prominent banker's eldest son. The pair even discussed an engagement until the banker learned the Eynsford Hills' only assets were good looks and a tiny trust fund.

“Freddy, I am merely introducing Clara to Nepommuck,” Eliza said in a half whisper. “She's been low after that business with the banker's son. If this cheers her up a bit, we should let her be. A few flattering words from an overdressed Hungarian might do the trick.”

Freddy stopped, gazing at her with naked adoration. “You are the most wonderful creature, Eliza. They ought to write songs about you in the West End. There simply isn't a woman more beautiful or kindhearted than you, my sweet darling.”

Flowery nonsense, but Eliza loved every word. “What would I do without you, Freddy?”

In another second, they might have scandalized the traffic rounding Belgrave Square Gardens with an ardent kiss. A rude voice stopped them. “'Ey there, Miss Doolittle, 'old yer tracks. We got to be talking afore I soak that bloke in the river!”

A barrel-chested older man made his way toward them. Eliza recognized Dmitri Kollas, one of Nepommuck's pupils. Higgins suspected the Greek diplomat was actually from Clerkenwell. Although Kollas pretended not to speak English, she'd heard him arguing loudly with Nepommuck several times. What little she heard through the walls revealed that Kollas spoke like a Cockney native.

“Mr. Kollas, what's wrong?”

His face turned purple. “That bastard Nepo you work for. I been there twice this mornin' banging on 'is door, but 'e ain't got the knockers to open. Yellow as pus, 'e is. And after all 'is bloody nattering at me these months, about 'ow I be lower than a snake's belly. Well, I be putting a call to me mates in Clerkenwell what will pay 'im back for all 'is insults!”

“Perhaps the Maestro simply isn't at home,” she said.

“Nah, I 'eard him moving around in there,” Kollas said in disgust. “'E even told me to clear off through the bloody door. The bloke's a right dodger what ain't got the bullocks to admit 'e's bleeding worse than us fools what pay 'im.”

“But why are you so angry? You've been his pupil for months.”

“Played me, 'e did. Or maybe 'e thinks I can't read? Thinks maybe there ain't no one in the bleeding town that don't know 'ow to put words together! Well, Nepo best jimmy up some of my 'ard-earned sterling. I ain't been forking over so's I can get knocked down for being Cockney and not bloody Greek!”

“Do you understand this fellow?” Freddy whispered.

Eliza ignored him. “What is there to read?”

He held aloft a newspaper and struck the folded page. “You the only schooled filly not reading the dailies? Look on this, and tell me all us dusters ain't got cause to set his place afire.”

Kollas thrust the paper into Eliza's hands before stalking off. She scanned the front page. Clara and Freddy gathered around her. “What was he saying, Eliza?” Clara asked. “I couldn't understand a word.”

“Dmitri Kollas is one of the Maestro's students. Apparently he went to his lodgings twice this morning, but Nepommuck refused to open the door. For some reason the Maestro doesn't want to see him.” Eliza stopped. “Oh, crikey.”

“What is it?” Freddy peered over her shoulder.

“This article says Emil Nepommuck committed several crimes in his native Hungary, including rape, assault, arson, and fraud.” She read for a moment. “And he served time in a Budapest prison.”

Clara let out a cry. “It can't be true! Where is the paper getting such lies?”

But Eliza had no time to answer. She stepped out to the curb, her hand raised. A hansom cab immediately steered in her direction. “How did you do that?” Freddy asked in amazement.

“We must get to Nepommuck's lodgings before he runs off. A mob of people will be arriving at Belgrave Square any minute. And they'll all be wanting the truth.” Eliza stared down at the newspaper article before getting into the cab. “I don't much care about the truth, but he owes me two weeks' salary.”

When the cab reached their stop, Eliza jumped to the pavement before the horse halted.

“Eliza, wait for us!” Freddy and Clara called after her.

She ran into the building, then took the stairs two at a time. Breathless, she stopped at the top. The hallway was totally dark.

Freddy and Clara bumped into her, almost knocking her down. “What's going on?” Clara asked. “Why is it so dark?”

“Someone turned off the lights,” Eliza said in a grim voice. “Again.”

“We ought to find someone to turn the lights back on,” Freddy suggested.

“No, I'll turn them on. The switch is halfway down the hall on the left.” After the last incident, Eliza had made certain to locate it. “Enough of these games.”

“Who's playing games?” Freddy asked as he and Clara followed close behind Eliza in the dark.

“Someone is trying to scare me. It worked once, but not this time.” Eliza brushed her hand along the wall to the switch. With one click, brightness washed over them.

“There, that wasn't so hard.” She turned to speak to Freddy but his sister let out a horrendous scream. He gasped beside her.

Eliza spun around to see what they were staring at in such horror.

Nepommuck lay facedown outside his apartment door, head turned to the side. Eliza could see that his eyes were motionless and wide open. She fell back against the wall.

With a strangled cry, Clara pointed at the dagger plunged into his back. Freddy grabbed his sister, who buried her face against his chest. “Eliza, we must get out of here. Now!”

But Eliza saw something else besides the dagger. Trembling, she forced herself to walk closer to the dead man. Blood streamed from his wound, staining his brocaded dressing gown and the carpet beneath him. She bent closer to the lifeless body. It was more gruesome than she feared. Plunged into his open mouth was one of Eliza's shiny new tuning forks.