The two women walked past the uniformed doorman into Selfridges. As always, Eliza delighted in the magnificent high ceilings and bright chandeliers that added to the natural light pouring through the windows. Today, colorful red, white, and blue bunting hung everywhere. Must be some sort of national holiday. Dozens of customers strolled along the spacious aisles. And polished glass counters displayed every type of goods imaginable: men’s waistcoats and other attire, soaps and toiletries, parasols and feather boas, brooches and earrings in costume jewelry, shoes of all kinds, silk and linen handkerchiefs.
Best of all, perfume and cosmetics were on display front and center. One of the female shop assistants flashed a winning smile at them. Her smart navy dress had an ecru lace collar, making her look as stylish as the customers. The young woman focused her attention on Eliza.
“May I help you, madam?”
“No thank you. We’re waiting for someone,” Clara blurted out, but Eliza shushed her.
“I’d like to choose a new perfume.” She glanced around the display, uncertain. “The scent I have is a bit flowery. Very nice, but something different might be more to my taste.”
“May I suggest Houbigant’s Quelques Fleurs?”
The sales assistant selected a pale bottle, removed the stopper, and dabbed a bit on her own wrist. After she motioned for Eliza to extend her arm, she demonstrated how to rub her other wrist against the tiny smudge of scent. She waited as Eliza breathed in the heady citrus mix of orange and lemon, with a musky undertone.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you, I do like it.”
Lady Tansy suddenly appeared. “I assumed you both would wait for me outside.”
Eliza bit back a curt reply at the young woman’s haughty tone. She also thought her plum gown was too regal for daytime, with its sheer lace sleeves and tasseled sash. As for Lady Tansy, she didn’t bother to conceal her sharp interest in Eliza’s blue and white pinstripe dress and white plumed hat. Perhaps the young viscountess was a bit jealous of her new summer outfit, which was all the rage in Paris. Poor Clara’s pale pink ensemble couldn’t compete with either of them. But the girl’s wide-brimmed hat festooned with rose satin bows and ribbons was perfect. Eliza had bought the expensive chapeau for Clara only last week.
Lady Tansy shook her head at the shop assistant. “That perfume is much too old-fashioned for her. Try a bit of my Nuit de Chine, Clara. ‘Chinese Night’ is the translation, quite exotic. Sandalwood and civet.”
“The perfume is for me, not Clara. And I find the scent delightful.” Eliza leaned toward the sales assistant behind the counter. “Please box it for me.”
The young woman nodded. “Shall I put it on Colonel Pickering’s account, Miss Doolittle?” Eliza shopped here so often, the staff knew her by name.
“Not this time. I recently opened my own account. Charge it to that one.” When Eliza looked around, Lady Tansy had whisked Clara away to examine parasols.
“Thank goodness we’re here today, and not tomorrow.” Lady Tansy inspected a carved parasol handle. “No one comes on Wednesdays except ‘value’ shoppers from the suburbs.”
“Their money is as good as anyone else’s,” Eliza said. If only the Viscountess didn’t take on such airs. It was quite maddening. No wonder Lord Saxton drank so much.
“Next you’ll be showing sympathy for the unionists.”
In dismay, Clara mouthed a “Please don’t,” as if the problem were Eliza and not Lady Tansy’s snobbish attitude. “What shall we look at first, Your Grace?” Clara asked.
“I’ve told you to call me Tansy. We’re old school friends. And Lord Richard Ashmore is my second cousin on my maternal side. If you do marry him, we’ll practically be sisters.”
Eliza tried not to laugh at the woman’s attempt to make her jealous. Ever since Lord Saxton had insisted she call his wife “Lady Tansy,” she noticed it irritated her whenever Eliza did so. If she imagined Eliza had any interest in what Clara called her, she was mistaken. Clara could call Tansy “sweetheart” for all Eliza cared.
“Who is Lord Ashmore?” Eliza asked as they strolled over to view the gloves.
“He has lately returned from India,” Lady Tansy said. “His brother, the fourth baron, died last year of either pleurisy or some other inconvenient illness. Richard’s a captain in the King’s Hussars. He was, that is, until he resigned his commission to inherit the barony.”
Lady Saxton prattled on about the Ashmore estate in Kent, a Jacobean house known as Banfield Manor. When she was done with her exhausting description of its extensive gardens, she went on to discuss every aristocratic guest at the shooting party she’d attended last autumn at the manor house. This went on for the better part of an hour.
By the time they reached the topmost floor of Selfridges, Lady Tansy was explaining how Richard’s oldest brother died in a car accident two years ago. If this went on much longer, Eliza would fling herself over the fifth-floor balustrade.
“Are we done hearing about your cousin?” Eliza didn’t bother to hide her exasperation. “Or are there a few details you’ve left out? Like his shoe size and what he eats for breakfast.”
Lady Tansy shot her an offended look. “Richard will join us for lunch, and I thought it proper for Clara to know all she can about him.”
That set off Clara’s nerves. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“I know my cousin. He’ll adore you, darling.”
Eliza halted by the hat display, her eye caught by a new design for fall, but Clara dragged her away. Thirty minutes later, the women had finished exploring the fifth floor. They headed for the lift, where Lady Tansy continued to extol the virtues of Lord Ashmore. They hadn’t even met the fellow, but Eliza was already sick of him. When Eliza announced her plan to return downstairs to Cosmetics, Clara gushed in excitement.
“I’d love to try a bit of color. It’s all the rage now. Powder and rouge, I mean.”
“Whatever for? Your complexion is like cream and roses,” Lady Tansy protested.
“Clara’s rather fair.” Eliza carefully exited the lift. “Besides, it might be fun to try it.”
“I imagine Richard will be surprised by all the changes since he’s been away from England. Cosmetics, women driving motorcars, the nightclubs. It’s all too much.”
“I’ve never driven a motorcar,” Clara said wistfully.
Eliza led them to the cosmetics counter once more. “You’ve never attended a nightclub, either. Not that I would expect you to. By the way, I think this pale pink rouge would be perfect. And you’d only need a hint.” She picked up a tin of powder. “What is this made from?”
“Finely ground safflowers. Brush on a dab rather than pinching your cheeks.” The saleswoman smiled at her.
Although Lady Tansy rolled her eyes in disapproval, Eliza could tell she applied color to brighten her complexion. Clara swept the lightweight powder just below her cheekbones. The effect lent a sparkle to her eyes. Next she picked up a long metal tube, and the saleswoman demonstrated how to apply a tiny amount on her lips.
“It’s wonderful,” Clara said with enthusiasm.
Eliza decided to buy it for her. She was actually grateful for this little shopping expedition, since it gave her a reprieve from sitting at her father’s hospital bedside. He was recovering nicely in a private room, with nurses at his beck and call. The train trip back and forth to Windsor was tiring, however; so was the crowd who visited her father, from the old neighborhood as well as his new friends. Her stepmother’s family also visited, shoving and pushing to sit on the few chairs. They even dragged their children along despite the staff’s pleas to leave them home. The brats climbed all over “Uncle Alfie.” Her father didn’t seem to mind the bantering and fussing, as long as it didn’t go on for too long.
Her father’s recovery had lifted her spirits. Now she needed to find a moment to ask Lady Tansy about Longhurst’s friendship with Rachel Turnbull. Higgins expected her to confirm the information he’d gleaned yesterday from the Duches
s of Carbrey.
“How old is Lord Ashmore?” Clara sounded worried.
“Twenty-eight,” Lady Tansy said. “I haven’t seen him since before he left for India.”
“Are you sure he’s not a confirmed bachelor?”
She laughed. “You will find out for yourself soon enough. But I rather doubt he’d agree to meet you if he was, don’t you think? Now stop worrying. He’s an excellent catch.”
Clara seemed rattled by the upcoming meeting. “Oh dear. My hat is coming loose from its pins.” She stood before a counter mirror and fussed with it.
Eliza took Lady Tansy aside. “Given what happened to my father, I imagine you’re relieved your husband sold his share of the Donegal Dancer.”
“Heavens, yes. The last thing I want is to be widowed because of that fool horse. Maitland is no prize, but he is useful in his own way. Now that he’s sold his share, he should be safe. At least until he drinks himself to death.”
“Who do you think is behind these murders and the attack at the stables? Gordon Longhurst, perhaps? He could very well have killed both Diana and Turnbull out of jealousy.”
She shrugged. “If so, he ought to be knighted for it. I may not agree with the methods for their eradication—murder is a messy business—but neither of them will be missed.”
“I had tea with Rachel Turnbull the other day. She didn’t seem at all heartbroken.”
“And you’re surprised by that? I wouldn’t blame her if she threw a party to celebrate.”
Eliza lowered her voice even more. “There is talk that she and Longhurst are lovers.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why is it so unbelievable?” Eliza wondered if she should reveal what the Duchess had mentioned to Higgins.
“Rachel is no more capable of romantic passion than one of those mannequins over there.” She cast a wary eye at Eliza. “You’re full of questions today. Are you playing police detective again, as you did this past spring? If so, you no doubt suspect Maitland and me.”
“I believe someone wants the horse all to themselves. Since Lord Saxton sold his shares, he no longer has a motive. Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem all that interested in passion either. Nor did you show any jealousy of Diana at Ascot. Just wounded pride.”
That prompted a bitter smile. “Although Maitland chases after the dregs of womanhood, I would not risk my own neck to murder him. Trust me. I have other ways of punishing my husband for his bad behavior.” She leaned closer to Eliza. “I ordered a lavish new wardrobe for fall from the Paris salons. Along with a ruby ring the size of a cherry. That’s what hurts him the most—my spending habits. It’s less money to gamble away, or spend on his latest paramour.”
“Aren’t you afraid Lord Saxton will cut off your allowance one day?”
Lady Tansy seemed amused. “He’s not that stupid. Maitland knows I would not kill him over some dreadful woman. But if he ever cuts off my clothing and jewelry allowance, he’d best sleep with one eye open.”
* * *
Fragrant bouquets of red roses, lilies, and carnations filled two tall Chinese vases near the door of the Palm Court restaurant. The headwaiter welcomed them and led the way through the room. Selfridges proved an ideal lunch spot for Londoners. An orchestra played softly, taking care not to drown out the conversation of the patrons. A small bud vase of roses and ferns decorated each linen-draped table, while leaded glass chandeliers glittered overhead. Waiters in black tie and tails swept around guests, filling water goblets and serving plates of braised lamb chops, cod cakes, or luscious desserts.
At one table, a nervous young gentleman waited to greet them. Eliza was pleasantly surprised by his appearance. Tanned and good-looking, with green eyes and wavy brown hair, Lord Richard Ashmore stood just shy of Clara’s taller than average height in her low heels. And his light gray linen suit fit his trim figure well. Once Lady Tansy finished the introductions, he pulled all the ladies’ chairs out, Clara’s last, with a courtly bow.
Eliza’s feet ached from hours of wandering through the store. And she worried Lady Tansy’s cousin might prove as talkative. But Lord Ashmore was a quiet, soft-spoken gentleman. He fielded questions about his Army career, the Indian subcontinent, and Banfield Manor with a hint of nervousness, which Eliza found endearing. It proved he was as anxious about this meeting as Clara. While the others conversed, Eliza enjoyed a fine Darjeeling tea and lemon chicken cutlets over savory rice. Her flagging spirits revived when their waiter brought custard tarts with fresh raspberries for dessert.
“Does your family hail from Eynsford, perchance?” Lord Ashmore asked Clara. “It’s a small village southeast of Swanley.”
“I-I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“There was a Norman castle built there in 1088, but it was ransacked in the fourteenth century. The Ashmores are great lovers of history, you know. In fact, both my father and grandfather funded archaeological excavations in Asia Minor and India. We have quite an extensive antiquities collection at Banfield Manor. Perhaps you would like to see it one day.”
“I would be honored, Your Grace.” Clara batted her eyelashes at him.
He touched her hand. “Call me Richard, please. I’m not accustomed to any title save that of Captain. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much I missed England. My years in India caused me to forget how beautiful my countrywomen are.”
“Thank you, Your—Richard,” Clara said, blushing pinker.
“How is the Dowager Baroness?” Lady Tansy asked. “I haven’t seen your mother at any London dinner parties or charity functions this season.”
“I assume Mother is fine. We take care not to spend too much time together.”
Lord Ashmore’s terse answer and quick change of subject spoke volumes about possible family troubles. Eliza wondered if his mother had been shocked by the deaths of her older sons and had not yet recovered. Or was she disappointed that her youngest, and perhaps not her favorite, child would become the 5th Baron Ashmore?
“Tell me about your family, Miss Eynsford Hill.”
“Clara, please.” She giggled. “I have a mother and older brother.”
“Splendid. Tell me all about them, your home, your childhood, everything.”
Pleased by Lord Ashmore’s manners and good nature, Eliza sensed Clara might be a perfect match for him. He seemed taken with her modern “small talk,” copied from Eliza, of course. Thank goodness he was a cut above the rest of the men Lady Tansy had thrown Clara’s way. And he clearly wanted a wife.
Eliza hoped Clara allowed herself enough time to become acquainted with Lord Ashmore before doing anything rash. The girl so wanted a ring on her finger. Eliza must ask Mrs. Higgins what she knew about the Ashmore family. For the sake of Clara’s future happiness, it wouldn’t hurt to make a few discreet inquiries.
She was puzzled that Lord Ashmore seemed keen on marrying someone who might not measure up to his mother’s aristocratic standards. He was young, attractive, and agreeable. Add his title to that, and it was a wonder half the debutantes in London weren’t chasing after him. Yet he seemed genuinely delighted by Clara. Not that Clara wasn’t a pretty young woman. But she had no dowry, and her family tree was bare of any titles or distinguished ancestors. The fact that Richard agreed to this meeting at all was astonishing. Why wasn’t he pursuing the daughter of a fellow lord, or a rich American heiress?
Still, they seemed to hit it off. It touched Eliza’s heart to see how after an hour’s conversation, they already teased each other and laughed at the same silly jokes. This might be a match made in heaven, even if it was the sardonic Lady Tansy who engineered it.
He whispered something in Clara’s ear, which sent her into a gale of giggles. Eliza finished her tea, while Lady Tansy turned sideways to greet a friend at the nearest table.
“Miss Doolittle? May I have a private word with you?”
Startled, Eliza looked up to see Gordon Longhurst. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been follo
wing you all day.”
She drew back in alarm. “Why are you following me?”
“Please, I must speak with you. It’s urgent.”
Lord Ashmore and Clara had fallen silent and sat listening. Lady Tansy looked uneasy. Eliza had misgivings as well, but she had questions for Mr. Longhurst, too. This might be the best time to get answers.
She stood. “I am not leaving this restaurant, Mr. Longhurst.”
“I am not asking you to. Join me at that table by the window.” Longhurst gently took her elbow. “Everyone will be able to see you there.”
After they walked to the window table, Eliza quickly sat down. Longhurst settled himself in the opposite chair. “Apparently you don’t trust me.”
“Don’t know why I should, given what happened to my father at the stables.”
“I had nothing to do with that.” Longhurst’s voice grew as hard as steel. “I know your cousin is Detective Inspector Shaw. Perhaps you’re not aware that he’s been hounding me. Asking questions about my late wife, about the Henley Regatta picnic, and about the Donegal Dancer, too. Let me assure you I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
“As if that means anything to a policeman. Did you know Shaw visited me where I work? Twice! And he questioned the other stockbrokers. Now they’re treating me as if I’m a murderer. And I answered all his questions when I was at Scotland Yard. He had no right to ask my employer about my private life outside of work.”
Eliza couldn’t think of anything to say that would reassure him. Especially since she suspected he might actually be the killer. She didn’t blame Jack for snooping around after him.
“If he continues, I will lose my position. What will I do then?” Longhurst seemed oblivious of the restaurant patrons who glanced their way. She also grew uncomfortable with every nervous twitch and clench of his fists, his reddened cheeks, and his forceful tone.
“Surely it won’t come to that.”
“I implore you, Miss Doolittle, make him stop!” Longhurst banged his hand on the table, upsetting a half-filled teacup. A pale stain spread over the linen. “The police have also been at Mrs. Turnbull’s home. How can they trouble a new widow who is in mourning for her husband? It’s an outrage, I tell you. Not only did Inspector Shaw barge into her home to interrogate her. He also demanded she report to his Scotland Yard office today.”
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