Move Your Blooming Corpse

by D. E. Ireland

  “Just east of Canterbury. I was born at Banfield Manor and spent my boyhood there.”

  Clara pulled her aside while the men discussed the Kentish countryside. Eliza suspected Higgins of trying to figure out where else Lord Ashmore had lived from his speech patterns.

  Radiant with excitement, Clara whispered, “I’m going to marry Richard.”

  “You cannot marry someone you’ve known a mere four days! How do you know you’re compatible? The man is a virtual stranger. And you should love whomever you marry.”

  “But I do love him. How could I not? And I want to marry him as soon as possible.”

  “He’s an attractive titled gentleman of appropriate age.” Mrs. Eynsford Hill joined them. “He adores my daughter, I could tell immediately. It’s almost too good to be true. Clara will be a baroness. A baroness!”

  “With twenty thousand pounds a year,” Clara added in delight. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you, Eliza?”

  “No, only worried. How do you know he wants to marry you? Has he proposed?”

  “Oh, I know how to convince him to marry me.” Clara winked. “After all, he clearly finds me pretty. And a modern woman knows there are better ways to seduce a man aside from clever conversation and a fat dowry. I have it all worked out.” With a smug smile, she waltzed back to rejoin her suitor. Her mother patted Eliza’s arm, then followed her daughter.

  Eliza stared at them in disbelief. Did Clara mean to seduce Lord Ashmore? Blimey, when did this eighteen-year-old turn into Lillie Langtry? And why didn’t Mrs. Eynsford Hill dissuade her daughter from doing something so dangerously foolish?

  “I need to talk to you,” Eliza hissed in Freddy’s ear. She dragged him away from the group, not caring if he was midsentence with Higgins and Lord Ashmore.

  “I wasn’t done telling the Baron about—”

  “Oh, hush.” Eliza glanced over at Clara and her soon-to-be lover. “Freddy, this is blooming important. You must help me before it’s too late.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Clara is so set on marrying Lord Ashmore, she plans to take him to her bed. You must stop her. You’re her older brother, after all. Maybe she’ll listen to you. Please discourage her from pursuing Baron Ashmore. What if he rejects her? She’ll never recover from the shame.”

  Freddy shook his head. “Why should I? She claims he’s the perfect man for her. I think Clara ought to marry him, and as quickly as possible. She’ll be a baroness.”

  Had all the Eynsford Hills gone mad? “Freddy, you can’t be serious.”

  “But I am.” He clasped both of her gloved hands between his and dropped to one knee. “Marry me, darling. I want to announce our engagement before my sister and Lord Ashmore do. Please, we’ve waited long enough. You cannot hold me off forever, Eliza.”

  She quickly tugged him to his feet before anyone noticed. “Stop this!”

  “We both love each other. I see no reason to wait any longer.” Freddy hesitated. “And in case your father does die from his wounds, he’ll know you and I are happily wed. He will die knowing I am taking care of you.” He smiled. “And we’ll have your Ascot money, too.”

  Eliza pushed him away, disgusted with both Freddy and Clara. She was glad she hadn’t told him she spent her winnings on a share of the Dancer. “Don’t follow me, Freddy. You’ve put me in a foul mood. One more word, and I’ll brain you with this.” She raised her parasol.

  “Eliza, wait!”

  She stalked off. He’d best heed her advice and stay away. As if Freddy knew anything about what her father wanted! Alfred Doolittle had never given a fig for Eliza’s welfare. The last thing he would worry about was whether she married, happily or not. And Eliza had serious doubts she could ever be content as Freddy’s wife.

  At this moment, she was far more worried about Clara. Solving a murder would be simpler than convincing Freddy or Mrs. Eynsford Hill to be sensible about that girl’s marriage plans. Eliza squinted when dust swirled up in the growing heat. She hoped Higgins soon caught up with her. He at least would agree about the lunatic behavior of the Eynsford Hills.

  Someone bumped into her. Eliza turned to see Lord Saxton in a pale suit, his tie askew, and as usual half drunk.

  “B-beg pardon. Oh, it’s you, El-liza,” he slurred. “Splendid. S’good to see you.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here. Especially since you sold your shares of the Dancer to Gordon Longhurst. Thank heaven he’s in jail.”

  “True enough.” Lady Tansy joined them. Beneath her Merry Widow hat, she looked quite sullen. “Maitland insisted we attend today. I truly believe he’s lost his mind.”

  “You’re just miffed that I want to buy another racehorse.”

  She waved a hand, as if dispelling alcohol fumes. “I hope you’re not too drunk to negotiate a fair price. And choose a beast with agreeable racing colors this time.”

  He sipped from a silver flask. “Yes, I know. Anything but green and purple.”

  Lady Tansy brushed dust specks from the lapels of her deep marigold tailored suit. Two long, slender quail feathers adorned her curved hat.

  “These colors are not as bad as I thought.” Eliza smoothed her lilac skirt.

  “You did your best, I give you that. But you looked far better at Ascot in that yellow gown, even if it was the tiniest bit garish.” She sent Eliza a sly smile.

  Eliza breathed a sigh of relief when the Saxtons sailed off to greet friends. Several young men walked past Eliza with admiring glances. She really ought to enjoy the race today. After all, she now owned a racehorse. And Jack had caught the murderer red-handed at the Criterion. Hang the Eynsford Hills! Eliza planned to cheer the Donegal Dancer to victory again, even if it meant ruining a new parasol on the railing the way she had at Ascot. Her stomach growled at the thought of the lavish spread awaiting them in the Duchess’s tent afterward.

  Yes, today might prove to be the loveliest day of summer.

  * * *

  Henry Higgins scribbled a few more interesting words and phrases he’d overheard from a couple discussing the Ascot Gold Cup race. “So Hewitt was ‘dafter than a buzza’ and they were ‘mazed’ to lose their bet,” he muttered under his breath. “That must mean they were none too happy. Oh, excuse me, miss.”

  He had bumped into a girl dressed in white with a green and violet sash. “Aye, watch where yer goin’, governor.” She grinned at him when Higgins apologized a second time. “Since you stepped on me toes, p’raps you’ll buy a paper?”

  When she held up a copy of The Suffragette, he dug into his pocket for a coin. Eliza might want to read it on the return train. Higgins noticed a police detective keeping close watch from a distance; the man looked familiar. He might have been at the Criterion earlier in the week. Higgins stuffed the rolled copy under his arm and marched toward the grandstand’s stairway. Eliza met him halfway.

  “I’ve been stopped three times by Jack’s men from the Yard. In fact, the same detective warned me away from the track just now. Bloody fools,” she snapped. “I told ’em again and again I’m no suffragette.”

  “You’re wearing green, white, and violet. Along with a green feather in your white hat. Those are the WSPU colors signifying ‘Give Women the Vote,’ remember.”

  “Blimey.” Eliza held up her parasol. “This is white and green, too.”

  “You’ll just have to ignore them.”

  Eliza looked over his shoulder. “Isn’t that Rachel Turnbull’s maid Lucy?” She hurried off to greet the woman, leaving Higgins to trail behind.

  “So you’re selling The Suffragette?” Eliza asked her.

  “Yes, I signed up the day of the march.” Lucy gazed at Eliza’s outfit with approval. “You’re dressed in the proper colors today, miss.”

  “Actually, these are the Wrexham racing colors.” Eliza gestured at Higgins. “You may remember the Professor from when we came for tea in Knightsbridge. So how is Mrs. Turnbull?”

  “She must be fine. I saw her about an
hour ago.” Lucy smiled when a woman handed a coin over in exchange for a newspaper. “Thank you, madam. Votes for Women!”

  “She’s here?”

  “Yes, with her sister.”

  He and Eliza exchanged worried glances. Why would Rachel attend the race? Her husband’s death meant the Turnbull shares of the Donegal Dancer reverted back to the syndicate, according to the rules. And he was shocked a new widow would appear in public so soon after her husband’s murder. Especially at a horse race.

  “Excuse me, but do you believe your mistress poisoned her husband?”

  The young woman seemed flabbergasted by his question. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, sir! You wouldn’t accuse Mrs. Turnbull if you knew her like I do. She never even lifted a finger to defend herself against that brute she married.”

  Lucy plunged on, relating the terrible things she’d witnessed Jonathon Turnbull do to his wife: slapping Rachel for suggesting a change to the Turnbull Tea tin, throwing her into a wall for not answering a question fast enough, and locking her into a broom cupboard after the servants had gone on an outing. Lucy waved her stack of papers.

  “Why, she couldn’t even stand up to Mrs. Lowell, who asked her to come today in support of the cause.”

  “Where are they, exactly?” Eliza asked.

  “Somewhere selling copies, same as me. And Mrs. Turnbull is even wearing a green and violet sash across her widow’s weeds. She has courage, given all that’s happened to her.”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange?” Eliza insisted. “After all, her husband was poisoned.”

  “Oh, it was such a hot day. They say the picnic food just spoiled. Some people die of food poisoning or get dreadful sick every summer.”

  “Then why didn’t anyone else at the luncheon fall ill?”

  Lucy looked around, as if making certain no one could eavesdrop. “I didn’t say this before, but someone else did get sick that day.”

  “Who?” Higgins perked up at her revelation.

  “I did.” Lucy sighed. “We all sweated buckets setting up the picnic lunch, it was so hot. We needed five more pairs of hands. Me, the footman, and the chauffeur nearly died of thirst.”

  “When I saw you at the Palladium after the rally, you told me you didn’t eat any of the food,” Eliza said. “So you drank something at the picnic?”

  “I only drank ginger water. That’s all the servants were allowed to drink. But looking back, I realized I forgot something. Remember when the tea table was knocked over? I’m the one who cleaned up the mess. The honey spilled and I got a tiny bit on my finger. All I did was lick it off. Just a drop, mind you, but I was so sick after.”

  “Sick how?”

  “Queasy, dizzy. I had to sit in the shade for a bit. The missus told me to rest until I felt better again, she was so worried.”

  “Was she?” Higgins and Eliza exchanged knowing looks.

  “I blamed the heat for making me sick. And who’s to say it wasn’t?” Lucy turned away when several women stepped forward to buy The Suffragette.

  Higgins led Eliza over to the concession area, behind the queue of people waiting to purchase chips, sweets, or lemonade. “Remember what Sir Walter said at White Flower Cottage? That the nectar of a poisonous flower could kill a human. The poison had to be in the honey. And Rachel was worried Lucy would die from it.”

  Eliza nodded. “That means Rachel must be in on it. Freddy and I drank tea, but we sweetened it with sugar. Jonathon Turnbull was the only one who had honey in his tea. Patsy asked for honey, but she never got the chance to drink hers. The tea table was knocked over.” She looked unhappy. “Rachel poisoned the honey.”

  “And Longhurst helped by distracting everyone. By George, that must be what happened.” Higgins rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got to find Jack right away. The two of them carried out the murders of Diana and Turnbull, then tried to kill Sir Walter and your father. Even with Longhurst in jail, Rachel may intend to murder another syndicate member today.”

  Eliza’s heart sank. “The Duchess!”

  Higgins shot her a weary look and pointed toward the grandstand entrance. “You search for Jack or any of his detectives. I’ll go in the other direction and find Rachel. I think it’s very disturbing she came to Sandown today.”

  “What if I see her first?” Eliza asked.

  “If you do, run and find a policeman.” He frowned. “Remember you’re an owner, too. And I have a bad feeling that you may be the next victim.”

  NINETEEN

  The festive crowd pushed against the low railing along the track. Eliza sensed the growing excitement from the racing fans. She shaded her eyes from the sun. Where was Jack? A shame he wasn’t dressed in an olive green suit and derby like Detective Jeremy. He might be easier to spot. And she certainly didn’t see Rachel Turnbull in her widow’s weeds.

  “’Ere now, why haven’t you got copies to sell?” An older woman planted herself before Eliza. She wore a crooked WSPU sash over her dark suit. The lady thrust a bundle of The Suffragette at Eliza. “Remember to thank whoever gives you a penny. Even if they give you less, best let ’em take the paper. We need all the supporters we can get.”

  “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 c
an 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.”