With a Little Bit of Blood Page 11

  “I believe everyone has told you what happened this morning,” Richard said. “I also believe Mr. Pentwater’s death was an unfortunate accident. And tragic. If I had more information about him, I’d contact his family.” He turned to Lily. “Do you know where Pentwater lived in America?”

  She shrugged. “Somewhere in New York City.”

  Richard hung his head and sighed.

  Brakefield took pity on the young baron. “Given the weather this morning, I must agree with Lord Ashmore. Mr. Pentwater’s death appears to be an accident. Plenty of hunting accidents in the countryside, I’m afraid, and this isn’t the first this season, either.” He gestured to the gamekeeper. “That will be all for now, Mr. Mumford. You can dismiss your men as well. Thank you.”

  With a nod, the gamekeeper shuffled toward the door.

  “I can’t imagine anyone here had a reason to kill Mr. Pentwater,” Richard said. “I’d never even met him before last night.”

  “I met him several years ago in Berlin,” the count told Brakefield. “The Grand Duke of Hesse hosted a trade conference. Herr Pentwater spoke on investment opportunities in America. Because I found him an informed man, I have sought his advice on occasion. But he is no more than a business acquaintance.”

  “Yet you invited him to your house party,” Brakefield said.

  “Ja. Of course. He rang me up and said he would be in London soon. When he asked if I wished to meet in The City and talk business, I thought inviting him to this party would be sympathischer.”

  “More congenial,” the countess translated.

  Brakefield looked down at his notes. “Miss Marlowe knew him.”

  “Again? How often do I have to hear about Mr. Pentwater and me? Give a girl a break.” Lily threw herself back on the sofa in a most unladylike position. Her brashness entertained Higgins. She sometimes reminded him of an American Eliza.

  “A break?” Brakefield asked, puzzled.

  “Honestly, doesn’t anyone here speak English?”

  Higgins bit back a grin.

  “Would you understand me better if we spoke at the station, Miss Marlowe?”

  Lily pretended to consider it, one finger on her chin. He understood now why she made such a convincing actress. “Okay. What do you want to know that I haven’t already told you? I’m an actress. I make movies at Vitograph Studios in Brooklyn. Pentwater invested in some of them.” She raised an eyebrow. “The movies, not me.”

  “You’re a pretty girl, Miss Marlowe. Did Mr. Pentwater think so, too?”

  “Probably. But I’m not the only pretty actress at Vitograph. Let me tell you, actresses are used to fellas on the make for them. And some of them are real heels.”

  “Heels?”

  She ignored him. “What you should be asking is if I was keen on him.”

  “Were you?”

  Lily gave a dramatic sigh. “He never combed his hair and had a long nose. So what do you think? And I don’t deserve to be called on the carpet with these questions.”

  The chief constable appeared completely confused by her American slang. “Right, then,” Brakefield said. “Aside from the count and Miss Marlowe, it appears that Mr. Pentwater had no important connection to any of the guests.”

  “I can tell you something important,” Eliza announced.

  Brakefield motioned for her to come closer.

  “Madame Evangeline predicted a death this morning at breakfast,” Eliza began in a somber voice. “That’s why I went off to the forest. To warn the others.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “Oh, Richard! Your sister was right about thirteen guests being unlucky. To think Madame Evangeline knew Mr. Pentwater was about to die.”

  “Darling, please,” Richard said. “It’s impossible to predict the future. Even if you are Madame Evangeline.”

  “Except she blooming well did,” Eliza told him.

  Brakefield cleared his throat. “And who is this Madame Evangeline?”

  “One of our guests,” Richard said. “She is both a spiritualist and a medium.”

  “A medium,” the chief constable repeated. “Is that like a person who holds séances?”

  “Yes, she communicates with ghosts. And she falls into trances,” Eliza said eagerly. “When she’s in them, she tells the future.”

  Higgins wanted to stop her from making a fool of herself, but didn’t bother to interrupt. Once Eliza was set on a course, nothing could stop her.

  “She doesn’t have a clue what she says afterward either. But I heard her, plain as day in the breakfast room. She told me that she sensed danger.” Eliza thought a moment. “Her exact words were, ‘Anger is in the air around us. More than anger. A dark fury which ends in death. That fury lies waiting in the forest. A murderer awaits in the forest.”’ Eliza gave the chief constable a pointed look. “I have a sharp memory.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Higgins said. “Eliza forgets nothing.”

  “Impressive,” Lily remarked. “With a memory like that, Eliza could make a living on the stage.” She giggled. “Or as a spy.”

  “None of that matters. What does matter is that Madame Evangeline told me a murderer was about to kill someone in the forest. And it happened.”

  “What a frightful thing for Madame Evangeline to say.” The countess seemed offended. “It is most improper for guests to be predicting death in the breakfast room.”

  Clara put her head in her hands. “This must be England’s worst house party!”

  No one disagreed.

  “Stevens?” Brakefield crooked a finger at one of the junior constables, who leaned down to hear his whispered command. The young man hurried off. The chief constable wrote in his notebook until Stevens returned with Madame Evangeline, who was accompanied by her manservant.

  Due to her dark purple gown and severe expression, Madame looked suitably grim. But Higgins found Zoltan Batur a more forbidding sight in his black silk jacket and turban, although gold embroidery decorated his black slippers. He wondered if that was the typical footwear worn by a fellow accustomed to living in Turkey and Egypt. Or was it just peculiar to this manservant, entrusted with the protection of Madame Evangeline? Slippers might mask the sound of his footfall, an asset if he wished to surprise anyone perceived as a threat. Higgins would certainly be wary of meeting this fellow in a dark alley.

  Although not tall, Batur made up for it with a broad chest and muscular arms that strained at the sleeves of his jacket. His ominous presence was further enhanced by his jet black hair, beard, and striking eyes, almost amber in color. Higgins couldn’t help but notice how he held his hands in perpetual readiness, fingers slightly curled, as if coiled to spring at any moment and throttle someone.

  “Why am I here, sir?” Madame Evangeline asked before Chief Constable Brakefield had a chance to speak. “I was told that only those who were at the hunt this morning needed to be questioned. And I never left the house.”

  “I wasn’t at the hunt,” Clara offered, “but he wanted to speak with me, too. I’m not happy about all this either. I’d much prefer to be in my bedchamber. Or bathing.”

  Higgins shook his head. At some point, the girl needed to learn how to act like the lady of the manor.

  “Miss Doolittle told us something that involves you, Madame Evangeline.”

  Brakefield eyed the manservant with suspicion. “First, who the devil is this fellow?”

  “My manservant, Zoltan Batur. He assists me in my work. And protects me if the need arises.”

  Zoltan bowed his head towards her. “It is my honor to look after Madame and see that no harm befalls her.”

  “How long have you looked after Madame Evangeline?” Brakefield asked.

  “Since the death of my husband several years ago,” she replied for Batur.

  “I see,” Brakefield said. “Mr. Batur, have you witnessed these trances?”

  “Of course.”

  “What happens exactly?”

  “The trances take Madame unawares. But when the sp
irits speak, she must listen. They speak through her. Whatever she says, it is the truth. Those from the Great Beyond have no need to lie.”

  That may be so, Higgins thought, but plenty of people on this side of the Veil did. “I’ve known Madame no more than a day,” he said, causing her to turn that disturbing gaze upon him. “But I have noticed she only imparts dark and distressing things. I wonder why the spirits never have anything cheerful to share with us.”

  Her enigmatic smile reminded him of the Mona Lisa. “As you said, Professor, you have only known me a day. If we had a longer acquaintance, you would learn that I also bring happy news. Or so I have been told. Sadly, I never remember my utterances.”

  Sir Anthony gave a derisive snort.

  “All I know is that if I were a spirit and able to communicate to people, I’d want to warn them if they were in danger.” Eliza shot Higgins and Sir Anthony an exasperated look. “I can’t see how none of you understands that. Madame Evangeline is trying to help.”

  Brakefield raised an eyebrow at that comment. “She wasn’t able to help Mr. Pentwater.”

  “That saddens me far more than it does you.” The medium stared at him with an air of annoyance. “I am only a conduit. Sometimes a poor one.”

  “You have a gift, Madame,” Zoltan reassured her. “A great gift. One not worthy of the people in this room.”

  “I think it’s fair to say neither of us believe in spirits predicting the future.” Higgins bowed his head at Evangeline. “My apologies, but I must speak the truth as you claim your spirits do. From what I have heard so far, you have done little more than make vague predictions about danger and darkness.”

  “Is no one blooming listening?” Eliza asked. “She foretold that someone would be murdered in the forest. And it came true.”

  “Ah, yes,” Sir Anthony said. “A forest shrouded in fog where the lot of us were firing guns in all directions. It’s a miracle more of us weren’t killed.”

  “Exactly.” Higgins ignored Eliza’s angry looks.

  “I believe we are in agreement, Professor Higgins.” Brakefield turned to Richard. “We should be able to close the case tomorrow. By then, we will have spoken with the coroner and decided whether this was indeed an accidental death.”

  “Are we free to go?” Higgins got to his feet.

  “You are free to leave the parlor.” Brakefield buttoned up his jacket. “However, until Mr. Pentwater’s death has been officially ruled an accident, I must request that everyone remain at Banfield Manor. As I said, our decision should not take long.”

  “I don’t know why it should take any time at all,” Lady Annabel said.

  “I need to make inquiries into Mr. Pentwater’s past. See if there is anything he has done which might incite murder.”

  “What bother and nonsense.” Lady Annabel nervously re-pinned a decorative clip in her hair. “All this fuss over a hunting accident. How could it be anything else? And I don’t see why we should all be detained here like prisoners in the dock.”

  Brakefield didn’t bother to reply.

  Higgins wondered why Lady Annabel cared if they had to remain at the manor another night. Maybe she felt upset at being in such close proximity to a sudden death.

  Whatever the reason, Higgins was grateful. He’d feared that seeing her after last night’s farce in his bedroom might prove uncomfortable. But when she joined Higgins and her husband in the forest, she gave not the slightest indication that anything unusual had transpired. If Higgins were a religious man, he’d offer up prayers of thanks.

  “I instructed the servants to lay out the picnic luncheon in the dining room,” Richard announced. “We shall eat in one hour. That will give everyone time to change.”

  “It might be fun to gather in the drawing room afterward for cards,” Clara suggested. “Or maybe charades.”

  “I bet we can convince Lily to sing us a tune,” Freddy added.

  The constables exchanged disbelieving looks before leaving. Higgins didn’t blame them. A party guest had been killed, and they were already eager to move on to lunch and charades. Perhaps Madame Evangeline also felt offended because she and her manservant quickly left the parlor.

  “Clara, don’t you think games and music are inappropriate?” Eliza said.

  “You’re right. Afternoons at a country house party should be devoted to reading and walking in the garden. We’ll save the music and games for tonight.” Clara’s face lit up. “Maybe Madame Evangeline can tell our fortunes, too.”

  Higgins headed for the door. He didn’t need anyone to tell his fortune. He could already predict this would be a long, tiresome day.

  Eliza tugged on her silk evening gloves, wishing to be anywhere but at Banfield Manor. It seemed so long ago when she’d looked forward to this country house party. She expected to have fun with Clara and Freddy, and had been excited to meet the other guests. Her hopes about Freddy were quickly dashed. Even if he came to his senses – which seemed unlikely – she would not take him back. As for Lily Marlowe, Eliza swore to never watch another one of her films again. And she loved her films. Drat!

  She couldn’t even enjoy playing dress up in her new gowns. Not after that terrible scene in the forest today. As soon as she heard the gunshot and a man cry out, she raced to join Higgins. She found Dwight Pentwater motionless on the ground, blank eyes staring up at them. And there was so much blood! Eliza fought to put the sight out of her mind. But she feared her dreams tonight would be as haunting as the nightmares after her dear Colonel Pickering was shot.

  At least she was holding her own with the other ladies where fashion was concerned. Although Lady Annabel’s jade satin Poiret creation did set off her vibrant coloring to perfection. The countess looked a bit dowdy in a russet velvet gown that had seen too many seasons. Eliza wondered if the von Weisingers were having money problems. She knew an impressive title did not guarantee an impressive income. And the death of Pentwater had upset Clara’s fashion sense. Her ruffled white dress, embellished with pink roses, was more suited to spring than fall.

  All Eliza cared about was that her own outfit tonight, a Worth gown, compared well to that of Lily’s. With a black silk skirt topped by an ivory and black bodice, Eliza outshone the actress’s deep blue confection with a too fussy lace overlay. They had also both changed hairstyles; Eliza had twisted her dark hair and pinned it up beneath a wide gold headband; Lily wore a simple chignon with a spray of silk flowers. But after the death in the forest, pretty gowns and stylish coiffures seemed trite and silly.

  Restless, Eliza moved toward the shelves of books. Nothing interested her. Maybe she should retrieve the Fu-Manchu mystery book from her room. She’d like to converse with Higgins, but he seemed completely engrossed in some weighty volume propped up on his lap.

  Eliza glanced over at the card tables. Freddy and Lily had paired up with Clara and Count Rudolf to play whist; at the other table, the countess, Philippe, Lady Annabel, and Sir Anthony were engaged in a highly competitive game of bridge. Only the shuffle of cards and pops from the crackling fire broke the silence, with an occasional murmur from the card players.

  “Why don’t you play something, Eliza?” Clara suggested, eyeing the cards in her hand. “A ragtime piano piece. They’re ever so much fun to hear.”

  “Lenzburg’s Hungarian Rag is more suitable.” The countess nodded towards the piano. “I believe there is sheet music beneath the piano bench.”

  “No, play The Aviator Rag instead,” Richard said from where he sat nursing a brandy by the fire. “Philippe might enjoy that.”

  “Bien sûr,” the Frenchman murmured, “but it is not necessary.”

  “Or The Racehorse Rag.” Clara turned to Lily. “Did you hear about the music hall singer Marie Lloyd? The police arrested her when she arrived in America to begin her tour. She and a jockey claimed to be husband and wife when they applied for entry visas. They charged him under the White Slave Act for bringing a woman who is not his wife!”

  “I read he
was threatened with deportation or what they termed ‘moral turpitude’. We Americans can be such Puritans.” She gave a careless shrug. “At least Miss Lloyd hasn’t been hurt by the scandal. The tour’s been a real smash, despite all the publicity.”

  Sir Anthony played a card. “There is no such thing as bad publicity. At least that is what the American showman P.T. Barnum was fond of saying. Is that correct, Miss Marlowe?”

  “Mr. Barnum said a lot of things. That sounds like him. The man was known as the king of hucksters.”

  Eliza pulled out a chair at a small polished table by the window, in no mood to play the piano and entertain them.

  “May I join you, Miss Doolittle? You seem sad and might enjoy some company.”

  She looked up to see Madame Evangeline. “Yes, please. I am in need of a little distraction. It was a terrible morning. Just as you foretold.”

  “It is my tragedy that I often cannot prevent such things. But the hand of fate is a heavy one.” Madame Evangeline sat in the chair across from her. She smoothed down her black lace gown, which seemed fitting for such a glum day.

  “You wore black as I did,” Eliza observed. “I didn’t really know Mr. Pentwater, but wearing black tonight seemed the right thing to do.”

  “We should cover ourselves in dark colors to honor the dead. They take offense when we do not.”

  Eliza stiffened. “Are there any ghosts in the room with us right now? And are they offended? Is Mr. Pentwater here?”

  “I sense only the ghost of a child. He is playing by the fireplace.”

  Eliza looked over at the fireplace in alarm, but saw only a crackling fire and Richard Ashmore sipping his brandy. “Should we tell the others?”

  “Why? They will not be able to see the boy any more than you can. And the child is not aware of us.” Madame Evangeline rummaged in her lace drawstring bag and pulled out a thick deck of cards. They did not resemble those used by the other guests.

  Trying to put the thought of the ghostly child out of her mind, Eliza watched her shuffle the worn cards. Madame Evangeline cut them several times, reshuffled, then set the deck in the middle of the table with a casual wave.