With a Little Bit of Blood Read online

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured them. “Percy isn’t hurt.”

  “What a relief,” Higgins said, although no one seemed to catch his sarcasm. “Does anyone know how the fire started?”

  “Mrs. Pearce might know.” Pickering turned up the collar of his dressing gown.

  “Mrs. Pearce!” Higgins bellowed.

  His housekeeper appeared, folding her arms over the blanket she’d draped around herself. “No need to worry, sir. All the staff have been accounted for.”

  “Have you heard how the fire started?” he asked.

  “I believe it started on the cook stove, although I can’t imagine why the gas flame was on. I check the controls before going to bed. And none of the servants would have a reason to need the stove after that.”

  “I made a cup of tea,” Higgins admitted. “But I turned off the gas afterward.”

  The maids exchanged skeptical looks with Mrs. Pearce. Had he actually checked the stove’s controls before returning to his bedroom?

  “I know I turned it off,” he said, although his voice sounded uncertain.

  “The kitchen is gutted,” Mrs. Pearce said with a sigh. “We’ll not be able to cook or make a cup of tea for a long while. I’ll have to call the workmen first thing.”

  “Of course.” Higgins felt guiltier by the minute. Was the fire his fault?

  When the fire brigade allowed them back inside, everyone gathered in Higgins’s laboratory. The smell of smoke hung everywhere. They all started coughing until the sound filled the room. Ash and sooty flakes coated the furniture and walls.

  “After this has been cleaned up, I’m giving the staff an extended holiday,” he said. “Paid, of course. I understand you must find somewhere to stay in the meantime.”

  “That would indeed be generous, sir,” Mrs. Pearce said, her voice hoarse.

  Pickering nodded. “I’ll stay at my club. In fact, I’ll go upstairs now to pack.”

  “We’ll move in with my parents at their house in Kingston-upon-Thames,” Sybil said as she slowly helped Jack walk out of the room. “They initially offered us one of their bedrooms, but Jack would have had to climb stairs. Given these new circumstances, I’m sure they’ll agree to set up a bed in the downstairs parlor. We’ll make do.”

  “We all will,” Eliza said. “And I have the perfect place for us to go, Professor.”

  Higgins sighed. “If the perfect place includes either the Savoy or my mother’s flat, you should know Percy will be denied entrance.”

  “No need for either,” she said, sounding gleeful. “Wait here.”

  She set Percy down on the ash and soot trampled carpet, then rushed upstairs. The servants left to begin the clean up. The leader of the fire brigade took Higgins aside to inform him that repairs might take anywhere from one to six weeks. Percy shrieked.

  Eliza reappeared and waved the fancy house party invitation at him. “We can go to Banfield Manor,” she announced. “Tons of servants to wait on you hand and foot. Percy can visit the other peacocks. And there will be all sorts of guests to entertain you. Shooting, too, and a fox hunt. Although your broken arm will make that difficult.”

  “Impossible is more like it.” Try as he might, Higgins couldn’t deny the logic of such a visit at this time. “The house party isn’t even a week long. What will we do the rest of the time while the kitchen is being repaired?”

  “I’m sure Clara and Richard will let us stay as long as we like.” Eliza looked down at Percy, who had settled at her feet. “And it’s Percy first home. He’ll be so happy to be back.”

  Higgins preferred an extended stay at the Savoy Hotel, but even he couldn’t justify the expense compared to a free invitation to a country house party. He had no choice but to resign himself to spending far too much time with Clara and Freddy Eynsford Hill. He prayed the other guests had more sense than those two.

  “Bring your fanciest clothes,” Eliza said. “There’s a hunt ball, too.”

  Percy let out another mournful shriek. Higgins wished he could do the same.

  5

  By the time the gables of Banfield Manor came into view, even Higgins was sick of riding in a motorcar. While the train trip from Charing Cross to the Gravesend station had been brief and uneventful, the drive from the station to the manor house proved unpleasant. His arm hurt like the devil as they jostled over the uneven country roads. The trip also took longer than planned, what with the train porters having to load and unload Eliza’s trunks, followed by the chauffeurs doing the same. The exasperating girl had packed almost her whole wardrobe.

  Percy’s presence made things even more complicated. Thankfully, Lord Ashmore had the foresight to have two cars waiting at the train station: one for Higgins and Eliza, the other for Eliza’s luggage and the peacock.

  Mindful of his injured arm, Higgins cautiously stepped out of the car. At least his recovery would take place under an impressive roof.

  Higgins’s admiring gaze swept over the rose red brick of the mansion before him. It was an excellent example of Jacobean architecture, built during the reign of the first King James. Two projecting wings flanked the front entrance – forming a U-shape – while curved gables, chimneys, and towers capped the expansive roof. The imposing grandeur of the house verged on intimidating, but Banfield Manor had the good fortune to be surrounded by more than a hundred acres of gardens and parkland. And the famous Rose Maze was regarded as one of the most intricate mazes in Britain, which Higgins and Eliza learned to their chagrin last month.

  Of course, his injury prevented Higgins from doing little more than hiking about the grounds or reading in the study. He’d been informed the house party included a massacre of small animals, ending with the mayhem of a fox hunt. His broken arm gave him an excuse to abstain. Unlike other men of his class, Higgins had no stomach for blood sports.

  “I wonder if Percy will remember Banfield Manor was once his home.” Eliza watched the chauffeur remove the crate containing the restless bird.

  “I daresay he will. Percy’s only lived at Wimpole Street for a month.”

  The peacock darted out of the crate when the latch was lifted. His long turquoise feathers swept after him. Percy strutted over the clipped grass before stopping to emit a series of calls. Identical calls echoed from behind a privet hedge.

  “Look!” Eliza pointed as a trio of peacocks hurried into view, all three of them making their way to see Percy. The air rang with their shrieks and caws. Higgins judged it a most harmonious reunion, albeit a trifle loud.

  Eliza sighed as Percy set off across the lawn with the other birds. “Percy has missed his peacock mates. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted him as a gift. I feel bad now.”

  At the moment, Higgins felt a damned sight worse than she did, wincing as he re-adjusted his sling. He couldn’t wait to be shown to their rooms. Although Higgins disparaged naps and the lazy fools who took them, he wouldn’t mind lying down for an hour. Maybe two. He envied Colonel Pickering, now comfortably situated at his London club, where he was no doubt being waited on by a silent manservant while he studied the latest Sanskrit monographs. Speaking of being waited on, why was no one here to greet them? He eyed the closed front door, the family crest of the Ashmores carved above it. Where were their hosts?

  The great oak door opened just then, and a slender blonde in an azure blue dress appeared. “Eliza, you’re finally here!”

  Eliza ran to meet Clara, who was followed by a line of servants. The uniformed men and women positioned themselves to one side of the steps leading to the entrance. Higgins took special note of the tall, willowy man with an imperious profile who watched over the scene like a general surveying his troops. The butler, no doubt. Although it was customary to have servants line up for the more illustrious guests, two phonetics instructors hardly qualified for such a reception. The newly married baroness had a lot to learn about running a great household.

  Higgins didn’t hold it against the girl. Yes, he regarded the former Clara Eynsford Hill
as a ninny, but she was just shy of her nineteenth birthday. In addition, she’d been raised in a family whose diminished finances barely allowed them to cling to their genteel pretensions. Now Clara found herself the wife of the most powerful baron in England. It would take the girl months to understand what this new position required of her. Maybe years. She should count herself lucky her groom was a sensible young man, ten years her senior.

  That young man now emerged from the house, giving Higgins a cordial wave.

  “How splendid to have you join us,” Ashmore said to him. “But your injury is unfortunate. I should have given you more motoring lessons when you were here last month.”

  Higgins liked the young baron, an agreeable fellow without airs. As a third son, Richard Ashmore had not expected to inherit the title and all that went with it. Therefore he had made his own way in the world; first at university, then as a captain of the King’s Hussars. But his two older brothers – useless wastrels from all accounts – died at an early age, leaving Richard the sole heir upon his father’s death a year ago. Inexplicably, he had fallen in love with the empty-headed Clara. Such a decision proved Richard Ashmore was not entirely sensible. A pretty face, trim figure, and golden hair had won out over all logic and reason.

  “I have only my love of speed to blame for the accident, Lord Ashmore,” Higgins said.

  “Please call me Richard. I dislike such formality.”

  While Higgins admired his lack of pretension, he suspected being called ‘Lord” still made the former Army captain uncomfortable. “Only if you call me Henry.”

  “Agreed.” He frowned at Higgins’s left arm in a sling. “A shame you won’t be able to hunt. We’ll be shooting hares tomorrow in the south forest, and grouse later in the week. You won’t be able to take part in the fox hunt either. Hopefully, the ladies will provide sufficient entertainment. One of our guests is the spiritualist Madame Evangeline. We met her at in Paris while on honeymoon. She comes highly recommended by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Despite that, my sister is not pleased we extended the invitation without seeking her approval.”

  Clara broke off her giggling conversation with Eliza. “I don’t know why we have to ask permission of your sister. This is our house party. Not hers.”

  “And neither of us has the faintest idea how to properly throw one, darling. We’re lucky she and the count haven’t returned to Austria yet.” Richard turned to Higgins and Eliza. “The Ashmores hold a series of house parties every autumn at Banfield Manor. Mother expects that tradition to continue.” He frowned. “Even if she refuses to attend any herself.”

  Higgins and Eliza exchanged knowing looks. His mother had obviously not recovered from Richard’s whirlwind marriage to a young girl of little breeding and even less wealth.

  “His sister orders me about as if I were a child,” Clara said with a pout. “And her husband is even worse. I have to address them as Count and Countess, even when no one else is around. But they call me Clara, never Lady Ashmore. I find that dreadfully rude.”

  Richard shrugged. “My sister is being difficult, but she has rarely been anything else.”

  “Fortunately, she had no objection to including you and the Professor on the guest list.” Clara linked elbows with Eliza.

  “The two of you have been in all the papers of late because of your sleuthing,” Richard added with a laugh. “That means you’re in fashion this season. Don’t be surprised to receive more invites to country house parties.”

  Higgins shuddered. “And no one should be surprised when we turn them down.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Eliza said.

  “All I care about is that you’re at our house party,” Clara said. “You and Madame Evangeline. She’s quite the exotic. I hope she gives us a demonstration of table tipping.”

  Higgins grimaced. “Good grief.”

  “What’s table tipping?” Eliza asked.

  “It’s a way to talk with the dead. Won’t it be fun seeing what the ghosts say to us?”

  Eliza’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t fool with such things, Clara. My Uncle Liam once owned a goat that was possessed by the spirit of his late wife. Scared him something awful. He ended by drinking himself into the grave.”

  “I’d hardly blame the goat,” Higgins said. “Drunkards and Doolittles are synonymous.”

  Eliza shot him a warning look. “Say that again and I may injure your other arm.”

  “Stop it,” Clara said. “Both of you need to be on your best behavior. We have famous and important people coming to our house party.”

  “Are they all as august as the woman who tips tables with ghosts?” Higgins asked.

  “Oh, I don’t care about this ghost lady. Where’s Freddy?” Eliza scanned the front lawn. The chauffeurs had finished unloading the luggage, prompting the butler to bark quiet orders at the footmen. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

  Higgins noticed the Ashmore couple exchanging furtive glances. “He’s off with the horses somewhere,” Clara said hurriedly. “Freddy is nervous about the upcoming fox hut. He’s been taking riding lessons all week.”

  “I never knew Freddy cared a fig about horses. All he ever talks about are motorcars and his rowing club.” Eliza winked at Richard. “In fact, I expected to see him driving about in your Stutz Bearcat. He fell in love with it the last time he was here, just like the Professor did.”

  Clara sniffed. “Freddy falls in love far too often, if you ask me.”

  Eliza looked confused. “Why do you say that?”

  The butler cleared his throat. “Sir Anthony has arrived, my lord.”

  A car appeared in the distance. The grounds of Banfield Manor were extensive and the gravel drive to the front door of the manor house exceedingly long. It would be several minutes before this latest guest reached them.

  Richard smoothed down his jacket. “Thank you, Baxter.”

  Clara fussed with her hair and repinned a stray blond curl. “Do I look all right?”

  “Ravishing,” he reassured her, but the young baron also sounded anxious.

  Higgins had little interest in this latest guest, even if he did have a ‘sir’ in front of his name. Titles didn’t impress him, and Eliza treated everyone with the same breezy insolence. Although Higgins wouldn’t be surprised if he knew the man making his way towards them in a black Rolls Royce. His older brother William was a member of Parliament, predicted by some to be Prime Minister one day. The Higgins family might not be aristocrats, but they weren’t without influence. And their acquaintances and friends reached even to Buckingham Palace.

  “How fortuitous our arrival coincided with your next guest,” Higgins remarked. “It’s one less time the servants have to parade out here to welcome us.”

  “Don’t be silly, Professor.” Clara threw him an exasperated look. “We knew Sir Anthony was due to arrive at this time. That’s why I instructed the servants to give him a proper greeting. You and Eliza aren’t important enough to take them away from their work.”

  “Clara, all our guests are important,” Richard gently chided her.

  She lifted her chin in defiance. “Some of them are more important and you know it.”

  A middle-aged couple appeared on the steps of Banfield Manor. He’d been introduced to the Count and Countess von Weisinger, otherwise known as Clara’s insufferable in-laws, at the Ashmore wedding last month. Higgins tried to recall the count’s first name. Franz? Albrecht? No, Rudolf. As for Richard’s sister’s name, he hadn’t a clue. All he remembered were her prominent profile and overbite, along with a haughtiness that could probably make the Kaiser quail. She turned that expression in his direction.

  “Professor Higgins, Miss Doolittle,” she intoned in a loud voice, making no effort to move towards them. Count Rudolf gave Higgins a brief nod. The couple returned their attention to the Rolls Royce. Clearly, its occupants were far more important than he and Eliza.

  A rumbling suddenly met their ears. As the buzzing grew louder, everyone’s atten
tion shifted to the blue sky overhead. A white aeroplane came into view. Higgins swept off his hat and shaded his eyes to get a better look. Two red circles were painted on the wings’ undersides.

  Clara clapped her hands. “Oh my, look! Philippe’s arriving as well. This is too thrilling.”

  “Jolly good show he’s putting on.” Richard seemed as excited as his bride as the plane circled overheard. “He told me he planned to land right on our front lawn, and by heaven he is.”

  “How loverly,” Eliza said. “I’ve never seen an aeroplane in person. Now one is going to set down right in front of us.”

  “Let’s hope he lands a bit farther away from the house.” Higgins watched as the plane made its descent, propeller spinning. “If he comes too close, he may hit the topiaries. Or us.”

  “Have no fear. I believe Philippe Corbet could land his aircraft in the confined space of a Wimbledon tennis court. That’s how skilled he is,” Richard said. The plane smoothly touched down, well clear of the trees in the surrounding parkland.

  “Philippe Corbet?” Eliza repeated. “I saw him in one of the newsreels at the cinema. He won some sort of award.”

  “Indeed he has.” Higgins had only a passing interest in aviation, but even he had heard of the dashing Frenchman who broke three speed records and won the Matheson Cup in America.

  Eliza nudged Higgins. “He looked handsome in the newsreel. Lots of dark wavy hair and a corking smile. A lady wouldn’t mind flying about the clouds with that gentleman.”

  “Control yourself, Eliza, or else Monsieur Corbet may fly right off again.”

  “I’ve quite an interest in flying myself.” Richard waved at the man now climbing out of the aircraft. “Philippe flew here in a Bleriot XI. Good news for us. That’s a tandem two-seater touring model, often used for training. He may take us up for a spin. A splendid aeroplane, too. Named after Louis Bleriot, who flew an earlier model of the aircraft across the English Channel in 1909. The flight took only thirty-six minutes. And in bad weather.”

  Higgins nodded. “Ah yes. The first man to fly across the Channel. I remember The Daily News headline: ‘Britain is no longer an island.’ I saw the aircraft after it was put on display at Selfridges that summer.”