With a Little Bit of Blood Read online

  “You’d love her, Henry. It’s built for speed and endurance. A military version of the Bleriot XI can be broken down and then reassembled in twenty-five minutes.”

  Higgins caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Everyone was so intent on watching the plane, no one had noticed the Rolls Royce now rolling to a stop a few yards from the front steps of the house. He leaned towards Richard. “Sir Anthony is here.”

  Both Clara and Richard turned to the car with anxious expressions. Higgins hoped the new arrival wasn’t some dreary MP from Croydon South or Tewkesbury.

  Count Rudolf and his wife walked past. Neither spared a glance at Higgins and Eliza.

  “May I ask who this Sir Anthony is?” Higgins said in a stage whisper.

  “Sir Anthony Dennison,” Richard replied.

  He whistled. “Philippe Corbet and Sir Anthony. Shall we also expect a visit from the First Lord of the Admiralty? Or is Mr. Churchill not a fan of table tipping?”

  But the Ashmore couple had joined their in-laws, preparing to greet the latest arrival.

  Eliza tore her attention from the French aviator, who strode across the wide lawn towards them. “Who’s Sir Anthony Dennison? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Sir Anthony is an explorer, knighted fifteen years ago by Queen Victoria. The chap’s written a number of books, the latest recently published to great acclaim. This looks to be more entertaining than I expected. The tales Sir Anthony must have.” Higgins hadn’t felt this intrigued about something unrelated to phonetics – or murder – in a long time. “During a 1906 expedition, Sir Anthony got lost and disappeared while mapping the Amazon. He was presumed dead for two years until he finally turned up in a native village in the rain forest.”

  Eliza smirked. “Doesn’t seem much of a mapmaker if he got lost for two years.”

  “I don’t know why I bother to converse with you at all.”

  “Because everyone else bores you silly after ten minutes.” Eliza tried to peek over the shoulders of the footmen and chauffeurs for a glimpse of Sir Anthony. “There’s a woman with him. A redhead. And it looks like her walking suit comes from the House of Worth.”

  “I fail to see why anyone gives a damn about overpriced textiles.”

  “Only someone with the fashion sense of a chimney sweep would say that.”

  Richard beckoned them. “Let me introduce you both to Sir Anthony and his wife.”

  Higgins’s indifference to social niceties faded. If he and Sir Anthony hit it off, the next few days might revolve around scholarly discussion, not grouse and gunfire. When he approached the couple, he immediately recognized the explorer’s weathered visage from newspaper articles. Short and stocky, Sir Anthony boasted a luxuriant mustache and beard – equal parts gray and light auburn – which contrasted with his shiny bald head.

  “Pleased to meet the accomplished Sir Anthony Dennison.” Higgins extended his hand.

  “I am equally pleased to meet the acclaimed author of The Universal Alphabet.” Sir Anthony gave his hand a hearty shake, then shifted his attention to Eliza. “And who is this delightful young lady?”

  He wasn’t surprised by Sir Anthony’s interest in Eliza. Behind the tangled hair and dirty face of that Cockney flower girl he’d met last year, Higgins had discovered an exceedingly pretty young woman as clever and resourceful as she was attractive. Although Higgins viewed Eliza with affection, his feelings for her had never been romantic. For one, she was far too young. Two, he had little interest in anything aside from phonetics and language.

  After bowing over Eliza’s hand longer than necessary, Sir Anthony straightened. “Let me introduce my wife, Lady Annabel. Although I still think of her as my bride, even after three years of marriage.” Sir Anthony touched the shoulder of the woman deep in conversation with Clara and the countess. “My dear, I’d like you to meet Miss Doolittle and Professor Higgins.”

  The woman hesitated before turning around. “But I know Professor Higgins,” she said with an astonished smile. “I’d no idea you were a guest of the Ashmores. How have you been?”

  Higgins found himself speechless. Literally. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he couldn’t form any words. Eliza kicked him in the shin. He heard himself say something in response and hoped it was English.

  The country house gods grew merciful just then. Philippe Corbet had finally made his way across the lawn, prompting everyone to crowd around him.

  Eliza started to follow the others, but Higgins grabbed her arm.

  “We need to make our goodbyes,” he said in a furious whisper.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We have to leave. Immediately.” He threw a desperate look in Lady Annabel’s direction. “I am quite serious, Eliza. We must go!”

  6

  “Leave!” Eliza fought to control her exasperation. “Honestly, you have even less manners than my blooming stepmother. We can’t leave for no reason. Stop being rude.”

  Higgins glanced over at Sir Anthony’s wife, now speaking with Lord Ashmore. “I don’t care how rude it seems, I refuse to spend another minute at Banfield Manor. Not with Lady Annabel in residence. I mean it, Eliza. We can’t stay. The woman is quite mad.”

  “I think you’ve gone mad. We’ve only just arrived. They haven’t even taken our bags into the house.”

  “Perfect. That means they can be loaded back into the car.” Higgins felt around in his jacket pocket. “I have the train schedule right here. We can catch the next train to London.”

  Eliza restrained herself from muttering a few Cockney curses. For two weeks she had played nursemaid to Higgins. Then the fool had almost burned the house down, forcing their temporary eviction. It was a blessing they’d had the Ashmore invitation to fall back. She now looked forward to enjoying pampered country life in a splendid manor house, and she had no intention of letting Higgins’s rudeness get in the way.

  “I’m not going anywhere. But if you’re so afraid of this lady, go back to Wimpole Street. Only you’ll be there without a kitchen. And there won’t be a servant in sight. I’d like to see how you’ll fare without some woman waiting on you hand and foot.”

  “You’re right.” His expression turned pensive. “Perhaps I should move in with my mother at her flat in Chelsea. She may not welcome the idea, but I don’t think she’d refuse to take in her own son. After all, I am homeless at the moment.”

  “You are not. There’s a house as big as Windsor Castle right behind us, and it’s got a bedroom prepared just for you.” Eliza straightened his tie. “Now stop being such a spoiled baby. I don’t know what happened between you and that lady but—”

  He leaned closer. “She’s in love with me. At least she was seven years ago. I had to leave England to get away from her. The woman was determined to marry me.”

  Eliza found his declaration hard to believe. “Well, she’s married to someone else now. And he’s here, too. So your honor – or what’s left of it – should be safe.” After a warning look at Higgins, she joined the others clustered about Corbet.

  Luckily, the aviator’s dramatic landing of his plane right in front of everyone had overshadowed Higgins’s odd reaction to Lady Annabel.

  When Clara introduced the Frenchman to her, Eliza discovered he was even more attractive in person than in the newsreel. He certainly looked dashing in his flying gear: olive cardigan sweater coat, trousers tucked into brown leather boots, and buckskin gloves. Since he had removed his tight-fitting helmet and goggles, she could also see that Philippe Corbet boasted a distinguished profile, large brown eyes, and a thick mane of black hair. He was tall, too, a good three inches over the Professor. Best of all, he spoke with an enticing French accent.

  She nearly swooned when he said, “Enchanté to meet you, Mademoiselle Doolittle.”

  Eliza felt torn between admiring the handsome aviator and examining the woman who had upset Higgins. Lady Annabel seemed an intense woman, prone to gesturing with her hands, tossing back her head, expressing amusement with a
low laugh. Her coloring proved just as dramatic. Green eyes, copper red hair, creamy white skin. While it didn’t quite add up to beauty, she was attractive. Yet Eliza found her unappealing. Lady Annabel reminded her of a jungle snake she’d once seen at the London Zoo: sinuous, alert, hypnotic. She began to feel sympathetic towards Higgins. If this woman determined to have something, who could resist her? Higgins probably had. Given his alarm, it had left him shaken.

  With a shiver, Clara hugged herself. “We should go inside. I didn’t know we planned to remain out here so long, or I’d have changed into a warmer ensemble. Like Eliza.”

  Eliza looked down at her navy jacket and skirt. “I’m too warm in my tweeds.”

  Lady Annabel looped her hand around Eliza’s elbow. “Charming suit, my dear. Poiret, I believe? One can always tell by the cut of the jacket. Rather fond of him myself, although I’m wearing Mr. Worth this morning.” She smoothed her deep plum walking suit. “Although Monsieur Poiret created my hat.”

  Eliza smiled in approval at the stylish velvet and silk hat, trimmed with the designer’s characteristic roses. “We share a love of Poiret.”

  She gave another guttural laugh. “It appears we share more than that.” Pulling Eliza with her, Lady Annabel followed Clara into the house. “Lord Ashmore explained that you and Professor Higgins are fellow phonetics instructors. Of course, Henry has been teaching since Victoria was on the throne, but you seem fresh from the schoolroom.”

  Eliza glanced over her shoulder and saw an unhappy Higgins being forced to converse with the countess and Sir Anthony. “In a way, I am. Last year I became a student of Professor Higgins. He and Colonel Pickering taught me how to speak so well, I’m now giving lessons.”

  Lady Annabel stepped into the great entrance hall. “Ah, so you are the Cockney flower girl I heard about when Sir Anthony and I attended the opera this spring. We don’t get to London often enough to enjoy all the current gossip. I judged the tale of the flower girl at the Embassy Ball to be more myth than fact. But if Henry is involved, even the most outlandish event may be believed.”

  Eliza peeked over her shoulder at Higgins, who looked completely miserable.

  “Tell me, Miss Doolittle.” Lady Annabel lowered her voice. “Are you Henry’s lover?”

  Startled, she stopped in her tracks. “Blimey, no.”

  Countess von Weisinger cleared her throat behind them. “After your long journeys, you must all want to freshen up. Baxter and Mrs. Stewart will show everyone to their rooms.” She gestured to the butler and housekeeper who stood waiting before the sweeping grand staircase. “Luncheon will be served in an hour.”

  Wringing her hands, Clara looked over at the housekeeper. “If you’re too tired, we’ll send up sandwiches and tea. Won’t we, Mrs. Stewart?”

  Mrs. Stewart waited to answer until the countess nodded. “Of course, madam.”

  Her reply sent a ripple of activity through the hall as servants bustled about with luggage, and Lady Annabel conferred with the maid who’d traveled with her. The count and countess made their own stately promenade up the grand staircase, Sir Anthony between them.

  Eliza was about to join Higgins, now skulking by the door, when Lady Annabel caught her sleeve. “We shall speak later, Miss Doolittle. No doubt we have fascinating tales to tell, especially concerning the elusive Henry Higgins.”

  With growing unease, Eliza watched as Lady Annabel followed Philippe Corbet upstairs. “What the devil was that woman saying to you?” Higgins hissed in her ear.

  Eliza jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  He whipped off his hat. “What did she say?”

  “She asked if you and I were lovers.”

  “Damnation! This is intolerable. What did you say?”

  “What do you think I said? And keep your voice down.” Eliza sighed. “I must say your choice in women is puzzling. Perhaps it’s because you don’t have much experience with them.”

  “If I were fool enough to allow a woman in my life,” he said with disgust, “you can’t imagine I’d choose that Messalina in a corset, do you?”

  “Who in the world is Messalina?”

  “Stop whispering together.” Clara tapped them both on the shoulder. “The two of you quarrel like a married couple.”

  Richard grinned. “Not that we’ve had a quarrel yet. Although I’m sure we will.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Clara said with a giggle. “We aren’t like other married couples. Look how desperately in love we are. Why should we ever quarrel?”

  “I can think of a hundred reasons,” Higgins muttered.

  Eliza shook her head at Higgins. “Don’t listen to him. He wouldn’t recognize romantic love if it stepped out of a Rolls Royce right in front of him.”

  Higgins let out a strangled cry.

  Still feeling warm, Eliza removed her gloves. She looked about the entrance hall, its tiled floor and gilt framed portraits on the wall familiar from her visit last month. “How long will Freddy will be at his riding lesson? Should we send someone to the stables to fetch him?”

  “They’ll be in shortly,” Richard said, exchanging glances with his bride.

  “They?” Eliza asked. “Who’s riding with Freddy?”

  “One of our guests. She arrived three days ago.” Clara’s expression turned disapproving. “A bit shocking, coming early like that. Then again, she is a cinema actress. An American, too. That makes her even more unconventional.”

  Eliza gasped. “A cinema actress? Here? Who is it? Alice Joyce?”

  “No, not Miss Joyce,” Richard said. “Lily Marlowe.”

  “Lily Marlowe? But I adore her! I’ve seen all her movies. She’s a great actress, even though she’s only a year older than me. I cried all the way through The Pirate’s Daughter. Do you know Lily Marlow appeared on the cover of last month’s issue of Photoplay? Freddy’s seen her movies, too. He must be as excited as I am to meet her.”

  “Rather too excited,” Clara snapped.

  “Of course he is,” Eliza said. “This will be the best party ever. I wonder if she knows the Gish sisters. Oh, I can’t wait to meet her. Maybe I should go to the stables myself.”

  The sound of laugher and voices from outside met their ears. “No need for that,” Clara said with irritation. “Here’s Freddy and Lily now.”

  Trembling with excitement, Eliza turned as the front door banged open. But her happy greeting to Freddy died on her lips as the couple entered the house. It was obvious they had been at the stables. Freddy and Lily Marlowe wore riding habits. It was also clear they’d grown quite close. Literally. Freddy had his arm slung over the actress’s shoulder, while she hugged him about the waist. They were wrapped so tight about each other, Eliza wondered how they managed to walk to the house without tripping over their feet.

  “This looks rather interesting,” Higgins muttered to Eliza.

  “Freddy?”

  The young man looked up at the sound of Eliza’s voice. For a moment, he seemed both startled and embarrassed. But in the wink of an eye, he’d recovered. A familiar wide grin now creased his face. “Eliza, how lovely of you to join us at Banfield.”

  “Freddy, is this your friend Eliza Doolittle?” Lily Marlowe finally took her arms from around Freddy. With a charming expression that Eliza had seen her wear in The Pirate’s Daughter, the actress walked over to her with an outstretched hand.

  “I’m Lily,” she said with a dimpled smile. “Freddy says you’re keen on my movies. If so, I’m delighted to meet another fan. Your countrymen have treated me marvelously well during my stay here.” The actress waved in Freddy’s direction. “Especially that countryman. He’s been killer to me since I arrived. Absolutely killer.”

  “Don’t you love how Americans talk!” Freddy said as he rushed to Lily’s side. He looked down at the actress with the ardor and adoration he had formerly bestowed upon Eliza.

  Not that she blamed him. Shorter than Eliza, Lily Marlowe had a petite but curvy figure which her snug riding
habit enhanced. The cinema screen hadn’t done justice to her perfect little nose, hazel eyes, and bow-shaped mouth. Lily reminded Eliza of a Dresden doll she’d once seen in an Oxford Street shop window. And her mass of wavy dark hair plaited and pinned to the back of her head in the new Grecian style exactly matched Eliza’s own coiffure. They shared the same taste in men and coiffures.

  Eliza suddenly felt like the fairy tale’s ugly stepsister. And her prince had been stolen away.

  “Isn’t she splendid, Eliza?” Freddy asked, his attention focused on the woman beside him. “I told her how we’d seen every one of her films. Even The Rose of Riverton.”

  Richard Ashmore cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I would be remiss to let this conversation continue before I’ve had the pleasure of introducing Miss Marlowe to Professor Higgins.” While he introduced Higgins to the actress, a stunned Eliza stared at Freddy.

  It hurt her to the quick to see him avoiding her gaze. Physically he appeared the same, with golden hair and blue eyes like his sister Clara. What had clearly changed were his feelings for Eliza. Freddy had pursued her since the spring. He’d proposed so many times, Eliza had lost count. She knew that she’d frustrated him by insisting she wasn’t ready to marry. But she was deeply fond of Freddy. Maybe she even loved him. Because she’d never been in love before, how was she to know for certain?

  Yes, there were times his slavish pursuit got on her nerves. And he wasn’t a favorite of Higgins. Yet she never imagined the passion he displayed for her could be transferred so easily to another woman.

  “How have you been, Freddy?” Eliza asked while Higgins and Lily Marlowe exchanged pleasantries.

  Freddy finally looked at her. “I’ve had the devil of a good time here. Beastly of me to not ring you up. But you were busy playing nursemaid to your cousin and the Professor.”

  Higgins must have heard that. “That doesn’t excuse you from not phoning Eliza,” he said.