With a Little Bit of Blood Read online

  Freddy turned stubborn. “It’s unlikely she missed me. Eliza is always busy teaching. Or chasing after some murderer.”

  “Freddy told me that you and Professor Higgins are amateur gumshoes.” Lily’s lovely eyes sparkled even more. “The two of you sound like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I insist on hearing all about it, but not at the moment. Freddy acted like a real goop at the end of our ride and startled my horse. I fell right into a muddy ditch.” Lily turned around, revealing mud spatters on her forest green split skirt.

  “Are you hurt?” Richard asked. “Would you like me to call a physician?”

  “I’ve ridden horses in some of my movies. I’m no Calamity Jane, but I do know how to sit a horse and topple off one.” Her laughter sounded as musical as wind chimes. “Only I must get out of these muddy things. If you could have one of the maids draw a bath for me.”

  Clara took Lily by the arm and walked with her to the staircase. “Let me apologize for my idiotic brother. I may take his riding whip and thrash him for upsetting your horse.”

  Freddy followed after them. “I say, Clara. That’s a bit much.”

  Clara glared back at her brother. “And so are you. Why don’t you catch up on things with Eliza while Lily goes upstairs. You’ve quite worn her out with your stupid antics.”

  Eliza’s heart sank further when Freddy shook his head. “I’m worn out myself. In fact, I wouldn’t mind a bath as well.”

  Lily lifted a gracefully arched eyebrow at him. “I hope you don’t imagine we’ll be sharing that bath.”

  He put his hands over his heart. “A man can imagine, can’t he? And dream.”

  Eliza noticed that Higgins, Richard and Clara looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “The baths will have to be brief,” Richard said. “Luncheon is served in an hour.”

  “Unless you’d rather I have the kitchen send something up.” Clara bit her lip, the job of society hostess seemed to weigh heavy on her.

  “That would be perfect,” Lily told Clara. “I need a nice long soak, and maybe even a nap. But I promise I’ll be ready to dazzle at dinner.”

  “Me, too.” Freddy grabbed Lily by the hand. “Although you dazzled me the moment I set eyes on you three days ago. Now let’s get you out of those muddy clothes.”

  Giggling, the pair of them ran up the stairs hand in hand.

  A long silence followed. “Maybe they both fell off their horses,” Higgins finally said. “Only Freddy fell right on his head.”

  “He’s got a bit of a crush on the girl, but it won’t last. A mere infatuation.” Richard gave Eliza a sympathetic look. “You can’t blame him. After all, Lily is a cinema star.”

  “And she’s beautiful.” Eliza couldn’t help sounding resigned.

  “I do blame my fool of a brother,” Clara declared. “He acted a perfect beast to Eliza just now. And I won’t let this continue. In fact, I’m going up there right now to tell him if he doesn’t behave, I’ll send him packing. But first, I may box him about the ears.” She picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs, looking for all the world like an angry little girl rather than the baroness of Ashmore.

  “Excuse me. But I need to keep the family feuds to a minimum this week.” Richard hurried after his wife.

  Left alone in the great hall, Higgins and Eliza stared at each other. “You’re right,” she said. “We can’t stay. I refuse to watch Freddy moon over some actress for the next week.”

  “Now you know how I feel.” Higgins gave a loud sigh of relief. “All we need is to find a footman to get our luggage back to the car. Once we’re ready to leave, we’ll make the briefest of farewells to Richard and Clara.”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  Before either of them could search for a servant, the front door once more swung open. A woman dressed all in black gazed at them in silence.

  “Can we help you, miss?” Higgins asked.

  “Madame,” she replied in a low voice, which betrayed a slight accent. “I am Madame Evangeline. The baron and baroness are expecting me. Please summon them.”

  Since Eliza had no wish to retrieve Clara or Richard upstairs, she decided to play hostess. She was also curious about this woman who spoke with ghosts. “As a family friend, allow me to welcome you.” Eliza hurried over to the door. “Please come in. I’m Eliza Doolittle and the gentleman is Professor Henry Higgins.”

  Peeking over the shoulders of this new guest, Eliza spied a chauffeur and a muscular, swarthy man removing luggage from a large black touring car.

  “Thank you,” the woman said. “The drive from Salisbury has been long and tedious.”

  Eliza stepped back, allowing her to enter the manor house. She took note of Madame Evangeline’s striking features. Her pale skin contrasted with mahogany brown hair pulled tight from her face and piled in an old-fashioned manner atop her head. Despite a sharply defined profile, high cheekbones, and an intimidating manner, she was pretty. Young, too. No more than thirty. What impressed Eliza most were her enormous blue eyes. They were a chilly dark blue, which brought to mind a wintry sky. Her piercing gaze sent a shiver down Eliza’s spine. Maybe that was because she knew Madame Evangeline consorted with the spirit world.

  Without warning, the woman halted and shut those unsettling eyes. She remained silent while Eliza and Higgins exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Are you all right?” Eliza asked finally.

  “I see that you wish to escape this place,” she replied in a deep, commanding voice. “Do not leave. That will lead to disaster. Death and darkness surround this house. The future of the world hangs in the balance.”

  Madame Evangeline opened her eyes and gave them a steely look. “You must stay.”

  7

  Eliza had been right to dread the first formal dinner at Banfield Manor. The table was set with more plates and silver than the china department at Harrods. Exactly how many courses were they expected to eat? Ten? Twenty? Cor, but she pitied the poor scullery maid who had to clean up after such a meal.

  The footman paused beside Eliza and set a crystal dish before her on the gold charger. She stalled for time by rearranging the napkin on her lap. What if she used the wrong fork, or mistook the finger bowl for soup? Last year, both Mrs. Higgins and Colonel Pickering taught her proper dinner party etiquette, but she’d never attended any as formal as this. Eliza dreaded making a mistake and having these people view her with contempt. She had quite enough of that when she sold violets outside Covent Garden.

  Philippe Corbet sat beside her. She peeked over and saw him choose a small silver spoon from the endless flatware that extended on either side of their plates. When the shellfish appetizer had been served earlier, she kept her eye on Richard Ashmore, who sat to her left. If she continued to shift her gaze as each course was served, the guests might not realize she was watching everyone to see what to do next.

  Eliza dipped her tiny spoon in the bowl of consommé before her. Tasteless as water. Then again, she didn’t expect to enjoy dining in a stately room that boasted a plaster ceiling over-decorated at every corner with clusters of fruit and curlicues. Every time she glanced up at the gilt chandeliers which hung from red velvet-covered chains, she wondered if they were in danger of falling. If so, she hoped one of them fell on her.

  Despite her anxiety, Eliza did admire the pristine linen tablecloth, the delicate crystal arrayed to the right of her plate, the red-patterned china and the gleaming silver. And as a former flower seller, she approved of the table’s lush floral centerpiece flanked by tall glass candelabras. Clara sat on the other side of that centerpiece of asters and mums, looking even more miserable than Eliza.

  The reason for Clara’s misery was clear. Against every standard of etiquette Eliza had been taught, the Count and Countess von Weisinger presided at either end of the table, proclaiming themselves the official host and hostess. Eliza felt outraged on Richard and Clara’s behalf, both now relegated to sitting among the other guests. It didn’t help that the countess e
yed Eliza’s every move with disdain.

  With Richard engaged in conversation with Lady Annabel beside him, Eliza turned to the Frenchman on her right.

  “I hear you bought a camera,” she said. “May I ask if it is easy to operate?”

  “Mais oui. A vest pocket model of the Kodak Eastman. The camera, it is first sold last year. Modern and – comment dites-vous? – how do you say? – compact. But it is not so easy to load the film spools. But once the process is learned, it is vite comme l’ éclair.”

  While he described the camera’s chromatic meniscus lens, her attention wandered to Freddy and Lily, who sat on the other side of the table near Count Rudolf. Freddy hung on Lily’s every word, but Rudolf looked bored.

  Lily must have sensed the count’s indifference. She batted her long lashes at him. “I just completed my twelfth moving picture. We movie actors are sure to become more famous than any stage actor or actress. Even Elenora Duse and Mrs. Campbell.”

  “You will never be more famous than Lucie Höflich,” he said with finality.

  Eliza assumed he referred to a German actress, since the count was enamored of all things German.

  “I don’t know who this Höflich lady is,” Lily replied, “but I live in New York City. All the pictures in America are made there. That’s how I was able to begin my career when I was only sixteen. A man saw me walking down Third Avenue, stopped his motorcar, and insisted I meet a director that he knew.” Her smile seemed to falter a bit. “The rest is history.”

  “Photoplay put Lily on the cover,” Freddy boasted. “She looked like an angel. Although is it even possible there are angels as beautiful as Lily?”

  Eliza turned back to Philippe, who launched into a history of photography, beginning with Louis Daguerre. Evidently, photography and aviation were passions of his. She wouldn’t have to do anything but let him expound for the rest of the dinner.

  Conversation eddied about the table, none of which interested her until Sir Anthony announced, “I doubt anyone here has encountered the marvels that I did in the Amazon. Take the predatory assassin bugs who coat themselves with the carcasses of ants and tree sap in order to disguise their real nature. They snatch bees right from the air with their claws. There isn’t an ant or a bee that can elude these tiny carnivores.”

  Since the explorer sat beside Clara, she obviously felt compelled to respond. “How interesting. I’ve not been farther than the Continent, but I’d love to travel more.”

  Sir Anthony smoothed his extravagant beard and mustache. Eliza noticed how his bald head reflected the warm glow of the chandeliers above. “Exploring the wilds of South America is not for the faint of heart. Especially not for delicate ladies such as yourself. And the jungle heat is punishing, Lady Ashmore. You’d swoon after just one hour in a Brazilian dugout canoe.”

  “I know something of extreme heat myself,” Richard said. “When I was stationed in India with the Hussars, temperatures sometimes exceeded a hundred and ten. The tropical heat felled a number of my fellow soldiers.”

  Sir Anthony shrugged. “True, we have both sweated through torrid summers. But I have faced dangers you cannot comprehend, Lord Ashmore.” He seemed to swell with his own importance. “Man-eating plants, snakes seventeen feet long, natives who kill with poison darts. Nothing in India compares with the challenge and perils of the Amazonian jungle. You and your Hussars had it far too easy.” He sipped his champagne. “The greatest danger you faced was trying to keep the Governor General happy.”

  Richard flinched at the veiled insult. Irritated, Eliza pushed away the tasteless consummé. She’d had quite enough of this course. And Sir Anthony’s bragging.

  “Maybe you only think it was dangerous because you got lost,” she said.

  Everyone stopped eating and looked at her.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Doolittle.” Sir Anthony looked indignant.

  She stared back. “You got lost, didn’t you? In fact, you were lost for two years. That’s a long time, especially for someone who’s supposed to be a mapmaker. I’m sure that’s why you thought the Amazon was so dangerous and hard. You didn’t know where you were.” Eliza gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t feel bad. I’d be scared if I got lost, too. And if I stayed lost for two years, I’d be blooming terrified.”

  Farther down the table she heard Higgins sniggering. Richard hid his own grin behind a napkin.

  Sir Anthony flushed crimson. “You are a most impertinent young lady.”

  “Thank you, Sir Anthony. I find you impertinent as well.”

  The stunned explorer was spared having to make a response when Lady Annabel asked, “Did anyone attend the Chelsea Flower Show this past May? Sir Anthony and I found it delightful. We arrived shortly after Queen Mary, who seemed quite impressed by the anemones.”

  “The Treaty of London was signed that month,” Count Rudolf said. “A good thing, too. Well past time for Albania to be independent. And time for the fighting in the Balkans to end.”

  Sir Anthony grunted. “Didn’t last long. Those Bulgarians attacked their Serb allies in June, although maybe your countrymen in the Austro-Hungarian Empire don’t mind. Be careful about picking sides in the Balkans. That will lead to trouble, especially since the Hapsburgs and the Germans have their eyes on the Ottoman Empire.”

  “And the British do not? What about your meddling in Thrace?” the count asked.

  The countess cleared her throat. “No politics during dinner. I insist.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed while footmen removed the empty bowls. Eliza prayed there wouldn’t be endless courses, particularly if they were as bland as the consommé. The next course was a dainty pastry with bits of seafood in a creamy sauce. Eliza would have preferred a newspaper filled with fresh fried fish and chips.

  Philippe returned to lecturing Eliza on daguerreotypes. Madame Evangeline now joined the conversation. Apparently, she also liked photography. Or Frenchmen.

  Bored, Eliza reached for a wine goblet. One of the footmen eyed the flute instead and gave a surreptitious nod. Eliza noticed everyone else sipping champagne. The footman winked. He looked familiar, with those wide eyes, a freckled nose, and sandy brown hair slicked back. Was that Charlie Kenton, from Whitechapel? It had to be.

  Charlie smiled at her before heading out with a silver tray. He looked so smart in his black footman’s uniform that Eliza hadn’t recognized him at first. How comforting that someone from the old neighborhood was here. She relaxed at the thought of a friend willing to guide her in the complicated rituals of a country house party.

  A bell-like laugh rose up from the babble of voices. “You don’t mean that, Henry,” Lady Annabel said. “Then again, I forget you are possessed of a scathing wit.”

  Eliza leaned forward in time to see Lady Annabel tap Higgins on the shoulder. He pushed her hand away.

  “I mean everything I say. Especially if the remark is scathing, so have a care.” Higgins gazed up at the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. Eliza knew he must be more desperate for the dinner to end than she was.

  The older woman smoothed a coppery wisp that escaped her elaborate coiffure, unperturbed by the Professor’s refusal to be charmed. And Lady Annabel did hold a cunning allure. She certainly knew how to dress to best advantage in a green silk gown with a twisted serpentine collar that drew attention to her creamy shoulders. And the triple aigrette feathers in Lady Annabel’s auburn hair lent her a sensuous majesty. But although Sir Anthony declared his love for his wife earlier that day, he seemed oblivious to her efforts to flirt with Higgins.

  Eliza realized Freddy was just as indifferent to her. He was too busy fawning over Lily Marlowe. But could she blame him? The actress outshone every female at the table. Her lively charm and gaiety brought to mind Lily’s performance in A Lady’s Honor, one of Eliza’s favorites. Lily could have discouraged him, of course, but she seemed to enjoy his attentions. No surprise. Freddy’s dashing looks might have made him a cinema star as well, if he had any talent to go
along with them.

  “Her latest film is ripping good,” Freddy told Madame Evangeline.

  The actress giggled. “Freddy sounds like my press agent, who calls me ‘splendiferous’ in all the press releases. I’m just grateful to have the work.”

  “I believe you are the most talented and beautiful creature on the screen. Ten times more lovely in person,” His cheeks reddened with the force of his ardor. “And you were already ravishing enough.”

  “Thank you, but I have competition tonight.” Lily gestured at the other ladies.

  Eliza could tell Freddy didn’t believe that, nor would any other man here. Clara looked like yet another pretty girl who boasted an English rose complexion and the freshness of youth. Although she wouldn’t admit it aloud, Eliza thought her own looks rivaled Clara’s, and wouldn’t fade once girlhood disappeared. But neither she nor Clara were any match for Lily Marlowe.

  As for Lady Annabel, in her youth she must have been a tempting siren. However, a cold, calculated air now spoiled her charm. Eliza judged Madame Evangeline to be Lily’s only real rival. If the medium changed her hair style and wore a more revealing gown, even Freddy’s eye might wander. Certainly, Philippe seemed to enjoy speaking with Madame Evangeline. Maybe because she was fluent in his language. She seemed pleased by his rapt attention, too. But Eliza had no idea what they were now discussing in their rapid-fire French.

  That left the countess, who had not inherited the good looks of her younger brother Richard. Instead, she was saddled with a high forehead, receding chin, a long nose and large teeth. Eliza found her profile remarkably horse-like. Even her dark blonde hair, coiled and pinned behind her head, resembled a thick horse’s tail. The saving grace was her figure. Tall for a woman, with wide hips, she had a buxom bosom and a small waist. She also boasted dainty feet, which tonight were shown to advantage in gold embroidered slippers that matched her silk and lace gown.

  “Miss Doolittle?” Lady Annabel waved a hand to catch Eliza’s attention. “Is it true you support women’s suffrage?”