Once again, Eliza and Higgins found themselves at Scotland Yard. She dreaded each time they were required to make an appearance at the Metropolitan Police headquarters. The only reason for a visit was because someone she knew had been murdered This time it was Pearl Palmer. And she could not get the girl’s forlorn corpse out of her mind – along with the Italian dagger planted in her back. Eliza had tossed and turned all night, haunted by that image.
“You’re dragging your feet,” Higgins said when they arrived at Derby Gate, the south entrance to the Yard.
“It’s the weather,” she lied.
The chilly air brought on by the recent storms had moved on. Today was once again uncommonly warm and humid. The steamy heat had already wilted the tulle-trimmed collar of her silk blouse. Even her buff linen skirt felt too heavy.
“I’m also dragging my feet because they hurt,” Eliza added. No surprise there, given how extensively she and Higgins explored Bluegate Fields last night.
He shot her a rueful smile. “Mine, too. A pity I couldn’t have stayed in bed.”
Higgins seemed just as troubled by last night’s events. What a terrible week, with the attack at the church, worrying over Colonel Pickering, and now the brutal murder of Pearl Palmer. How did everything turn so ugly and frightening? This month was supposed to be a giddy round of weddings, and Eliza had looked forward to weeks of celebrating, dressing up, and eating cake. Instead, they had to give police statements and visit hospital wards.
Higgins pointed at the red brick building up ahead. “Do you know the prisoners at Dartmoor quarried some of that granite? I feel like a damned prisoner, too, every time Jack summons us here.”
“With this heat, it will feel like a prison cell today. I wish Jack ranked farther down the chain of command. His office would be on an upper floor if he was.”
When New Scotland Yard opened its doors in 1890, the lower floors were reserved for top brass only. Indeed, the commissioner oversaw his police force from a turreted office on the second floor. Jack’s promotion last year earned him a spot on the floor just above, which meant his office was sure to feel as fiery as a smithy. Although Scotland Yard employees farther down the pecking order had to climb extra flights of stairs to their offices, they were rewarded with refreshing river breezes wafting through upper floor windows.
The familiar sight of men in navy suits and stiff collars hurrying through the halls greeted Eliza and Higgins as soon as they entered. Long lines of visitors snaked in two directions: one leading to the department handling traffic complaints, the other to the Lost Property Office. Jack once told her that over fourteen thousand umbrellas were stored there. She wondered if the umbrella she left behind at the White Hart would join them one day. Then again, it may have been sold to pay for another round of drinks or a bed for the night.
Higgins nodded to the sergeant presiding behind his tall desk, who waved them along. A woman in a black straw hat and shabby paisley dress held a summons in hand and visibly quaked in fear. Eliza had seen her here twice before, each time in the same anxious condition. Three constables walked past. One of them doffed his blue helmet and called out, “Miss Doolittle. Professor Higgins.”
“We’re getting too well known around here,” Higgins said as he and Eliza made their way to the stairs. “Your cousin ought to issue us uniforms. Or at least give us a consulting fee.”
Two detectives clattered down the steps towards them. Eliza recognized the taller fellow as one of the policemen at the docks last night in Bluegate. “Excuse me, Detective. Professor Higgins and I spoke with you after we found Miss Palmer’s body. Can you tell us if Luther North is still being questioned?”
“Or has he been charged already?” Higgins added.
Both detectives looked at each other. “May as well tell them,” the other murmured.
“Sorry, miss, but North was released over an hour ago,” the man said. “We didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.”
“That can’t be true!”
Higgins looked furious. “Damn and blast, man.”
He frowned. “Sorry. We had no choice. If you’ll excuse us, we have an appointment.” They both hurried through the crowd and out the door.
Eliza felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “This is terrible. Pearl wasn’t stabbed by a stranger lurking in the shadows. It had to be Luther North. Why didn’t they arrest him?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Let’s talk to your cousin.”
By the time they climbed to the third floor, Eliza and Higgins were drenched in sweat.
“Why is there no bloody ventilation in this building?” Higgins wiped his sleeve across his damp forehead.
Eliza regarded her stained blouse. “We’ll have to go home and change before visiting Colonel Pickering. Otherwise he’ll think we ran all the way to the hospital.”
“I wouldn’t mind running after Luther North. I’d force a confession out of him.”
Eliza and Higgins walked to Jack’s office, both of them wincing with each painful step. “I can’t believe Jack thinks Luther is innocent,” she said. “We told the detectives what happened when they arrived at the docks.”
Higgins halted, one hand on the door knob. “I’m not happy we always appear to be two steps ahead of the police. It’s a disgrace they released Miss Palmer’s obvious killer. Small wonder the editors of Punch dubbed Scotland Yard ‘the Defective Police Force.’”
But when they entered Jack’s office, her cousin’s bad mood seemed to match their own. Well, the devil take Jack. Eliza owed something to Pearl. After all, the poor girl had come to her for help.
“We heard Luther North was released an hour ago. Jack, how could you?”
“Sit down, Lizzie, and be quiet. Both of you.” Anger was evident in his voice.
After signing a set of papers, he handed them to the waiting constable. Jack watched until the man closed the door before facing them. Eliza perched on the chair’s edge, but Higgins remained standing. The two men eyed each other like boxers in the ring at Wonderland in Whitechapel. She half expected them to raise their fists and begin sparring.
“What in hell were the two of you doing in Bluegate Fields?” His left eye twitched madly. “Those docks have the worst reputation in London. You could have been killed.”
“Did you call us down here for yet another lecture?” Eliza said. “You did that yesterday.”
In truth, there hadn’t been time for Jack to do much more than scowl at her and Higgins last night, what with finding the dead body and trying to round up witnesses. After his detectives took their statements, Higgins and Eliza were allowed to go home with instructions to be at the Yard the following day. She should have known Jack wasn’t done haranguing them.
“I’ve got more to say. You’ve both risked your lives more than once chasing down murderers. Only that’s our job. We’re the police. Remember? I’ve told you a hundred times about the dangers. Now for the love of God, stay out of this investigation.”
“By Jupiter, we understand perfectly well how dangerous this is. You were shot right in front of us three days ago.” Higgins folded his arms across his chest. “And so was my friend Pickering. While trying to protect you, I might add.”
Jack glared at him.
“We agreed with you about Pearl,” Eliza said. “She seemed the most likely person to have shot you. Especially when she went missing after your wedding. So the Professor and I decided to track her down. We figured the only link to Pearl was Luther North, and all we knew about him is that he was from Bluegate Fields. Well, so is Billy Grainger. It made sense to ask Billy to help us find him. But Luther didn’t know where Pearl was either. Jack, we only wanted to find her before she could hurt you again. We’re worried about your safety, too.”
“I understood the risks from the first day I took this job. Neither of you do.”
“If you continue to patronize us, I swear we will come to blows,” Higgins said.
“Why don’t you admit that you need our help?” Eliza said, unwilling to turn this into a brawl. “Otherwise, how could you let Luther go?”
Higgins spoke up before Jack could reply. “Luther North was an engineer in the Merchant Navy. Last night he admitted to me that he helped smuggle a treasure from some Indian temple off his ship. Billy was with me when Luther said it. He also told us part of the treasure fell into Ambrose Farrow’s hands when it reached England.”
“And Pearl warned me not to trust Clyde Winterbottom,” Eliza said. “It’s possible he was also involved with stealing this treasure.”
Jack slumped down on his chair. “After reading your statements, we spent the entire morning checking out Mr. Winterbottom. He seems to be just what he appears: a dull but respected employee of the British Museum.”
“He’s also an ambitious, calculating creature,” Higgins added.
“Many people are. That doesn’t make them criminals.”
“Pearl was in fear for her life. And she was right, wasn’t she? Someone stabbed her in the back.” Eliza jumped to her feet, too agitated to stay seated. “Both times I spoke to her, I thought she was being honest with me.”
“You spoke to Pearl twice?” Jack barked. “When was the previous time?”
Eliza hesitated before answering, “Two weeks ago at Maison Lucile.”
“You didn’t report that to me? Why are both of you impeding a police investigation?”
“Impeding it?” Higgins’s exasperation matched Eliza’s. “We’re furthering it, and you bloody well know it! We’ve interviewed suspects, uncovered motives, accessed evidence—”
Jack cut him off. “Hold on. What evidence?”
Eliza cleared her throat. “Pearl was desperate to go home to America, but she didn’t have enough money. Last night she gave me a key to a box in her apartment where she keeps her savings. She was too frightened to go back to her lodgings, so she asked me to do it.”
Jack held out a hand. “Give it over.” He waited while she groped inside her small pocketbook. Once she surrendered it, he quickly sealed the key in an envelope. “Detective Ramsey should be back soon. He’s gone to search her apartment, plus follow a few other leads. We couldn’t hold Luther North, however. Even though we questioned him for hours.”
“But Pearl was terrified of Luther. As soon as she heard his voice at Bessie Grainger’s door, she ran away. And he took off right after her.”
“North claims he never saw Miss Palmer last night until she was fished out of the river.”
“What? She was with me when Luther arrived with the Professor and Billy. Just hearing him at the door put the fear of God in her.”
“Luther says otherwise.”
Higgins looked at Jack in disgust. “You value the word of Luther North over the veracity of Eliza and me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I never said that.”
“If you don’t believe us, ask Billy’s mum,” Eliza said. “She was a witness to my entire conversation with Pearl. She heard all about the stolen treasure and Winterbottom and how someone thought Pearl knew where the treasure was hidden. That’s why her life was in danger.” She waved her hands in the air. “My God, Bessie believed Pearl’s story so much, she gave her a stiletto for protection. The same one found in Pearl’s back. Talk to Bessie Grainger.”
“Don’t you think I sent my men to ask her for corroboration? She swears Pearl Palmer was only there a few moments. And that the girl took off through the back door when the men arrived. Bessie claims Pearl never mentioned anything about a treasure. Or said a word about Luther North.” He looked grim. “And she says Pearl must have stolen her knife.”
Eliza and Higgins exchanged stunned looks. “Damnation,” Higgins muttered.
“Lizzie, you’ve been out of the slums only a year. You can’t have forgotten how East Enders feel about the police,” Jack said in a pitying tone. “They don’t trust us, they never have. Sometimes with good reason. It’s why I joined the force, to try and make a difference. I’m never surprised when they lie, especially if telling the truth gets them in worse trouble.”
Because she knew he was right, Eliza grew more frustrated. “What about Billy then? He was there when Luther went chasing after Pearl. Crikey, we all went looking for her, including Billy. Luther found her before anyone else, overpowered her, and then used Bessie’s knife to stab her.”
“Luther must have thought Pearl knew where the temple treasure was hidden,” Higgins said. “The man’s a scoundrel, Jack. Hell, he even threatened me, saying I’d end up in the river. Billy heard Luther say that, too. How much proof do you need?”
“It’s your word against theirs.” Jack ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Billy swears he and his friends were with Luther the whole time you were searching for Miss Palmer.”
Eliza’s mouth fell open. “That’s a bold-faced lie!”
“It’s the truth, it is.” Grainger stood at the doorway. Billy wore the same plaid suit as yesterday, and twirled his bowler hat with one hand. But his easy smile was gone. Eliza wondered when Billy opened the door. She, Jack, and Higgins had been so intent on their conversation, they hadn’t noticed.
“You know blooming well you were helping us find Pearl and Luther.”
“Sorry, Lizzie. I ain’t changin’ me story no matter what Detective Shaw’s boys do to persuade me.” He looked over at Jack. “They said I could go. Is that right?”
“Yes, but we may ask you to return.” Jack waved at Eliza to prevent any interruption. “And we’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Billy. I’ve told my men that if they see you even spit on the pavement, they’ll haul your dodgy ass in again.”
Billy nodded. “So that’s the way you’re gonna play it. Keep forgettin’ you’re a copper now.”
“That’s right. I’m a copper. And I don’t like people who lie to the police.”
He shriveled under Jack’s furious gaze. “Sorry ‘bout that Miss Palmer. But I got nothin’ to do with it. She probably ran across someone who fancied her purse or wanted a tumble. A pretty thing like her got no chance against the rum lot in Bluegate. Pity she wandered by the wrong bloke. A rascal who was carryin’ a knife.”
“That filthy rascal was Luther North,” Eliza said, “and you know it.”
“Fog last night was thick as treacle. Who knows ‘ow Miss Palmer ended up in the river.”
Jack looked exhausted, even though it was only noon. “We questioned everyone in the area, Eliza, down to the drunks and opium eaters. No one saw or heard anything unusual.”
“But we ran all over Bluegate looking for Pearl,” Higgins protested. “And we shouted her name the whole time. We saw dozens of people, and damn near pushed a couple to the ground.”
He shook his head. “It’s like you were never there, Professor. Several men we questioned along the dock claimed Luther was with them the whole night. Says he was never out of their sight. I’m sorry, but we don’t have any reason to hold Luther North or Billy. Not yet.”
Eliza shot a disgusted look at the bookmaker. “They’re all lying. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Billy had something to with the smuggling of this Indian treasure. After all, he’s spent most of his life breaking into people’s houses and picking pockets on Oxford Street.”
“Bollocks! I been clean for years, and you know it. I won’t stay and be insulted.” Billy sniffed. “A shame too, seein’ how the Doolittles and Graingers are distant cousins.”
“That’s probably a lie, too.” Eliza now stood toe to toe with him.
Billy gave her a wary glance. “If there’s nothin’ else you need from me, Jack, I’ll be off now. And I’d steer clear of any place near me dear mum’s lodgings, Lizzie. No tellin’ what may come of another visit to the old neighborhood. Day or night.”
Higgins took a step towards Billy, while Jack growled, “Are you threatening her?”
“No, just giving Lizzie a friendly piece of advice.”
Clapping his bowler atop his head, he turned to go. However he didn’t get more than two steps before Eliza planted a swift kick on his behind. When Billy stumbled to the floor, Higgins and Jack hooted with laughter. Scrambling to his feet, Billy spun around to face Eliza, but she slammed the office door in his face.
“If I ever see that lying thief again, I’ll run him down with Dad’s roadster.”
“Just make certain to do it when no constables are around,” Jack warned.
Eliza sank in the chair by his desk. On the wall hung a large map of London dotted with colored pins. A red pin indicated a murder had occurred at that location. Eliza stared at the red pin now marking the Thames where Pearl’s body had been tossed off the docks.
“Pearl didn’t try to kill you or her lover,” Eliza said with a defeated sigh. “She wanted Farrow to marry the Duchess of Carbrey. Her money would have helped pay off their debts. Farrow only changed his mind when he found a buyer for this stolen treasure. Now Luther North wants his share, and he’s willing to kill for it.”
“I did submit the stiletto for fingerprints,” Jack said, “but sometimes all we get are smudges. We won’t know until the results come back.”
Grabbing a folder from the desk, Higgins fanned his damp face. “It’s like a furnace in here. You might want to invest in an electric fan.” He glanced over at the open window where bright August sunshine flooded in, but not a trace of a breeze.
A knock sounded on the frosted glass of Jack’s door. Detective Colin Ramsey peeked his head inside. “Sorry, sir. But there’s no one at the desk out here to serve as go-between.”
Jack waved his hand. “I sent Charlie off to the morgue.”
Ramsey nodded towards Eliza and Higgins. “Should I return at a better time, sir?”
“No, come in. We all want to hear your report.”
Eliza smoothed down her hair. Ramsey unsettled her for some reason, especially when he caught her eye and winked – as if he found her presence both challenging and delightful. He’d never actually flirted with her, but more than once she glimpsed the same admiring expression that Freddy always wore. Of course, Ramsey was nothing like sweet, handsome Freddy. Yet there was something intriguing about the young detective. Eliza tried to dismiss it. Besides, she had her hands full with her present suitor. And Eliza suspected Ramsey would be far harder to control than Freddy Eynsford Hill.
Luckily, Colin Ramsey seemed all business while he reported what he found in Pearl Palmer’s apartment. None of the information proved enlightening or pertinent to the case.
“But I have two men on Mr. North’s trail,” he finished.
“So you’re keeping an eye on Luther North?” Eliza asked.
“Of course,” Jack said. “The next chance you get, Ramsey, see if you can find out if Clyde Winterbottom has ever met with him.”
“Yes, sir.” He paused. “I did find something interesting. That organist fellow, Thaddeus Smith, warrants looking into. Seems he attended Cambridge, then the Royal College of Music. Both on scholarship.”
Eliza sat up in alarm. “If Smith went to the Royal College of Music, it means he knew how to get into that building on Saturday and take a shot at Jack. You did say your men found cartridge shells outside the College.”
“The shots came from the Royal Academy of Music, Lizzie,” Jack explained. “The Royal College of Music is in South Kensington, about three miles away. Although it’s easy to get the two confused.”
She shook her head. “Too many buildings in this city are called ‘royal.’”
“Miss Doolittle is right to wonder about Mr. Smith, sir,” Ramsey said to his boss. “He may not have attended the Royal Academy, but he has performed there five times; the most recent concert was only last month. He certainly would know the layout of the building.”
“If he’s been there as often as that,” Higgins suggested, “he must be a familiar face to the staff and students. Maybe someone recognized him the morning of the wedding.”
Ramsey nodded. “I’ve sent Detective Jeremy to question Mr. Smith about his whereabouts last Saturday. But I’ve learned something else about him. Although Thaddeus Smith appears to have led an exemplary life, the same can’t be said for his younger brother. Philip Smith worked as a bookkeeper for a bank in The City. Convicted of embezzlement nine years ago. Perhaps you remember the case, Inspector?”
“A bookkeeper by the name of Philip Smith?” Jack settled back in his chair, deep in thought. “Back in 1904? That was one of my earliest cases.”
“Yes, sir. The brothers were quite close. Philip was killed two years into his prison sentence by one of the other inmates. It’s possible this organist blames you. He may have been the one who fired those shots on Saturday.”
“Mr. Smith lived in the Transvaal,” Higgins said. “He admitted he and his brother learned to shoot as boys. They helped protect the family farm from the Boers. Like Miss Palmer, he has the skill to shoot someone from a great distance. And he has a reason to want Jack dead.”
“This muddies up things even more.” Eliza thought a moment. “Smith may or may not have held a grudge against Jack. He may or may not have shot Jack. Luther North may or may not have killed Pearl Palmer, although I bet he did.”
“Neither of which answers the question as to who poisoned the bridal cog that killed Farrow,” Ramsey added.
Eliza frowned. “Except Thaddeus Smith did have a reason to kill Farrow. He was the Duchess of Carbrey’s favorite before she met Ambrose. Being cast aside no doubt angered him. Now that Farrow’s dead, the organist is her little pet once more.”
“Is there any way to link Smith with Miss Palmer’s murder?” Higgins asked.
Jack turned to Ramsey. “Find out if he ever knew Pearl Palmer.”
“Yes, sir.” The young detective pulled out his notebook. “Should I bring him in if he does confirm knowledge?”
“Yes.” Jack tapped his pencil on the desk. “And send word if Luther North shows up at the British Museum.”
“It’s high time we visited the Colonel in hospital.” Higgins glanced at Eliza. “He might know more about this Indian temple treasure.”
“Good idea. Give him my regards. If you do learn anything more, come to me with the information.” Jack flashed Eliza a warning look. “Immediately.”
“Try to avoid another lark into the East End, Miss Doolittle,” Ramsey added. “It’s no place for amateurs.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow at him. “Given your lack of success so far, Detective Ramsey, it appears it’s no place for the police either.”
Instead of being irritated, Colin shot her a devilish grin. Damn the fellow. She couldn’t predict what he would say or do. In fact, if they’d been alone, she feared he may even have stolen a kiss.
What disturbed her even more is that she might have kissed him back.
“How glorious to see both of you,” Colonel Pickering said in his usual cheery tone. “But forgive my appearance. I’m in desperate need of a shave. I look like a castaway.”
Eliza thought he looked splendid. She had squealed in delight when they entered the hospital ward and realized how much he’d improved. Wearing his favorite blue plaid dressing gown, Pickering leaned against a barrage of pillows, his right arm encased in a cotton sling.
Higgins caught himself from clapping Pickering on the back in joy. “You seem most presentable to me. But if you like, I’ll send round a barber. Should have thought of it myself.”
“Can you manage eating this lovely custard?” Eliza uncovered the china bowl on a tray and set it on his lap. “Cook made it just for you. She said it should boost your spirits.”
“I say, I shall do my best.” He tucked into the rich vanilla pudding sprinkled with nutmeg. The afternoon sunshine brightened his face, which was a relief. For several days after the shooting, Pickering had looked haggard and gray.
Eliza related the story of Pearl Palmer while Pickering ate. He listened intently, except for an occasional comment about food. “This custard is quite excellent. A nice change from what they consider edible here in hospital. I actually dreamed last night about shepherd’s pie.”
“If you’re done scraping the custard bowl, let’s have a jaw about this Indian temple business.” Higgins pulled up a chair while Eliza sat on the end of the bed. “You mentioned some temple at Farrow’s memorial service. I remember Winterbottom, Lady Winifred, and that Indian fellow all weighing in with an opinion. How was this temple discovered? And why was the treasure still there? Seems like thieves would have made off with it long ago.”
Pickering dabbed his mouth with the napkin Eliza handed him. “I was visiting friends in the region when the site was discovered. An employee of the Misra Mining Company stumbled across an abandoned Hindu temple while searching for iron fields. Must have given him quite a shock to glimpse the statue of a goddess hidden by all the jungle overgrowth. This fellow had no idea what he’d found, so the local authorities asked me to examine the site and assess its importance.” He shrugged. “Even though I’m a Sanskrit scholar, not an archaeologist, I was the closest thing to an expert in the area. I realized immediately it was an intact Hindu temple.”
“How old was it?” Eliza asked.
“I was able to date the temple to the mid-fourteenth century. At that time a cholera epidemic wiped out most of the local population, along with the royal family. After that, no one wanted to go near the place and the jungle reclaimed it.”
Higgins had a vague memory of reading about the discovery of a Hindu temple in the newspapers a couple of years ago. But if it didn’t involve linguistics, Higgins often lost interest. “Where exactly is this temple?”
“Southwest India. Very remote part of the country, primarily used to hunt tigers by the Maharajah and his friends.” Pickering had a faraway look in his eyes. “Extraordinarily beautiful, too. Hard to imagine it was once the site of a dreadful plague. After I climbed to the temple’s highest level, I saw tigers sunning themselves on a rocky outcrop. Simply marvelous.”
“Did you see the treasure?” Eliza asked.
“Part of it. I know something about the layout of Hindu temples, and many have a toshakhana, which translates to ‘treasure house.’ Given the age of the site, it meant that a treasury was likely. Inscriptions on the stones proved that the temple had been dedicated to the goddess Parvati, and we subsequently learned the entire complex was built in honor of a queen, Maharani Lakshmi.” Pickering dabbed at his forehead with his napkin. Even in the hospital ward, the day’s heat seemed tropical. “I don’t know much more about its archaeological significance. Winterbottom is the East Asian expert. Ask him.”
Higgins had a list of things he planned to discuss with Winterbottom. “How about Lady Winifred? She’s lived in India for thirteen years. Could she give us more information about this temple and the treasury?”
“Perhaps. She and her husband spend outrageous sums on art, jewelry, and antiquities. But Winifred cares less about the history of a piece than she does its aesthetic value.”
“You still haven’t told us about the treasure,” Eliza said.
“I hired local villagers to help me search the site. After three days, we found the entrance to the treasure house. Took us a week to finally make our way inside. When we did, the chamber was nearly impassable, what with the fallen stonework and vegetation. But I was able to see enough to know I had stumbled upon a literal treasure trove.”
“How exciting,” Eliza said, awestruck. “Was the treasure as magnificent as Pearl Palmer described? Golden crowns, ruby swords, emerald armbands.”
“What treasure I did uncover was quite spectacular. After all, the entrance had remained sealed since the cholera epidemic. That made the temple infinitely valuable. And vulnerable. While the jungle had done a splendid job hiding the temple, it wouldn’t take long for looters to hear of the discovery. I had to act fast.”
“What do you mean?” Higgins asked.
“There are few ancient tombs or temples that have not been robbed over the millennia. This was a rare find, potentially worth a fortune. I wanted the art, treasure, and its historical importance to be preserved. I immediately contacted wealthy investors in Europe, men with a love of antiquities. Baron Ashmore was the first to respond. He bought the rights to recover the treasure, then conferred with the British Museum. They sent Winterbottom to oversee the excavation and cataloguing, which allowed the museum to claim a share.”
“That explains how Winterbottom became involved,” Higgins mused.
The Colonel nodded. “Both Ashmore and Winterbottom were keen to save the collection from further decay. Several statues had lost their gold leaf patina, and some jewels had come loose from the eye sockets. They had to work fast.”
“I’d love to see such a treasure.” Eliza’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Why not ask Clara for a tour of Banfield Manor?” Pickering suggested. “The Ashmore Collection on the estate has the lion’s share from the temple. The British Museum kept most of the large architectural pieces and an assortment of jewelry. But the Ashmores have the rest.”
“Not quite,” Higgins reminded him.
“Ah, you’re right. I’d forgotten. The ship transporting the treasure from India to England encountered bad weather off the coast of Ceylon and ran aground. I heard one of the crates holding the temple treasure ended up in the Bay of Bengal.”
“I doubt any of it remains underwater,” Higgins said. “That crate was smuggled off the ship with Luther North’s help. He was chief engineer. And he brought it to England where he handed it over to Ambrose Farrow. Now the treasure’s hidden somewhere in England.”
“Waiting for the right buyer,” Eliza added. “Or the cleverest thief.”
Pickering seemed amazed. “This might explain why Mr. Farrow was poisoned. After all, few motives are more powerful than greed. And men have killed for treasure since the pharaohs built the pyramids.”
“Probably why the pharaohs laid a curse on anyone who dared to rob their tombs,” Higgins said with a rueful smile. “A shame there wasn’t a curse laid on this Indian temple.”
“But there is. The Curse of the Cobra. It derives from a legend passed down from the few survivors who fled during the cholera scourge. When the Maharani Lakshmi was on her deathbed, she asked the god Vishnu to curse anyone who stole from the goddess’s temple.”
“I thought the temple was devoted to Parvati, not Vishnu,” Higgins said.
“A number of deities share the sacred space with her. Vishnu is regarded as a great protector. A blue-skinned god, he is often portrayed with the five-headed snake Sheshnag, known as king of the snakes. Many Hindu temples, including this one, are covered with images of them. The cobra is said to bring death upon those who violate the Parvati temple.”
“Considering all that’s happened since the treasure was discovered,” Higgins said, “even someone as civilized as I am might give credence to such a curse.”
“If there is, that means Lord Ashmore is in danger.” Eliza bit her lip. “Clara, too.”
Pickering shifted on the bed, glancing around at the other patients who dozed in the hot room. “It was no curse that killed Richard’s brothers. Baron Ashmore’s oldest son died in a car accident. He’d been drinking and ended up driving his car into the river. His premature death came as no surprise. The gentleman had a reputation for dissipation.”
“What happened to the second Ashmore son?” Eliza asked.
“I heard he died from complications due to syphilis,” Higgins said, “which seems like the biggest curse of all.”
Pickering sent Higgins a disapproving look. “Don’t listen to him, Eliza. The fellow died of scarlet fever.”
“Let’s not protect Eliza’s delicate sensibilities at the expense of the truth.”
“Oh, hang my sensibilities, Professor. Where I come from, we all knew some unfortunate who suffered from syphilis.” She leaned forward. “I’m more interested in the unexpected deaths of the Ashmores. What did Richard’s father die from?”
“Consumption. He’d been ill for years. All the Ashmore deaths are easily explained. The two eldest Ashmore sons made poor choices through the years, and they paid the price. I am glad the present young baron was born much later than his brothers. They had little contact or influence over him while he was growing up.” Pickering lay back on his pillows. “I’ve heard only good things about the young gentleman. Clara’s made a fine choice for her husband.”
“Lord Ashmore does seem like a wonderful person, which is why I’m worried. If someone is willing to kill over this temple treasure, why wouldn’t he be the next victim?” Eliza looked over at Higgins. “Although Smith may have poisoned Farrow out of jealousy, it’s also possible he was killed due to the treasure. Certainly Pearl was murdered because of it.”
Higgins grew grim. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Winterbottom is neck deep in this mess. The problem is how to convince my bull-headed brother and niece to call off the wedding.”
“What if Lady Winifred is involved? Colonel, you told us how much she spends on antique jewelry. She might love to get her hands on some of those temple gemstones.”
Pickering smiled at her. “Winifred is a notorious spendthrift. Buying her jewels from smugglers would probably cost her far less money. But she’s also a superstitious woman. She won’t even attend a dinner party if it falls on what the stars decree as an unlucky day. The years she’s lived in Africa and India have only increased her respect for omens and portents. Shortly after I was called in to assess the Temple of Parvati, I published a monograph on the site. Of course I included the history surrounding the Curse of the Cobra. Lady Winifred took it most seriously.” He chuckled. “Or as she likes to tell me, ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
Eliza sat up straight. “Hamlet, Act One, Scene Five.” This past spring, a guest at Wimpole Street gave Eliza a copy of Hamlet to prepare her for an upcoming performance she was to attend. Enthralled with the story of the Danish prince, she’d memorized every line.
Higgins rolled his eyes. “I shall never hear the end of this play.”
“Well, it certainly seems as if this temple treasure is cursed,” Eliza said. “Everyone involved in any way with it is now dead. Yes, the old Baron was sick, but he didn’t die until after he bought the rights to the Indian temple.”
“I suppose,” Pickering said. “Although the second son died a month before the Baron did. I believe his death hastened that of his father. The other son died less than a year ago.”
“Exactly. The three Ashmore men died only after the temple treasure was bought by the family.” Eliza held up her fingers and counted them off. “Then someone poisoned Ambrose Farrow, and Pearl was stabbed. That makes five deaths since the temple was discovered.”
Higgins cleared his throat. “Except the next murder attempt was directed at Jack. Unless he’s moonlighting as a smuggler, I believe Jack has nothing to do with the temple.”
“Quite true,” Pickering agreed. “In fact, I was the only one at Jack’s wedding who had any connection to the treasure.”
Higgins turned to Eliza. “Good grief! How did we not see this?”
“See what? Pickering asked.
“My dear Colonel, the gunman might not have been shooting at Jack.” Eliza went cold with fear. “He could have been trying to kill you!”