Only a murder could liven up this wedding. Eliza felt ashamed for thinking such a terrible thing, even in jest. But the morning had been duller than warm milk. She gazed about Chelsea Old Church, each pew filled to bursting. Over half the wedding guests were friends and members of the Higgins’s family, each attired in expensive ensembles meant to exhibit their refined good taste. If only they didn’t act so proper. How in the world did someone as lively as Professor Higgins come from such a stiff-necked family? She suspected he had his delightful mother to thank for that.
And she never realized how important Higgins’s oldest brother was. Apparently being an MP from Hereford meant people spoke in hushed voices around you. The groom’s guests consisted of a handful of museum associates and nervous relatives. Eliza actually observed Winterbottom’s aunt drop a curtsey when introduced to Sir Charles Higgins on the church steps. This sent the Professor into such gales of laughter, his top hat fell off. Now he sat beside Eliza, engaged in a running commentary about the wedding guests. Mrs. Higgins sat on his other side pretending to be exasperated with her son. But she smiled too often for that to be true.
Freddy fidgeted on Eliza’s left, looking like the most dashing man here in his crisp morning coat, striped trousers, and waistcoat. Eliza was just as pleased with her outfit: a peach silk charmeuse gown draped in lace with a line of pearls running down either side of the slim skirt. A Tam o’Shanter crown dress hat covered in peach taffeta silk – embellished with three white aigrette feathers – perched atop her head. Once again, Eliza wore the cameo brooch given to her by Sybil, which perfectly matched her ensemble.
Looking about the crowded church, Eliza thought only Basanti Misra wore a more becoming outfit this morning. Basanti’s sari of saffron yellow was so beautiful, it took one’s breath away. Eliza smiled to think of the sari which Basanti had given her two days earlier. She wished she had been daring enough to wear it to the wedding.
“Winterbottom’s finally emerged,” Higgins announced when the groom and best man walked out from the vestry, followed by the Reverend James Higgins. “He looks even more like a pinch-faced ferret than usual. What an atrocious fellow.”
A woman in the pew directly in front of them turned around. “I say, Henry, you must keep your voice down. His relatives are certain to hear you.”
“I’m sure they’re already aware he looks like a ferret. He behaves like one too, although I’m insulting ferrets by saying that.”
The woman, introduced earlier as Higgins’s sister, sighed. Eliza thought the slender brunette looked nothing like Higgins or his brothers. Instead, she seemed a younger version of Mrs. Higgins. “Mother, can’t you control him? He will embarrass us all.”
She gave a tiny shrug. “Does your brother ever do anything else? Now hush, Victoria.”
“Henry Arthur Higgins, you are an uncivilized beast,” Victoria hissed.
“Coming from you, I take that as high praise.”
She shook her head so vehemently, several beads on her Merry Widow hat flew off and bounced on the floor. Victoria scowled even more before facing front again.
“Few things are more fun than teasing Vicky, unless it’s teasing James.” Higgins nodded towards the altar with a chuckle. “Look at my sainted brother up there in his starched white surplice and church robes. I’ve seen statues of saints that appear less self-righteous. No doubt he wishes he could call down a lightning bolt to get rid of me.”
Reverend Higgins bore a striking resemblance to the Professor; both men were taller than average, clean shaven, and with straight brown hair. Only James wore spectacles and was much thinner than his younger brother, almost gaunt.
“Is your brother ill?” Eliza asked.
“Good grief, no. The fellow is always fasting. Sometimes James forgets that he’s not Roman Catholic. Such a pity. I’m sure he would love to be Pope.”
Mrs. Higgins turned to them. “James has decided he will not eat any food unless it is mentioned in the Bible. His cook has had difficulty providing three scriptural meals every day.”
Higgins snorted. “Let’s hope Charles serves a fatted calf at the wedding breakfast.”
“I pray this latest dietary regimen does not last long,” his mother added. “He’s grown much too thin and it’s bound to affect his health.”
“I agree. He looks like a scarecrow. Then again, my brother does have straw for brains.”
Victoria glanced over her shoulder. “If you don’t keep your voice down, I will smack you with my fan.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Henry, Victoria. That is quite enough,” Mrs. Higgins said. “The two of you haven’t behaved this badly since the nursery, when you tormented Nanny Fletcher. Stop such ridiculous behavior. Neither of you are to spoil Beatrice’s wedding.”
Victoria was about to protest, but the look on her mother’s face obviously changed her mind. Higgins sat back with a wide grin.
The organ music changed to a more stately hymn. Eliza craned her neck to glimpse Thaddeus Smith seated at the church organ. While a perfectly fine musician, she had no idea why every well-born bride and groom insisted on hiring him as organist. Did they wish to gain the Duchess of Carbrey’s approval? If so, the effort was wasted today. Both the Duchess and Eliza’s father were at the Windsor stables where their racehorse was being readied for an upcoming race. Since she was part owner, Eliza should have been with them. But the prospect of a Higgins wedding was too good to miss. A shame it had turned out to be a tedious affair so far.
Having forgotten her fan, Eliza waved the wedding program to cool her face. Since it was the end of August, the weather had turned warm – and wet – again. Rain streamed down the church’s stained glass windows. The earlier fine mist had become a steady downpour. Eliza felt sorry for the bride, who no doubt feared her gown would become wet and muddy. At least the church looked festive: garlands of white flowers hung along the pews, ropes of foliage were wrapped about the columns, and a bridal arch, studded with white lilies, stood before the altar. Clyde Winterbottom waited beneath it.
“I detest that man,” Higgins muttered. “He is sure to make her extraordinarily unhappy.”
“Maybe you should have tried to talk her out of it,” Eliza said.
“Impossible. The foolish girl cannot be reasoned with. And Charles is desperate to marry her off.” He lowered his voice again. When Higgins wanted to be discreet, he was fully capable of doing so. “If his children make respectable marriages, it benefits his political career. This snake of a museum curator apparently qualifies as a son-in-law, although the idea of being linked to him by marriage is a horror.”
Eliza sat back, now uneasy. Higgins was genuinely worried for his niece. She observed the unsmiling groom at the altar. Winterbottom’s thin prominent nose and suspicious gaze did call to mind a ferret. And Pearl had sworn he was not to be trusted. She felt the urge to stand up and protest the entire wedding. But at that moment, Thaddeus Smith unleashed the first notes of the wedding march. Everyone noisily rose to their feet.
Eager to see the bridal party dresses, Eliza was disappointed when the first bridesmaid appeared. Having met Beatrice at Ambrose Farrow’s memorial reception, she knew her to be a somber young woman. Not surprisingly, her five bridesmaids all wore slightly different ivory chiffon dresses with high collars and pleated skirts. Instead of hats, short tulle veils flowed about their shoulders. Each carried a single white calla lily and a small white prayer book, which Eliza knew to be their gifts from the bride. Of course, she hadn’t expected anything as daring as Sybil’s suffragette themed wedding. But given the money and prestigious career of Sir Charles Higgins, more fashionable gowns might have been in order.
The music swelled, and excitement rippled through the church at the bride’s first appearance. Freddy was taller than Eliza and could easily see over the heads of the standing guests. “What does her gown look like?” she whispered.
“It’s white,” Freddy replied.
Higgins laughed. “Did you expect her to wear red?”
When Beatrice walked past arm in arm with Sir Charles, Eliza saw the wedding dress was indeed white. It was also the height of fashion – if the year had been 1890. Like her bridesmaids, Beatrice’s tightly corseted gown displayed a high neckline and bloused sleeves. In fact, had the sleeves been a tad fuller, they would have resembled the leg o’ muttons popular in an earlier generation. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, the gown was made of expensive Liberty satin and mousseline lace. The pleated dress also boasted a train that streamed at least fifteen feet behind her. And Eliza could find no fault with the voluminous tulle veil or the orange blossom diadem that crowned it. The diadem matched the bride’s orange blossom bouquet.
Eliza was relieved to see Beatrice smiling, something the groom had yet to do. She prayed there wouldn’t be another last minute decision to ditch the bride at the altar. Higgins would be pleased, but Eliza dreaded witnessing yet another hopeful woman having her heart broken and her pride dashed to pieces.
Mrs. Higgins leaned over to whisper. “Beatrice is wearing her mother’s wedding gown. Frances had it altered to make it more fashionable.”
Having recently learned her parents never married, Eliza felt sad that she would not be able to wear her own mother’s wedding gown.
When the bride reached the altar, Winterbottom stepped forward to greet her. For the first time, a smile lit up his face. But it did not seem motivated by love, joy, or gratitude. Instead it seemed like the smile of a wily gambler who had just had his winnings handed to him. She didn’t blame Higgins for his low opinion of the man.
As everyone sat down once more, Eliza threw a quick glance behind her. She was startled to see Jack and Colin Ramsey standing at the back of the church.
She tugged Higgins’s sleeve. “Why are Jack and Detective Ramsey here?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Damned if I know. But I can hazard a guess. They’re probably expecting disaster to strike once more.”
A wave of fear ran through Eliza. “That’s dreadful. Do you think so as well?”
“As far as I’m concerned, this wedding is the worst possible disaster. That social climbing prig is about to become family. I’d prefer a good honest murder to that.”
Despite Higgins’s misgivings, the ceremony and photographs occurred without mishap. Due to the heavy rain, the bridal party posed for photographs inside the church; afterward, everyone made it safely to the elegant Hotel Café Royal on Regent Street via chauffeured cars. A dining room had been reserved for the Higgins-Winterbottom wedding breakfast. Seeing that conniving rascal’s name attached to his own set Higgins’s teeth on edge. He doubted he would enjoy a morsel of the costly meal his brother and sister-in-law had arranged. Higgins just hoped he could restrain himself from poisoning the groom’s wedding punch.
Eliza and Freddy seemed to be enjoying themselves. Apparently they’d made friends with the Indian couple, Taral and Basanti Misra. The four of them had chatted nonstop since their arrival at the restaurant. Indeed, the Misras were stealing attention away from the bride and groom. Beatrice’s wedding gown couldn’t possibly compete with Basanti Misra’s diaphanous yellow sari, which wafted behind her like the plumage of an exotic bird. She was also draped in more gold and gemstones than he had seen outside the windows of Cartier or Tiffany. As for Winterbottom, he looked like a bank clerk when compared to Taral Misra in his turban, gold brocade jacket, and white silk pants. A shame Higgins couldn’t have attended the Misra wedding in India. It must have been a spectacular occasion.
“Enough with your brooding.” His mother tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “There’s nothing to be done now except enjoy the breakfast.”
“How can I? It will be like eating at a wake.”
“Stop carrying on.” Victoria joined them. “You act as if Beatrice was your daughter.”
“She’s our niece. And your grand-niece, Mother. The girl deserves better.”
The two women exchanged long suffering glances – yet another time when his sister and mother joined forces against him. Certainly they looked remarkably alike this morning; Vicky’s goldenrod lace gown complemented his mother’s paler silk taffeta. As the Misras also wore gold and yellow today, Higgins wondered if a secret missive had gone out telling guests to wear the same colors.
“She may be our niece,” Vicky said, “but let’s not pretend the girl has ever been our favorite.”
Mrs. Higgins sighed. “I fear poor Beatrice has never been anyone’s favorite.”
“Only because she makes no effort. Beatrice has no clever talk, and cares little for fashion or music. Nor is she a bluestocking. I have never heard her utter a word about politics.” Vicky gave a careless shrug. “If she’s made a dreary marriage, she has only herself to blame.”
“I blame Charles,” Higgins said. “If he wasn’t so bent on becoming prime minister, he’d think twice about handing his daughter over to that cold-blooded cretin.”
He frowned at Winterbottom, who now escorted Beatrice to the center table reserved for the bridal party. Ropes of white roses and orange blossoms draped the chandelier overhead, matching the table’s centerpiece. Higgins noted the place cards, shaped like wedding slippers, were also trimmed with orange blossom rosettes.
“If Charles’s instincts are this terrible when it comes to choosing a spouse for his children,” Higgins continued, “he’ll be an atrocious prime minister.”
“I pray the breakfast lightens your mood,” Mrs. Higgins said. “Come along, it’s time we all sat down.”
“I’m not sitting with the family. Bad enough I showed up for this debacle. I won’t give the marriage further sanction by sitting too close to Winterbottom the Weasel.”
“And here I thought he was a ferret,” Vicky said as she and their mother went off arm in arm.
As he scanned the crowded dining room, Higgins spied Thaddeus Smith conducting a small chamber group in the corner. In addition to his duties as church organist, Mr. Smith was also providing music for the wedding breakfast. Unfortunately, there were so many guests chattering in the dining room, the violins and flute could scarcely be heard.
“Why are you hovering by the door? Do you plan to skulk out before we’ve even toasted the bride and groom?”
Higgins turned at the sound of Charles’s voice. It didn’t raise his spirits to see his brother James standing there, too. “I only wish Beatrice had skulked out of the church.” Higgins paused. “Before she said her vows.”
“Droll as always.” Sir Charles chuckled. “And rude. But I expect nothing less from you.”
His oldest brother possessed an alarming measure of self-confidence. Higgins wasn’t certain why. Charles Higgins was not especially intelligent; his academic career at Cambridge had been lackluster, and he boasted few athletic skills. But he did possess a razor sharp memory which rivaled Eliza’s. Charles never forgot a face, a name, or a single detail he’d ever witnessed or overheard. Higgins suspected his brother had risen so far in the political world due to that skill of ‘remembering’ embarrassing things about his colleagues. A distinct advantage, indeed.
“You are the only person here who is not happy Beatrice is at last married.” Charles sniffed the white rosebud pinned to the lapel of his morning coat. “If you had children, you’d understand how important it is to secure their future with a good marriage.”
“I agree. What a pity Beatrice doesn’t find herself in one.”
His brother James shook his head. “Why do you persist on being so insulting?”
“I prefer to think of it as being honest.”
“James, don’t let him trap you into defending yourself. Henry’s expertise is language, and he will use your own words against you. Best to simply pray for his exasperating soul.”
James shot Higgins a most un-Christian glare.
Higgins was once more struck by how different his brothers were from each other. Unlike James, Charles was a physically robust man. Although shorter than his younger brothers, Charles had a commanding presence that easily intimidated. His bushy mustache and sideburns had turned dark gray, and he had been balding for years. But like Alfred Doolittle, the fifty-year-old politician seemed to possess the energy of a man half his age. Charles was also a difficult man to upset. Even Higgins had to admit there was something to admire about his eldest brother’s cool composure. When they were growing up, Charles was the only one in the family resistant to Higgins’s teasing. Of course, Charles had the advantage of being ten years older.
“Aren’t wedding breakfasts limited to just close friends and family?” Higgins asked.
“As if you have much experience of weddings.” Charles laughed.
“Our brother is an important man,” James said. “His circle of friends and his sphere of influence is much wider than ours. It is only fitting he honor these connections.”
“Don’t you sound like a proper toady. Soon you’ll be bowing to him.”
James flushed. “If you ever behaved like a decent gentleman, I would be struck dumb.”
“Perhaps I should attempt to do so, if only to shut you up.”
“You are a shameful boor, Henry. I won’t submit myself to this any longer.” James marched off to the table where his wife waited with obvious resignation.
“James gets rattled too easily. I blame his eating habits.” Charles turned to Higgins. “Do you know he’s confining himself to biblical meals now?”
“He’s far too sanctimonious. And his self regard is so inflated, I wonder he doesn’t take flight like a balloon.”
“To be fair, I daresay all three of us think highly of ourselves.” Charles lifted an eyebrow. “Some of us with more reason than others.”
“Speaking of a high self-regard. . .”
Both men laughed.
“I may not know much about weddings, Charles, but more people are attending this breakfast than the first session of Parliament. Including the church organist.”
“Frances insisted Mr. Smith play at the wedding. Seems the fellow is quite in fashion this season, like wristlet gloves and French waistcoats. I figured I’d get my money’s worth by having him conduct the music at the breakfast, too.” He lowered his voice. “Also Smith is once more the favorite of the Duchess of Carbrey. Remaining on Minerva’s good side is always wise.”
“He’s to be the organist at the Ashmore wedding,” Higgins said.
“Hardly surprising. As I said, he’s the latest fashion. I also heard Smith’s parents were once in service at Banfield Manor. I believe the father was a groundskeeper.”
“Mr. Smith told me his father farmed in the Transvaal during the first Boer War.”
“That may be true,” Charles said. “The Smiths were servants of the Ashmores, not their serfs. They probably took advantage of the opportunity to homestead in South Africa. No doubt the war convinced them to return to England. I do know Thaddeus Smith attended Cambridge. He was one of several young men whose education was financed by Lord Ashmore, the elder. I hope the new baron is as generous as his father.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew the old baron.”
“I didn’t. As an alumnus of Cambridge, I make it my business to be kept apprised of important people with ties to the university. If the most powerful baron in England shows an interest in certain individuals, I take note. The Ashmore family must think well of this musician. I suspect it will benefit my career if I do likewise.”
“You could have given lessons to Machiavelli.” Higgins gestured at the table where Eliza, Lady Winifred, and the Misras sat. “I understand including guests who might further your political career, but what possible use are Taral Misra and Lady Winifred?”
“Lady Winifred introduced Winterbottom to Beatrice last year at a charity function. I wanted her here because of her husband, Sir Ian Ossler. When Lord Curzon was Viceroy of India, Sir Ian was Curzon’s favorite on his staff. Curzon’s political star is rising, and he may sit on the Cabinet soon. When he does, it could help my cause to have Lady Winifred or her husband put in a good word for me.” Charles shrugged. “Assuming Sir Ian ever leaves India. I’ve heard he and Lady Winifred are having financial difficulties. He’s probably not avoiding England so much as he’s avoiding his English creditors.”
“And Taral Misra?”
“Misra Steel is expanding its marketing headquarters around the world. Misra Steel means jobs. Jobs help get men elected to Parliament. I would trade thirty of our relatives to have Taral Misra as my guest. Lucky for me, Lady Winifred is acting as the couple’s chaperone while they’re in London.”
Leave it to Charles to find a use for even those guests he’d never met before. Still, Higgins couldn’t get rid of a nagging concern over his niece. “Let’s be frank. You must know Clyde Winterbottom is filled with little more than ambition and envy.”
“How does that make him different from every other man here?”
“Hang your cynicism. Winterbottom not only doesn’t love Beatrice, I think he actually dislikes her. That cannot be acceptable to you or Frances. If it is, both you and your wife make me ashamed to know you.”
“Calm down, Henry. We are well aware he’s not marrying for love. Neither is Beatrice. My daughter wants the status and respect being a married woman will give her. This dour chap will serve as well as any other.” Charles’s expression turned icy. “But if Winterbottom ever humiliates my daughter or causes her grief, I will destroy his career. And then I shall destroy him. Now excuse me, I have to propose a wedding toast.”
It seemed Charles was more formidable than even Higgins had guessed. His brother might make a fine prime minister after all.
Although he swore he couldn’t choke down any breakfast, Higgins found himself eating with as much gusto as Eliza. The breakfast began with chilled sherbet glasses filled with fresh melons, peaches, and pomegranates, all dipped in sugar. This was followed by clams on ice, sweetbreads, mushrooms on toast, a green salad, and broiled squab. The breakfast concluded with coffee, accompanied by frozen custard with blueberry compote. Each table also held silver dishes of bonbons circling a large centerpiece of delicate white freesia and maidenhair fern. And of course, endless glasses of punch and champagne were available for the wedding toasts.
Higgins couldn’t find fault with any of it. Then again, the Café Royal was famous for its kitchen. He also caught sight of a table filled with boxed and beribboned slices of wedding cake for guests to bring home. He’d best keep an eye on Eliza when they left; she was sure to take more than her assigned slice.
“This custard is heavenly,” Eliza said as she spooned the last of her dessert.
Higgins had snagged a seat at her table, sparing further conversation with his relatives. While Taral Misra discussed politics with Higgins and Lady Winifred, Eliza answered Basanti’s numerous questions about English wedding traditions. Freddy paid little attention to anything but the food until he began entertaining Taral with the finer points of rowing.
“I do not understand why English brides carry only orange blossoms,” Basanti mused. “Your country grows many delightful flowers. In India, we adorn our wedding ceremonies with water lilies, orchids, marigolds, lotus, lady’s slipper, and jasmine.”
Eliza reached for a bonbon. “Orange blossoms represent good fortune.”
“Something this marriage will need in abundance,” Higgins muttered.
Beside him, Lady Winifred chuckled. “If you continue in this vein, Professor, I shall feel quite guilty about introducing Beatrice to her new husband.”
“You should.”
She glanced at Winterbottom holding court at the bridal table. “I heard he distinguished himself at both Eton and Cambridge and no doubt expected his career to grow with each passing year. Except the chap has abominable social skills.”
“Frankenstein’s monster was probably a warmer fellow.”
“Exactly. One must know how to make the right personal connections, and to understand when to be ingratiating or clever or pleasant when it’s called for. Winterbottom has no aptitude for that. And he’s highly disliked by fellow members in several professional societies.”
While not surprised, the information frustrated him. “I fail to understand why any of you thought Winterbottom was an acceptable husband for my niece.”
“I hate to be blunt, but Beatrice was well on her way to spinsterhood, which would have made her as bitter as Winterbottom. Perhaps marriage will make the girl less tense and guarded. Certainly Clyde’s new status as Sir Charles’s son-in-law should lessen his envy.” Lady Winifred gently elbowed Higgins. “And if there are children, it may be the best thing for them both.”
Higgins groaned at the prospect of offspring. But at that moment the bride and groom rose to their feet, distracting him.
“I believe they’re about to head to a hotel suite upstairs and change into travel attire,” she said. “The couple is driving to Broxbourne for their wedding night. I’ve been told a family member has lent them their country home.”
“My aunt and uncle,” Higgins said glumly.
“Do you know the groom has bought himself a shiny new car? I caught a glimpse of it outside, a white two-seater with black leather seats and brass trimmings. Quite expensive.”
“No doubt purchased with Beatrice’s dowry.”
“You can’t blame him for showing off. His father-in-law is an important man.”
“Are we expected to cheer when that wretch drives off into the sunset with my niece?”
“Oh, it’s far too early for sunset, although this wedding seems like it’s lasted for hours.” Lady Winifred adjusted her emerald pin which was fashioned in the shape of an elephant. “Thank goodness we can leave once they’ve had a proper send off. A pity the rain hasn’t let up.”
The Café Royal’s tall windows revealed a gloomy sky and pouring rain. “The weather seems perfect for the occasion,” Higgins grumbled.
“If this silk gets wet, my outfit will be ruined.” She looked down at her green fitted gown festooned with small bows. “I hope Luther is able to bring my car to the front entrance.”
Higgins sat up in alarm. “Did you say a man named Luther is your driver?”
Distracted by pulling on her gloves, Lady Winifred waited a moment to reply. “Yes. Luther North.”
“Why in blazes is he your chauffeur?”
She looked puzzled. “Why not? My former driver left recently. I was forced to place an advertisement to fill the position, and Luther was the first to apply. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have hired him. After all, he worked for your friend, the Duchess.”
Higgins felt his frustration grow. “Actually he worked for Ambrose Farrow.”
“Except Her Grace bought that lovely car Luther drove Mr. Farrow about in. I did ring her up before I hired the fellow. She said he might be rather sullen but had no problems with his driving. I’ve had no issues either. Then again, he’s only been in my employ three days.”
“I must find Jack.” Higgins stood.
Eliza stopped mid-sentence in her conversation with Basanti. “What’s wrong?”
“Luther North is here.”
“What!” She scrambled to her feet quicker than he had. “We must find Jack.”
“I believe I just said that.”
To the clear consternation of everyone else at the table, Higgins and Eliza left without a word of explanation. “When is the last time you saw Jack or Detective Ramsey?” she asked.
Higgins had trouble leading the way around waiters, tables, and milling guests. “I haven’t seen them since we arrived.”
“I noticed them by the kitchen door when I sat down. After that, I was too busy eating to pay attention. What the devil is Luther North doing here anyway?”
“He is now Lady Winifred’s chauffeur.”
“Are you joking?” Eliza shouted so loud, a dozen people turned in her direction. “Doesn’t she know he killed Pearl Palmer?”
“How would she know that? We haven’t spoken to her since the murder. And the police only learned yesterday that Luther’s prints matched those found on the stiletto.”
She scanned the noisy crowd. “It shouldn’t be difficult to find two policemen. Except for the waiters, they’re the only men here not decked out like trick ponies.”
“Maybe they’re outside. It’s almost time for the bride and groom to leave.”
“Oh, hang good manners.” Eliza pushed through a knot of people until she stood by one of the windows. “Jack Shaw! Jack, it’s Eliza! I need to talk to you! Jack!”
Guests threw offended looks at her. But Higgins wanted to hug Eliza in gratitude when Jack and Detective Ramsey wove their way around the guests to join them.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Jack took her arm. “Are you all right?”
Colin Ramsey stood in front of them, as if he feared an imminent attack.
“Luther North is here,” she said.
“How do you know that?” Jack asked.
Higgins repeated what Lady Winifred had told him. Both detectives looked troubled. “If he’s outside with the other cars and drivers, he won’t be hard to miss,” Jack said. “But we need a good description of Lady Winifred’s car.”
“I agree.” Ramsey frowned. “At least three dozen are lined up along Regent Street, and even more are parked around the corner.”
Higgins and Eliza led them back to their table where Freddy, Taral, Basanti, and Lady Winifred were still sitting. All four of them looked worried.
Freddy took Eliza by the hand. “What’s wrong? Why were you shouting for Jack?”
Lady Winifred bit her lip. “I hope this has nothing to do with my driver. Professor Higgins appeared rather upset that I’d hired Mr. North.”
“Please describe your car,” Jack said.
“A red Renault with brass fittings.”
“Should be easy to spot,” Ramsey said to his boss.
“Is your driver wearing a uniform, Lady Winifred?” Jack asked.
“Dark navy with silver buttons.”
Jack smoothed back his hair in a nervous gesture. “Right. Everyone stay here.”
Just then, Sir Charles tapped his punch glass with a knife to gain the guests’ attention. His wife sat beside him, looking exhausted. “Frances and I wish to thank you all for coming to our daughter’s wedding,” he said once everyone quieted down. “The happy couple are about to depart. Sadly, the weather is not cooperating, but if we gather by the Café Royal entrance, we should be able to bid them a proper farewell.”
“Now we’ll have to fight through this mob,” Jack muttered.
He and Ramsey rushed for the front entrance. Eliza and Higgins followed, but a group of excited young women at the foot of the hotel stairway blocked their way. On one of the steps stood Beatrice, who now wore a cinnamon brown walking suit and small matching toque. With a shy smile, she waved her orange blossom bouquet. This elicited a fit of giggles from the young women below, especially the bridesmaids.
“Blimey, she’s about to toss the bouquet,” Eliza said. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll never get past the ladies once they start fighting over it.”
Given her brilliance at pushing through crowds, Higgins allowed Eliza to lead the way. This time Freddy hampered her efforts by hanging onto her arm like a sea urchin. Without warning, a collective scream went up and a startled Higgins found himself rocked from side to side. All around him, young women reached for the orange blossoms headed straight for them. He nearly lost his footing in the resulting melee. When the commotion subsided, Higgins was shocked to discover he had somehow caught the bridal bouquet!
Eliza howled with laugher as a bridesmaid snatched the flowers from him with an unladylike curse. Embarrassed, he shoved Freddy towards Eliza who continued to laugh all the way to the front entrance. When they got there, Jack and Ramsey were nowhere to be found. He assumed they were outside hunting for Luther. But wedding guests now crowded about the door, chatting and making certain they had their umbrellas. Higgins could barely move.
“Let the groom through, please!”
Like the sea parting for Moses, everyone stepped to either side of the foyer as Clyde Winterbottom strode past. A gray raincoat concealed most of his suit, but he was obviously outfitted for motoring. After adjusting the goggles perched on his hat, Winterbottom tugged on a pair of kid leather driving gloves. Higgins wagered they cost at least three quid.
Higgins stepped into the groom’s path. “See here, old chap. You’ll have to wait before you depart. The police are out there looking for someone.”
Winterbottom sneered at him. “You and your Scotland Yard friends can play detective tomorrow. This is my wedding day, and I’m the only one who gives the orders.”
“Orders?” Eliza asked. “It’s a wedding, not a war.”
“Well, it’s my wedding, and I shall do as I please.”
“And you’ve married my niece, so I suggest you treat her well,” Higgins shot back.
Winterbottom moved closer, his voice menacing. “I shall treat Mrs. Winterbottom any way I wish. And if you persist on irritating me, I may treat her roughly tonight. I don’t think you want that on your conscience, Uncle Henry.”
Eliza gasped. “You’re a right bastard, you are.”
“Get out of my way, Miss Doolittle. You too, Professor.”
Furious, Higgins itched to boot him in the arse, but stepped aside.
“I must retrieve my roadster,” Winterbottom announced to the guests in the foyer. “To prevent my dear wife from getting drenched, I intend to drive it to the front entrance. But someone’s black Daimler is taking the reserved space for my vehicle. See that it’s removed by the time I return.” He nodded to the doorman, who opened the glass entrance door.
Winterbottom exited, opening his large umbrella as soon as he was outside.
“Despicable man.”
“I’m sorry, Professor.” Eliza patted his shoulder. “I hear they’re honeymooning by the sea. Maybe he’ll drown.”
“That’s rather harsh, darling,” Freddy chided.
She looked at him in disbelief. “If you were that awful, I’d drown you myself.”
The minute the doorman closed the door, Detective Ramsey flung it open again. He didn’t look happy.
“I take it you didn’t find Luther,” Higgins said with a sinking heart.
“There must be fifty motorcars and drivers out there. Jack sent me inside to call the Yard for more men.” The detective ran in the direction of the lobby.
Before Eliza and Higgins could follow him, the bride and her attendants surged into the foyer. Beatrice caught sight of Higgins. “Thank you for coming, Uncle Henry.”
“Be careful, Beatrice.” He stepped in front of her. “And if Winterbottom doesn’t treat you right, you must leave him straightaway.”
“But he has always treated me with perfect manners.” The young woman appeared weary. “You worry as much as my mother. I don’t understand why.” She looked over his shoulder. “Oh, there’s Clyde now.”
A two-seater white motorcar pulled up to the curb, and Beatrice hurried out the door. Higgins and Eliza trailed after her. They huddled beneath the Café Royal’s green canopy, the rain now coming down harder than ever.
Higgins grabbed Beatrice by the arm. “I want to warn you that your new husband may not remain so well mannered. He may have pretended to act decently while he was courting you. Now that you’re married, things may change.”
“He may change,” Eliza added.
“This has grown tiresome,” Beatrice said. “I’m about to leave on my wedding trip, and you’re both delaying me. Now let me go to my husband. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Suddenly, a deafening explosion filled the air. Pieces of metal rained down, and a thick plume of smoke billowed and steamed. Eliza and Beatrice screamed and threw their hands over their heads. Higgins was knocked to his feet. Shocked and in pain, he looked over at the curb.
The roadster – and its new owner – had been blown to bits.