Wouldn't It Be Deadly (3 page)

A loud banging erupted downstairs.

Mrs. Finch looked up in obvious alarm. Someone seemed to be battering down the door. Eliza frowned. This was turning into a day of oddities. What next?

The banging ceased.

“Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.” Eliza shot a reassuring smile at her student. She tapped the tuning fork. “Shall we try again?”

Mrs. Finch cleared her throat and launched into her recitation. Eliza nodded with satisfaction when she finished. “Much better. You see, it only takes a bit of concentration to—”

“Eliza! Where are you, you ungrateful baggage?”

“Oh, no!” Eliza dropped the tuning fork in shock and ran behind the corner chair.

“Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Finch looked wide-eyed with fear. “Whatever is the matter?”

Before she could answer—or suggest a good hiding place—Henry Higgins barged into the room. With his beet-red face and eyebrows twitching, he appeared ready to hurl a deadly thunderbolt or two at her.

“Go away.” Eliza clutched the chair for support. “I am engaged with a pupil.”

“A pupil?” Higgins pointed his dripping umbrella at Mrs. Finch, who sat with her mouth agape. “Do you mean this benighted fool has come to
you
for assistance in how to speak proper English?”

Eliza's fear vanished at that familiar mocking voice. “Who better to go to?”

He shook his umbrella again at Mrs. Finch. “You there. Say something.”

Mary Finch looked over at Eliza for support. “I … I don't know what everyone is shouting about, but I have an appointment with my jeweler and really must run.”

Higgins turned back to Eliza with a smirk. “She is lately come from Leeds in Yorkshire. Dreadful slurring of the ‘r's. But she was raised in Sedbergh, hence the west Cumbrian inflections. In fact, I would guess the northern part of the village.”

“However did you know that?” Mrs. Finch sounded impressed despite her obvious fear.

“He's showing off,” Eliza said. “It's a favorite parlor game of his. I don't know why he simply doesn't buy a dog and train it to do tricks for his amusement.”

“I did have a monkey quite recently who was very good at fetching slippers and mimicking her betters. She was more amusing than a dozen trained dogs.” He glared at her. “But far less loyal.”

“Monkey, was I? More like your best pupil. A pupil so talented the mere idea she decided to give lessons threatens you.”

“Don't flatter yourself. I don't care if you teach the entire East End to hold on to their aitches. What I do resent is you giving that hairy Hungarian access to my hard-won methods!”

“Maestro has no interest in your methods.”

“By Jupiter, Eliza. You're calling that buffoon ‘Maestro'?”

“It's what you called him that night I won your bet at the Embassy Ball,” she shot back. “And he hasn't asked me a single question about your phonetics techniques. Why should he? From what I can see, the Maestro charges twice your fee and has three times the number of pupils. Maybe you should be asking me about
his
methods.”

“You imp of the devil! I should have instructed Mrs. Pearce to drown you in the bathtub the day you came begging at my doorstep. Judas Iscariot had more loyalty!”

“The gentlemen downstairs are beginning to complain about the noise,” Pickering said as he entered the room.

“Hang them all,” Higgins said. “And they're not gentlemen. They're solicitors.”

Eliza hurried over to embrace the Colonel. “You are the only gentleman here. How lovely to see you again.”

“And you too, Eliza.” Pickering beamed at her with approval. “I've been thinking about you for weeks now, hoping you were well. And here you are, looking so pretty and proper. By the way, I bought the loveliest lace shawl for you in Seville.”

“Please sit down, Colonel.” She gestured to her student. “Colonel Pickering, this is Mrs. Finch. Mrs. Finch, I would like you to meet the esteemed Colonel Pickering, a renowned expert in Indian dialects.”

“What about my introduction?” Higgins said with a growl.

“That's Henry Higgins.” Eliza didn't even glance in his direction.

“Very pleased to meet you both,” Mary Finch murmured as she hurried to pull on her gloves.

Eliza sat opposite Pickering at the lesson table. “Tell me all about Spain. How many Basque dialects did you record? What was the food like? And what about the weather? Did it rain much?”

“Bloody hell!” Higgins's curse elicited a gasp from Mrs. Finch. “Who gives a damn about the rain in Spain?”

“I do,” Eliza said. “What would you rather talk about? Your wounded pride, your insufferable vanity?”

“Why don't we talk about your treachery? And the unethical tactics of that lying unskilled ape Nepommuck!”

“Why am I being called a liar and unskilled?” Emil Nepommuck stood in the open doorway to Eliza's classroom.

Since his phonetics laboratory and living quarters were directly across the hall, she was amazed he hadn't appeared when Higgins arrived. Indeed, if the Professor wanted proof of the Maestro's success, he need only peek into his rival's apartment, with its ornate furnishings and Persian carpets. She doubted the Duke of Edinburgh lived as lavishly as Nepommuck.

Higgins was unfazed. “Eavesdropping is a perilous occupation, dear boy. You may want to stop doing it if you don't want to hear insulting things about yourself.”

“Eavesdropping? I could hear all this noise from the roof.” He smoothed down his mustache. “And, Miss Doolittle, haven't we had enough excitement for one day? I thought you were a lady.”

“No, you didn't, you deceitful oaf.” Higgins banged his umbrella on the floor. “You knew she was a Cockney flower girl when you hired her. Or did you think I'd never read that blasted piece of fiction in the newspaper? I should pummel you over the head for those lies you had printed!”

Nepommuck flushed. “I have no time for this bullying nonsense. And I would rather you not come here to frighten Miss Doolittle and Mrs. Finch.”

Mary Finch scurried to his side. “Thank you, Maestro. I feel so much better now that you are here.”

He patted the woman's hand. “Look how you have upset the gentle Mrs. Finch. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Professor.”

“Oh, I don't give a tinker's dam about Mrs. Finch,” Higgins said. “Why doesn't she leave if I make her so nervous?”

“Henry, really,” Pickering said.

“It's true, I must be going.” But instead of leaving, Mrs. Finch pressed closer to Nepommuck, who bent down to kiss her hand.

“No, my dear. I am sure Miss Doolittle wishes to finish your lesson.”

“I certainly do,” Eliza said. “As soon as we get rid of Professor Higgins. Unless he's not done threatening everyone in the room.”

“The only person I mean to threaten is you.” Higgins walked over to Nepommuck, clearly pleased that he towered over the younger man by at least six inches. Mrs. Finch took a step back. “Or need I remind you that I taught you literally everything you know?”

“I hardly think you taught me thirty-two languages, Professor. You taught me a little phonetics, yes, but the ear and the linguistic skills? Ah, they are of my own making.”

“Nonsense. You made a career for yourself by posing as my apprentice. Every country you set foot in, you trumpet my name before you. Being my student has been your entrée to all the drawing rooms in Europe. Now you have the brass to steal away Eliza, the recent beneficiary of my latest phonetics methods.”

“Steal? Miss Doolittle came to
me
after I made her acquaintance at the Embassy Ball. She asked for a job as my assistant, and I hired her.”

“That's true,” Eliza said. “I did.”

“And why should I not hire such a clever girl, a girl so clever she fooled even the great Hairy Faced Maestro, as I am known on the Continent.”

“She fooled you only because I taught her!”

“Congratulations, Professor.” He clicked his heels together. “I salute you. But she has chosen to work with Emil Nepommuck, not Professor Higgins. And why should I not let the world know that my assistant is the celebrated flower girl who passed as a duchess? It is a genius advertisement for my business. Thank you for allowing our paths to cross.”

“Do you expect me to believe that you have no intention of stealing my techniques and passing them off as your own?” Higgins's expression grew even more suspicious.

“Miss Doolittle, have I ever asked about this man's methods?”

“Never.”

Nepommuck looked immensely satisfied with himself. “Ah, then. You see? Quarrel settled. I do not wish to even hear of your latest techniques, when I, Nepommuck, have developed excellent ones of my own.”

Eliza noticed that a blood vessel pulsed in Higgins's temple, a sure sign his temper was growing worse. The Professor pointed his umbrella at her this time.

“So what does Miss Doolittle use to teach? What is recorded on those wax cylinders I spy scattered about the room, the phonograph records, the notebooks in her crooked handwriting? Are they your techniques?”

“Of course not. They are her techniques.”

“She has no techniques except for the ones I gave her! Those are the only ones she knows.”

“Stop.” Eliza banged on the table. “I have every right to use what I learned and pass it on to those who want to improve themselves. I do have to make a living, after all. Unless you expect me to trot back to Covent Garden with a basket of violets dangling from my arm.”

“Hang that. Pickering told you dozens of times he'd set you up in a flower shop.”

“I will, Eliza,” the Colonel said.

Eliza reached across the table and squeezed Pickering's hand. “Thank you, Colonel, but I've only been teaching for a few weeks. And while I find it satisfying work, I don't know what I shall do in the future. You've both controlled so much of my life this past year, I need time to breathe on my own for a while.”

“Just so, Eliza. You are an intelligent young lady and need no further instruction from us.” He rewarded her with a gentle smile.

For the hundredth time, she wished she had been born Colonel Pickering's daughter.

Higgins turned his attention back to the Hungarian. “At least have the decency to admit you've stolen my students. I lost three just this morning.”

“If they become aware of a better teacher, why should they not come to me?” Nepommuck straightened one of the dubious decorations he loved to pin on his suit coat. “You cannot blame me for that.”

“We're back to the root of the matter,” Higgins said. “They want to be taught by the man who trained the flower girl to speak like a duchess. And that is me, not you. However, you boast in the advertisement that Eliza is
your
handiwork, you miserable mound of pomaded hair!”

Eliza agreed with Higgins. “I asked him to change the advertisement. He promised to do so.”

Nepommuck now appeared uncomfortable. “I spoke to the paper on this matter. Blame them if they have been delinquent on moving forward.”

“Lying mountebank,” Higgins said. “You are nothing more than a linguistic charlatan, a predatory fraud who blackmails his clients.”

“How dare you accuse me of blackmail,” Nepommuck sputtered.

“But you yourself boasted to me at the Embassy Ball of how you made your clients pay, and not merely for phonetics lessons. So don't take me for one of these idiots who come to you with their awful grammar and sad secrets.” Higgins nodded at Eliza. “And now you're exploiting gullible young women for gain as well.”

“I am not gullible,” Eliza said.

“Then you're stupid, which is worse. As for you, Nepommuck, I am off to see my solicitor. Your fraudulent claim affects my business, and I intend to bring a case against you.”

“I see no reason to involve lawyers.” Nepommuck nervously stroked his mustache. “Let us settle this like gentlemen.”

“We are one gentleman short, I'm afraid.”

He grabbed Higgins's arm. “But you will ruin my reputation!”

“Take your hands off me. I'd like nothing more than to throttle you right here and now. It's a wonder some desperate student of yours hasn't already plunged a dagger in your back. I'm tempted to do so myself.”

“Get away from the Maestro, you dreadful man!” Mrs. Finch flung her arms around Nepommuck. “I won't allow you to harm him.”

Higgins threw both of them a look of disgust. “Pick, it's time to be on our way. This is turning into a scene out of a penny dreadful.”

“I agree.” Pickering walked over to Eliza and gave her a quick hug. “But I expect to see you soon, my dear.”

“You will,” she whispered to him.

Higgins tipped his hat at Eliza. “You only have time enough for two or three more lessons before I bring an end to this sorry enterprise and the hairy-faced dog who runs it. Enjoy what's left of your brief career as a phonetics teacher.”

“Scoundrel,” Nepommuck muttered as Higgins and Pickering walked past.

Once they were gone, Eliza breathed easier. But like a summer storm, the Professor's visit left fallen debris behind. A trembling Mrs. Finch clutched at Nepommuck even tighter.

“I told you Professor Higgins would be angry,” Eliza said. “The advertisement is a fraud.”

“So you take his side, Miss Doolittle.” Nepommuck glared at her. “After all I have done for you.”

“Done for me?” Blast the man. In fact, blast all men, save Colonel Pickering. “What have you done for me except lie to all of London about how you magically turned a Cockney flower girl into a lady? I'm the one who has brought in over a dozen new students. You should be grateful to me.”

“How can you speak to the Maestro like that?” Mary Finch looked stricken. “He deserves an apology, Miss Doolittle.”