The Body in Bloomsbury

by Bianca Blythe

  Bess worked here. She must adore her position.

  The building was beautiful.

  Cora couldn’t imagine a nicer place to be.

  Perhaps she should visit. She didn’t want to speak with Bess in private, but what setting was more public than this? Women flitted from counter to counter, trying on gloves and scarves.

  Surely, Bess wouldn’t mind. And if she was busy, it wouldn’t matter. There was plenty for Cora to occupy herself with anyway. This might be a store, but it was practically a tourist destination of its own.

  Cora strolled through the doors, following a well-dressed group of chattering middle-aged women. Even the famous English reserve seemed to be no match for this department store. Everything was exquisite, and Cora found herself wanting to remark to others about a particularly fabulous emerald green purse and an equally charming lace trimmed pink cloche.

  She’d never considered herself to have a particular interest in fashion, but she suddenly understood why other women opined about it.

  This was a haven from London’s dull gray sky, endless battering of rain and wind, and abundance of sour-faced commuters, all intimidated by the throngs of people between them and the tube station.

  Cora strolled by the counters. Even makeup was sold in glossy packages that made them resemble actual artwork.

  Now. Where was Bess?

  Cora wove through the counters. Women chatted with sales ladies, and Cora inhaled the various perfumes, not minding in the least that their scents clashed.

  “May I help you with something?” A middle-aged woman in a dark woolen dress stopped her. Large pearls hung from her ears, and if Cora had not seen her nametag, she may have assumed she was another wealthy woman out shopping.

  Perhaps this woman was a manager. Though her features were stern, giving the appearance of a headmistress in the midst of a particularly rebuking speech to her student body, her face was also exquisitely powdered and contoured as if to display the finery of Harrods makeup counters. She wore a delightful rose scent at odds with her strict demeanor that conjured images of frolicking through floral gardens. It was sweet, feminine, and perhaps a perfume the department store was encouraging people to buy.

  “You’ve been wandering our aisles quite methodically,” the woman observed. “Perhaps I can help direct you. Or are you just browsing?” The woman steeled her eyes. “I would suggest a new hat.”

  Cora flushed and raised a hand to her felt hat.

  “The cut’s not exactly unfashionable,” the woman said, “but I would suggest something brighter. Something cheerful. Something like that pink cloche hat.”

  “Oh. It is beautiful.”

  “Naturally it is. It’s at Harrods. Everything here is perfect. We have very strict quality controls.”

  The woman assessed her, and Cora stiffened. The woman seemed satisfied, and she snapped her fingers, and soon a staff member came running toward her. “Martha, please fetch that so this young lady may try it on.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Abraham.” The woman gave a slight curtsy and then scurried off. Soon she returned with the hat.

  Though Cora had been pleased with the shape of the cloche and intrigued by its vibrant color when she’d first spotted it, she only truly appreciated its high quality and detailing when it was held before her.

  “How lovely,” she murmured, running her finger over the cloche’s rolled brim.

  “Put it on,” Mrs. Abraham said sternly.

  Cora did so obediently.

  “Perfection,” Mrs. Abraham enthused. “Absolute perfection.”

  “Yes,” Martha echoed. “Absolute perfection.”

  Mrs. Abraham gave a stern look to Martha, who flushed and scampered away, presumably to assist someone else, and perhaps also so Cora wouldn’t be tempted to try on other hats that would make her grapple over color and cut and trip options that might prove too difficult and hinder her from completing her purchase.

  “I actually wasn’t planning on buying anything here,” Cora confessed.

  “Ah, but now you’ve been enticed,” the woman said.

  “Yes,” Cora said. “But perhaps you can help me on the other matter. You see, I came to visit one of my friends. She works at one of the counters, but I’m not sure which one.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth Smith,” Cora said, remembering the name on the mailbox. “But she goes by Bess.”

  The woman gave her a hard stare.

  “Er—but of course, there are so many people here. Why would you know her?” Cora gave a small laugh. It sounded awkward, even to her, and heat prickled the back of her neck.

  “I know all my girls,” Mrs. Abraham said sternly.

  “Naturally,” Cora said quickly.

  Though the woman had seemed strict before, her demeanor had shifted. Perhaps Mrs. Abraham merely believed Cora would purchase the cloche and that the efforts of politeness could be discarded. But Cora sensed something else was troubling her. Something which caused her to risk the advancement of future wrinkles and scowl.

  Cora shifted her legs. She felt suddenly very American, unfamiliar with British nuances, and unsure how she’d managed to so deeply offend.

  “I imagine she’s busy with her customers,” Cora said. “Sorry.”

  “Bess is not busy with customers,” Mrs. Abraham said. “Bess does not work here anymore.”

  Cora blinked. “Truly?”

  Bess hadn’t mentioned a new job.

  “It was a sudden change.”

  “I see,” Cora nodded, as if she truly did understand.

  “Shall I ring up your order?” Martha appeared with the hat.

  “I suppose,” Cora said, and Mrs. Abraham gave a curt nod before sailing away, presumably to assist another customer or ensure another employee felt intimidated.

  Cora removed her purse. Part of her was irritated with Mrs. Abraham’s sudden descent into unfriendliness. Mrs. Abraham had made her feel small and insignificant and curiously like a criminal.

  Was that how she’d treated Bess? Had Bess quit?

  Cora felt a sudden wave of sympathy for her.

  Mrs. Abraham must have been horrid to compel Bess to leave.

  Unless...

  Cora frowned. “Martha, do you remember a Bess who used to work here? Miss Elizabeth Smith?”

  Martha’s fingers quivered. “Why?”

  “Mrs. Abraham behaved most curiously when I mentioned I was looking for her.”

  “Is she a friend of yours?” Martha asked, her voice strangely wary.

  “A neighbor,” Cora said.

  “Oh, it’s none of my business,” Martha said. She’d evidently decided to send Cora on her way and opened a bag with an unnecessary force, as if she were attempting to drown out the sound of the rest of the story from the manner in which the bag rustled.

  Normally, Cora would have left it like that.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances. Somebody had been murdered, quite recently.

  “It was something bad,” Cora said. “Wasn’t it?”

  Martha shifted her gaze. She had a strange desperation about her, as if she were searching for a colleague to handle the rest of the payment process.

  “Look.” Martha leaned toward her. “I can’t speak about what happened. Mrs. Abraham would think it improper.”

  “Mrs. Abraham isn’t here,” Cora countered.

  “Right.” Martha’s shoulders didn’t seem to relax, but at least they didn’t climb higher, and her breath evened. “Bess was removed from her position.”

  Cora blinked. “Fired?”

  “Not so loud,” Martha said, but then nodded. “Yes. She was caught stealing.”

  “I see.”

  “So you can’t go around asking people about her. It just antagonizes Mrs. Abraham.”

  Cora nodded. “What did she steal?”

  “A watch.” Martha shrugged. “A nice watch. They found it in her handbag.”

  Cora nodded. “I see.”

>   “The worst thing was it wasn’t one of our watches. It belonged to a customer. Maybe the clasp fell off when she was at the counter, or maybe Bess took it off surreptitiously herself. Bess worked at the glove counter,” Martha explained. “But it’s the sort of thing that would damage the store.” Martha sighed. “It might be tricky for anything to ruin the store.”

  “The store is nice,” Cora said, still appreciative.

  “But having employees steal from the customers they served...that might cause a dip in sales. And those are never desired. If it had been a watch from the store, they would have just called the police and hauled her off to the station. But stealing from a customer?” Martha shuddered.

  “Quite.” Cora handed Martha the money, and Martha counted it and then handed her back some change.

  Martha’s face became suddenly bland. “Have a nice rest of your afternoon.”

  Cora didn’t have to extend her head very far to see Mrs. Abraham observing them. She gave a tight smile to Martha who looked relieved when she realized Cora was not going to say anything more to her.

  Cora marched from the store, feeling rather less welcome than when she arrived.

  Never mind.

  She hadn’t planned to spend time shopping, and even if she had, it hardly mattered what one grouchy employee thought.

  Her mind turned to Bess.

  Bess was a thief?

  Perhaps the watch had accidentally fallen into her handbag. Certainly, accidents happened, but unfortunately, that sort of an accident was unlikely to be believed.

  Had Bess truly needed money? Cora frowned.

  Is this connected to the missing jewels?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Naturally, the missing jewels and Bess’s predisposition toward theft must be connected.

  It was Bess.

  She’d stolen the jewels and she’d murdered Mr. Tehrani. It all made sense.

  Perhaps Bess had met Mr. Tehrani at a club or even at her department store. They would have found each other attractive. Perhaps Mr. Tehrani had shown himself to be no knight in shining armor, or perhaps he’d known she’d stolen the prized possession for which he was responsible. Miss Greensbody had gushed about the treasures to Cora after she’d barely known her, and Cora would find it difficult to imagine she had not mentioned it to the other people in the apartment.

  No wonder Bess had hid her recognition of Mr. Tehrani.

  Cora marched back to Veronica’s hotel, hardly lessening her speed as she crossed the sumptuous lobby. Never mind the gold and crystal chandeliers and never mind the eighteenth century furniture that signified that this hotel was every bit a palace. Cora had no time to marvel at their beauty.

  She soon knocked on Veronica’s door, grateful when her friend answered.

  “Cora?” Veronica asked. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten another note.”

  “I haven’t,” Cora said. “But I know who the murderer is.”

  “Then call the police,” she said.

  Right.

  That was what she was supposed to do.

  But what evidence did she have? A photograph that had been in the dead man’s blazer? The fact Bess had been terminated from her position for theft?

  Cora sat down. “I suppose I don’t really know.”

  “You have a hunch,” Veronica said, with a slight note of disapproval in her voice.

  “Bess stole a watch at work,” Cora said.

  “And you think that means she may have taken the jewels,” Veronica said.

  “It sounds silly,” Cora said.

  “Of course not,” Veronica said quickly, thought she didn’t offer any other words of support.

  “I should search her apartment,” Cora said. “If I find the jewels, I’ll know for certain. Bess is gone for the weekend anyway.”

  “We’ll go there together,” Veronica promised. “I’ll even bring a cake. Consider it a housewarming present. Less durable than a plant, but still able to bring pleasure. I got it at a party last night.”

  They strode to the lobby, and Veronica arranged for a driver. Soon they arrived back in Bloomsbury.

  The building didn’t seem foreboding, but Cora’s heart still pitter-pattered as they climbed the stairs to her room. She could hear murmurings in Lionel’s and Rollo’s flat.

  “We can come back later,” Veronica whispered.

  “Nonsense.” Cora didn’t want to extend this process. She still didn’t know where her father was. This needed to be resolved.

  “We’re still alive,” Veronica said, as they entered the flat. “Brilliant.”

  “You mustn’t speak like that,” Cora whispered.

  “I would suggest tea, but this place gives me the creeps,” Veronica said.

  “Nonsense,” Cora said. “Though Archibald will like the walk. Wouldn’t you, Archibald?”

  Archibald wagged his tail and ran in a circle.

  “I wish I were as eager for exercise,” Veronica murmured and disappeared down the steps with Archibald.

  Cora approached Bess’s door. Her heart hammered, and she tore a trusty hairpin from her bun.

  She told herself that Bess wouldn’t be here.

  The boys were below, but that didn’t matter. She could be quiet. She’d mastered the art of tiptoeing long ago.

  She knocked on the door, just in case Bess was there, hairpin in hand.

  The door opened.

  Cora blinked.

  The door wasn’t supposed to open. Bess was supposed to be in the Cotswolds, visiting her family, this weekend.

  And yet her presence was unmistakable.

  “Hello.” Cora forced a smile to her face.

  “What are you doing here?” Bess’s eyes narrowed.

  Golly.

  “I thought you were going to be in Cotswolds,” Cora said.

  “Then why are you knocking on my door?” Bess frowned. “You’ve been acting quite strangely.”

  “I mean, I hoped you weren’t gone yet,” Cora rushed to say, clasping her hairpin more tightly in the palm of her hand.

  “Why?”

  “I—I” Cora swallowed hard. The action seemed to be more difficult due to the rapid beating of her heart. “I have a cake in my room. I thought we could have tea.”

  “Tea?” Bess still looked suspicious, but then her shoulders relaxed. “I like tea.”

  Cora beamed. Every Englishperson liked tea.

  “I wanted to invite Lionel and Rollo too,” Cora said hastily. Bess was not much taller than her, but she still didn’t think it would be a good idea to be alone with her. She’d learned her lesson from past experiences. She wasn’t going to confront a murderer alone.

  “Even better!” Bess said.

  Rollo and Lionel were similarly enthusiastic about the hasty cake and tea party, and Cora decided to invite Miss Greensbody as well.

  She knocked on Miss Greensbody’s door. Miss Greensbody answered and removed her ruffled white apron before joining.

  Something about the apron seemed familiar. No doubt, she’d met seen someone else wearing a similar one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lionel, Rollo, Miss Greensbody and Bess sat around Cora’s table, chatting amiably.

  It was the sight she’d dreamed about, before she’d moved into the apartment. She’d yearned to have friends who were not part of Hollywood. She’d desired to meet normal people and to experience life as it should be, and not be consumed with representing life to others.

  And now she was going to accuse somebody of murder.

  Cora set teacups on a tray along with a pot of tea and the cake.

  “I do think it admirable that you, as an American, are serving tea,” Miss Greensbody said. “Though personally, I have always found scones and crumpets a more appropriate accompaniment than cake.”

  “I think it’s delicious,” Rollo said gallantly.

  “Thank you. I didn’t make it though.”

  “Are these cherries?” Miss Greensbody poked at the ca
ke with her fork. “It’s decadent.”

  “They didn’t eat cake in ancient Persia?” Lionel asked with a smirk.

  “They didn’t even have sugar,” Miss Greensbody said. “Well. The Emperor Darius of Persia discovered it when he invaded India, but people didn’t cook with sugar until quite some time after. The history of sweets is fascinating.”

  Lionel’s face whitened slightly, as if he was not quite as fascinated. “Er—Cora, which of us do you think murdered Mr. Tehrani now?”

  Cora coughed. “Pardon?”

  “Isn’t this what this is? It’s all very Hercule Poirotish.”

  “What? N-nonsense,” Cora stammered. She wasn’t going to mention the only reason they were all together was because she’d intended to break into Bess’s apartment to search for ancient jewels and had needed a quick excuse.

  “The cake is delicious,” Rollo said.

  “G-good.”

  The clinking of forks against the porcelain plates filled the air, and Cora wished she had a gramophone.

  “So when are you going to Cotswolds?” Rollo asked Bess.

  “Oh, I’m not going there after all,” Bess said coolly.

  Rollo beamed. “That’s splendid. You’re staying in London?”

  “London is not quite as unaffordable as I thought.” She smiled mysteriously, and Cora stiffened.

  Bess was referring to the jewels. She must be.

  “How curious. You’ve never shown a passion for economizing before,” Miss Greensbody mused.

  “But I think I’ll go elsewhere,” Bess said. “I feel an urge to travel.”

  “That is definitely not the economical option,” Miss Greensbody said sternly.

  Bess continued to smile benignly, obviously unbothered by her neighbor’s comment, and obviously dreaming of the future.

  “Will you come back soon?” Rollo’s voice sounded gravelly, and Cora felt a rush of sympathy for him. The man was so clearly besotted.

  “Australia is far away,” Bess said.

  “Australia?” Cora sputtered.

  Bess had murdered somebody. She’d stolen jewels. She shouldn’t be going to Australia. Perhaps Australia had once belonged to Britain, but it had been independent since the turn of the century. The British police were unlikely to go after her there, and would Australia extradite her?