The Forgotten Children

by Anita Davison

Flora waited until the waitress had set the replacement teapot on the table and left.

  Over hot, strong tea and a plate of Martell’s famous almond biscuits, Flora explained all that she had told Bunny about Sally’s visit to The Antigallican.

  ‘That certainly clarifies a few things,’ Alice said when Flora had finished. ‘I’m not surprised Lizzie didn’t tell me. The student nurses live in quarters to which we attach certain rules. One being a curfew. Had I known, it would have been cause for her dismissal.’

  ‘Have you no idea of what Lizzie was going to tell you that day?’

  Alice drummed the fingers of her right hand on the table. ‘Apart from matters connected to her patients, I don’t think – oh wait, there was something. I passed Lizzie outside the basement kitchens a day or so before she was killed. She was upset, well, more shocked actually and she didn’t respond when I spoke to her.’

  ‘What was it that had upset her?’

  ‘I asked her, but she said it was nothing. I took the stance that if she wished to tell me she would choose her own time.’ Alice sighed. ‘I wish I had insisted because she obviously changed her mind. Now it’s too late.’

  ‘I see.’ Flora released the breath she held. ‘That doesn’t tell us much, does it?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. But just before Lizzie went off to her ward, she said how odd it was that something you see every day changes with one small detail.’

  ‘Something or someone?’

  ‘I have no idea. Two patients had been booked for the same bed, which put Sister Lazarus into a muddle trying to sort it out, so I stepped in. I wish I had paid more attention to Lizzie.’

  ‘If she was referring to something at the hospital, something she had seen that she shouldn’t have, that could mean someone at the hospital wanted her dead.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Alice countered. ‘Members of the public have access to the building and grounds, not to mention tradesmen, clerical staff, and families. We have visiting doctors frequently of course, as well as the Board of Governors. Not that any of them could have been responsible.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Flora mumbled, unconvinced. ‘Did Mr Buchanan attend the inquest?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He and Dr Reid were called to give evidence. I think they were both shocked, as Mr Buchanan had been content to go along with Dr Reid’s conclusion that it was an accident.’

  ‘Is he a good doctor? Reid, I mean?’

  ‘Um-yes.’ Alice blinked as if the question confused her.’ He’s an exemplary young man, if a little overenthusiastic at times. I don’t think he misread the situation on purpose if that’s what you’re implying.’

  ‘I wasn’t implying anything,’ Flora assured her. ‘Only that we need to look at everyone involved with this affair as a whole. Is Mr Buchanan now convinced these children are genuinely missing? Or does he still dismiss your concerns?’

  ‘I’m not sure, as I haven’t discussed it with him since my last attempt. I don’t wish to upset him more than necessary.’ Alice sighed, replacing her cup slowly. ‘The Isobel Lennox disappearance has affected him badly, and now, what with a murder, having the police on the premises casts a shadow over the whole hospital.’

  Alice’s reluctance to press Buchanan was a puzzle. She did not strike Flora as a woman easily distracted from a cause that mattered to her. Or was there more to her relationship with Raymond Buchanan than she had confided? He was a widower in his fifties, and not unattractive, so perhaps it wasn’t out of the question Alice might be interested in him romantically. ‘Have the police learned anything more about the Lomax girl?’

  ‘It transpires the nursery maid has a gentleman friend. The police think he was the man who collected Isobel from the hospital.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she there?’

  ‘Because with the girl’s parents away, the police believe the nanny and her suitor were, er-otherwise occupied when Isobel left the house and became lost. It seems the child is known to have sleepwalked on occasion. When the pair discovered she wasn’t in the house the next morning, they decided to say she was taken from St Philomena’s to cover their own indiscretion. Not to mention negligence.’

  ‘Can the police prove that?’ Flora’s estimation of Inspector Maddox took a dip.

  Alice shrugged. ‘She and the young man are still being questioned at the police station. Oh, look out, Mr Martell is coming over. Serves me right for smiling at him.’

  The Frenchman paused beside their table, his head tilted and with a comedic expression that lacked subtlety. ‘I was just saying before you arrived Mees Feench, that you and Madame ’Areengton have become especial friends. As usual, you seem to have so much to talk about.’

  ‘You provide such a charming ambiance, sir, how could we not?’ Alice’s response was accompanied by a definite tightening of her jaw.

  It seemed Flora wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable in his presence.

  ‘I was saying to Madame ’Areengton before you arrived, dear lady. About the murder. What a trial that must have been for a professional lady such as yourself.’

  ‘News travels fast, Mr Martell,’ Alice exchanged an incredulous look with Flora. ‘I don’t believe it has reached the latest edition of the newspapers as yet.’ She thrust the hot water pot towards him, leaving him with no option but to take it. ‘Would you mind refilling this for us?’

  He blinked, his chin jerked back in mild shock. He glanced round quickly for a waitress, but none were in calling distance. Left with no choice but to perform the task himself, he bowed and with a murmured, ‘Certainment, Madame,’ he backed away.

  ‘That was clever,’ Flora said when he was out of earshot. ‘I always regarded his nosiness as ingratiation before. Now it seems he has ears everywhere. I dread to think what he knows about us.’

  ‘Those ladies don’t appear to mind his fawning ways,’ Alice indicated to where Mr Martell, the hot water pot still in hand, stood deep in conversation with three matrons at another table. ‘But perhaps their lives are less interesting than ours. By the way,’ Alice said, ‘do tell your charming husband how grateful I am for his influence with the local constabulary. I got nowhere, though according to them I’m an impressionable spinster with an overactive imagination.’

  ‘You are anything but that,’ Flora had to raise her voice over the clatter of crockery and a burst of feminine laughter that rose from the table where Mr Martell entertained the ladies. ‘What I don’t understand, is why these particular children are being taken, and why after they have spent time in the hospital? There must be plenty of homeless waifs these people could—’ Flora realized what she had said and brought a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. ‘Oh dear, that was callous of me. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘I know, my dear,’ Alice waved her away. ‘I too have also given that question some thought. The treatment we offer at St Philomena’s extends beyond immediate illness. The children are checked for conditions like rickets, skin diseases, eyesight problems and malnutrition. They leave us healthy, or as much as they can be, given their living conditions.’ She balanced her full cup in both hands and took a sip. ‘None of those who were taken are malformed or chronically ill. Without exception they are also good-looking convincing me they have been carefully chosen. For what, I dare not imagine.’

  Flora’s stomach knotted, her eyes fixed on the tiny spoon Alice used to stir her tea as a myriad of horrors ran through her head. How naïve she had been. Those poor mites taken from their homes with the promise of a better life only to be forced into – what? Slavery, even prostitution? The intermittent jangle of the shop bell as customers came and went jarred uncomfortably with the thoughts in her head. How could life be so cruel?

  By the time Mr Martell had despatched a waitress to their table with the hot water, their conversation had dwindling to small talk, with neither willing to broach the subject that hung between them.

  ‘Goodness,’ Alice looked up at the wall clock. ‘It’s later than I thought, I mus
t go.’ She summoned the waitress to settle their bill. ‘Mr Buchanan is expecting me.’

  ‘Are you going back to the hospital?’ Flora gathered her bag and together they made their way to the front desk where the waitress took Alice’s money and proffered her change.

  ‘No, I often assist him with paperwork in connection with his other business at his home. He had a secretary at one time, but when she left to get married, he didn’t hire another. I think he prefers to work with people he knows, so I agreed to spare him a few hours a week.’

  ‘Thus the hospital isn’t Mr Buchanan’s only interest?’ Flora tucked a sixpenny piece under the plate on the counter set aside for gratuities.

  ‘His role as a governor only occupies him briefly,’ Alice explained as they emerged onto the street. ‘His fortune was made in importing items from abroad, especially when Chinese furniture and porcelain became popular. When his wife was alive they travelled everywhere together. Since her death, he sends his agents to buy for him and has the goods sent home in his ships. I doubt he has the heart for foreign travel without Mary.’

  They took their farewells on the pavement, and on the short walk back to Eaton Place, Flora’s thoughts turned uneasily to her arrangement with Sally for that evening’s concert; an excursion she was glad she had not mentioned to Alice. How could she admit that she had set her spy team onto the man Alice thought so much of? She would face that dilemma later, and if nothing came of it, she wouldn’t have to.

  It wasn’t until she reached the path leading to her own front door that something Alice had said about Mr Buchanan scraped at her brain, though she couldn’t recall what it was.

  *

  Flora held her sapphire pendant up to her throat, her head tilted and lips pursed at her reflection in the dressing table mirror as she assessed the effect it made against her gown. Frowning, she returned the item to the velvet lined box.

  ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea having Sally watch this Buchanan chap while he’s at the concert, Flora?’ Bunny joined her in the bedroom, his skin pink from his bath while rubbing his damp hair vigorously with a towel.

  ‘I thought I had explained,’ Flora sighed. ‘She’s going to sit in the café opposite for the evening. She and Abel will look to all the world like a courting couple having supper. They won’t alert anyone’s suspicions and if Mr Buchanan is innocent, they will just have enjoyed a pleasant evening.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He lowered the towel and frowned at her reflection. ‘Why aren’t you wearing the sapphire pendant? It’s my favourite.’

  ‘It’s the wrong shade of blue.’ Flora indicated the deep turquoise silk of her dress.

  ‘I’ll bow to your superior taste.’ He discarded the towel and shrugged into a clean shirt.

  ‘Sally’s quite excited about helping with a real investigation,’ Flora added, in case Bunny thought she had forced her maid to co-operate against her better judgement. ‘Especially when I agreed that she should take Abel with her.’

  ‘I gather you’re paying for their supper?’

  ‘Of course. And the hackney fare there and back. It’s the least I could do.’

  ‘I’ll wager five shillings she takes the omnibus so she can pocket the difference.’ He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

  ‘I shan’t take that bet as I am likely to lose. Sally is nothing if not enterprising.’ A light knock came at the door, prompting Flora to hold up a finger in warning to be discreet as she went to open it.

  ‘I’m ready to go, madam.’ Sally slapped her gloved hands together. ‘Abel’s waiting for me on the steps.’ Smart and pretty in her best maroon outdoor coat buttoned to the neck, she had arranged a pert felt hat jauntily on her wild curls.

  ‘Here’s a prospectus for St Philomena’s.’ Flora handed her a pamphlet she had placed close to hand in readiness. ‘There’s a photograph of Mr Buchanan on page six. Do you think you could pick him out in a crowd from that?’

  ‘Nice-looking man.’ Sally held the page at arm’s length as she squinted at the picture, her chin tucked in as with the other hand she pocketed the five half-crowns Flora handed her with lightning speed. ‘Shouldn’t be difficult.’

  ‘Make sure you and Abel arrive well before the performance to lessen the chances of missing him. If he speaks to anyone going in or coming out, I need to know what they look like – in detail. Especially if you see Swifty again, but under no circumstances are either of you to approach him.’

  ‘Cor, this feels like a real investigation. Do I get paid extra?’

  Bunny’s amused chuckle reached her from inside the room.

  Flora threw him a backwards look, grasped Sally by the arm and eased her into the hall, pulling the door to. ‘No, but you can have whatever you like for supper. If Mr Buchanan leaves the performance early, I expect you to notice the time.’

  ‘Got it.’

  As Sally’s footsteps receded down the stairs, Flora turned to find Bunny stood with his hands propped on his hips, grinning at her.

  ‘Twelve shillings and sixpence? That’s twice what she needs. You spoil that young woman; she’ll be getting notions above her station if you aren’t careful.’

  Unwilling to get into an argument, Flora unhooked Bunny’s jacket from a hanger and held it out.

  ‘What exactly has a perfectly respectable businessman done to make you believe he’s involved with these missing children and a murder?’ Bunny eased his arms into the sleeves and swivelled round to face her.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s done anything.’ Flora smoothed the fabric over his shoulders. ‘However, when he opened that envelope with the concert ticket, he looked as if the whole world had descended on him. I know a worried man when I see one.’

  ‘Which might have nothing at all to do with what is happening at the hospital.’ Bunny eased his neck inside his upright collar. ‘Besides, if he is involved, he’s hardly likely to show his hand at a concert.’

  ‘I disagree. It’s the last place anyone would expect strange goings-on. Besides, all you have to do is enjoy Lydia and Harry’s company this evening. I’ll sort out everything else.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Bunny muttered as he retrieved his spectacles from a side table and polished the lenses with a handkerchief. The chime of the doorbell sounded from the floor below.

  ‘That will be Lydia and Harry.’ Flora plucked the spectacles from his fingers, slid them onto his nose and brushed her lips across his newly shaved cheek. ‘We’d better go down.’

  Chapter 19

  Flora and Lydia took their seats in the sitting room, replete from a supper no one had enjoyed more than Harry.

  ‘I told you he would appreciate a home-cooked meal after dining in cafés and restaurants every day,’ Lydia whispered when he had delivered yet another effusive compliment. She wore a shade of chartreuse that complemented her fair hair and delicate features. A single drop pearl hung from a gold chain round her throat, her eyes sparkling with happiness rivalling the diamond on her left hand.

  ‘What were you saying about postponing the wedding, Lydia?’ Bunny dismissed Stokes in order to preside over the brandy decanter and coffee tray himself.

  ‘Indeed, it’s a shame when you were set on a festive ceremony,’ Flora added.

  ‘That’s what I say.’ Harry lounged against a chair, his forearms draped over the high back. ‘I’ve made it quite clear I don’t care a fig for my parents’ disapproval.’

  ‘Is that what this is all about?’ Flora asked, angry that the Flynns regarded intelligent, sweet-natured Lydia a poor candidate as a wife for their son.

  ‘They were so set on me marrying Evangeline,’ Harry said. ‘It rather threw them when she died.’

  ‘She was murdered, Harry. By her half-brother.’ Lydia accepted the cut-glass balloon Bunny held out. ‘Your mother was very fond of Evangeline.’ That she felt less than affection for Lydia was implied. ‘It must have been a shock for her to know her plans for you had been shattered.’

  ‘More like
horror that I wouldn’t have access to her fortune.’ Harry straightened in order to take a glass from Bunny, from which a rich spirit smell emanated. ‘I’ve told them countless times I only went along with their plans to appease them.’ He took a mouthful of brandy, giving a slight shudder.

  ‘Is the spirit not to your liking?’ Bunny asked, his forehead creased in a frown.

  ‘Not at all. It’s excellent.’ Harry lifted the glass so it caught the light, the transparent gold liquid glowing through the crystal facets. ‘Perhaps I should have sipped it.’

  ‘That would be my advice. It’s a rather fine Otard XO, matured in the lower vaults of Chateau Otard on the banks of the River Charente. The cellars provide a constant temperature and humidity perfect for the ageing of eaux-de-vie.’ He smiled broadly at the row of astonished faces turned towards him.

  ‘Eu de vie? Isn’t that what the Scots call whisky?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Funny you should say that.’ Bunny took his seat in his favourite leather studded chair, one ankle crossed over the other. ‘The family originated from eleventh century Vikings and settled in Scotland, later becoming Jacobites. They followed James II into exile after the Glorious Revolution of 1688.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so knowledgeable, Bunny.’ Lydia’s eyes shone in admiration.

  ‘Not really. I spent a very boring holiday in Cognac when I was fourteen with an aunt who dragged me on a tour of the chateaux. Surprising how certain things sink in.’

  ‘Don’t spoil it.’ Flora pouted. ‘I prefer to think I married a man of the world.’

  ‘Then you might be interested in the only other fact I remember.’ Bunny ignored Flora’s eyebrow dance indicating that he was about to risk boring their guests. ‘Baron Otard was condemned to death in the French Revolution, but the night before his execution, the villagers of Cognac broke into his prison and freed him.’

  ‘That’s fascinating.’ Flora held his gaze in challenge. ‘However, we were discussing the postponement of Lydia and Harry’s wedding.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry. Didn’t mean to be a bore.’ Bunny visibly shrank in his chair.