‘Thank you, I won’t. I’m grateful our butler got everyone out of the house straight away,’ Flora replied. ‘And thank you for arriving so promptly.’ Despite what Beatrice said.
‘Glad to be of service.’ He retrieved a sturdy axe from the ground and tucked it into a thick leather belt at his waist, nodding toward the lower floor. ‘It could have been worse though, what with all that oil.’
‘Bad enough,’ Flora murmured, staring with dismay at the untidy pile of kitchen furniture that had been thrown to one side of the steps. Stools, wooden shelves, rugs and pots and pans sat in a broken, scorched heap. Flattened hosepipes lay criss-crossed over the gravel between the truck and the house, still dripping pools of water over the basement area, forming puddles on the gravel.
‘At least we didn’t need the ladder for this one,’ the fireman went on. ‘The flames were confined to the lower floor.’ At Flora’s enquiring frown, he continued, ‘There’s an escape ladder beside a sentry-type box at the end of the road. Sometimes we have to wheel it to the fire to help victims escape.’
‘Ah yes, I see.’ Flora nodded, recalling the contraption she passed most days without noticing. ‘I don’t have much experience of house fires, I’m afraid.’ She hefted the basket in both hands, then recalled something he had said and turned back. ‘What was that you said about oil?’
‘A roll of old carpet in the cellar was soaked with it.’ He lifted his helmet and wiped his forehead with a rag as he spoke. ‘Burned straight through and spread to the stairs and up into the kitchens. Despite you being so close to the river here, the steps and floorboards were bone dry, so it caught fast. Another few minutes and it would have reached the main rooms.’
‘I see. I believe the servants keep oil down there to light the lamps with.’ She hefted the basket into her arms. ‘I’m glad you managed to put it out in time.’
‘I suggest you make sure your servants take more care with that stuff in future, Miss. Should be kept in sealed containers as it can be lethal.’
‘I will do that, thank you.’ Flora nodded absently and glanced round to where Mary hovered beside the open front gate, talking animatedly to an entranced audience of curious passers-by, her story embellished no doubt with dramatic details.
When she saw Flora, she flushed, ducked her head and hurried towards her.
‘I was halfway to the fire house when the engine came past me with Jimmy on board.’ Mary swiped a grubby sleeve beneath her nose. ‘He must have run all the way. I came back here and then the neighbours—’
‘Thank you, Mary. You did the right thing.’ Flora cut off her excited chatter, though she didn’t blame her for making the most of a rare drama in her life. ‘Would you find somewhere to put these, please, Mary?’ She handed her the basket. ‘Though I doubt there will be any cooking done in the kitchen tonight. By the way, where’s Jimmy now? I hope he didn’t try to go back inside?’
‘No, Missus. He’s been out here the whole time feeding Mrs Barrett’s carrots to the horses.’
*
By the time Bunny returned home that evening, the house was almost in normal order again, apart from a destroyed lower level, the pile of broken kitchen furniture and crockery on the drive.
‘I had quite a shock when I turned the corner, I can tell you.’ Bunny came through the front door and gathered Flora into his arms, rubbing her back with one hand. ‘Are you all right? Is Mother?’
‘No one was hurt, at least not badly.’ Flora wrapped her arm round his waist and together they walked through a hall that stank of smoke, with black stains on the walls and a ruined carpet.
At the sight of Beatrice on a chaise in the sitting room, a limp hand raised to him like royalty accepting homage, Bunny released Flora and went to her side.
‘I’ll have you know, I’ve experienced a dreadful ordeal today.’ Beatrice adjusted the rug over her knees despite the heat, dislodging her copy of London News Illustrated, which fluttered to the carpet. ‘I could have been a charred corpse on the floor for all anyone cared.’
‘Judging by that mess outside, it’s a miracle everyone was unharmed,’ Bunny said. ‘And thank goodness the flames hadn’t reached the mews.’
‘I might have known your uppermost concern would be for that filthy contraption.’ Beatrice sniffed.
‘Bunny’s concern was most likely for the carriage horses, Mother, not his motor car.’ Flora retrieved the magazine and replaced it on a side table before returning to the sofa.
Bunny dropped a swift kiss on his mother’s forehead on his way to the sideboard. He poured a generous glass of sherry and handed it to her, rolling his eyes at Flora over her head.
‘Ptolemy, is that grease on your fingers?’ Beatrice wrinkled her nose as she took the glass from him. ‘When will you realize that motorcycles are hardly a proper mode of employment for a gentleman? Why don’t you stick to practising the law? Such a waste of your qualifications.’
Bunny inhaled, as if about to say something, then let it go again in a sigh.
Flora shot him a sympathetic smile as she took the glass he handed her, aware neither of them wanted to open up that particular debate again. Nor the one about Beatrice’s insistence she call him by his given name.
Bunny loved nothing more than spending his time tinkering with engines, his beloved Panhard-Levassor Landaulet motor car tucked up under canvas in the mews attested to that. Had the automotive manufacturing industry been more lucrative, Beatrice wouldn’t have been quite so scathing. The only reason he had turned to building motorcycles was because they sold where motor cars did not. Not that his mother made the distinction. In her world anything which required physical labour left her despairing in comparison with a genteel profession like the law.
‘I hear Crabtree did a sterling job getting everyone out of the house.’ Bunny said, indicating he too wished to change the conversation. He joined Flora on the sofa, one arm laid across the back in line with her shoulders.
‘He suffered a badly blistered arm for his heroism, which he tried to shrug off, but I sent for the doctor,’ Flora said. ‘The rest of the staff are unharmed apart from a few bruises when they scrambled for the doors.’
‘You were all most fortunate. Don’t you agree, Mother?’
‘I suppose so.’ Beatrice took a large gulp from her glass she held in one hand then sniffed theatrically into a handkerchief in the other. ‘If you believe Flora’s version of events, who, incidentally, was gallivanting in town when it happened.’
‘I would have been here,’ Flora insisted. ‘I normally am at that time, but this afternoon I went out to fetch the groceries that weren’t delivered this morning.’ She instantly regretted the apology in her voice, but somehow Beatrice always made her feel the need to justify herself.
‘Does anyone know how it happened?’ Ignoring his mother, Bunny addressed the question to Flora.
‘According to the fireman, one of the servants must have spilled lamp oil onto an old piece of carpet in the cellar. Somehow it caught alight.’
‘Lighting lamps in the daytime?’ He consulted his watch. ‘It won’t get dark for hours. Seems a bit odd.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Flora straightened.
‘Listen to you both, wittering on about lamps and oil despite the state of my nerves.’ Beatrice huffed a breath and set down her empty glass with a click. ‘I’ve questioned the servants already but got no sense out of them at all. No one will admit to anything.’
‘Probably because they had nothing to admit to, Mother,’ Bunny offered. ‘It sounds like an accident, pure and simple.’
Beatrice threw off the rug and climbed awkwardly to her feet. ‘I cannot stand the lingering smell of burning.’ One hand fluttered at her chest as if to bring attention to her suffering. ‘I’m going upstairs to pack my things, it’s not quite so bad up there. Let me know what accommodations you intend to arrange for us until the damage is repaired, will you, Ptolemy? And wherever it is, I expect an exceptional dinner after what I
have been through.’
‘She’s calmer than I would have thought.’ Bunny observed as Beatrice’s footsteps receded up an unseen flight of stairs. ‘I would have expected more hysterics from her.’
Flora exhaled slowly, tempted to remind him that the fire was confined to the kitchens in which Beatrice never set foot, but decided against it. The tension had left the room with her going so she chose not to invite it back again. ‘She didn’t even ask what the servants would do while the house is being repaired. Nor did she come out to thank the firemen.’
‘And address a tradesman directly? What can you be thinking, Flora?’ He rolled his eyes behind his spectacles in mock horror. ‘She’s a second cousin to the Earl of Ashley you know, with a position to maintain.’
‘As she keeps reminding me.’ Flora took another sip of sherry, though only to hide the slight acrid taste that clung to her tongue. Sherry was not her favourite drink, being too viscous and sweet, but Beatrice liked to maintain this pre-prandial ritual.
Bunny chucked, misinterpreting her grimace and crossed one leg over the other, easing backwards with a sigh. ‘Has she been too awful?’
‘Not really,’ Flora replied, warmed by his sympathy. She could stand everything his mother threw at her provided Bunny continued to support her. His calm tolerance of Beatrice’s more unreasonable behaviour was something Flora did her best to emulate, aware confrontation only resulted in more dissent. Allowing her mother-in-law’s sharp remarks to go unchecked was a hard lesson to learn but one she was prepared to endure when Bunny’s love proved more than adequate compensation.
‘Don’t worry about the servants,’ Bunny added, again misunderstanding the reason for her silence. ‘They can hardly do their jobs at the moment. While we are away, I’ll pay for them to visit their families for a short holiday. Crabtree has a brother in Kingston he can stay with, but he can come over each day and supervise the workmen.’
‘I must remember to speak to Nancy.’ Flora leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes.’
‘Who’s Nancy?’ Bunny’s fair eyebrows lifted into his hairline.
‘Really, Bunny, she’s the new housemaid. She was eager to insist the fire wasn’t her fault. Which makes me think either it was her fault, or she expects to be blamed on someone else’s behalf.’
‘You’re doing it again, aren’t you?’ Bunny peered at her over his spectacles like a disgruntled schoolmaster. ‘Looking for villains where there aren’t any. From what I’ve heard it was a freak accident.’
‘Maybe. And your mother’s right about the smell.’ She echoed Beatrice’s observation, thus acknowledging a thought that had struck her earlier. She had had no time to ponder on it then but what with Bunny’s comment about lamps in the daytime her unease resurfaced. How did the blaze start, and why wasn’t it noticed until it became almost beyond control? ‘We’ve closed all the inner doors and stuffed blankets into the gaps, but it made no difference. Perhaps a hotel is the best place for us for the next few days?’
‘I suspect it will be considerably longer than that, Flora. Have you seen the state of the kitchen floor? It’s a foot deep in water.’ Bunny wrapped his arm round her shoulders and leaned closer, nuzzling her neck. ‘Actually, I’m sorry I missed all the fun.’
‘Fun?’ Flora’s eyes snapped open. ‘It wasn’t much fun at the time. I thought the whole house was going up. Fortunately, the firemen arrived promptly and had the flames under control in minutes.’
‘And very relieved I am too.’ He crossed one leg over the other and lazily swung his ankle. ‘The Metropolitan Fire Brigade is an impressive organization. Did you know, that Massey Shaw, the original chief fire officer, would only recruit former sailors into the fire service?’
‘No, I did not know that.’ She leaned into the comfort of his one-armed hug, inhaling the spicy scent of his Floris cologne, overlaid with a tang of motor oil. ‘Where do you unearth all these fascinating facts? Not that I’m complaining, as I learn so much from you.’
‘I have an enquiring mind, much like yours, though I’m not quite so fixated on solving crime.’
‘It was only that one time on the SS Minneapolis, hardly a fixation.’ Though she had to admit that it had fostered a hearty curiosity. Her voyage on the steamship from New York two years before had been a seminal one. Not only had she met Bunny, but she’d been involved in solving the case of two murders alongside a Pinkertons detective. She would be lying if she claimed the excitement of the chase hadn’t piqued her interest, but there was little call for female detectives in deepest Surrey. Anyway she was perfectly happy with her lot, if Beatrice did sometimes get under her skin. She nudged Bunny gently with an elbow. ‘Now, tell me about these sailors.’
‘Well.’ He took a sip from his glass and licked his lips as if preparing to give a lecture. ‘It makes a sort of sense. Seaman’s training made men physically strong, accustomed to working at heights and likely to obey orders without question. It’s a hard life at sea.’
‘Says a man whose only experience of such is a First-class passenger on an Atlantic steamship.’ Flora puckered her lips and he ducked his head to receive her kiss.
‘And,’ he added, ‘were you aware that terms like “aloft”, “avast”, and “the deck” are common parlance for firemen?’
‘Why you thought I might be aware of that, I had no idea.’ She eased sideways and twisted to face him. ‘Although I might have done had I hung around watching them like young Mary did this afternoon. Incidentally, aren’t you supposed to be organizing a hotel?’
‘Well remembered,’ he replied, just as the door clicked open and Crabtree appeared, immaculate in a clean uniform, his face scrubbed and pink, his damp hair slicked back behind his ears.
‘Ah Crabtree, excellent timing. Would you send a message to the Coach and Horses and book a couple of rooms for us for an indefinite stay. Oh, and have our luggage sent over. Pack what you think suitable for me. Mother’s maid will see to hers and Flora’s.
He pushed the bridge of his spectacles further up his nose with a middle finger and lowered his voice for Flora’s benefit. ‘Oh, and Crabtree, should the occasion arise, you don’t need to mention the venue to the senior Mrs Harrington.’ He lowered his voice and addressed Flora. ‘She will only question my choice, then demand an alternative.’
Flora smiled at his diplomacy, wishing she could learn such tactics instead of letting Beatrice irritate her.
‘How’s the arm, Crabtree?’ Flora asked, spotting the outline of a bandage under his shirt that went from wrist to elbow.
‘Sore, but not serious, Miss Flora.’ His eyes twinkled conspiratorially, then coughed into a fist, bring their attention to the silver tray he held in his outstretched hand.
‘What do you have there, man?’ Bunny belatedly noticed the tray. ‘It’s a bit late for the postman.’
‘A telegram, sir,’ Crabtree replied with all the gravitas of his post at such an important event.
‘Goodness, I don’t often receive one of these.’ Bunny reached towards the tray.
‘Sir,’ Crabtree’s sharp tone halted Bunny’s hand in mid-air, ‘it’s addressed to Miss Flora, sir.’
2
Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, August 1902
The town coach rumbled through countryside Flora had once found achingly familiar, but which now she barely recognized. How had her whole world become so distorted in a single day?
The telegram in her pocket crackled as Bunny’s arm encircled her hip, her cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his jacket.
‘How can Father be dead?’ she asked for the tenth time since they had set out from Richmond that morning. ‘He was only in his forties and was never ill. What could have taken him so suddenly?’
‘Has Lady Vaughn said nothing about how it happened?’ Bunny rested his lips against her forehead, his breath warm on her skin.
‘I can’t bear to look at it again, here please you read it.’ She withdrew the paper from her pocket and thrust it
into his free hand and huddled closer, drawing comfort from the fresh linen and sandalwood smell on her husband’s clothes, her eyes squeezed shut to prevent welling tears.
Bunny retrieved his arm and repositioned his horn-rimmed spectacles. ‘Brief and to the point. I expect all our questions will be answered when we get there.’
He handed the slip of paper back, then smoothed her damp hair back from her brow, squashing the rim of the unflattering black hat Flora hated on sight but had hurriedly purchased to complete an outfit suitable for deep mourning.
‘I imagine so, although this reads more like an instruction than an invitation.’ She thrust the crumpled page back into her pocket. ‘Father’s twenty-five-years of loyal service as their butler reduced to a smattering of words on a sheet of cheap paper.’
‘That’s a little harsh, Flora. By their very nature telegrams do that.’ Bunny stretched his legs in the space between the buttoned seats. ‘It’s a pity we have no telephone, or we might have discovered more. Instead, you’ve allowed your imagination to make everything worse overnight.’
‘How could it be worse?’ she snapped, then clamped her lips shut. ‘I’m sorry, Bunny. None of this is your fault and I’ve been snappy ever since that telegram arrived. Besides, Lord Vaughn has yet to install electric lights at Cleeve Abbey, let alone a telephone.’
‘When the National Telephone Company installs an exchange in Richmond,’ Bunny pointed a finger at his chest, ‘I shall be among the first to subscribe. No more relying on boot boys being fast runners to deal with future crisis.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Flora hoped there wouldn’t be any more crises but chose not to voice the thought. She angled her head and smiled at him with bemused affection. ‘Modern innovations don’t move fast enough for my husband, do they?’
Bunny’s chuckle vibrated against her forehead, making her smile, though the ache in her chest remained as Lord Vaughn’s hot and airless carriage, which he had sent to collect them from the station, moved through the Gloucestershire landscape, where straggly grass-covered verges dotted with blood-red wild poppies rushed by. Fields of wheat stretched into the distance and rippled in a heat haze beneath the late afternoon sun.
Murder at Cleeve Abbey Page 2
