‘Wait here, Miss.’ He slammed the ledger closed, then went left through a door that clanged shut behind him on metal hinges. Inspector Maddox’s card still lay on the desk where the policeman had left it. Impulsively, Flora returned it to her bag before taking a seat on the front pew whilst trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the room, sneaking looks at them while their attention was elsewhere.
The older gentleman consulted his pocket watch which he then returned to his waistcoat with an impatient tut. A red-headed young man further along the bench in beige workmen’s overalls sat twisting his cap in his hands in rhythmic circles but didn’t raise his head.
An officer appeared from the side door with a sullen youth in a badly fitting jacket. He paused in front of the woman who sat further along the bench and murmured something. The youth shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. He looked no more than about fourteen or so, with a livid bruise covering one eye and a trickle of blood on the left lapel of his shabby coat.
When the policeman had finished and stepped back, the woman hauled herself to her feet, drew back her arm and cuffed the youth round the head.
The lad ducked away too late as her palm connected squarely with the side of his head. He winced but didn’t utter a word, except to scowl at the grinning child on the bench who seemed to enjoy his predicament.
Flora tried not to watch but couldn’t help herself as the woman cocked her chin at the youth in the universal gesture that he should follow, and set off along the corridor without a backward look. The smaller child skipped along beside her, the youth trailing behind, his head down as finally, the door slammed shut behind them.
The policeman approached the middle-aged man, who grunted as he rose and followed the officer through the door the small family had disappeared through.
During the altercation with the youth and his angry mother, the red-headed young man had left. Curious, Flora sneaked a look at the only remaining occupant of the room, a young man she judged to be in his twenties. His handsome face looked drawn, and he fidgeted, alternating between running a hand through straight brown hair, and lowering it to rub his neck. His charcoal grey suit and red silk tie spoke of affluence, as did a gold cufflink that winked in the low light each time he lifted his arm. He wore highly polished black shoes which looked barely worn.
Flora was speculating on what had brought him to a police station when the desk sergeant reappeared at the door. ‘Inspector Maddox will see you now, Miss.’
Swallowing, Flora rose and followed him into another corridor, identical to the first. The door closed behind her and she gave it a nervous look over one shoulder, hoping it would open as easily when she wished to leave again.
The policeman led her down a narrow corridor past several closed doors. Behind one a voice rose in protest, while from another came a hard thump, then a shout, neither of which appeared to bother her companion.
‘Go on in, Miss.’ He pointed to a door halfway along the wall that stood ajar.
Flora gripped her leather bag hard between her hands and took a deep breath before she entered the room.
Inspector Maddox sat behind a scarred oak desk in a room with a metal grille on the window behind him. Set too high in the wall to give a view, she wondered briefly if this was designed to keep villains out or the Inspector in. Papers stood in neat piles on a cabinet to one side, though the desk held only a single notebook beside three sharpened pencils laid out in a row.
‘Mrs Harrington.’ He rose, drawing her name out in surprised enquiry, then motioned her into the wheel back chair opposite. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’ Though his tone did not match the compliment. ‘What might I do for you?’
Flora swallowed and sat. ‘I’ve come about the body of the woman found in Old Barrack Yard the other night.’
‘The one you couldn’t possibly know anything about, because you had been in London a mere few hours?’ He lifted a sardonic brow as he resumed his chair on the far side of the desk.
‘Yes, that one.’ Her cheeks warmed. ‘I still don’t. However, something came to my attention recently which might help you to identify her.’
‘And what might that be?’ He glanced at the clock over the door then back at his notebook.
‘I attended a suffrage meeting in Victoria last evening.’ At his bemused look, Flora’s cheeks heated but she refused to be rushed.
‘Suffrage, eh?’ His mouth twitched. ‘Does your husband, or indeed your father, permit you to associate with such people?’
Permit her? Flora narrowed her eyes at him, though at the same time it occurred to her that perhaps she was the one who took too much for granted. Even in this new century, women still needed approval for activities far less controversial than a suffrage meeting.
‘The world is changing, Inspector.’ She forced calm into her voice though tension made her jaw click. ‘Women aren’t delicate flowers who need telling what to do. Most of us have good minds which are vastly underused.’
‘I like flowers, Mrs Harrington,’ he said in a calm monotone. ‘They serve a predestined purpose, in that they provide beauty and peace. I would hate to see them changed into weapons. Those suffrage women are dangerous.’
Several caustic remarks sprang into Flora’s head, none of which she voiced. ‘Do you have sisters, Inspector?’ she asked instead.
‘No, four brothers. All of us raised by a widower father.’ He scowled. ‘Why? Is that in any way relevant?’
‘No reason.’ She shrugged, though it explained a great deal about him, whether due to his upbringing or the nature of his job. Still, he appeared to have a poetic side to him for all that. She was about to ask if he was married but changed her mind. ‘One of the regular members of the Suffragist group didn’t turn up last night, although she was expected.’
‘I fail to see what reason you have to connect this woman with the body we found, Mrs Harrington. Though if she was a suffragist, perhaps it explains what she was doing in that area late at night. I’ve heard they aren’t particular as to where they do their recruiting.’ He crossed his hands over his flat midriff and tilted his chair away from the desk so it balanced on two legs. ‘Unless you have left out a detail of your story?’
‘I don’t have a story. I’m simply here as a concerned citizen.’ The flagstones looked cold and hard, and briefly, Flora hoped the detective might overbalance and fall off, but he appeared to have control of the chair. ‘I also feel it’s unjust of you to imply that ladies who wish to vote are disreputable and deserve any awful fate which befalls them.’
‘Mrs Harrington.’ He released a world-weary sigh. ‘If someone made it a habit to stroll close to the edge of a cliff, why would it surprise me if one day they fell off?’
‘That’s a somewhat childish analogy, Inspector. But I haven’t come here to debate the rights and wrongs of the suffrage movement with you. A woman is dead and I came to help.’
‘In which case, I apologize, Mrs Harrington. However, as you can imagine, the police deal with all sorts. As to your question, might there have been any number of reasons for this woman you mention not having attended a meeting? Perhaps a husband or parent might have forbidden her association with such an organization. If I had a daughter, I would—’
‘I think I can guess what you would do, Inspector,’ Flora interrupted. ‘However, I was assured that Miss Lange is not so easily dissuaded.’
‘Miss Lange, did you say?’ He straightened, the chair legs hitting the flagstones with a crack. One eyelid flickered as he picked up a pencil and scribbled on the notepad. ‘Do you happen to know this lady’s full name?’
‘I do. Miss Evangeline Lange.’
His pencil stilled briefly before he continued writing. ‘You are acquainted with this Miss…’ he squinted at the page, though Flora suspected this was for effect, as his interest had definitely piqued. ‘Evangeline Lange?’
‘Not exactly. We haven’t been introduced, although I saw a lady who might have been her outside
Prince Albert Mansions on the night the woman was found in Old Barrack Yard.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t mention that yesterday during our interview.’
‘I realize that, and thinking back I should have. I didn’t see it as relevant at the time, but when I saw the sketch in the newspaper this morning she struck me as familiar.’
‘I see.’ He frowned as if confused, which was hardly surprising. Thus far her reasoning wasn’t exactly logical. ‘And you surmised this – Miss Lange – might be the victim because she didn’t attend a suffragist meeting?’
Flora exhaled slowly. ‘I can see you find that amusing, Inspector, even feeble. Her friends who were there also expressed concern as to her welfare.’
‘Who are these friends?’ He drew a circle in the air with his pencil.
‘Her fiancé, Mr Harry Flynn. A work colleague.’ She was about to mention Evangeline’s father had also expressed similar concerns, but she had the impression Inspector Maddox was mocking her. ‘No one appeared to know her whereabouts. Her fiancé suggested she might have gone away.’
‘And had she?’ Inspector Maddox was busy writing. ‘Gone away?’
‘I don’t know. Look,’ she kneaded her bag in her lap, frustrated, ‘I said from the beginning I’m not sure the victim you found is Miss Lange but it’s worth looking into, don’t you think?’ If he thought she was wasting his time why did he keep asking her questions?
‘I have a suggestion for you, Mrs Harrington.’ He scraped back his chair and rose, skirted the desk and leaned against it. ‘That you cease imagining murder victims wherever you look and leave the constabulary to do our job, then everyone will be much happier. Now, is there anything else?’
‘Actually, yes.’ Flora’s jaw clicked with tension and she refused to move. ‘If, as I suspect, you have dismissed everything I have just told you, might I suggest you let me see the body? Then I’ll be able to tell you for certain if she was the woman I saw outside the apartment.’
‘Out of the question.’ He pushed away from the desk and strode to the door. ‘Even should you recognize this woman as being the one you saw, could you tell me without doubt that she is this Miss Evangeline Lange?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘But nothing.’ He held open the door and stood beside it, his focus somewhere over her head.
She hesitated, as something which had been nagging at her resurfaced. ‘Have you interviewed all the occupants of Prince Albert Mansions, Inspector?’
‘I believe so, why?’ His interest rekindled slightly. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’
‘Mr Crabbe. Arthur Crabbe. He lives on the floor above. I doubt he has anything to do with this matter but I-uh heard he had a visitor that evening.’
‘I’ve made a note of your concerns, Mrs Harrington.’ Ignoring her question, he flung open the door and took up a position to one side in an invitation for her to leave. ‘Now I’ll wish you a good day.’
Chapter 12
Following the cabby’s advice, Flora strode away from the building site and back to the Embankment, where the Thames lay grey and still beneath a thin layer of yellowish fog that would thicken as the day went on. A light drizzle had begun to fall, filled with tiny black particles that covered the shoulders of her coat in seconds. Still seething, she scanned the road towards Westminster Bridge in search of a cab, then checked the road in the opposite direction towards Charing Cross.
Apart from a horsebus, several carts, and a private motor car or two, there was no sign of a hansom cab. The December chill crept up through the soles of her boots, and she shifted from foot to foot, whilst conjuring choice insults she delivered in her head to the Inspector in respect to his comment about suffragists being dangerous. Did he think that women invited violence simply by being part of a suffrage group? What century did the man live in, to imply murder was justification for anything?
Thus preoccupied, she had not at first noticed the green-painted wooden refreshment hut used by the London cabbies until she smelled fried onions, bacon fat, and tobacco. The end hatch stood open and four cabmen waited outside in an orderly queue; their horse’s reins tied to the metal bar that ran along the side of the hut. She crossed the road to the riverside and insinuated herself at the front of the queue.
‘Excuse me,’ she addressed the man in an apron at the hatch.
‘You goin’ to join us for a snack, love?’ said a driver at the back of the queue, eliciting grins and a ripple of good-natured laughs from the others.
‘A kind offer, but I need a cab to take me back to Mayfair. Could anyone help me?’
The man in the apron leaned on the ledge of the open hatch. ‘Some of the gents inside have nearly finished their breakfast. I’ll ask ’em how long they’ll be, Miss.’ He disappeared inside the hut, appearing again almost immediately. ‘Man ’ere says he’ll be two minutes if that’s convenient?’
‘Thank you, that’s much appreciated.’ Conscious her nose was reddening in the cold and she could barely feel her feet, she tugged the fur lapels of her coat up to her ears and went to stand at the Embankment wall. Her breath formed a white mist which dissipated rapidly into the fog, which made tug boats and barges that moved downstream look as if they floated on a cushion of steam, obscuring the water. The hairs on her neck prickled and a sudden feeling of being watched crept over her. She swung round and scanned the pavement, but her field of vision extended only twenty or so feet. Two cabmen’s horses chewed at a hay bag attached to the side of the hut, but apart from a few hurrying pedestrians on the other side of the road, she was alone. Flora turned back, but the uneasiness persisted. She was about to return to the hut and ask how much longer she would have to wait when a cabman emerged.
‘I’ll just pull into the road, Miss, and be right with you.’ Relieved that finally, she would be out of the freezing air, she took a step forwards, when the creepy feeling came again as she watched the cabby untie his vehicle and climb aboard.
The sound of breathing at her shoulder sent her heart thumping just as the hansom made a neat turn in the road and guided the horse towards her. In seconds, the muzzle loomed above her, just as firm pressure was applied to her shoulder, sending a surge of panic through her. Her stomach lurched and she was convinced she was about to be pushed beneath the animal’s hooves. She opened her mouth to call out, but instead of being propelled forward the grip on her arm held her fast.
‘Excuse me, Miss,’ a soft, yet masculine voice said. ‘Might I have a word with you?’
She whipped her head round and came eye to eye with the young man who had been waiting in the police station reception earlier. He wore the tailored coat now, with what looked like a cashmere scarf and top hat.
The shaft of fear that had sent her heart racing died away as the horse came to a gentle standstill beside her. Flora exhaled in a rush and summoned her voice. ‘Do you normally greet people by terrifying them half to death?’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I’m sorry.’ The hand released her, but he made no attempt to move away. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you, but it’s quite imperative I talk with you.’
Flora’s first instinct was to circumvent him and get into the safety of the cab, but his pleading expression turned her alarm into curiosity.
‘Where to, luv?’ the driver demanded from above, oblivious to her predicament. ‘I ain’t got all day. I rushed me bacon and eggs fer this!’
‘My apologies,’ Flora called up to him, then hesitated. Should she get into the cab and send the young man away, or trust him enough to let him speak his piece? Why hadn’t she brought Sally with her?
‘Perhaps we might talk whilst driving?’ he suggested. He opened the front flaps, indicating she climb inside. ‘I promise you I’m not a marauding seducer. I really would like to speak with you about Evangeline Lange.’
The name acted on her like a punch, robbing her of whatever resistance remained. Wordlessly, she climbed into the cab and sat, arranging her skirts around her.
‘Understood.’ He climbed up beside her and opened the trap in the roof. ‘Head towards St James’ Park, my man,’ he addressed the driver. ‘We’ll give you a destination presently. And take your time.’ He pulled the trap down again, closed the front flaps and relaxed back against the canopy. The cab did another heart-stopping manoeuvre into the middle of the road, narrowly avoiding a horsebus, then immediately turned right at Westminster Bridge.
‘I heard you talking to the desk sergeant when you arrived,’ the stranger said. ‘Which is what told me you were there for the same reason I was.’
Flora eased away from him into the corner of the cab, though he no longer made her uncomfortable, merely curious. ‘Do you know Evangeline Lange?’
He nodded, easing his collar away from his neck. ‘She is – was my sister.’
‘Was?’ Flora twisted to face him, her nervousness gone.
‘I came to report her missing and was shown into Inspector Maddox’s office. He told me they had found the body of a young woman who matched the description I gave him of my sister. I – I was asked to identify the poor creature, but I did not imagine it would be Evangeline.’
‘I am so sorry.’ Flora exhaled on a sigh. So Evangeline Lange really was dead, and though the finality of this saddened her, she wasn’t surprised.
‘Thank you. I needed a few minutes alone to compose myself, which is why I was sitting on that bench. I heard you mention Old Barrack Yard to the desk sergeant. That’s where they found her, you see. Evangeline.’ He slanted a look at her with a shaky smile. ‘I was going to approach you when you came out of the police station, but I lost my nerve. I hoped you might know something about what happened to my sister. Again, I’m sorry if I frightened you.’
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 11
