‘How interesting.’ She slanted Flora a sideways look. ‘Is there something you know about Evangeline’s death you would like to share?’
‘No, well, not yet anyway. I have an idea or two I want to look into, but, well when we spoke this morning, the Inspector was adamant I didn’t meddle with his investigation.’
‘Does he have reason to think you might?’ Her steel grey eyes regarded her steadily.
‘Possibly.’ Flora bit her bottom lip. ‘Thus I would appreciate-’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Harrington.’ Her lips tilted very slightly, though not enough to be described as a smile. ‘I can be suitably vague when I choose.’
Chapter 14
‘Poor, poor Evangeline. I keep thinking of her lying on the cold ground all night with no one to help her.’ With the departure of Miss Lowe, Lydia had dissolved into fresh sobs. Her chin jerked up and she stared at Flora, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. ‘Perhaps she didn’t die straight away. Suppose whoever attacked her left her lying there in the cold and she froze to death?’
Flora scraped the second chair on her side of the desk closer, her hand covering Lydia’s clasped ones in her lap. ‘I doubt that’s what happened. Look, why don’t you let me take you home?’
‘I-I can’t. Miss Lowe has asked me to stay behind with the pupils who have to remain until the end of the school day.’ She stared round vaguely and kneaded her handkerchief in both hands.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure if I ask her she’ll arrange for one of the other teachers to stay. Now, where’s your coat?’
‘Well I don’t know, I-’ Her eyes clouded as she lost focus.
‘Never mind.’ Flora patted her shoulder. Opening the door to the hallway she gestured to Sally to summon the maid. ‘We’ll sort that out in a moment.’
The same girl answered the summons, this time she was slightly breathless as if she had been kept busy carrying messages. She listened to Flora’s suggestion in silence and agreed to speak to Miss Lowe.
Flora persuaded an unresisting Lydia from her chair and with Sally’s help, walked her down the stairs and located her coat and hat.
Out in the street, Flora swapped the smells of linseed oil and soap for sulphur and coal smoke. A swift glance both ways showed no sign of policemen or men in grey coats. ‘Sally, would you go to the corner and find us a cab?’
Lydia paused on the top step and pulled on her gloves. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Her voice stopped Sally mid-stride. ‘I live in Kinnerton Street. It’s just round the corner.’ She pointed the way and Flora fell into step beside her, with Sally a few paces behind.
‘You must think I’m a complete ninny falling apart like that.’ Lydia tucked her arm through Flora’s. ‘We hardly know each other, but in some ways, I feel we have met before. In another life perhaps?’ Lydia made an obvious effort to compose herself, the colour slowly returning to her cheeks. ‘It was so kind of you to come to the school, but I admit it was the last place I expected to see you.’
Flora merely smiled, thus avoiding her scepticism on the subject of reincarnation so as not to offend her. ‘I found out this morning that the woman they discovered was Evangeline, and I didn’t want you to hear about it from gossip or the newspapers.’ They turned into Motcomb Street, a charming street lined on both sides with Georgian shops with bow windows that promised treasures inside. That afternoon, many had their blinds drawn, as if the owners doubted prospective customers would be out in the fog.
‘It wouldn’t have mattered how I had been told, it was devastating news.’ Lydia’s breath caught in a distressed sob. She nodded to the corner of the street that loomed out of the fog. ‘We don’t have far to go now. It’s the next turning on our left.’ She guided Flora across the road and into Kinnerton Street; a terrace of identical villas, each with neat window boxes on the sills, empty now it was winter. Three storeys high, the facades sported uniform pale grey render, the front doors gleaming with pristine black paint. Narrow steps led down to a basement area, bounded by sets of wrought iron railings.
‘I live here with my mother.’ Lydia paused before a primrose-painted house three doors from the end, the brass knocker shaped like a fox head.
‘It’s charming,’ Flora said, meaning it. She wondered if Lydia had an admirer, but it seemed inappropriate to ask. She didn’t want to add nosiness to her deceit.
‘Mother’s not in the best of health and relies on me. There are only the two of us,’ Lydia said as if reading her thoughts. She fumbled in the small bag at her wrist, withdrawing a brass key. ‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’
‘I wouldn’t wish to intrude,’ Flora responded, hoping Lydia would press her. The little house looked delightful and she welcomed the chance to get to know Lydia better. To have a friend in London appealed, and since her marriage, she had had few opportunities to develop a social circle outside that of Bunny and her mother-in-law.
‘You aren’t, honestly.’ She threw a pleading expression over her shoulder as she inserted the key in the lock. ‘Mother will be taking her nap at this time. To be truthful, I don’t relish being on my own.’ She led them into a narrow, tiled hallway, then on into a parlour at the back of the house. Sally followed. A tall, narrow window overlooked a walled yard with terracotta pots arranged against a painted wall. Flora imagined these must add welcome colour in the summer months.
‘I’m not usually home this early,’ Lydia said, gesturing Flora to remove her coat. ‘So Tilly won’t have set the fire yet. I’ll send her in to light it for us now, then make us some tea.’ At Flora’s surprised start, she giggled. ‘We aren’t impoverished, Flora. Mother and I can afford a maid of all work.’ She bent closer, her eyes flashing in mischief, adding, ‘We send our laundry out too.’
Suitably chastened, Flora handed her coat to a plump, red-haired maid who appeared at the door.
‘Take Mrs Harrington’s maid to the kitchen would you, Tilly?’ Lydia instructed. After a swift glance at Flora as if for approval, Sally obeyed.
‘Tilly would enjoy the company.’ Lydia said when they were alone again. ‘She cooks for us and looks after Mother while I’m at the school.’ She waved Flora into a low armchair beside the fireplace, its upholstery old but well cared for, which proved to be extremely comfortable. ‘I must go and check on Mother. I won’t be a moment.’
Seconds after Lydia had gone, Tilly returned carrying a coal scuttle and with a perfunctory curtsey, set to building a fire in the iron grate with sticks and newspaper. Flora watched as she coaxed a small yellow flame into a glowing red blaze, curtseyed again and left.
Flora flexed her numb fingers over the flames, and cast an approving eye over the charming room; the sounds of Lydia’s tread on the floorboards above adding to the overall cosiness of the house.
The room held one window set on a low sill, from which rust-coloured velvet curtains fell to the floor, pooling on the boards not covered by an orange and blue rug. Apart from a footstool and a glazed corner cabinet, the room held only the two upholstered chairs and a small round table. In some ways it reminded her of the sitting room at Cleeve Abbey she had shared with her father in the attic. Or should she think of him as Maguire now?
A worm of resentment resurfaced that she was expected to submerge her childhood memories since the revelation that William was her real father. Strange, that those who knew her history seemed reluctant to talk about the taciturn Scot who had raised her; as if he no longer mattered.
She was still immersed in nostalgia when Lydia returned and took the second chair set at an angle to the fire, so close their knees almost touched.
‘Thank you for indulging me, Flora. I’m sure you must have better things to do with your day than nursemaid me. You must think me selfish after such a short acquaintance.’
‘Lydia, I need to tell you something.’ Flora worried her bottom lip with her teeth. She might not have chosen the best time for honesty, but Lydia didn’t deserve to be deceived. Not if Flora hoped to
be considered a friend. ‘I have never met Evangeline. I wasn’t sure of her name until this morning.’
‘But the Society, I thought—’ Lydia eyes rounded in confusion.
‘I misled you, for which I apologize. I had a vague suspicion, but no proof.’
‘Proof of what? And why pretend to be acquainted with her when you weren’t?’
Flora took a deep breath. ‘This might sound odd, but it began with the brooch.’
‘Evangeline’s brooch?’
Flora nodded, relieved Lydia seemed more puzzled than angry. ‘On the night Evangeline - died, I saw her outside the building where my father lives. She was wearing a brooch that resembled the same emblem on the pamphlet you delivered to the apartments. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore, so I came to the meeting as I hoped Evangeline would be there, thus proving me wrong.’ When Lydia did not respond, she added, ‘I hope you'll forgive me for lying to you.’
‘Of course. In fact I would probably have done the same thing myself.’ Lydia blew through pursed lips as if marshalling her thoughts. ‘You said you saw her—’
‘Outside my building, yes. She was with a man,’ Flora interrupted her. ‘And they appeared to be arguing.’
‘A man?’ Lydia’s eyes widened. ‘Might it have been Harry?’
‘No, I’m certain it wasn’t him. He, this man, wasn’t at all pleased to see her and I got the impression she had sought him out. In fact she threatened him.’
‘Threatened? Evangeline?’
‘Perhaps that word is too strong. She appeared calm, even confident. I heard her say that if he did not comply with her request, whatever that was, she would be back.’
‘Do you get the impression they had met before?’ Lydia asked.
‘He did use the word harassment, but that doesn’t mean much.’
‘What did Evangeline want from him?’
‘I don’t know. It was a brief conversation, and when they parted, Evangeline walked off down the street, which is why I don’t think he was the one who killed her.’
‘Evangeline saying she would come back sounds ominous, though.’ Lydia’s brow furrowed in deep thought.
‘I agree.’ Flora relaxed, grateful Lydia’s grief had subsided and that none of it was directed at her. ‘Mr Crabbe went back to his apartment after Evangeline left, so there’s no reason to suspect he had anything to do with her death.’
Lydia gasped. ‘You know him then? This man?’
‘He’s an associate of my father’s.’ Flora winced, embarrassed. ‘I did tell the police I saw them together, but I’m also guessing they have already spoken to him.’ The fact Crabbe had not been carted off in a black maria suggested Maddox had been satisfied with whatever explanation he had given. Or was it too soon to make that assumption?
‘Did Evangeline ever mention his name to you?’ Flora asked.
‘Crabbe?’ Lydia shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of him. Inspector Maddox told us it was most likely a robbery gone wrong, but that doesn’t sound right. What was Evie doing outside a public house? She would never venture into a place like that. What about the alley where she was found? Perhaps she was visiting someone there?’
‘It’s called Old Barrack Yard, but there’s nothing down there except a school and a church, neither of which were open at that time of night.’
Lydia eased forward, her arms folded across her middle, shoulders hunched. ‘Convince me this man Crabbe didn’t kill Evangeline.’
‘Truthfully, I cannot know for sure. I have to trust the police to ask the right questions. If he is guilty, they will find out. In the meantime, I want to explore other avenues myself.’
‘What avenues?’
‘I’m not sure yet, but why would Evangeline leave, then come back and go with him to a public-house down a dark alley? One so close to where he lived, it was bound to make him an obvious suspect?’
‘You appear to have made yourself a champion for this man Crabbe.’
‘I just don’t want to focus on the only possibility we have and ignore any others.’
‘Are there others?’
‘There’s her father. Wasn’t he angry about her membership of the NUWSS? Perhaps they argued?’
‘Evangeline did clash with him on occasion. He hated her work as a schoolteacher too. When Evangeline first started working at the academy, he tried to talk Miss Lowe into dismissing her.’
‘I gather Miss Lowe refused?’ Flora could imagine how such a conversation went, with Mr Lange blustering with rage in the face of the headmistress’s intransigence.
‘She most certainly did.’ Lydia snorted. ‘Evangeline laughed it off, but Mr Lange never came to the school again, as far as I’m aware. The Langes wanted to get her safely married to Harry because they saw him as capable of safeguarding the family money.’
‘What about Harry Flynn?’ Flora suggested. ‘If Evangeline was having second thoughts about their marriage, he might have tried to persuade her and it ended badly.’ A reluctant bride was one thing, a reluctant rich one was worth some persuading.
‘Harry isn’t the violent sort.’ Lydia waved a hand in dismissal. ‘And we keep coming back to the question of what was she doing down that alley? Did someone persuade her to go there, or force her?’
A discreet knock at the door heralded Tilly with a tray. She gave Flora a shy smile before placing it on the elbow-height table between the two chairs.
‘What about her brother?’ Flora asked when the maid withdrew.
‘John?’ Lydia shrugged. ‘I’ve never met him. Evangeline said very little about him, but what she did say was accompanied by a sigh.’ Flora frowned and Lydia added, ‘Like when you don’t understand someone but accept them for what they are.’
Lydia poured steaming liquid into two blue and white willow patterned cups. ‘I do love Earl Grey, it’s a weakness of mine. Milk or lemon?’
‘Milk please, no sugar.’ Flora had thus far only thought of him as Mr Lange, then realized he hadn’t actually introduced himself. He had simply said he was Evangeline’s brother.
‘What was he?’ Flora asked, wishing she had been more curious about him.
‘No idea, but it seems he agreed with Mr Lange, in that Evie was behaving unreasonably.’ She handed Flora a cup, from which a rich smoky fragrance made Flora’s mouth water in anticipation.
Delaying her first delicious sip, she blew the wisp of steam gently across the surface and took her first sip.
‘What could be better than strong tea in front of a fire on a frigid winter afternoon?’ Lydia said, watching her.
‘What does Harry Flynn do?’ Flora cradled the cup in both hands. ‘Or rather what does his family do to make him acceptable to the Langes?’
‘Merchant banking,’ Lydia replied. ‘He’s being groomed to take over the business one day.’ Her mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ and her eyes clouded. ‘Someone will tell Harry, won’t they? That she’s – dead. He thinks Evangeline went to Brighton.’
Flora had not yet decided if Harry had merely speculated or had deliberately misled them about the Brighton idea. Whichever it was, this was not the right time to mention it to Lydia. ‘I’m sure her parents will tell him. Harry is wealthy then?’ She was blatantly fishing but Lydia gave no sign she minded.
‘His family are, but he lives on an allowance at the moment. Evangeline told me he’ll inherit from a grandfather when he reaches twenty-five.’ She frowned, confused. ‘Or was it an uncle. I cannot recall which. Harry is always remarking on the fact his parents enjoy an extravagant lifestyle, so expect him to live on quite a modest allowance.’ She lowered her cup and saucer to her lap, the frown reappearing between her brows. ‘You don’t think Harry could have had anything to do with this, do you?’
‘I cannot say. I’m merely running through a list of possibilities.’
‘Harry wouldn’t hurt Evangeline. I know he wouldn’t.’ Lydia visibly shuddered. ‘Who could be cold enough to murder someone they intended to marry?’
‘Really?’ Lydia’s eyes rounded. ‘How do you know such a thing?’
‘I-um, I have a little experience of these things.’
‘I see,’ Lydia said, though it was clear she did not, and Flora wasn’t about to explain.
‘He would have no reason to kill her before the wedding?’ Lydia blurted, bringing a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear, that didn’t sound quite so dreadful inside my head. Forget I said it.’ She dropped two lumps of sugar into her cup with a pair of tiny silver tongs.
‘This is murder, Lydia, so the police will explore all avenues.’ Flora slid her cup and saucer onto the table at her elbow and took a biscuit from the plate Lydia held out. ‘What other reason would Harry have to kill Evangeline if it wasn’t for her money?’ Not that Flora had entirely discounted that. She had seen at first-hand what lengths people will go to ensure a comfortable lifestyle. The face of the man who had tried to kill her to get his hands on William’s money loomed into her head so she had to suppress a shudder. ‘Is it possible he wasn’t content with the betrothal? Might he prefer the charms of another lady?’
‘You think Harry might have someone else?’ Lydia’s eyes pinned Flora with a look, which might have been hard had her green-brown eyes not welled with unshed tears. ‘Then why press Evie to set a date for the wedding?’
‘I had forgotten about that.’ Flora bit into a biscuit, allowing it to melt on her tongue, reminding herself they only had Harry’s word for that. ‘Might another young man have roused her interest perhaps?’
‘Not-not that I’m aware of.’ Lydia’s cup rattled as she replaced it on the saucer. ‘I don’t want to think Evangeline had a secret she was ashamed of. It’s disrespectful, especially now she’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m simply looking for a reason someone would want to hurt her. Which is why I need your help. You knew Evangeline, whereas I didn’t.’
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 14
