‘I don’t understand any of this. Miss Lowe said the police think it was a robbery gone wrong.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Well, it’s possible. Perhaps it was a robbery and she unnerved him, so he had no choice but to kill her in order to keep her quiet. Evangeline wasn’t the type to freeze in fear.’ Her red-rimmed eyes hardened. ‘Not like me. She would have screamed and fought.’ The handkerchief reappeared from her pocket and she noisily blew her nose.
Flora was tempted to snatch it away and replace it with a freshly laundered one of her own but resisted. Lydia seemed to take comfort from the crumpled square of cotton.
‘Did Miss Lowe have an opinion about what Evangeline might be doing at The Grenadier?’
‘She was a shocked as anyone. It didn’t make sense.’
‘Could she have been delivering the NUWSS pamphlets?’
Lydia shook her head, hard enough to dislodge several curly strands from behind her ears. ‘She was careful about where she went. Shops, apartments. Hotels sometimes, but not public houses. She would never give her father a reason to accuse her of anything disreputable.’
‘Then it’s still a mystery.’ Flora sighed. If she discounted Mr Crabbe. ‘It was very considerate of Miss Lowe to let everyone go home,’ Flora said, filling the silence.
‘That’s just like her.’ Lydia’s handkerchief disappeared into her pocket again. ‘She’s a delight to work for and so easy to talk to. Evangeline often went to her with her problems. We all did.’
‘Miss Lowe has an unusual way of speaking. She’s not English is she?’
‘Um-no.’ Lydia looked confused for a moment. ‘She came from Romania originally, or somewhere like that. She thought the English might disapprove of their daughters being taught by a foreigner, so she worked hard to get rid of her accent. That's why her speech is clipped. I find it charming, though, don't you?’
‘I do.’ Flora returned her cup to the table and rose. ‘I should go. I’m really sorry about Evangeline, and even more so at having upset you.’
‘Oh, you haven’t, truly. None of this is your fault.’ Lydia placed a hand on Flora’s forearm. ‘I just keep thinking about Evangeline. All that beauty and poise, all her wonderful ideas about how women will take their place in society is gone, and for what? For a promising, meaningful life to end in some filthy alley in front of a public house? It’s too tragic.’
‘Yes, yes it is.’ Whatever Flora said next would be empty platitudes, though the moment called for something apart from silence. ‘If there’s anything I—’
‘— you can do?’ Lydia finished for her. She rose and gave a snort the sound more resigned than dismissive. ‘Everyone says that when someone dies. But what can you do?’ She led the way back through the narrow hall to the front door. ‘Even if the police do find out who did this, it won’t bring her back.’ Lydia retrieved Flora’s coat.
‘No. No, it won’t,’ Flora murmured, just as Sally emerged from the kitchen.
‘You will come again, won’t you?’ Lydia pleaded as she opened the front door, allowing a blast of chill air and a swirl of leaves across the threshold. ‘I feel we would make good friends, and I would like to know if you have found out anything about who might have done this dreadful thing to Evangeline.’
‘I should like to call again. I’m here for a few more days yet.’ Flora fastened the row of buttons that ran from her shoulder to her hip. ‘Though perhaps I should do what Inspector Maddox said and leave this to him. If it was a random robbery, I wouldn’t know where to begin.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Lydia’s shoulders slumped. ‘Anyway, Tilly has Saturday afternoons off, so I’ll be here with Mother.’
‘I’ll remember.’ Flora gave a parting wave, before she and Sally set off on the short walk back to Prince Albert Mansions. It was not much past four o’clock and yet the streets were gloomy with a combination of the heavy fog and an early falling dusk.
‘That Tilly’s a talker,’ Sally said when they reached the corner. ‘Not surprising really when she spends all day with a sick old woman.’
‘I gather you told her about the murder?’ Flora assumed her reference to ‘sick old woman’ meant Lydia’s mother.
‘She knew there had been one, of course, but when I told her who it was, she had something to say.’
Flora only half heard, her focus squarely on listening for the sounds of an engine or a horse in the swirling fog, but the street remained quiet. ‘Come on, Sally, cross now, quickly.’
‘Don’t you want to know what she said?’ Sally became slightly breathless as she hurried to keep up.
‘Go on then, what did she say?’ Flora smiled. Sending Sally into the kitchen hadn’t been a deliberate ploy to gain information, but she couldn’t ignore the fact servants knew everything about their employers. Who better to wheedle it out of them but another servant?
‘Well for one thing, that Mr Flynn is always calling on her. Tilly thinks he’s sweet on Miss Lydia.’
‘Really?’ Flora frowned. Lydia had said Harry wasn’t interested in anyone else, but then she would say that in loyalty to her friend. ‘They were all members of the NUWSS. It’s hardly surprising they spent time together.’
And if Mr Lange disapproved, what better place to discuss women’s rights than at Lydia’s house? ‘I think Tilly might have got the wrong impression.’ Lydia didn’t strike her as they type to betray her friend, or perhaps Lydia wasn’t aware Harry was fond of her?
‘Tilly’s no fool, Missus. That Miss Lydia might look as if butter wouldn’t melt, but she’s had other admirers. She’s sharper than she looks.’
‘Did Tilly mention whether or not Mr Flynn has called recently?’
‘He brought Miss Lydia home from that meeting last night. Stayed an hour she said.’
‘Perhaps they discussed where Evangeline was. They were both worried about her.’ Harry couldn’t have called to make a condolence call, because Lydia hadn’t known Evangeline was dead until two hours ago.
Flora lowered her head against a fine drizzle that deposited moisture on her scarf, while she resumed her speculation as to where the search for Evangeline’s killer would go if Harry Flynn and Arthur Crabbe were eliminated, which they must be if the police were right about a random killer. Into the stews of London’s underworld, she supposed, and the police informers and pawnbrokers with whom such secrets resided.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ Sally’s snort of derision indicated she felt wholly unappreciated.
‘I’m sorry, I was just thinking. You did well, Sally, thank you.’
The corner of Prince Albert Mansions loomed out of the mist and Flora hastened her steps, drawn by the thought of a hot drink and a warm fire. Distracted, she almost collided with a man wearing a long grey overcoat. Flora turned her head to apologize, but he merely grunted, pulled his hat down further and hurried past her and was immediately swallowed up in the murk.
‘Nobody has any manners in this fog,’ Sally tutted in disgust. ‘Everyone’s too busy trying to see where they are going.’
Flora agreed but did not respond, still distracted. If Harry preferred Lydia to Evangeline, wouldn’t he have simply called off the wedding? Why kill his fiancée? Was Harry’s insistence he had pressed Evangeline to name a date, genuine affection or subterfuge?
By the time she entered the lobby of the apartment building, Flora decided that perhaps she should leave this case to the police after all. A decision which would undoubtedly please Inspector Maddox.
Chapter 15
William released a sigh, lowering himself into a chair by the fire, an air of weariness to the set of his shoulders. Purple marks sat like bruises beneath eyes clouded with fatigue, lacking their habitual gleam of amusement.
‘Weren’t you hungry this evening?’ Flora asked, pouring coffee for both of them from the arrangement on the sideboard. ‘You barely touched your dinner.’
‘Not very,’ William replied. ‘Which will put Randall into a
fever adjusting his menus. He always reacts badly when I don’t eat his food. I don’t mean to be poor company, Flora, but I’ve a lot on my mind just now.’ He had brought his unfinished drink with him from the dining table and now fingered the stem of his glass absently, the weight of whatever was bothering him clear in the set of his shoulders.
‘You seem distracted tonight.’ She attempted to instigate conversation, or they risked sitting in complete silence for the remainder of the evening.
‘I’m sorry, Flora. It’s just that the Government is in a mess with this Serbian business.’ William rubbed his forehead with his free hand. ‘What with these endless debates on whether or not we should recognize the new regime or boycott them. It’s quite worrying.’
‘Will ending diplomatic relations produce the result the government wants?’ Flora settled on the opposite sofa with her coffee. ‘Surely Serbia’s too far away to have repercussions here?’
‘For us to maintain cordial relations with the Austro-Hungarian Empire is important, their powers stretch a long way. Balfour hopes to force them to arrest King Alexander’s assassins.’
‘Will King Peter comply do you think?’
‘He daren’t upset the nationalist faction who put him in power in the first place.’ William’s half-hearted smile reflected his troubled state of mind. ‘Then there are those in the Cabinet who think as you do, that Serbia is of little consequence.’
‘It does matter though, doesn’t it? I can see by your face.’
‘Political factions who employ assassination as opposed to the ballot box cannot be trusted. There is usually another militant group waiting for a chance to overthrow them.’
‘Ah, I see. Only those of strong moral character should be heads of state?’ She slanted a sideways look at him as she placed the coffee at his elbow, smiling when his lips twitched. At least he hadn’t completely lost his sense of humour.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, Flora, but it appears Serbian spies are operating in the city.’ Ignoring the coffee, he took another swig from his glass.
‘Spies? In London?’ Flora halted her cup in maid air.
‘I’m afraid so. A gang were discovered recently in some lodgings near the city docks. Among their belongings was a list of the addresses of other Serbians living here.’ At her shocked stare, he held up a hand. ‘Most are non-political, though some are royalist sympathizers of the former Queen Nathalie.’
‘Nathalie? I thought the queen was called Draga. And isn’t she dead?’
‘Not her. Her mother-in-law. She was very popular in her day before King Milan, Alexander’s father, divorced her. She went to live in the south of France.’
‘I see.’ Something she had heard recently drifted into her consciousness but proved too elusive to pin down. ‘What are these nationalist spies planning to do to the royalists?’
‘Nothing good.’ William sniffed. ‘They’ve instigated fights among the Serbian community as a warning to supporters of Nathalie. Thus far we’ve managed to keep it out of the newspapers. Publicity is like food to them, credits them with too much importance and frightens the populace. Before you know it we’ll have Londoners attacking Serbians for no reason.’
‘Talking of publicity,’ Flora began, keen to get away from such depressing talk. ‘The police have identified the dead woman they found outside The Grenadier.’
‘I heard.’ William slid his glass onto the table. ‘A young lady called Lange, I believe. Her father’s well known in the city.’
‘You already knew?’ Flora stared at him, surprised. ‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’
‘Before what?’ William peered over the rim of his cup. ‘I haven’t seen you since breakfast.’
‘Well no, but—’ Flora shrugged her resentment away as unreasonable. ‘You might have said something at dinner.’
‘Sorry, slipped my mind.’ His voice sounded perfectly calm but the way he held his shoulders told her he kept something back.
‘Evangeline Lange was also a member of the NUWSS. I met some of her friends last night.’
‘Is that why you went? To poke about and ask questions?’
Avoiding his eye, she retrieved a plate of Randall’s almond biscuits from the tray and held it out. ‘How could I not be interested in a murder that happened on our own doorstep?’
‘Interested is one thing, but you shouldn’t get in the way of the police.’ He declined the biscuits with an upraised hand. ‘I’m sure Inspector Maddox has his own methods of wheedling the truth from suspects. You risk contaminating his investigation if you’ve already spoken to witnesses.’
‘I doubt anything I could do would scupper a police investigation.’ She looked up and met his eyes as a thought struck her. ‘When exactly did you speak to Inspector Maddox? I thought Mr Gordon had taken your dictated statement to the police station?’
‘Er, that’s not relevant, Flora. I’m talking about your actions now. I know what you’re like when you discover a trail worth following.’ William shot her a look, then away again, too fast for her to read anything in it.
‘Don’t you wish to know how I found out who the woman was?’
‘Didn’t I?’ He brushed a hand down his thigh as if dislodging dust. ‘I assumed word had got round the building via the staff.’
‘I went to see Maddox at Cannon Row this morning.’ Flora waited, while the feeling persisted that she was not telling him anything he didn’t already know.
‘I cannot think why. We were at the theatre when that woman was killed. What information could you possibly have that might be pertinent to his investigation?’
‘I mentioned the other night I had seen Mr Crabbe outside the apartment building. Well the young woman who was with him was Evangeline Lange.’
William placed his wine glass on the table at his elbow and leaned towards her, his weary disinterest changing to keen attention. ‘What do you mean leaving with her? You never mentioned he was with anyone.’
‘He was rather harsh with her,’ Flora said, ignoring his question. ‘I heard him order her not to bother him again.’
‘You’re confusing me, Flora. How did you know this was the same woman who was found in the alley?’
‘I didn’t. Not at the time.’ Flora buried her nose in her coffee cup, suspecting she had approached this the wrong way. William had been ambivalent a minute ago and yet now glared at her. ‘She wore this unusual brooch which resembled the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Society emblem.’
‘Wait a moment. That was before you went to the meeting. Which means you went there primarily to find out about this woman?’
‘I did.’ She swallowed. Now he was beginning to sound like a father. ‘All right. I saw Mr Crabbe with a woman whom he called Miss Lange. I didn’t say anything at the time because you told me Mr Crabbe was married.’
‘I see. But if Crabbe and Miss Lange parted company on the street hours before, then he cannot have been involved in her murder.’
‘Which is exactly what I told Inspector Maddox. However, Mr Crabbe still might know something.’ She still had her doubts about their nondescript neighbour and his alleged insomnia, but she didn’t want to accuse him. Not without firmer evidence. ‘He was likely the last person to see Evangeline alive.’ At William’s hard look she added, ‘Apart from her killer that is.’
‘I know for a fact Crabbe mentioned their encounter to the police when they questioned him. If they think he has something to add to his original story, I’m sure they’ll speak to him again.’
‘What about Mrs Crabbe?’
William’s head jerked up. ‘What about her?’
‘I assume she’ll confirm he was with her all that evening?’ Flora recalled Dunne’s story about Crabbe’s late night walk.
‘I’m sure she did. Besides, Maddox is convinced it was an attack by a random thief.’ He moved to the sideboard and held the coffee pot in mid-air. ‘More coffee?’ The subject of their enigmatic neighbour evidently at an end.
/>
‘No thank you, I’ll not sleep tonight if I drink any more. It appears my contribution wasn’t needed. Evangeline's brother reported her missing. He identified her, poor man.’
‘Inspector Maddox told you that?’ William abandoned his cup on the sideboard and returned to his chair where he perched on the edge of the squab, his hands held loosely between his knees.
‘Well, no.’ She winced, recalling she had intended to keep that part back, but it was too late now. ‘He introduced himself to me under the impression I was a friend of Evangeline’s.’ She decided not to add that he had accosted her on the Embankment and practically forced her to take a tour of the London parks.
‘You have been busy.’ William resumed his seat, his coffee cup dwarfed in his hands.
‘Inspector Maddox seems to think Evangeline’s association with the suffragist movement might have contributed to her fate.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. Though perhaps that theory isn’t so outrageous. Suppose someone disagreed with her politics? Confronted her, even challenged her, but she refused to be swayed?’
‘That doesn’t sound like a credible motive for murder, Flora.’
‘Perhaps they argued and things got out of hand? He didn’t intend to kill her, but—’
‘Enough!’ He laughed; the first time she had heard the sound that evening. ‘You’re letting your imagination run wild. The poor woman was attacked and robbed by some ne’er-do-well because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Without witnesses, the police might never discover who it was. No amount of theorizing on your part will make any difference.’ Stifling a yawn, he eased back and stretched his legs toward the fire. ‘How did young Sally feel about being dragged along to a police station? From what I know of East Enders, they tend to give the constabulary a very wide berth.’ He tugged his collar away from his neck, reminding Flora that Mr Lange had exhibited that same habit. Perhaps they shared a laundry which was too liberal with the starch?
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 15
