‘Strangely you are right, in that I have come on a similar mission.’ He relaxed his shoulders and leaned on the cane. ‘I too harboured a desire to see where my sister spent her last hour. Does that seem morbid to you?’
‘Not at all. You lost someone close to you in shocking circumstances. It’s natural to seek answers as to why it happened.’
‘It’s such a nondescript place, almost shabby.’ His eyes swept the front of the public house, its less attractive features blurred by the mist. ‘I cannot imagine what she was doing here.’
‘Not that uninteresting, apparently the place is haunted by the spirit of a subaltern who was murdered by his colleagues because—’ she broke off as his face drained of colour. ‘It’s not important. Just something I heard.’
‘In which case, Evie might have some company.’ A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, reminding Flora that he was an attractive man, though his features were marred once again by melancholy. ‘I thought I might find some answers here, but all I have are more questions.’
‘What kind of questions?’
‘That she might have been—’ he hesitated before continuing. ‘Perhaps her attack was of a more – intimate nature?’
‘Oh, I see.’ His words struck her like a blow. This was something that had not occurred to her before. ‘Inspector Maddox didn’t intimate that it was that sort of attack. Did he do so to you?’
‘He did not, but then why would he? I doubt he would take my feelings into account.’ He sounded almost bitter, but then was that surprising?
‘The police don’t normally keep that sort of detail secret. Not from relatives.’ Unless they feel it might help trap a murderer.
‘I suppose I ought to take comfort in that.’ He gave the alley another sweeping glance. ‘I still cannot fathom why Evie would come here.’
‘Nor can I. If she had an assignation with someone, why not choose the lounge of the Alexandra Hotel round the corner? It’s more respectable than here.’
‘I see you have given the matter some thought, Mrs Harrington.’ He shifted his cane from one hand to the other. ‘But then I seem to recall you said that you saw Evangeline the night she died.’
‘I did yes, but she walked off in the opposite direction, so it seems odd she would come back here later in the evening.’
‘Yes, yes that does seem odd.’
‘Is it possible Evangeline’s fiancé brought her here?’ Flora blurted, mainly to stop him bringing up the fact Evangeline had last been seen with Mr Crabbe. There was still something about that man William was keeping to himself.
‘Harry Flynn?’ He spat the words as if they tasted bitter. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Maybe he wanted to shock Evangeline by showing her a darker side of life. If so, his plan went wrong.’
Flora didn’t respond. It would have had to go very wrong for Evangeline to end up dead. Though somehow Flora doubted that was what happened. What intrigued her more was the reason for Mr Lange’s low opinion of his sister’s fiancée? ‘Did you disapprove of their engagement?’
‘I’m in no position to approve or disapprove.’ He sniffed, but his feelings were clear. ‘Harry Flynn is a type, if you understand what I mean.’
‘Not really, but if you’re about to be indiscreet, I assure you it will go no further. I won’t be shocked either. I’m a married woman, don’t forget.’
‘A fact you have reminded me of at least twice to my recollection.’ He smiled, propped his walking cane between his splayed feet and rested both hands on the top. ‘Mr Flynn has a certain – reputation. I suspect he is one of those men who feel a chap should be free to conduct liaisons with women whether married or not. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear he frequents places like this.’ He cocked his chin at The Grenadier behind him.
‘Would Evangeline have agreed to come here if Harry had asked her?’ Flora had her own opinions of men who treated marriage as an inconvenience, but this was not the time to voice them.
‘Had he lured her with promises of enlisting others to the suffragist cause do you mean?’ He cocked a satirical eyebrow. ‘I doubt she would have found many recruits here. As you see it’s not a place for women.’ His eyes widened as if something had occurred to him. ‘Of course, I had forgotten. Flynn is a convert isn’t he?’ He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘In which case, I’ve no doubt Evangeline would have marched straight into Hell itself to bring more followers into the fold.’
‘You think they could have been here together that night?’
‘Every chance I would think. Inspector Maddox won’t reveal anything about his investigation, despite that my father pesters the man daily for news. He’s still adhering to the belief she was killed in a random robbery.’
‘I’m not convinced of that theory either. Strangling is too direct, too personal.’
‘She knew her killer do you mean?’ He slanted a downward glance at her she couldn’t interpret? Whatever had gone through his mind he kept to himself.
With still no sign of Sally, an idea came to her. ‘We could talk to the landlord. Maybe he remembers seeing Evangeline with someone that night’
‘I-I uh don’t know if that’s wise.’ He tugged his collar away from his throat with one hand and swallowed. ‘I’m sure the police must have already questioned him.’
‘What harm could it do to simply ask? It won’t take long, and after all, why did you come here if not to discover something?’
‘You’re willing to enter a public house?’
‘I’ll come into the saloon bar with you,’ Flora said carefully. ‘Even I’m not brave enough to enter the public one.’ His reticence seemed odd, but the fact he was there at all showed he was tortured by what had happened to his sister.
The low-ceilinged saloon bar was deserted but for a lone drinker nursing a glass of unidentifiable dark liquid at a corner table. A blast of cold air accompanied them inside, quickly dispelled by a roaring fire that crackled and spat in a room no larger than a domestic parlour. The smell of fresh sawdust mingled with stale beer and a faint odour of male sweat made Flora take shallow breaths.
‘What would you like to drink?’ her companion asked as they approached the counter.
Flora hesitated, eyeing the row of wooden casks arranged on the back bar. Each one displayed the contents, among which was light ale, brandy, and Old Tom, which she knew to be sweet gin, but she had never tried it before and doubted this was a suitable time to begin.
‘Er, I have no idea. What do you suggest?’
‘I cannot see you trying the ale, but most pubs keep ginger beer on draught.’ He raised his arm and summoned a man in a leather apron and striped shirt who slowly wiped a glass with a linen cloth. His sleeves were rolled back to his elbows and secured with black bands.
‘A half and half for me and a ginger beer for the lady.’
At the word “lady”, the barman gave Flora what Riordan Maguire would have called an old-fashioned look. His wary glare through black pebble eyes told her this was likely the man, Hobbes, the skivvy outside had spoken about. Without taking his eyes off her, Hobbes retrieved two glasses from the shelf above their heads, half-filled one glass with ale from a cask then topped it up from a bottle of porter. He inserted a second glass beneath a spout into which cloudy amber liquid frothed and set this one in front of Flora.
‘Have one yourself,’ Mr Lange said brightly, adding a shilling to the pile of coins he pushed across the counter. ‘Keep the change.’
‘That’s most agreeable of you, sir.’ Hobbes’ expression cleared in delighted surprise, the money disappearing with lightning speed.
‘Heard you had some nasty business here the other night?’ Mr Lange said, taking a mouthful of his drink.
‘Nasty indeed.’ He pulled a pint for himself. ‘Not had anything like that happen around here before. Even had a couple of reporters nosing about last coupla days.’
‘Did you know the lady?’ Flora cradled her glass in her gloved hands and took a sip, finding the co
ntents delicious, if slightly tart. She scuffed her feet on the sawdust-covered floor, hoping none would stick to her boots, relaxed now he had stopped glaring at her.
‘She weren’t no lady.’ He leaned one elbow on the bar, his chin jutted forward. ‘Not if she was hanging about outside. But as I told that policeman who was in here asking questions, that woman was never inside this bar.’
‘Are you sure?’ Flora asked.
‘Positive. My staff would have asked her to leave if she had been.’ His eyes shifted towards Flora, then narrowed. ‘I don’t allow that sort inside my pub.’
‘Which sort are you referring to?’ Flora demanded, incensed by the innuendo.
‘Women who go about town alone late at night, when it ain’t respectable.’ He wiped his hands on the same linen towel, then slung it over one shoulder.
‘How do you know if she didn’t come inside?’ Flora asked, no longer shy. ‘And this gentleman is Mr Lange, who happens to be her brother.’
‘Didn’t mean to give offence, sir.’ The hostility faded from the barman’s eyes and he tucked in his chin. ‘I run a tidy house here. And er-my condolences, sir.’ His eyes lingered on Flora’s companion as if he was trying to place Mr Lange, but failed as his eyes slid away, displaying no recognition.
‘I’m sure the lady didn’t mean to imply otherwise.’ Lange cleared his throat and turned aside quickly, a hand to his face as if he were embarrassed. He nudged Flora’s arm as he did so, spilling ginger beer onto the countertop.
The barman tutted, but before he could apply a cloth to the spill, a man at the corner table loudly demanded a refill. With a curt nod and another mumbled platitude about death and loss, he excused himself.
‘I apologise for his disrespect.’ Mr Lange eased his arm away from the spill on the counter. ‘However, I wish you hadn’t said that. Whatever gossip is circulating, my presence here will now be added to it.’
‘I’m sorry, but the man was offensive. I was only defending your sister’s reputation.’ Aware her own appeared to have received a battering in the last few minutes.
‘I doubt we’ll get any more out of him. Not that there is anything to learn if he didn’t see Evangeline.’ Lange retrieved his cane and extended his arm to indicate they leave.
Flora set her half-full glass on the counter and preceded him outside where she was greeted by a blast of frigid air.
‘Might I escort you somewhere, Mrs Harrington?’ he asked as they gained the alley. ‘I would rather not leave you here on your own.’
‘I was here when you arrived, Mr Lange.’ A smile twitched at her mouth as she caught sight of Sally, who waited by the gate.
‘Then I’ll bid you good day.’ He tipped his hat and, cane swinging, strode away towards the gate that led to Wilton Place.
‘What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Sally joined her when he was out or earshot, her chin cocked at Mr Lange’s receding back.
‘I think I spoke out of turn – again.’ Flora couldn’t help feeling his annoyance was out of proportion to her faux pas. Why didn’t he want the barman to know the dead woman was his sister? And if not, why come to The Grenadier at all?
‘Do you think you should be encouraging strangers, Missus?’
‘Not a stranger, we’re already acquainted. He’s Evangeline Lange’s brother. He wanted to see where she died, though I don’t think he was comfortable about it. I pushed him into talking to the barman, who said Evangeline was never inside his bar.’
‘Or he doesn’t want her to have been. Might be bad for business.’
‘You could be right about that.’ Flora couldn’t help a smile in grudging respect for this wisp of a girl who knew so much about the less agreeable aspects of life. ‘Anyway, you were gone a long time. What have you been doing?’
‘That girl with the broom, whose name’s Meg, by the way. She showed me the cellar, which is used as a card room and there’s money pinned to the ceiling. Paper money. She said it was to pay Cedric’s debt or something. Very odd she was, maybe she’s a bit soft in the ’ead?’
‘Ah, I think I know what that’s about. That ghost Mr Dunne mentioned the other day. And don’t look at me like that, I know you were listening. Did Meg happen to see Miss Lange?’
‘I did better than that.’ Sally reached into her coat and withdrew a square tapestry bag the size of a small book with a gilt catch. ‘This belonged to that Evangeline woman.’
‘Where did you get that?’ Flora reached out a hand, but Sally was quicker and whipped it out of sight under her coat.
‘Not here.’ She made a ‘follow me’ gesture and set off back the way they had come.
‘You’re being very mysterious.’ Flora hurried to keep up with her as Sally sped back along the alley, turned right into Knightsbridge and headed for Prince Albert Mansions.
‘I don’t want anyone to know we’ve got it,’ Sally whispered as the door flapped shut behind them, muffling the traffic sounds from the street. ‘I promised she wouldn’t get into trouble.’
The lobby was empty but for the porter, Dunne, who stood behind his desk, a heavily veiled woman on the other side stood with her back turned to them. She didn’t turn around when Flora greeted Dunne with a smile and a nod, though even had she done so, her veil was so thick, Flora would still not have known who she was.
‘Come into my room,’ Flora said once inside. ‘Randall won’t bother us in there.’
‘How can you know this is Evangeline’s?’ Flora watched as Sally upended the bag onto the bed.
An expensive item, the bag was hand-stitched with a floral tapestry design on one side and good quality russet velvet on the other; the clasp made of heavy brass. Flora examined the jumbled contents on the counterpane, amongst which were an enamelled mirror, an empty change purse, and a tortoiseshell comb, together with a tiny cone of twisted paper which contained liquorice comfits.
‘This might convince you.’ Sally held up a lace handkerchief with the initials “EL” embroidered in one corner.
‘I see, yes, that makes it more likely. But why don’t the police have this? Or at the very least the landlord of The Grenadier.’
‘From what Meg said about him, no one would have seen it again, not least the coppers. Besides, Meg’s a barmaid, and a “lush toucher”.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The soft material of the bag crackled beneath Flora’s fingers. Frowning, she delved inside.
‘Someone who robs people when they’ve had too much to drink. Spotted it the minute I saw her.’
‘Which begs the question as to how this Meg stole Evangeline’s bag if she wasn’t inside The Grenadier?’
‘I’ll tell yer if you don’t go repeating it to that police inspector.’
‘Why wouldn’t I mention— Oh, never mind, what did she say?’ Flora decided to exercise a healthy dose of scepticism to whatever the girl might have said, but she might as well hear it.
‘She came into the yard to throw out some rubbish and spotted what she thought was some drunk fallen over in the alley, but when she went to take a look, she saw it was a woman and she was dead.’
‘Didn’t she go and fetch someone to help?’
‘I ain’t finished.’ Sally silenced her with a hard look. ‘She said she was about to, but spotted the bag tucked under the body. She bent to pick it up, which was when some punters came out the front door of the pub and spotted the body. It was them who alerted the landlord.’
‘So this Meg just took the bag and didn’t tell anyone?’ Flora frowned at Sally’s blithe acceptance of the barmaid’s behaviour. ‘She robbed a dead woman?’
‘Don’t look so shocked, Missus.’ Sally hunched her shoulders though she couldn’t meet Flora’s eyes. ‘It’s not so easy to do the right thing all the time. Meg felt bad about the bag or she wouldn’t have come clean would she?’
‘And why exactly did she “come clean”, as you put it?’ Flora rummaged in the silk lining.
‘Simple.’ Sally shrugged, apparently pleased with herself
. ‘I gave her five bob and said she could keep whatever was in the purse.’ She held up the coin purse and shook it. ‘I doubt Miss Evangeline Lange walked about with an empty coin purse, but I didn’t ask how much she took. Getting the bag was the important thing.’
‘Good work, Sally. I suppose.’ Though Flora wasn’t entirely happy about how the bag was obtained. It would have to be handed over to Inspector Maddox at some stage, but she would think about that later. ‘There’s something else here.’ Her fingers closed on a folded slip of paper that she brought into the light and opened it out. ‘It’s some sort of receipt.’
‘What’s it for?’ Sally peered over her shoulder.
‘A box number at Boltons Library. That’s a few doors down in Knightsbridge.’
‘What would this Miss Lange want to buy a box for?’ Sally asked.
‘She didn’t buy a box, Sally, it’s a mail receiving service. You pay a rental and have correspondence delivered to their address.’
‘But it says it’s a library.’
‘They lend out books as well. We’ve walked past it on our way to Harrods. Have you not noticed it?’
‘Don’t go in much for books.’ Sally shrugged. ‘Why would she want one of those?’
‘I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.’ Flora refolded the receipt and climbed off the bed.
Why would Evangeline need to have her letters sent anywhere but her home? What kind of people was she writing to? Another part of the puzzle that made up the enigmatic Miss Lange. Flora scooped up the items back into the bag and glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantle whose hands stood at twenty minutes to one o’clock. ‘Come on. We might make it before they close for luncheon.’
‘First put me coat on, then take it off, now you want it back on again,’ Sally mumbled, following her out. ‘I’ll catch pneumonia at this rate.’
‘Stop complaining, girl, you haven’t had so much fun in months.’
Chapter 18
Flora pushed through the main door of Prince Albert Mansions but was forced to a halt when she almost collided with a woman who was on her way in. Flora backed away, murmuring her apologies.
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 18
