Flora gripped the doorframe with one hand, and with the other clawed at John’s fingers that dug into her arm. A fingernail broke but she felt no pain, only the satisfaction of hearing him grunt again, then utter a curse as the broken edge scored his skin.
A hard push to the middle of her back sent her over the threshold. Her stomach lurched as her foot trod thin air and with a startled cry, she flailed her arms. Her left hand struck a rail and she grabbed it and hung on, landing hard on a wooden step which wobbled alarmingly beneath her weight, but held.
The door closed behind her with a bang and the key turned in the lock with a dull, ominous click.
*
Flora hung onto the wooden handrail with both hands. Disoriented and light-headed, she waited for her frantic breathing to settle into a normal rhythm. Slowly, the dizziness receded and she stood still. Darkness pressed against her so she had no idea how steep the staircase was or how high the treads, but at least she hadn’t fallen the rest of the way. Apart from the darkness, her overriding impression was frigid, numbing cold, the air laden with a damp, musty smell of old furniture, rotting vegetables and something else she dare not think about.
The steps were rickety but held as she felt each step with the toe of her shoe and slowly descended to a packed earth floor. Maybe John hadn’t intended for her to break her neck, but she doubted he had her health in mind.
The air was even colder at the bottom, with the mustiness of all unheated spaces that made her want to cough. Unable to see where she trod, she banged her shin on something hard that shook. Glass rattled and something fell and hit the floor. A tentative hand-over-hand examination told her it was a set of shelves stacked with glass jars, some tools and packets of something she would rather not think about. Rat poison probably, which meant there was likely vermin down there.
She shivered and remembered with longing her thick wool coat that hung on the stand upstairs. Her eyes adjusted slowly, until the darkness shifted, lightening into varying shades of black and grey, with darker areas that indicated solid objects. A weak rectangle of light came from a tiny window little bigger than a house brick set above head height; the room itself barely eight feet square and mostly empty apart from the set of shelves and one or two packing cases set in the far corner. More a lower ground floor than a true cellar, though that made little difference when a locked door stood between her and the house.
Where had Sally got to? She was no fool, and surely by now had guessed something was happening when Flora had disappeared without explanation. Or had John found her too and she was now locked up in some storeroom in the servants’ quarters?
Goosebumps erupted on her skin and her breath left her lips in a white cloud. Shivering, and with tentative patting of her hands, she searched the shelves for an item she could use to relieve the cold which bit into her fingers and made her nose run. Her fingers closed on something soft, which felt like fabric. Not sacking, but too silky to be a blanket. She hauled it from the shelf, sending a cloud of choking dust into the air that made her cough. It was heavy, the silky side was some sort of lining with velvet on the other side. Maybe the Lange’s had stored an old pair of curtains down there?
With no idea how long it had been there, or what might have crawled on it, she gave it a wary sniff. It didn’t smell damp, so she dragged it across her shoulders where it pooled onto the floor. Better a few crawlies than freezing to death.
She paced the floor a few times, then frustration drove her back to the stairs, where she crouched on the bottom step and chewed at a fingernail, the length of cloth rucked in folds around her shoulders.
What had she done?
She hadn’t even told William where she was going this morning, so no one knew she was there – except Sally. Miss Lowe threatening her with a pistol was bad enough, but what had John planned for her when he had proved himself a cold-blooded killer? Then there was Bunny, who would be furious and likely never to let her out of his sight again. If she got out of there alive? Not that any of this was her fault, not really. Inspector Maddox had some explaining to do as well. If he had done his job properly he would have known John was the killer and not Victor. If she hadn’t accepted without question that he would get Gordon to confess, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Each scenario was followed by another until her mind screamed with frustration and panic. Oh, why had she come here? To boast how clever she had been? Probably. Definitely.
Now she had to find a way to get out of this cellar before John came back and – and what?
The sound of a bolt being shot sent a ripple of fear through her and she bolted from the step into the darkness. She felt her way, hand over hand, to the far end of the set of shelves, her curtain cloak swishing across the flagstone floor. She froze, her heart thumping against her corset, her breathing shallow and fast.
Was it John coming to finish what he had started?
The shelves offered little protection, but at least she would see him before he saw her. For the first few seconds or so anyway. Now if only she could find a weapon.
The door creaked open, throwing a beam of light onto the wooden steps that penetrated the slats. A scuffle of feet, followed by an angry, colourful oath. A man’s voice. John’s? Then the door slammed shut again, followed by the slam of the bolt and the cellar was thrown into darkness again.
Silence.
‘Miss Flora?’ a whispered voice called.
‘Sally?’
‘Where are you, Missus? I can’t see.’
Flora emerged from behind the shelves and traced a path back to the bottom of the steps. ‘Give it a moment for your eyes to adjust, but be careful of the steps. There are six.’ She found she was whispering, but somehow the occasion warranted low voices. Flora slumped onto the bottom step with a deep sigh and slid to one side to make room for her. Her last hope that Sally had managed to summon help slipped away when she heard her maid’s voice.
‘Where are you, Miss Flora?’ A tentative creak was followed by another.
‘Directly below you, and don’t tread on my curtain.’
‘Curtain? What curtain?’ Sally crouched beside her on the bottom step making it creak.
‘This one.’ Flora tugged the material out from beneath Sally’s foot. ‘What happened up there?’
‘I came back with our coats and found the hall empty but for Mr John who was locking the cellar door. Mrs Lange was off with the fairies and he said you’d taken ill and gone home and I was to follow. Well, I knew you wouldn’t go without me, and I had your coat, so I pretended I was leaving, then crept back round the side of the house and hid.’
‘I don’t suppose you happen to know what John was doing?’ Flora asked.
‘I sneaked through the scullery and saw him take his dotty mother back into the sitting room. When he came out again, he went into the garden with that Jenks. It was when I crept closer to try and hear what they were saying that they caught me. They dragged me back in and shoved me down here.’
‘We can forget asking for help from the butler, he’s obviously under John’s control.’
‘He’s got some dodgy business going on with the tradesman, the maid said.’ Sally pulled up her sleeve and grimaced. ‘And he ought to cut ’is fingernails, my wrists are bleeding.’ She rubbed her upper arms and drummed her heels on the wooden step. ‘Blimey, it’s brass monkeys down here.’
‘Here, you can share my curtain.’ Flora didn’t bother correcting her slang, but simply wrapped her end of the heavy, lined fabric around Sally’s shoulders.
‘Is that what this is?’ Sally huddled beneath the soft material, giving it a tentative sniff Flora didn’t see but clearly heard. ‘It smells funny.’
‘Don’t think about it. I hope it’s just damp, but I didn’t like to consider the alternatives.’ Flora turned to look at her, though she was little more than a black shape in a dark grey room. ‘I’m sorry about this, Sally, but in my defence, I had no idea John Lange had done anything wrong.’
‘Too busy w
ith spies weren’t you?’ Sally gave a snort. ‘You and Mr William.’
Flora refused to rise to the bait. ‘Did you say John was in the garden?’ She felt rather than saw Sally’s heavy nod. ‘What were they doing? Did you see?’
When Sally didn’t answer, Flora nudged her. ‘Sally?’
‘They was digging.’
‘Digging?’ Flora’s stomach tightened. ‘They intend burying us in the garden? Well that’s a ridiculous idea. It’s the first place the police would look.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘Gracious, listen to me, what am I saying?’ Suddenly Flora couldn’t breathe. The air around her seemed to drop several degrees and she couldn’t get her ribs to work. Her breaths came shallow and sharp and she began to feel dizzy. At least she was sitting down.
‘Don’t you go having hysterics on me, Missus,’ Sally scolded giving her a hard shake.
The rough contact seemed to do the trick and Flora sucked in cold, mildew-laden air.
‘There must be a way out of here, Sally?’ She stared around, but could hardly make out where the walls ended and the ceiling began, let alone pick out objects. ‘What about a coal hole?’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start, and I ain’t scrabbling around on the floor in this murk looking for one neither.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Flora continued to take slow even breaths, forcing herself not to become hysterical. ‘There could be anything down here. Blades, knives, even arsenic.’ She shivered again and wrapped the length of material tighter around them both. ‘He can’t keep us down here forever. He has to get us out before—’ She couldn’t bear to think of what would happen next. How long did it take to dig a grave? Two graves? Or one large, all-purpose one? At the thought, she released a harsh, choking laugh that dissolved into a sob.
‘Stop that, Miss Flora,’ Sally snapped. ‘He won’t get me into that garden without a fight, that’s for sure. He’ll have more than a sore neck when I’ve finished with him an’ all.’
‘This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.’ Flora huffed her breath in a white mist and teeth started to chatter. Shivering, she rocked back and forth as the damp of the freezing cellar seeped through her clothes. Despite the heavy material draped over her, she could barely feel her feet and kept sniffing as her nose ran.
‘I know it’s your fault, but don’t fret it now.’ Sally hunkered down into the folds of the curtain.
‘When shall I fret it then?’ Flora laughed again. Or was Sally right and she was hysterical? A thought crept into her head that at least her baby was safe and warm inside her. For now.
Sally muttered something under her breath Flora didn’t catch.
‘What was that?’
‘I said, how long have we been down here?’ Sally’s diction had vastly improved, maybe through fear.
‘About fifteen minutes, but it seems longer.’ Flora cupped her numb fingers and blew into them. ‘How long do you think it will be before John and that treacherous butler come and get us, Sally? Or do they intend to let us freeze to death first?’
‘We’ll get out of here, don’t you worry yourself, Miss Flora. The fates won’t be that unkind.’
‘I admire your optimism, but we might have to face the fact there is no way out. Not unless we find something with which to knock that monster up there senseless when he comes to get us.’ Flora straightened. ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Come on, we’ll search these shelves again for something heavy. It mustn’t be too cumbersome or I won’t be able to put any force behind it when I swing it at John’s murdering skull.’ She scrambled to her feet, her blood surging again as a satisfactory image played in her head. She hitched the curtain higher to prevent her tripping over it as she felt her way along the shelves. ‘A plank of wood, maybe, or a good sized pot.’
‘I thought you had already looked, Miss Flora? You didn’t find anything before.’
‘No, but—’ A floorboard creaked overhead and Flora froze, staring upwards, though she couldn’t see the ceiling, only blackness.
The sound stopped and the cellar door stayed firmly closed. Flora strained her ears for any ominous noises from the other side but there was nothing. After a moment she started moving again, carefully placing hand over hand along the shelf while trying not to think about what she might be touching. ‘Don’t be defeatist, Sally. Get off your backside and come and help me.’
‘No thanks. I’ll think I’ll wait for the police.’
‘I hate to say this, but I doubt they’ll be coming.’ The curtain slipped from one shoulder and she pulled it back into place again. ‘They have no idea we are here.’
‘They bloomin’ well ought to, since I called them before I came looking for you.’
‘Sally!’ Flora gasped. Abandoning the shelving, she made her way back to the steps, dragging the heavy curtain behind her. ‘What do you mean you called them? How?’ She stubbed her toe on the bottom step and sat down with a thump, her teeth gritted.
‘I used that telephone machine in the back hall.’
‘Oh, Sally!’ Flora gathered her into a crushing hug. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were going to get battered to death and buried in the garden.’ She held Sally away from her, staring in a face that was little more than a grey shadow in the low light. ‘How did you know how to use a telephone?’
‘Never ’ave before, but I’ve watched others often enough. It was when Jenks went to fetch the laudanum and Mr Lange was upstairs. But don’t go getting too carried away, Missus. They ain’t here yet.’ Ever the pragmatist, she shrugged out of Flora’s hold, grabbed the bottom half of the length of fabric and wrapped it round herself.
‘Maybe not, but at least we now have hope.’ Flora closed her eyes and sent up silent thanks. She was about to hug Sally again, but her maid must have sensed it and eased sideways away from her.
Minutes passed and Flora’s relief dissolved, replaced by the nagging fear that maybe the police might not arrive before John Lange returned to get them? If not, then at least he and that slimy butler would have William and Bunny to deal with. Maybe even her mother-in-law.
‘Did you tell the police exactly where we were?’ Flora demanded, her nerves on edge.
‘I told them where you were.’ Sally sniffed. ‘I didn’t plan on being stuck here with you at the time. I wish they’d hurry up, because I need the privy.’
Flora glanced up at the sound of urgent repeated rings of the doorbell was followed by a heavy pounding on the front door.
‘Thank gawd for that,’ Sally muttered.
Flora scrambled to her feet. ‘If we can hear them, then they can hear us. Climb the steps and bang on that door, and shout as loud as you can.’
‘What about you? Or ain’t it ladylike to pound on doors?’ Sally snorted.
‘This is no time to argue, just do—’ she broke off as the cellar door swung open and Inspector Maddox stood silhouetted at the top of the steps.
‘Are you two ladies going to come out, or should I wait until you’ve finished your argument?’ Inspector Maddox stood framed in the doorway, a raised eyebrow above a bemused, mocking smile.
Chapter 32
Flora was about to thank him for arriving in time, but the fact he saw her as a source of amusement froze the words on her tongue. Instead, she stomped up the short flight of creaking steps and swept past him into the hall, leaving Sally to follow.
‘You took your time opening the door,’ Inspector Maddox snapped at the cowering figure of Jenks, who had retreated to the servant’s door. ‘Now where’s John Lange?’ Without waiting for an answer, he bundled the protesting butler through into the rear, followed by two policemen.
‘Mrs Harrington!’ Harry Flynn’s worried face appeared at the open front door. He rushed to her side, his face a picture of shocked concern. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, but it looks as if we were just in time. That blackguard hasn’t hurt you has he?’ He sounded breathless as if he had been running.
Flora shook her head, her teeth chattering too ha
rd to speak, as she took in the figure who followed him in. A tall, angular man in striped trousers and an old-fashioned black cloak that reached past his knees.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror by the door and groaned. Her hat had squashed down on one side and she still wore the length of velvet round her shoulders, which she could now see was indeed a curtain in a sickly shade of lime green. No wonder she looked odd.
‘I’m very cold, Mr Flynn.’ Flora smiled at the inspector’s retreating back. ‘But quite well and very relieved to be out of that damp cellar.’ She summoned her remaining poise along with a tremulous smile which she directed at the man beside Harry.
‘My apologies, Mrs Harrington.’ Harry recovered his manners and indicated the stranger. ‘This is Mr Howard Lange, Evangeline’s father.’
‘In whose hall you happen to be standing. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He bowed briefly over her hand. ‘We’re more concerned for you, my dear. We were very afraid my stepson was about to compound his already vicious crimes.’ His gaze left her and darted the hall as if he was looking for someone.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Flora assured him, though images of the grave in the garden persisted. ‘Did you arrive here with the police?’ It occurred to her then she had one of his discarded curtains draped round her but he didn’t appear to notice.
‘I’m sorry to say, no. That was pure coincidence,’ Harry said. ‘We spotted two taxis and a police van draw up as we entered the square. I must say it made me quite jittery. Thought they’d come for me.’
‘For you? He thought you had killed Evangeline?’ Flora frowned up at him.
‘Harry was Inspector Maddox’s main suspect up until this morning,’ Howard Lange explained.
‘Ridiculous. I never really thought of you as a possible suspect.’
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 34
