The Bloomsbury Affair

by Anita Davison

  ‘Something of the sort, I imagine. And like most royal princes, Prince Frederick proved no less extravagant than the rest of the Hanoverians and his creditors forced him to sell. The new owners, being more economically minded, extended the building before turning the whole thing into sixty-nine sets.’

  ‘Are all the residents here lone gentlemen?’ Flora tugged off her gloves and laid them on a table at her elbow. ‘We didn’t see any ladies in the halls when we arrived.’

  ‘Ladies were strictly forbidden some forty or so years ago. In fact, they say Lord Byron used to sneak Lady Caroline Lamb into his set at night.’ In response to Flora’s sideways look, Arnold added, ‘But that particular story might be apocryphal.’

  ‘Poor Lord Melbourne,’ Flora said with a smile, ‘cuckolded in his parents’ former home.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Arnold stared at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

  ‘Did I mention Flora used to be my governess?’ Ed straddled the arm of a sofa, one ankle swinging.

  ‘Ah, yes of course.’ Arnold’s eyes sparkled with humour. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, the trustees amended the regulations some years ago to allow ladies to live here, but few have taken it up, apart from some married couples. Lady visitors are welcome, of course. I gather the doorman didn’t try to eject you?’ He laughed at his own joke; the high, discordant laugh of the privileged who had never had to concern themselves with how they sounded in public. ‘Might I offer you some tea?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m afraid it’s the only beverage I have, so I hope it’s adequate.’

  ‘That would be delightful,’ Flora said. ‘I see you are interested in sports, Mr Baines.’ She studied a display of sepia photographs in various styles of frames on a sideboard. Some in silver filigree ovals, plain brass and plain polished ebony. Some were standard family portraits and baby pictures, though the majority consisted of groups of young men aiming wide smiles at the camera while holding aloft a variety of tennis rackets, polo sticks and rugby balls.

  ‘As a spectator only. I’ve never been strong enough to participate.’ His eyes darkened briefly, but his smile returned immediately. ‘As a child I was stuck in my bedroom for weeks at a time, which was when I became interested in photography. Those on the desk in the corner are landscapes and pictures of my parents’ country house in Wiltshire, while those on the far wall are of the sporting events my brother, Stinky, took part in at Marlborough.’

  ‘They’re very good.’ Flora admired an informal composition of a group of cricketers in crisp white trousers and cable-knit sweaters, bats piled haphazardly at their feet, and all with wide smiles aimed at the camera.

  ‘Thank you. I’m particularly proud of the one in the ebony frame of Stinky at the rugby championships. He’s second from the left.’ He indicated a stocky boy of medium height with muscular shoulders and legs, a muddy rugby ball tucked under one bulging arm. The physical contrast to himself marked, and in many ways sad, although he appeared proud of his fitter, healthier sibling. ‘I fear I shall soon run out of space to display them all,’ Arnold continued. ‘Now, if I can get the gas heater to co-operate, I’ll fetch the tea. It can be temperamental at times. Won’t be a minute.’

  Once Arnold had left the room, Flora rose and wandered to the desk, its leather inlay covered with more framed photographs, each one labelled in stylish script with the date and description of the event. A photograph of the test match at Kennington Oval two years previously jostled beside one labelled, ‘The 60th University Boat Race 1903’. It was of the winning team in pale shirts with wide smiles on their faces, compared to the stoic, fixed expressions of the disappointed challengers in their darker colours.

  ‘I remember this race.’ Flora held it up for Ed to see. ‘Bunny watched from Putney Bridge with Jeremy Fitzhugh and came home grumbling about the umpire having misfired the starter’s pistol.’

  ‘I saw it too with some chums.’ Ed gave the photograph a cursory nod before going back to his perusal of a magazine. ‘I’m convinced the pistol thing gave Cambridge an unfair advantage.’

  ‘There’s one here of you playing rugby,’ Flora pointed to another one. ‘And here you are in the swimming team.’

  ‘Don’t remind me, Flora.’ Ed squirmed. ‘I always hated having my photograph taken at school.’

  ‘I cannot think why, you always look very handsome.’ She found a particularly delightful one of Ed at a cricket match, where both teams formed a guard of honour, cricket bats held aloft over a curly-haired boy, presumably their captain.

  She moved on to a frame with the heading ‘Cross-Country 1902’ written in cursive script below the emblem of Marlborough College. A group of smiling young men in white shirts and tweed plus fours, their heads close together round a silver trophy. Behind them stood those she assumed were their proud parents and relatives, all sporting proud smiles.

  ‘Ed, didn’t you take part in the ’02 Cross-Country?’ she asked over her shoulder.

  ‘I…er, I might have done, but I cannot recall. Why?’ Ed muttered, his head still buried in a magazine.

  ‘Because I can’t see you anywhere in this picture.’

  ‘Arnie takes scads of photographs. He goes to all the school sports events. I’m probably in one of the others.’ He tossed the magazine on the chair behind him, rubbed his hands along his thighs. ‘I think I’ll go and see if he needs a hand. That water heater is probably playing up again.’ He rose quickly and moved to the door. ‘You’ll be all right here on your own won’t you, Flora?’

  ‘Um, yes of course,’ she replied, running a finger along the list of printed names at the bottom of the picture from where the name ‘Leo Thompson’ jumped out at her. Her heart raced as she located its corresponding owner in the photograph; a pleasant-looking young man with unremarkable features holding a trophy and smiling into the camera. A face which was similar to but not the same one she had seen that morning at The Dahlia. The sepia tint picture made it impossible to discern the exact shade of his hair, but Leo’s was of a similar colour, but the youth in the photograph had different eyes; rounder and not as heavily browed as the man at the hotel. Would someone’s eyes change so much in three years? Surely not?

  The more she studied the face in the picture, the more certain she became that the man on the train was the real Leo Thompson.

  Then who was the man calling himself Leonard Hunter-Griggs at The Dahlia Hotel?

  Chapter 18

  ‘Well, that didn’t take too long, did it?’ Arnold’s strident voice in the quiet room made Flora jump. ‘Hot water heater worked first time.’

  ‘Not at all, I hardly noticed you were gone.’ She replaced the picture and summoned a bright smile.

  ‘Ed will be along in a minute. I’ve left him in charge of the tray.’ He set an ornate teapot on a low table between them; with its intricate gilt curlicues and sinewy spout she assumed it to be a contribution from his parents. She couldn’t imagine any young man purchasing such a delicate and expensive object.

  ‘Your photographs are very interesting, Mr Baines, er Arnie. I wondered, do you happen to know the young man the third from the right in this one?’ She darted a look at the half-closed door, listening for Ed’s tread on the staircase.

  Arnold skirted the table and peered at the picture. ‘No idea, sorry. I was asked to take that one by Lady Egerton.’ At her enquiring expression, he added, ‘She’s a friend of my mater’s. She sent me a copy afterwards out of politeness, but I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with most of the people in it. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought I had seen him before, but perhaps not. Er… which one is Lady Egerton?’ Not that she really wished to know but hoped to steer the conversation back to Leo.

  ‘That’s her.’ He tapped the glass with a finger against a woman who looked to be in her early fifties in a light-coloured suit, the jacket cut in the fashionable ‘S’ shape. She faced the camera, one arm raised to a wide-brimmed hat, the crown encircled with a dark sash. ‘Her nephew, Sebastia
n, took part in the cross-country, which is why she was there. He’s on the far right.’

  ‘Who else is in this photograph?’ Flora asked, mildly disappointed when he reeled off some names which meant nothing to her.

  ‘Her lady companion is there but not the man she brought with her. Mater says she always has some young chap escort her to all the best parties, if for no other reason than to shock people. There was a scandal attached to her a few years back. One of her young men stole a diamond bracelet from her then disappeared.’

  ‘I thought you said Lady Egerton was a family friend?’ She cast a teasing eye upon him.

  ‘Oh, she is, but it doesn’t stop Mater gossiping.’

  Ed appeared at the door with a loaded tray that he caught against the door frame, rattling the crockery. ‘Whoops, sorry about that.’ He set the tray down next to the teapot. ‘Not still looking at Arnold’s rogue’s gallery, eh, Flora. Surely you must be bored with those by now?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Flora sliced him a rueful look. ‘They’re more interesting than you think.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Arnold began the ritual of pouring tea and handed round sugar and milk. ‘It’s a while since anyone has expressed interest in them.’ He offered Flora a biscuit decorated with icing sugar and Parma violets from a distinctive green decorated box she recognized as being from Fortnum’s. ‘Delighted as I am to meet you at last, Flora,’ he held a theatrical finger beside his cheek. ‘Something tells me this isn’t purely a social call.’

  ‘Whatever makes you think that?’ Ed’s self-conscious shrug made her wonder what he had confided during their sojourn in the kitchen.

  ‘For one thing, Stinky called in last evening for a sherry and said he had received a telephone call from you, Ed, with instructions for Lady Jocasta should she call. He was to confirm Ed was staying with him.’ Arnold inserted an air of conspiracy into his voice. ‘Are you on the trail of another murderer by any chance?’

  ‘I see there’s no fooling you, Arnie.’ Flora accepted a biscuit and placed it in her saucer. Had Arnold’s mater been present, she would no doubt have insisted he used plates.

  ‘Comes from spending so much time in bed as a child.’ Arnold dipped his biscuit into his tea. ‘I know the difference between coincidence and correlation. What with Ed’s jumpiness since his arrival, I assume the latter.’

  ‘How astute of you, and in fact I am conducting an investigation into a suspicious death.’ Arnold’s eyes brightened, and she smiled at how murder horrified some people and yet fascinated others. ‘I had an idea about Albany and Ed suggested you might be able to help.’

  ‘I’d be happy to, although I have no idea how.’ Arnold sloshed milk into his tea, ignored the various chairs and sofas and, instead, perched on the low window ledge, crossed one spider leg over the other and fixed Flora with an attentive stare. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘I’m looking for an army colonel, possibly retired, who might live here.’

  ‘Retired army colonel, eh?’ Arnold’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a mouthful of tea. ‘You’ve described about eighty percent of the residents.’ He blushed and looked down at his shoes. I uh, don’t know if Ed mentioned it, but one of the rules here is we don’t discuss who lives here. Not done, you see.’

  ‘Surely this is different, Arnie?’ Ed shot him a conspiratorial look. ‘A murder has been committed.’

  ‘You don’t think the old Colonel is involved do you?’ Arnold straightened in alarm.

  ‘No, but he might know something about the circumstances.’

  ‘I see, well.’ He cleared his throat but his deep flush persisted.

  ‘Look, Arnie.’ Flora set down her cup, prepared to leave rather than compromise this charming young man. ‘If it makes you uncomfortable —’

  ‘It does.’ He nodded, clearly conflicted.

  ‘Which could be a problem.’ Flora shot Ed a hard look, which he returned with a shrug. ‘If this man does have a set here, I was hoping you might introduce me to him. I need to speak to him. It’s important.’

  ‘Hmm, well then, I’ll have to think about it. What’s the chap’s name?’

  ‘Amery Hunter-Griggs,’ Flora replied.

  ‘Ah.’ Arnold waved the remains of his biscuit in the air. ‘I do know him. We’ve shared a sherry or two since I moved in. He lives with his former batman in C12 at the end of the Rope Walk.’

  ‘What’s the Rope Walk?’ Flora asked, pleased with herself at having guessed correctly regarding the Colonel’s address.

  ‘The newer part of the building is in two parts linked by a covered walkway which runs down to Vigo Street.’ Arnold uncrossed one bony ankle from the other and placed his cup on a low table between them. ‘There’s a garden at the end with a fishpond. I don’t make much use of it, but the old chaps like to sit there on sunny afternoons.’

  ‘Do you think the Colonel would be willing to talk to me?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Nice old chap, and he has all his marbles too, unlike some of the old dodderers round here. He’s the type who might forgive me for introducing you, seeing as you’re an attractive young lady’ Arnold held out the box of biscuits again, which Flora declined. ‘I’ll warn you though, he’s no fool, and if he thinks you’re trying to pump him for information as opposed to being friendly, he might clam up.’

  ‘I’ve considered that.’ She began to appreciate Arnold’s sharp mind, which was at such odds with his fragile appearance. ‘I thought I could claim to be an aspiring journalist for a women’s periodical.’ Flora nibbled her biscuit, more from politeness than hunger. ‘Small circulation, elite staff sort of thing. I’ll say I’m writing a story about military life in the last century.’

  ‘Good plan. He served in the Hussars in India, so I expect he has a few tales to tell.’ He cocked his head to one side like a friendly robin. ‘What exactly is this all about?’

  ‘Go on, Flora. Arnold won’t tell.’ Ed’s guarded look conveyed he would prefer her to miss out the part about him being a suspect.

  ‘A body was discovered on a train a few days ago. I’m trying to discover who killed him and why.’

  ‘The one at Paddington that was in all the papers?’ Arnold straightened, alert. ‘You think Hunter-Griggs might be connected in some way? Wait, though, the papers said the body hadn’t been identified.’

  ‘The police haven’t yet released the deceased’s name to the newspapers.’ Ed wiped crumbs from his upper lip, while avoiding his friend’s eye.

  ‘Excellent.’ Arnold rubbed his hands together. ‘All a bit hush-hush then? What’s your interest, might I ask?’

  ‘I cannot say at this stage,’ Flora glanced briefly at Ed, who blushed. ‘If it turns out I’m mistaken, I wouldn’t wish to alarm an old man. I’m sure you understand.’ Not only did she want to protect Ed, but she also didn’t want to put Arnold into an awkward position if questions were asked later.

  ‘Quite right. I see your predicament. When do you wish to talk to him?’

  ‘What about now?’ Ed asked before Flora could answer.

  ‘Ed, it might not be convenient,’ Flora said. The photograph had convinced her the real Leo Thompson was dead, a fact she didn’t want to let slip to the Colonel without meaning to.

  ‘Don’t see why not,’ Arnold rose and tugged down his jacket. ‘He doesn’t go out much and, as far as I’m aware, has few visitors.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Flora?’ Ed urged when she had not moved. ‘Isn’t this why we came?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ His aversion to the photograph still worried her, though with both of them so enthusiastic, what reason could she give for a change of heart. ‘All right then, we’ll go now.’

  ‘Word of warning,’ Arnold said as they stood in the sparse lobby and waited for him to lock his front door. ‘You must not acknowledge anyone walking the grounds or the Rope Walk.’

  ‘Why?’ Flora asked, confused.

  ‘It’s considered bad form to acknowledge anyone here,’ Ed added.
‘Even if you’ve been introduced. Eye contact is also taboo.’

  ‘Then how do you become acquainted with your neighbours?’ Flora asked.

  ‘You don’t unless they wish you to. On coming across another resident, one gives them a brief nod before passing on. Later, it’s polite to send them a written invitation to drinks or dinner.’

  ‘Again, why?’ Flora asked, confused.

  ‘Simple. If we don’t acknowledge one another, then to all intents and purposes we haven’t seen them. If you see what I mean.’

  ‘I see, I think,’ Flora said. ‘In which case, I’ll try to remember to cut anyone I see.’

  ‘Trying’s no good, Flora,’ Ed instructed, her sarcasm evidently lost on him. ‘Or Arnold could be reprimanded by the trustees. Oh, and whistling isn’t permitted either.’ At her startled expression, he added, ‘I’m not joking. Whistling is strictly forbidden by the trustees.’

  She bit back an acerbic comment, resigned to the fact the upper classes ran their entire world as if it were a massive boarding school.

  Arnold led the way back to the ground floor and along the main hallway, where Arnold pushed open a door at the rear onto an open-sided walkway Flora assumed must be the Rope Walk where Chinese-style railings rose to a tented ceiling of narrow boarding, reminiscent of a garden party. At the bottom of a short flight of steps, a pathway ran between two blocks of white stucco-faced buildings three storeys high.

  ‘Here we are.’ Arnold halted beside a door on their left two thirds of the way along and waved them inside. ‘The Colonel has the ground-floor set.’

  ‘Ed,’ Flora waylaid him as he was about to knock. ‘I think it would be best if you waited in the motor car.’

  ‘Why? I’ve come this far. Besides, Colonel Hunter-Griggs won’t know me from Adam.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Flora said slowly, suddenly awkward. She needed time to think through what her new knowledge of Leo Thompson’s identity meant. ‘Suppose he mentions to Inspector Maddox we were asking questions about Leo?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Could be tricky. What about you? He told you to keep away, didn’t he?’