‘I know but let me worry about that.’ He had a point. She would have to hope the doorman’s discretion applied to everyone, including the police.
‘Right-oh. I’ll leave you here then. But I expect to be told everything when you’ve finished.’ Ed aimed a brief, if reluctant wave in their direction before loping down the central pathway towards the gate at the far end into Vigo Street.
Flora watched him go, doubt clouding her mind for the first time since Ed had arrived at Eaton Place. Could he have had a reason to kill an old school friend and then pretend not to know him?
Chapter 19
‘Ah, good afternoon, Toombs,’ Arnold greeted the slight man who answered his knock. ‘Is your master at home? I’ve brought a lady friend of mine to meet him if it’s convenient.’
‘For you, sir, naturally.’ He regarded them with mild but friendly enquiry from unblinking close-set eyes. ‘Perhaps you would like to await the Colonel in the sitting room?’ He stepped aside, his head inclined in invitation for them to enter a room crammed with heavy furniture designed for a much larger establishment. A glass-fronted bookcase took up the entire far wall, together with an oversized Georgian dining table and four stout chairs. Another pair of well-worn armchairs completed the seating arrangements, all giving off an unidentifiable but homely smell, reminiscent of biscuits and furniture polish. But no sign of the Colonel.
‘He’s taking a nap at present, I’ll go and tell him you are here.’
‘Please don’t disturb him,’ Flora pleaded. ‘We could return at another time.’
‘He welcomes visitors, madam, and wouldn’t forgive me if I failed to inform him. I shan’t be a moment.’ He bowed and backed out of the door.
While they waited, Flora toured the room, taking care not to knock over any of the numerous china ornaments that covered every surface.
‘So far, so good,’ Arnold whispered at her shoulder, his hand cupped theatrically at the side of his mouth. ‘Do you want me to ask him anything? Should I jump in with an acerbic question here and there so as to try and catch him out?’
‘No thank you.’ Flora suppressed a smile. ‘As far as I know he isn’t a suspect. If you would make the appropriate introductions, then leave me to ask the questions.’
‘Then I’ll choose my moment and make an excuse to withdraw.’ He tucked his hands into his pockets as if afraid to move. ‘This room always makes me jumpy. I’m always afraid I’ll break something.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Flora’s eye caught a sepia photograph in a silver frame, the image faded round the edges; the subject a pretty woman in her twenties with fair hair who glanced sideways into the camera with a winsome smile. Another depicted a handsome young soldier in dress uniform she assumed was the Colonel as a young man. He held his fur-trimmed shako tucked under one arm, the trademark of gold embroidery in an elaborate triangle covering most of his chest.
‘Here we go.’ Arnold nudged her gently, indicating the arrival of a tall, yet spare silver-haired man, who leaned heavily on a cane. The cuffs of his burgundy velvet smoking jacket were decorated with gold braid. His bushy moustache and neatly trimmed old-fashioned side whiskers gave him a distinguished appearance.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ He took Flora’s hand in a firm, warm grip and brought it to his lips. ‘Colonel Hunter-Griggs, retired. Not often I’m graced with the presence of such a lovely lady.’ His pale grey eyes alighted with mischief as they settled on her companion. ‘You surprise me, young Arnold. Didn’t think you had it in you.’
‘I don’t, sir. I mean, Colonel. That is, I—’ Arnold’s complexion turned from milk white to a deep raspberry red.
‘Just toying with you, my boy. No need to flush like a virgin. Sit down, sit down.’ He waved them into two midnight blue velvet chairs before shuffling over to a leather wing chair with worn shiny patches on both arms and at head height. Tapping his cane on the floor, he rotated full circle like a dog preparing to lie down, bent painfully from the waist and collapsed onto the squab.
‘What was your name, my dear?’ He laid the cane across his knees. ‘Toombs did tell me, but the chap’s such a natterer, I rarely listen to him these days.’
‘It’s Flora, Flora Harrington, and I do apologize for intruding on your time.’
‘No need, no need. I hate taking naps, but Toombs insists. I suspect it’s less for my health than to give him an hour or so of freedom.’ He chuckled delightedly and twisted the end of his moustache with a thumb and forefinger. ‘Now, how can I be of service?’
‘I would like to interview you.’ She had decided to keep it simple. No overblown explanations or convoluted stories. ‘If you are agreeable of course.’
‘I’ve never been interviewed before. What’s your interest?’
‘I’m hoping to be a freelance journalist, for which I’m researching the military life of British soldiers who served abroad.’ She nodded at the photograph she had spotted earlier. ‘I see you were in the 11th Hussars.’
A mixture of surprise and admiration entered his eyes at mention of his regiment, which she did nothing to dispel. ‘Yes indeed. Light-brigade man all the way. Not smart enough to be in the infantry, and before you ask, I was too young for Balaclava.’ His rich chuckle ended in a cough. ‘Ah excuse me, touch of bronchitis, but I’m getting over it.’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were unwell.’
‘It’s nothing at all, really.’ He waved her away. ‘I had what the medicos call “an incident” last winter. The old ticker, you know.’ He patted his chest in emphasis. ‘Quack told me I ought to get my affairs in order as I might not last the year, but as you can see, I’m still here. Fella obviously got it wrong.’
‘Can’t always trust these doctors.’ Arnold glanced up from his perusal of a magazine and grinned, before going back to the page. ‘They put me through a barrage of treatments in childhood. Few of them helped.’
‘You must be very relieved,’ Flora addressed the Colonel, noting his slight breathlessness when he talked.
‘Relieved? I was furious. The blackguard cost me in lawyers’ fees to sort out my assets when I didn’t need to. Ah, well it’s done now I suppose.’ A small frown appeared between his thick eyebrows and he changed the subject. ‘Freelance did you say?’
‘Er, yes. I need articles to impress an editor. It’s so difficult for a woman to break into a profession considered a man’s domain, but I’m determined to try.’
‘Must say I don’t approve of women earning a living. Home and hearth is the best place for a lady, but, well, times have moved on, I suppose. See women all the time in town serving in shops and restaurants. Some even train to be doctors. What do ye think of that, eh?’
‘I find it admirable,’ Flora replied without apology. ‘Mrs Garret Anderson is one of my inspirations, as is her sister, Millicent Fawcett.’
‘The suffrage woman?’ He upended his cane onto the floor with a bang, a liver-spotted hand gripped the silver top. ‘Not sure I would go that far. Votes for Women indeed. Who’s to say what they would do with them if they had them? Makes me an old curmudgeon to a youngster like yourself, I expect.’ Before she could either agree or refute this remark, his expression lightened. ‘What about you, Arnold? How do you feel about women having the vote?’
‘Me?’ Arnold blinked. ‘Actually, I approve. I don’t have a clue what to do with it other than vote the way my father and grandfather have always done. Perhaps it’s time to let the ladies have a say? Not to mention the forty percent of working men who are also denied a choice in how the country runs.’
‘Good grief, boy, didn’t expect a lecture.’ The old man grinned, but a hint of disapproval sat behind it. ‘Now, young lady, have you got your notebook ready?’
‘I have.’ Flora withdrew a bound notebook and a pencil from her capacious handbag, a pencil poised above an empty page. ‘How old were you when you joined the army, Colonel?’
‘This is my cue to make myself scarce.’ Arnold left his chair and
backed away, rubbing his hands together. ‘I hope to see you again, Mrs Harrington, Flora. I’d be interested to hear the… er… outcome of your-research.’
Flora gave him a weak smile, suddenly nervous.
‘You off, Arnold, old chap?’ The Colonel peered up at him in mild confusion. ‘Bored with hearing my stories, eh?’ He delivered a slow wink at Flora.
‘I’d listen to your account of the Gordon relief of Khartoum any day, Colonel. Only I hoped to have a chat with Toombs. He had an idea about how I might remove a boot polish stain from my bedroom carpet. If Mater sees it she’ll send her housekeeper round to bully me, and I can’t have that. She thinks I cannot look after myself and makes noises all the time about my going home to Kensington.’
‘I understand. A man needs his privacy, what?’ He cheerfully waved Arnold off before turning his attention back to Flora. ‘Now, the regiment.’ He scratched his white side whiskers as an aid to thought. ‘I went in as a Lieutenant at twenty-one in the days before the Cardwell Reforms put a stop to buying commissions. I suppose my father assumed I couldn’t get promoted on my own.’ His rich chuckle held no resentment at his parents’ lack of faith. ‘Surprised him no end that I became a Major before he died. It was called the 11th Dragoons back in the 1830s. Well before my time, of course.’ He seemed not to require any involvement from Flora and appeared happy to talk, which suited her perfectly.
‘The regiment was sent to Dover to escort Prince Albert when he came to England, you know. Impressed him enough for him to adopt them as his own and he converted the regiment to Hussars.’
‘I had no idea, how interesting.’ Though she didn’t have to pretend, and wrote it all down.
Impressive uniforms we had, as you see.’ He pointed his cane at the photograph that had drawn Flora earlier. ‘Fur busbies, crimson bag and blue dolman and pelisse. Our red trousers had double yellow stripes taken from the Saxe-Coburg livery. Lord Cardigan commanded them then, calling them Cherry-Bums, then later it changed to Cherrypickers.’ He sighed and his gaze moved away from her as if recalling old memories.
‘Because of the red trousers?’ Flora broke off from her assiduous note-taking. Despite the subterfuge, she found the old boy’s account fascinating.
‘Strangely enough, no. That came later, during the Peninsular War, a troop were forced to hide in cherry trees to avoid the French.’ He chuckled with delight. ‘As I said, before my time.’
‘I would like to hear about your time, Colonel,’ she prompted.
‘I left Kent for Bengal in ’66, then onto Bombay a few months later. It was a good life during peacetime as the army pretty much took care of everything. Accommodation, travel, servants, transport et cetera. It’s tougher on the wives, of course, having to manage in a strange city with unfamiliar customs. Bombay had a large contingent of British families, so every need was catered for. Couldn’t do much about the disease though, and there was a lot of it, with deaths from heatstroke to dysentery. Probably still is.’
‘How did your wife manage in such a topical climate?’
‘Marguerite loved the army life and all Bombay had to offer. She was an excellent hostess with the ability to converse with everyone from my commanding officer to the lowliest foot soldier. When the regiment returned to England, I stayed on in the Bombay Army. Retired in ’93, the same time as Sir Arthur Lyttelton-Annesley, my commander. Fine man, fine man.’
‘Is that your wife?’ Flora asked, indicating the photograph she had noticed earlier.
‘That’s my Marguerite. Quite a beauty, wasn’t she?’ He smiled gently at the picture, his head on one side. ‘She died of fever, leaving me with two small children.’ Before Flora could offer her condolences, he continued, ‘The life doesn’t suit all women. Sylvia hated India. The hierarchy and expectations of military wives, the heat and the insects.’
‘Sylvia?’ Flora tried not to sound too eager.
‘My second wife. She had a rough time having our boy and came home to England as soon as she could bringing the little chap with her. We’ve had little contact since.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Flora’s voice cracked slightly. If she was right, this kindly old man had no idea his youngest son lay on a mortuary slab in a police station. Nor did she intend telling him. Inspector Maddox could claim that privilege.
‘Sylvia felt out of her depth.’ He released his breath in a long sigh. ‘My fault really. I’m afraid we married too soon after Marguerite’s death. Sylvia was my children’s nurse, you see. The twins were only three when Marguerite died, and almost nine when she left. Everyone told me to send them back to Sussex to live with my sister, but I didn’t want to part with them. Selfish I suppose, and the pair of them went a bit wild with only amahs to look after them. Made them too dependent on each other as well.’
Flora noted how his voice softened when he mentioned his first wife, whereas ‘Sylvia’ was spoken with no emotion behind it.
‘It must have been a difficult time for you all.’ Her mouth dried as she crept closer to why she had come. ‘What happened to your younger son?’
‘Leonard?’ He smoothed his silver moustache down with a thumb and forefinger. ‘I didn’t return to England for some years, but even then, Sylvia refused to allow me to see the boy. Said we’d been separated too long and I had nothing to offer him.’ He sighed, ‘Perhaps she had a point. I supported them both for years. Even paid for Leonard to go to Marlborough College. Better education than I had.’
‘That does seem unfair,’ Flora said, her sympathy mainly with Leo having grown up without his father. She wrote down Marlborough College in bold script and underlined it twice.
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t count on the boy’s own feelings on the subject. Sylvia died recently, after which Leonard came knocking on my door. He said he had always wanted to see me, even as a lad. I’ve been given the chance to get to know him again after all this time.’ He stared off again, deep in thought and murmured, ‘Sad thing about his mother.’
‘Yes, very sad.’ She wondered if it was true that Leonard had known about his father. Sylvia might have told everyone she was a widow but told Leo the truth and insisted he kept it to himself?
‘Ah well, condolences are misplaced in this instance,’ the colonel’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I hadn’t laid eyes on the woman in years.’
‘Does your son live here with you?’ Flora asked, knowing it was unlikely a young man’s belongings would fit amongst the jumble of army and Indian memorabilia jostling for position in the compact space.
‘No room, as you can see, and I can hardly turf Toombs onto the kitchen floor.’ He issued a low chuckle, apparently visualising this concept. ‘He’s been living at a hotel we own in Bloomsbury since January, like my other children. I say children, but they’re thirty now and neither of them married.’ His eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Frederick never considered it, although Francis came close once. Ah well. Anyway, they run the hotel very well between them.’
‘This hotel you own?’ Flora hoped her contrived innocence wasn’t beginning to pall. Arnold had been right about the old man being sharp, although he seemed happy to talk about his family. ‘I know Bloomsbury well, I might have heard of it.’
‘The Dahlia Hotel. Named it after their mother’s favourite flower.’
‘Ah, no I don’t know it.’ Flora fidgeted and ducked her head to her notebook. ‘Your younger son appearing after all this time must have been unexpected?’
‘It was, though he found the twins first and they brought him to meet me.’ He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘The lad’s a bit rough round the edges, and dresses like a dandy, but I’ll make a gentleman of him, given time.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Flora stared at her hands, reminded that the real Leo had already been a gentleman. It was unlikely the man at The Dahlia had been anywhere near Marlborough College. ‘Will Leonard take a role in the hotel?’
‘He’s expressed no desire to, although he’ll inherit a thi
rd of it when I go, of course.’ He eased forward in his chair. ‘Between you and me, my dear,’ he lowered his voice, although there was no one to hear him unless Toombs had a penchant for eavesdropping, ‘I’m hoping Leonard might rein the twins in a little. They inherited their mother’s tastes and spent too much on the renovations. I had to call a halt. No more money until the place starts to pay its way.’ He balanced his cane on the floor, both hands crossed over the polished end. ‘Talking about Leonard. Odd thing, I had a visit from a police inspector recently. The chap tried to tell me Leonard was dead.’
‘How awful.’ She adopted a suitably sympathetic expression. ‘Whatever made him think that?’
‘Something about a body on a train and a witness. This policeman chap admitted the body had no papers on him so they couldn’t be sure. Fella got it all wrong and I told him so. Leonard is perfectly healthy.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. How could the police have made such a mistake though?’
‘Ach! Incompetence, I imagine.’ His disdainful snort told her all she needed to know about his opinion of the police. ‘I can’t recall the chap’s name. Madley, Masham, or something similar anyway.’
‘Maddox,’ she said without thinking. At his start of surprise, she added, ‘We’ve met. He’s quite tenacious about his cases, I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of it.’
‘Cases, you say?’ His eyes sharpened with intelligence, reminding her he might be elderly but there was nothing wrong with his mind.
‘Um, yes. I’ve had some dealings with the inspector in the past.’ She groaned inwardly, so busy trying not to reveal her suspicions she had blundered into territory she had hoped to avoid. ‘I hope to make a name for myself in crime reporting.’
‘Strange occupation for a gel.’ His bushy eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of bemusement and suspicion. ‘I would have thought there were more genteel ways to occupy your time between the schoolroom and marriage.’
The Bloomsbury Affair Page 17
