The Bloomsbury Affair

by Anita Davison

  ‘Don’t just lie there, go after him!’ Maddox yelled from his hiding place behind the front desk. ‘I thought he was upstairs?’

  ‘Apparently not, sir.’ An officer scrambled to his feet and brushed off his jacket with both hands. ‘He came from the corridor where the public telephone is located.’

  ‘The telephone!’ Flora planted her feet squarely in front of him. ‘Did you see a young man with sandy hair in that corridor? He’s a little taller than me and wearing a dark blue suit with a mustard tie?’

  ‘No, Miss, I saw no one of that description. And there’s no one there now. The hallway’s empty and it’s a dead end, which is probably why Paige ran through the lobby, there’s no way out back there.’

  ‘I see. Thank you.’ Disappointed, she backed away, leaving him to set off after the other officers who had all scrambled to their feet and dashed into the street. The policeman who had been punched in the face hunted for his gun, which he found under a chair and took off after his comrades. Another pulled himself into a sitting position, a hand to his neck where he had been hit by flying glass.

  ‘See to that man, someone!’ Maddox waved vaguely at the injured man. A distressed woman helped her middle-aged companion to his feet, his hat knocked askew and a line of blood on his cheek. Though shocked, he seemed relatively uninjured. In fact, other than a few superficial cuts on shocked and bewildered faces, no one appeared badly hurt.

  And still there was no sign of Ed.

  Had he made it to the telephone, or had Paige told Francis about Ed and she had done something to him? Was he lying somewhere hurt, or worse?

  With the lobby devoid of blue uniforms, frightened and blood-splattered guests either demanded help for the injured or explanations for the ensuing chaos. Hotel staff, maids and bellboys darted in between with bags, or delivered messages in response to the barrage of questions thrown at them.

  The Russians had joined the exodus towards the main doors, apparently bent on joining the chase when Maddox’s outstretched arms held them back. ‘Please remain here, sirs, where it is safer.’

  ‘We should do as the Inspector says, Vladimir,’ William tried to coax him back the way he had come. ‘I suggest we return to the meeting room until the police have done their job.’

  ‘Nyet!’ Lenin shrugged off William’s hand and raised his fist. ‘In my country, we never leave anything to the police.’ He shouted something in Russian, which was greeted with firm nods of assent, before they headed for the entrance. William tried to block their way, but they surged round him and hurtled across the lobby out into the street.

  ‘Oh, hell, now what do I do?’ William tipped his shapeless leather cap farther back on his head and blew a breath between his lips.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do unless you plan on going with them.’ Flora watched as, coats flying, they disappeared across the road. ‘Suppose they find Paige first? They’re not armed, are they?’

  ‘Uh – possibly.’ William grimaced, lifted his hat and scratched his scalp before replacing it.

  ‘William. Forget the Russians for a moment. I don’t know where Ed is. Maddox sent two policemen to look for him but they haven’t come back.’

  ‘If he’s still in the building, they’ll find him.’ He reached a hand towards her shoulder but thought better of it. ‘I doubt even Ed is impetuous enough to show himself with bullets flying about.’

  ‘Paige recognized him from the train, and I’m worried.’

  William’s perplexed frown hardened ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘He had me trapped in the lift earlier which is why I pointed the gun at him, and—’

  ‘You brought a gun with you?’ This time his hand came down hard on her shoulder, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘I don’t have it now, so it’s irrelevant.’ She shrugged off his hand. ‘Are you really going to stand here and tell me off, or are you going to help me find Ed? He could be hurt!’ Or worse.

  ‘Of course, I am.’ He inhaled a deep breath. ‘Now, where was Ed the last time you saw him?’ He pulled her to one side to make room for two porters who attempted to right an upturned sofa.

  ‘He left me upstairs while he went to telephone the police. Maddox claimed he received no such call and was on his way here anyway. Ed was supposed to meet me down here, but then the shooting started and I haven’t seen him at all.’

  ‘Wait here. I’ll go and find out if the police have located Ed first, then we’ll decide what to do next.’ He lifted his arms as if to give her a hug, but changed his mind and instead went to talk to the nearest policeman.

  ‘I wish everyone would stop telling me to wait,’ Flora muttered.

  *

  Feeling abandoned among chaos, Flora stared round at the porters who swept broken glass into manageable piles and righted overturned furniture. Chambermaids in black and white uniforms bobbed about like penguins, collecting shards of broken china and scattered flowers. The matron Flora remembered from her first visit sat on a sofa, a hand to her head, her eyes closed, being comforted by a maid who held a bottle of smelling salts to her nose. The woman’s ferret-like dog had discovered something interesting in a tall pot plant and frantically dug earth onto the floor with its front paws.

  Frederick had regained his composure enough to command attention in the centre of the lobby. His hands spread wide to encompass the room, he apologized for the inconvenience to all the hotel’s guests, assured them there was no longer any cause for alarm and that complimentary tea and coffee would be served directly. That he had remained to restore order indicated he was either an innocent man, or confident his ‘imposter’ had escaped.

  Then there was Francis, who had still not made an appearance? Would she emerge when it was all over and tearfully claim to know nothing? Or had she too escaped with her partner in crime?

  ‘Think, Flora,’ she muttered to herself. Paige was in the rear hall, so had he seen Ed there when he was making the call to Maddox? Or had he warned Francis the police had arrived and she intercepted Ed? As she tried to work out where the most likely place to search would be, the porter who had drawn attention to her when she emerged from the lift appeared to have appointed himself her unofficial guardian in the absence of the police. His gaze left her as he was accosted by an irate elderly gentleman who waved a knotted cane in his face, demanding he be allowed to use the ascending room as his legs weren’t strong enough to climb to the second floor. The porter patiently explained the lift was out of service, and as the discussion grew more heated, Flora took her chance and slipped past them and up the stairs. She reached the second landing with relative ease, but her steps slowed on her way up to the fourth floor, her corset not designed for such exertion. She paused at the top to catch her breath, one hand braced on the balustrade, the other pressed to her midriff where a whalebone dug into a rib.

  The signs of a struggle were laid out in the hallway; a toppled aspidistra plant, a rucked-up carpet and a bullet hole gouged into the wall. She cocked her head to listen but could hear no sound. Straightening, she crept along the thick carpet, to Francis’ suite. If Ed had been taken there, perhaps Francis had not thought to lock it?

  A door halfway along the corridor stood ajar. Pressing her back against the wall, she poked her head round the jamb, and froze at the sight of Francis perched on the end of an unmade brass bed, Mr Brody curled on her lap.

  Was she aware Paige was being chased by the police? Or was this his room and he had packed his things and had bolted without her? If so, it explained why she looked so bewildered.

  ‘Mrs Harrington?’ Francis glanced up from stroking the cat’s silky fur. ‘I didn’t realize you were still here. Have you seen Miss Sharpe by any chance?’

  ‘Um, no I don’t think—’ the question came out of nowhere leaving her flummoxed.

  Flora entered a room not merely empty but abandoned. The wardrobe stood open, with nothing but wooden hangers and disarranged shelf liners. A sheet of old newspaper lay on the bottom. Each drawer
in the dresser had been pulled open, all bare but for similar paper liners, as if someone had packed in a hurry.

  ‘Agnes Sharpe, my housekeeper,’ Francis said. ‘She’s packed all her belongings and gone. There’s nothing left of her here.’ She gestured vaguely at her surroundings. ‘I don’t understand it. Why would she just leave?’ Her abrupt movements disturbed the cat that leapt to the floor with a barely discernible thump and ran off down the hallway.

  ‘She’s gone?’ Flora asked, confused. Then the pieces of the puzzle she had struggled to put together over the last week shifted in her head. Agnes Sharpe was the woman in the black dress she had seen talking to Ed in the hallway. The same one in Arnold Baines’ photograph which contained Lady Egerton and her companion.

  ‘We were friends.’ Francis’s voice developed a slight whine. ‘Why would she leave without explanation or even a goodbye?’

  ‘Has she taken all her things?’ The answer was blindingly obvious but it was all Flora could think of to say.

  ‘Apart from the needlework case she left in my sitting room. Agnes is a marvellous seamstress and never went anywhere without some mending or embroidery to keep her occupied. She must have forgotten it.’

  Or left it there to implicate you. It must have been Agnes who went to Cheltenham and injured Sylvia Thompson.

  ‘Miss Hunter-Griggs.’ Flora tamped down her growing urgency and slid onto the bed beside her. ‘This might sound like an odd question, but did Agnes ever borrow your coat? The one with the chevrons?’

  ‘That is an odd question.’ Francis’s eyes widened. ‘Mainly because I cannot imagine how you would know such a thing.’ Flora’s impatience grew at her languorous way of speaking but chose not to prompt her.

  ‘She expressed a particular liking for it, even though it was only a copy I had made by a tailor in Fulham. Why are you asking questions about my coat? Or does it have something to do with the police van parked outside the front doors?’ Her eyes swivelled towards the window.

  Flora chose not to answer. If she knew the police were crawling through her hotel, why was she up here on her own and not demanding to know what was going on?’

  ‘In case you’re wondering,’ Francis seemed to guess what she was thinking. ‘When I returned to my suite, you and your cousin had gone. I saw the police van arrive through the window and was on my way, when I saw Agnes’s door was open and her room like this. Then I heard this strange noise, like a crack and a whistling sound. I entered the hall to see what it was when I was almost mown down by a policeman who came running out of Leonard’s room at full pelt. He had a revolver in his hand. I was so shocked, I ran back in here. Then you arrived. What is happening?’ Her clear intelligent eyes met Flora’s with both confusion and fear, but no guilt. Francis Hunter-Griggs was no killer.

  Flora slid from the bed. ‘I’ll explain later, but I need to find Viscount Trent.’ At her deepened frown, Flora added, ‘I mean Ed, my cousin. We got separated before the furore downstairs happened and I’ve no idea where he is. I’m horribly afraid he might be in trouble, so please excuse me. I must find him.’

  ‘Mrs Harrington!’ Francis’ raised voice halted her. ‘We don’t know each other well, which I sincerely hope will change in time. However, I can see you’re frightened. Why is it so urgent you find your cousin? He’s not a child and quite able to stay out of harm’s way.’ She rose from the bed and smoothed down her skirt, calmer now. When Flora hesitated, she added, ‘You can tell me, I’m good with secrets. Are you both in trouble with the police?’

  ‘Definitely not.’ A laugh bubbled up in Flora’s chest at the idea, as ludicrous as that seemed in this situation. ‘At least not in the way you think.’

  ‘I see. Well I haven’t seen your cousin. But before the policeman ran by, I heard noises I assumed were workmen moving furniture. After a few shouts and bangs, everything went quiet.’

  ‘Could you tell where these sounds came from?’

  ‘Not really. We could search the guest rooms if you wish. The master key is kept downstairs in the lobby.’

  ‘That will take too long.’ Flora’s thoughts whirled until an idea came to her. ‘Miss Hunter-Griggs, apart from this room, is there anywhere else in the hotel where Agnes spent her time?’

  ‘Agnes? Well, there’s her office. It’s three floors down off the rear staircase. Practically in the basement.’

  Where Paige had intended to take Flora in the lift.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll try there.’

  ‘Wait!’ Francis halted her again. ‘It might be locked. You’ll need the key.’ She delved into a pocket of her gown and withdrew three small keys held together by a metal ring. ‘I keep all the office keys with me. You never know when I might need them.’

  Flora made to take the keys, when Francis clutched them to her chest.

  ‘I’m coming with you. It isn’t easy to find and, besides, I want to know why you’re so interested in Agnes.’ She brushed past Flora and set off towards the main stairs, past an aspidistra that lay on its side, a trail of earth on the carpet. She paused to run a hand across a ragged end of wallpaper. ‘Goodness is that a bullet hole?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Exactly how much excitement did I miss?’

  ‘Quite a bit. You should see the lobby,’ Flora murmured. ‘Did you hear nothing?’

  ‘Apart from the noises I told you about? No, nothing. Mind you, these walls are thick, so sound doesn’t travel well.’ She paused beside an alcove tucked into one side of the galleried landing. ‘These are the old servants’ stairs.’ She gestured Flora through. ‘We don’t use them much, but they come in useful on occasion.’

  Flora peered over a plain bannister to where narrow wooden steps twisted away to a lower level, narrowed and disappeared into the dark. The smell of damp and ancient dust irritated her nostrils as she picked her way down the narrow treads.

  ‘What’s that strange sound?’ Francis paused a few steps down, her head cocked, listening.

  ‘It sounds like banging,’ Flora descended to join her and the sound came again. Once, twice, three times in succession. It stopped for a few seconds, then resumed in the same rhythm. ‘It’s not a mechanical sound. The ascending room has been locked open on the ground floor, so it’s not coming from there.

  ‘It could be a pipe, or—’ Their eyes met.

  ‘Ed!’ they said together.

  Chapter 33

  Flora clattered down the wooden steps, at the bottom of which an arched hallway ran off to one side, the gloom barely lifted by a row of gas lights on one wall.

  ‘This building is a lot older than it looks.’ Francis led the way to a door at the far end, her steps slowing as she spoke over her shoulder. ‘This section juts into the building next door. The façade was rebuilt about eighty years ago, but the foundations were still sturdy so we didn’t change anything. At first glance these hallways look like dead ends but there’s a rear staircase that connects them.’

  ‘That might explain a few things,’ Flora muttered, straining to locate where the banging was coming from. The sounds grew more insistent, but farther apart; as if whoever made them was tiring.

  ‘It’s a strange place for an office.’ Flora wished she would hurry. She rubbed her upper arms as she walked to warm them from the chill that leached from the stone walls.

  ‘Agnes chose this room.’ Francis located a key on the metal ring and inserted it into the lock. ‘She liked to be away from the bustle and chaos of the kitchens and cellars.’

  ‘I’ll bet she did,’ Flora muttered under her breath. Then another thought struck her. Suppose she had miscalculated and Agnes waited on the other side ready to pounce? She took a step backwards debating with herself.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ Francis’ hand stilled on the key. ‘Mrs Harrington, you can trust me. If Agnes has harmed your cousin, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.’

  Flora hesitated, searching her expression for signs of deceit but saw only sympathy. ‘All right. Open it.’

  The lo
ck clicked gently and the door swung inwards on well-oiled hinges. Flora barely took in the room, her gaze going straight to where Ed was tied to a spindly wooden chair which leaned against one wall; his hands secured behind him and his ankles tied to the front legs with hemp ropes. A strip of cloth had been jammed into his mouth and knotted behind his head. The stark fear in his eyes changed to relief when he saw her.

  Flora crouched beside him, hooked her fingers beneath the cloth and tugged it down over his chin.

  ‘Thank God it’s you, Flora.’ He hunched forward, setting the front legs back on the floor, dislodging a hank of hair that tumbled across his forehead.

  ‘Who did this to you?’ Francis rushed to his other side.

  Flora stared round in search of something to release the ropes. The office contained only a square desk set in front of an inset fireplace, a pile of ledgers strewn across the scarred surface.

  ‘Your brother did!’ Ed’s voice became a furious growl as he continued to struggle uselessly against his bonds. ‘At least that’s what he’s calling himself.’

  ‘I assume you mean Leonard, because Frederick would never do something like this,’ Francis protested. ‘What exactly has he done?’

  ‘I will explain, but first we have to get Ed free.’ Flora was surprised she had made no attempt to defend the man she thought was her younger brother. ‘I’ll need something to cut these ropes. Is there anything in that desk I could use?’

  ‘I’ll look.’ Francis left her side, but after a good deal of rummaging shook her head. ‘There’s nothing sharp enough. Only a useless pair of scissors and a butter knife. You’ll have to wait until I fetch someone or try and untie them yourself.’

  ‘Hurry!’ Ed tossed back his head and wriggled. ‘Get me free before Paige comes back.’