The Bloomsbury Affair

by Anita Davison

  ‘It was a perfect plan. No one would have put it all together if it weren’t for you two.’ Agnes’ arm wavered, her eyes losing focus as if she had forgotten where she was.

  ‘What are you going to do, Agnes?’ Flora’s voice sharpened, hating the fact they were at this woman’s mercy. ‘The police will have caught Eric by now and will be back here for you before long. We can’t stand here all day. Make a decision.’

  ‘Flora?’ Ed’s voice rose in panic. ‘She didn’t mean it, Miss Sharpe. Take all the time you need to make up your mind.’

  ‘Stop talking! Both of you!’ Agnes raised her arm and took aim at Ed. ‘I should have done this the minute I first saw you.’

  Flora had no time for thought. It was as if she watched herself from above as she lunged for Agnes.

  ‘Flora! No!’ Ed shouted as she flung up her arm to knock the weapon away at the same instant a sharp crack erupted into the room.

  Chapter 34

  A roaring expanded inside Flora’s head as a sharp, stinging sensation exploded beneath her left breast. She brought a hand to the spot where a burning intensified and hot wetness welled. She glanced down to where a trickle of red squeezed between her fingers.

  ‘My God, No!’ Ed’s surprisingly strong arms encircled her tightly, his warm breath on her cheek.

  Her vision blurred. Weakness flooded her legs which refused to support her weight. She crumpled to the floor, taking him with her.

  He held her head on his knees, one arm beneath her shoulders, the other hand cradling her face. ‘What do I do?’ Ed pleaded. ‘Tell me what to do!’

  ‘Agnes?’ she whispered through rapidly drying lips. ‘Where—?’

  ‘She ran out.’ His voice hitched. ‘My God, Flora I was convinced she was going to kill us both.’

  ‘I’m still here, Ed.’ She tried to laugh but it hurt as much as talking.

  ‘I’ll… I’ll go and get help.’ He released her hand, which collapsed to the floor as if boneless.

  ‘No, don’t leave me!’ Panic filled her at the thought of being alone, even for a moment.

  ‘I have to get something to stop the bleeding until help arrives.’ He eased her head down onto the floor and scrambled to his feet.

  Her throat constricted at the void he left, though the click of the trunk lid told her he had not gone far. In seconds he was a dark shape above her again.

  ‘You have blood all over your skirt, though I expect Sally will be able to get it out for you. Not that you care much right now, I… oh, what am I saying?’ His voice came rapid and jerky, so she had to concentrate to understand him. ‘I’ll wad up this sheet and press it onto the wound. This might hurt, well, it’s bound to, but I can’t help it. Forgive me.’

  A crushing weight made her cry out as pain exploded into her side and spread upwards into her chest so she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Ed swiped a hand across his face, drawing a streak of red across his cheek, the crumpled, blood-soaked sheet in his other hand. ‘It’s not working!’

  The room darkened round her as pain forced her to take short, shallow breaths that made her giddy. She tried to raise her hand to the square of light behind his head, but her arm felt too heavy and flopped back onto the floor.

  ‘What is it, Flora?’ Ed asked, his breathing fast and shallow as her own. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Grille. Police. Call… through… it.’

  ‘Right. Yes, yes of course. What am I thinking?’ He ran to the grille and rapped on the glass covering. ‘Hey! Is anyone up there? We need help. Someone is hurt.’ The murmur of distant voices responded, which he answered in panicked monosyllables. In seconds he loomed above her again, his face blurry but intense. ‘They’re coming. Hold on, Flora. Stay with me.’

  ‘Bunny.’ Cold enveloped her and she started to shiver. She tried to lift her head but her vision darkened and her head spun, bringing panic. ‘Please… fetch… Bunny.’ She strained upwards to push her urgency home but could barely raise her shoulders from the floor and flopped back down.

  ‘Keep still, Flora.’ Ed grasped her hand again, his fingers slick. With the other he refolded the sheet and applied it to her side again. ‘Each time you move the wound spurts more blood.’

  Craning her neck, she glanced down and to the side, where her left arm lay in a pool of something shiny and dark. ‘Is that—?’

  ‘Don’t look,’ Ed’s voice cracked. ‘Oh, hell where are they? Hold on, please. They’ll be here soon. Flora, can you hear me?’

  ‘I’m … sorry, Ed,’ she said on a sigh.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ His voice was strangled, and high. ‘I’m the one who insisted on coming. I let that thug Paige catch me and bring me down here so you had to come and rescue me. It was my fault. What have I done?’

  ‘No, Ed… it was me. I shouldn’t have… goaded Agnes.’ The room dimmed as she fought the pull of oblivion. ‘I treated it all… like a… game. Bunny warned me. I… wouldn’t… listen.’

  ‘Flora, listen!’ He gripped her hand harder. ‘I can hear footsteps! They’re coming.’

  The London sky beyond the grille above Ed’s head had darkened since she first looked – how long had she lain there? Minutes? Hours? The shivers quickly worsened into uncontrollable shuddering. Why did she feel so cold?

  The light shimmered and flickered out as she sank into oblivion.

  *

  A voice was calling her name, over and over. A woman’s voice. Familiar. Alice? No, not Alice Someone else. Someone she knew. The cadence and volume became intrusive, which sent her burrowing into the cocoon of softness that surrounded her.

  ‘Flora!’ The voice became louder and more persistent, accompanied by a firm shake of her shoulder.

  Reluctantly, she prised her eyelids open, an arm raised against blinding daylight, but froze as agony lanced through her back and side. A face loomed into view, indistinct features that sharpened into those of Dr Grace Billings, her hair swept into a soft bun, a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck worn with a plain black skirt.

  ‘How are you feeling, Flora? No, don’t try to move.’

  ‘Dr Grace?’ Blinking awake, she stared round what was clearly a hospital room. She lay in a half sitting position, supported by a stack of pillows in a metal bed, a plain electric bulb and shade hung from the ceiling directly above her. A small table with metal legs on her right side held a pitcher and an empty glass, a plain wooden chair and a window half covered with a translucent blind gave the room a sterile feel. The only spot of bright colour was a small glass vase on the windowsill bursting with tiny pastel blue flowers.

  The click of rapid footsteps, hushed voices and the rumble of trolley wheels sounded from somewhere beyond a half-glazed door about fifteen feet from the bottom rail of the bed.

  ‘I’m not sure how I feel. What are you doing here?’ Wherever here was. Her voice came out croaky, her lips dry and cracked.

  ‘You’re at The Royal Free Hospital.’ Dr Grace poured water from the pitcher into the glass. ‘I was giving a lecture to medical students when you were brought in. This being the only hospital willing to train female doctors.’ Her feelings on the matter clear in her clipped speech as she held the glass to Flora’s lips.

  Flora’s eyes slid closed again as she let the cool, soothing liquid slide down her throat. Never before did water taste so good.

  ‘I admit to a certain excitement when I discovered it was a female with a gunshot wound,’ Dr Grace went on, enthused with what she evidently saw as a professional opportunity. ‘When I found out your name, I said you were a patient of mine, so your surgeon was kind enough to let me assist in your operation.’

  Flora’s eyes snapped open again. ‘Operation?’

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ Dr Grace’s penetrating gaze searched her face.

  ‘I was shot, wasn’t I?’ Memory returned in a series of stark images, each one more distressing than the last, followed by questions that swirled in her head until
one took prominence. She tried to sit up but winced as pain flooded through her. ‘Ed? Is he all right?’

  ‘Viscount Trent is fine.’ She took the glass from her hand, then eased Flora gently back against the pile of pillows. ‘And your husband is here. He’s been making a nuisance of himself demanding hourly reports from any member of staff he encounters.’ Her indulgent smile conveyed more sympathy than complaint. ‘However, I want to know how much pain you are in before I allow anyone through that door. Even him.’

  ‘I’m not sure – yet.’ She took inventory of the discomfort between her knees and shoulders which ranged from being stiff and sore to agony each time she moved. ‘What happened at the hotel? Has Agnes Sharpe been found?’ An image of the woman’s vengeful face made her shudder.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Dr Grace sighed. ‘Miss Sharpe disappeared from the hotel within minutes of the shooting. As far as I know she hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Did they catch Paige?’

  ‘He was apprehended, yes. In fact, his pursuit through the British Museum by the police and several irate Russian gentlemen was headline news in the Morning Post, although it only made page five of The Times. He was finally cornered amongst a display case of Nelson’s uniforms, which was in danger of being toppled at one point, much to the chagrin of the curator. Bunny has kept a copy of both articles for you to read. An artist drew some suitably dramatic sketches of the incident which were included in the report.’

  ‘I’m glad they caught him.’ Flora straightened. ‘Wait a moment. Newspaper? How long have I been here?’

  ‘Two days.’

  ‘What?’ She jerked upright, then halted, releasing a groan as her body violently protested.

  ‘Try to keep still.’ Dr Grace gently eased her down against the soft pillows. ‘The incision is still raw and you don’t want the sutures breaking.’

  ‘Are they likely to?’ Flora stared down at herself in an effort to visualize what had happened to her. ‘I’ve never been stitched before. How do they work?’

  ‘Similar to sewing, but clumsier. Short lengths of catgut are soaked in iodine to avoid infection. We’ll keep a close eye on them as catgut dissolves unpredictably in some patients.’

  ‘Which ones?’ Flora was not reassured.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Hopefully, they’ll hold until the wound has healed.’ Dr Grace plumped up her pillows unnecessarily. ‘You’ve been unconscious for most of the time, and there are anxious people outside eager to know you’re awake.’

  ‘Really? Who?’ Flora asked, distracted. Her mind still on the sutures.

  ‘Besides your husband? Your parents are here, also a young woman with a lot to say for herself who goes by the name of Sally Pond.’

  ‘Dear Sally, I imagine she’s been very worried about me?’

  ‘Not to mention vociferous. I wouldn’t let her in, so she planted herself on a bench in the visitors’ hall and refused to move. She was complaining about a stiff neck the last time I saw her.’ She nodded to the lonely vase of tiny blue flowers. ‘The myosotis were her gift to you. I disapprove of flowers in sickrooms, but she was insistent.’

  ‘Forget-me-nots. My favourite.’ Flora smiled. She must have bought them herself as there were none in the garden at home.

  ‘I suppose such devotion should be acknowledged.’ Dr Grace’s mouth lifted at one corner but failed to develop into a smile. ‘I’ll allow her to come in if you wish.

  ‘I… I don’t suppose my husband brought Arthur with him? If he hasn’t seen me for two days he must be fretting. He’s too young to understand why I’m not there.’

  ‘It’s against rules to bring infants into the hospital, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Flora bit her lip as tears threatened,’ prompting Dr Grace to squeeze her shoulder gently. ‘However, I’m not without influence here. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Emotion clogged her throat. ‘I would appreciate it.’

  ‘Miss Francis Hunter-Griggs also made an appearance yesterday,’ Dr Grace went on. ‘She says she’ll return when you’re strong enough for visitors.’

  ‘That was kind of her, especially when I feel so terrible about suspecting her of being a murderess.’

  ‘She doesn’t strike me as the sort to bear a grudge.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she would.’ Flora squeezed her eyes shut but opened them again quickly when Agnes’ face appeared behind her eyelids. How could she forget the raw hatred in the woman’s eyes? ‘Dr Grace, is it possible the cut on Sylvia Thompson’s hand was deliberately contaminated?’

  ‘It’s plausible, but difficult to prove after all this time. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I had this really vivid dream which keeps coming back to me.’

  ‘That’s not unusual after an anaesthetic. Was it disturbing?’ Dr Grace looked up from where she draped a blanket on the bed.

  ‘More strange than disturbing. There was a cat staring at me. Then Sally arrived with a bloodied cloth talking about shovels.’

  ‘That sounds disturbing to me.’ Dr Grace straightened. ‘Now, is there anything else you need?’

  ‘Lots of things, including a more comfortable bed and something to stop every inch of me from hurting.’ She wiggled backwards into the stack of pillows, grimacing as the bindings across her ribs pulled.

  Dr Grace moved round the room, a silent shadow in Flora’s peripheral vision as pieces of the puzzle of what Flora would always think of as The Bloomsbury Affair swirled in her head. Fragments came together to form a whole and suddenly it all made sense.

  Wearing Francis’ red coat, Agnes had contrived to cut Sylvia’s hand then insisted on taking her to the surgery and remaining, where, in the ensuing chaos of Sylvia’s hysteria she contaminated the wound, possibly with something Francis’ cat had brought home from one of its fights. It wouldn’t have surprised Flora if Agnes had let the creature out on purpose, knowing it would get into a fight with the obvious result; a cat bite that would inevitably turn into an abscess.

  Had Agnes channelled her intellect into something less evil, the woman could have made a success of her life, not ended up a murderess. But then she hadn’t yet been caught, and who knew if she would be?

  Flora shuddered at the thought Agnes Sharpe might at this moment be looking for another opportunity to improve her life at the expense of some unwary soul.

  ‘Are you cold, Flora?’ Dr Grace loomed above her.

  ‘Er no, not at all.’

  ‘Then you rest awhile. I hope you’ll be kind to your Inspector. Maddox is it? He was mortified that he had failed to protect you. When his men reported Agnes Sharpe’s room had been cleared out, he never imagined she might still be in the hotel. He blamed himself for sending all his men after Paige, leaving a lone officer outside the front of the hotel. Your husband threatened to report him to the Commissioner for incompetence.’

  ‘Poor Inspector Maddox, though in fairness, what happened was largely my own fault.’

  ‘There will be time to dissect the details later. Now,’ Dr Grace squeezed Flora’s hand, ‘I expect you’ll want to see your husband?’

  ‘Oh, yes please.’ Flora’s eyes welled, her heart thumping as Dr Grace strode to the door and ushered Bunny into the room.

  Relief, frustration and love each took a turn on Bunny’s face as he approached the bed, his face blurred through her tears.

  ‘Don’t move, you mustn’t move.’ He spread his hands, hesitating as he reached her as if terrified to touch her.

  ‘From what Dr Grace said, I expected to see a distraught lover in a rumpled suit with two days’ growth of stubble.’ Flora observed his immaculate dark suit, his slicked-back hair darkened by pomade and sharp white cuffs fastened with the diamond cufflinks she gave him on his last birthday. She liked to think he had chosen them specifically.

  ‘I’ve been here since you were brought in. Up until two hours ago anyway, when Dr Grace insisted I go home and change. Just as well, I suppose. I’m sure the porters must hav
e thought I was some sort of vagrant.’ He gazed down at himself and up again with a sheepish shrug. ‘And now I look if as if I’ve just had luncheon at my club.’

  ‘Is that where you’ve come from? Luncheon at your club?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ His features crumpled like a child wrongly accused of a crime. ‘How could you think such a thing?’

  ‘And how can you still not tell when I’m teasing you?’ A laugh bubbled into her chest, abruptly halted by a wave of agony that cramped her side. Gritting her teeth, she took a shallow breath in an effort to control it. ‘Are you very angry with me?’

  ‘I should be. And I was, but not now. Well,’ he chewed his bottom lip, ‘maybe a little.’ He slid onto the bed and took Flora’s hand in both of his, massaging her fingers. ‘I don’t understand why you went to The Dahlia without telling me. And to take Ed with you. What were you thinking?’

  ‘I didn’t exactly take him,’ she replied but chose not to explain and risk getting Ed into trouble. ‘I had no idea it would turn out the way it did.’ She took a deep shuddering breath. ‘Once we persuaded Maisie to change her story, we were about to leave, then Mr Frederick spotted us and introduced us to Francis. She was wearing the coat, the one with the chevrons, so I assumed she was Paige’s accomplice. She insisted we go to her suite, and although I wanted to refuse, I thought it might have alerted her. Then Ed was wittering on about the ascending room and, after that, everything happened so fast. Ed and I split up so he could call the police and the firing started and—’ Her breath caught in her throat as memory flooded back for the second time since waking. She tried to inhale but her chest contracted with pain and she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Bunny shifted higher on the bed and wrapped his arms round her, his lips against her hair. ‘It’s over now, you’re safe.’

  ‘I keep hearing those awful cracks.’ She pressed her head into his shoulder, her fingers latched onto his upper arm. ‘The way the window shattered was like an explosion, showering everyone in the lobby with shards of glass like tiny arrows. I froze and ducked, hoping for the best but some people were hurt.’ Sudden dizziness made her feel sick, and she couldn’t get enough air into her chest, her breaths coming fast and shallow.