The Temptress: The Scandalous Life of Alice De Janze and the Mysterious Death of Lord Erroll

by Paul Spicer

  In later years, Alice would tell friends that she met Raymund “on a lion hunt.” With her well-developed sense of drama, she had evidently decided that “lion hunt” had a better ring to it than “introduced by mutual friends.” In any case, Alice was immediately drawn to this good-looking unmarried arrival, with his polished conversation and tales of South American adventures. It was, for both parties, a mutual attraction of powerful proportions. Raymund resolved to find some way to see Alice alone. It transpired that he did not have to wait long for the opportunity. Frédéric was leaving on a safari the following week and there was no room for Raymund on this occasion. Instead, the count suggested another date, in August, and gave Raymund instructions as to how to obtain an elephant license. While Frédéric was away, Raymund set to work arranging a secret rendezvous with Alice in Nairobi. She agreed to meet him there so that they could then travel together down the coast near Mombasa.

  For Alice, this entailed a double deception. Not only did she need to keep the trip secret from Frédéric; she also had to make sure that Joss would not find out. Since her return to Africa, Alice had resumed her affair with Joss, and she sensed that he would not be keen on this new dalliance with Raymund. Idina was no fool, however, and when Raymund and Alice returned from their trip, Idina confronted her friend. Although Idina is often seen as Happy Valley’s high priestess of free love, in fact, she was happiest when relationships were within her control—she may even have taken Alice’s new affair as a kind of infidelity to Joss. Suffice it to say, she sensed that the happy foursome of the de Janzés and the Hays had just been disturbed. Idina duly informed Alice that she was not pleased about Raymund and did not like him.

  Undeterred, Alice returned to Wanjohi Farm to oversee the work on her new house and to welcome her husband back from his safari. Despite the reappearance of Frédéric, Raymund set about redoubling his attentions to Alice, becoming a frequent visitor at Wanjohi Farm. As the de Janzés did not have a telephone, he would drive down unannounced. An accomplished amateur photographer, Raymund took many pictures of Alice during this period. In one portrait, Alice is standing chest-deep in the waves during a clandestine trip to the coast, her eyes obscured by a wide-brimmed sun hat, her swimming costume pulled down around her shoulders, revealing bare shoulders and torso. She exudes happiness, health, and sex appeal. During the initial stage of this new romance, Alice continued her meetings with Joss, although her primary interest was now Raymund. Alice’s new interest was unattached and could potentially help her escape from her situation with Frédéric, whereas Joss had never offered her any long-term commitment or a route out of her failing marriage.

  Besides, Joss’s eye was already wandering elsewhere. The object of his attention was Mary Ramsay-Hill, sometimes known as “Molly”—a pale-skinned thirty-three-year-old beauty with a red-lipsticked mouth and matching lacquered nails. At the time of her first meetings with Joss, Mary was already married and living with her husband, Cyril, in the ostentatious Spanish palace that he had built for her on the nearby shores of Lake Naivasha. This impressive structure and its mistress enthralled Joss, even if Mary’s origins were dubious. Born in London in 1893, she was often referred to as “Miss Boots,” because it was rumored that her fortune was from the chemist chain. In fact, her father was a bankrupt London clerk who had lost all his money by the time Mary was fifteen (the exact source of Mary’s wealth is not known). Cyril was her second husband; she had married her first at age sixteen. Now she set her sights on Joss, or at least he set his sights on her. The attraction was mutual. He was lured by her money, lavish home, and sexual experience; she was drawn in by his title, good looks, and considerable reputation as a lover. For both parties, the liaison may well have also helped to provide a route out of marriages that were turning bad.

  With Joss directing his attentions elsewhere and Alice engrossed with Raymund, Frédéric was faced with an altogether new dynamic. While the affair between Joss and Alice had never threatened the status quo, Alice’s attraction to Raymund was altogether more destructive. If Frédéric guessed what was going on, he said nothing. Alice’s moods were powerful and potentially destructive, and Frédéric may have preferred to remain silent in order to preserve the relative peace. What’s more, the de Janzés could still find plenty of common ground when it came to their animals. At this point, their menagerie included Alice’s baboon, Valentino; a marmoset monkey; Fairyfeet, the greyhound; and a mongrel dog called Monster. Alice’s prize pet, however, was her lion cub. Frédéric had first discovered the cub one morning while out riding alone on his pony. In his description of the incident from his book Tarred with the Same Brush, about his adventures in Africa, he wrote, “I had only a fleeting impression of a yellow streak darting out at us from behind a rock.” Frédéric and his pony eventually came to a halt, the poor horse trembling with fear. Frédéric guessed that he had just been saved from a lion’s charge, so he decided to tie up the pony in order to see if he could locate the den. He approached the area from the opposite side and managed to get a glimpse of a lioness and her cubs. The next day, he took Alice with him and they watched through binoculars from a safe distance. In the coming days, the couple frequently returned to the area, approaching to within fifty yards of the den. They could see four cubs inside. The lioness greeted these visits with low growls, but she did not attack.

  Two weeks later, Alice and Frédéric received an unexpected visit from an Indian maharaja, his two young princes, and an older aide-de-camp or vizier. They explained that they were on safari and were hoping for lunch, which Frédéric and Alice were happy to provide. After the meal, the maharaja invited the de Janzés to view his trophies—gazelles, kongonis (large antelope), and a great kudu (another species of antelope), as well as two lion skins pegged out in the sun. Frédéric inquired as to where the lions had been killed. “Oh, quite near,” he was told. “Among some kopjes [small hills] a few miles from here.” Frédéric asked, “But didn’t you see the cubs?” The maharaja replied, “Oh no, they were all alone; the lioness charged from some rock piles after letting us get within fifty yards.” Frédéric was furious and immediately went to saddle up his pony. He found the poor little lion cubs in a small cave. They had been starved for three days. One was dead. Frédéric took the three remaining cubs back to the farm, but one more died in the night. He wrote, “It is an unpardonable crime to shoot females of any species.” The maharaja’s party was invited to stay the night, but the atmosphere between the de Janzés and their guests was strained, and the visitors left the following morning.

  Alice and Frédéric doted on the little cubs, feeding them on tinned milk and raw meat. These new visitors were ravenous; they slept together in a basket, two round, fat balls of fluff. Christened Samson and Judah, they were soon introduced to the other members of Alice’s menagerie. They got along well with the dogs, and even the monkeys, particularly Valentino, the baboon, who elected himself the cubs’ keeper and cuffed both of them if they got out of line. One night, when the cubs were older, Judah escaped and was never seen again. Samson, however, became a household pet. He was playful and often naughty, and possessed great character. In the evenings, he would often wander into the house and lay his head on the laps of his master and mistress. There is an iconic photograph of Samson and Alice taken by Raymund, in which Alice is sitting on the veranda, with Samson draped across her knees—a Madonna and child, with the cub playing the part of the infant. The cub’s tail is hanging down to Alice’s toes and his paws are bigger than her hands. He must have weighed at least fifty pounds, and was easily old enough to do some harm, but Alice appears completely unperturbed. She is wearing a loose shirt and baggy trousers, a large felt hat on her head, and is gazing into the middle distance with the look of a woman who has come into her own. The photo was sent to her children—whom Samson had literally replaced—and Frédéric’s mother, Moya, as well as to Alice’s father, William.

  Although Alice and Frédéric adored their pets, their own relationship wa
s becoming increasingly untenable. In his series of quasi-autobiographical stories about Kenya, Vertical Land (1928), Frédéric presented an accurate, if poignant, assessment of their marriage via the fictionalized relationship of “Delecia” and “Ned” (Alice and Frédéric). The names of the de Janzé pets were not changed. The narrator is a new arrival in Kenya and is called “Bob”:

  After a long trek down, and the motor ride from Meru, I reach Nairobi fagged out. Washed and bathed, I’m carried off to Muthaiga for a drink.

  As we drive up we are passed by a low-bodied Buick, piled with luggage and boys. “Ah—they are the Happy Valley crowd,” says the Colonel at my side. We stop and park the car behind theirs. “Salaam! Mon colonel!” the boy cries, all dusty faced, orange shirt turned to brown. “Hello, Delecia!” the Colonel calls, as the girl gets out, dark haired under a broad terai, in grey slacks and green jumper, small and dainty with firm, pointed chin and wide spaced grey eyes, much personality. We all meet and sit on the verandah for a drink.—“You don’t know Samson!—Oh, Ned, please get Samson.” He drags his long supple form from the deepest chair with a sigh of ennui, goes to the car, bringing back a four months’ old lion cub.

  I never travel without him, but I’ve also got Roderigo and Bill Sikes, also Samson’s pal, Gillie, the Airedale.”

  They are all brought for inspection, the two monkeys, tiny, and clinging like moths. Roderigo is sweet, but Delecia warns he is not very gentlemanly in his habits.

  She talks and tells the Colonel all the gossip. Ned stalks off to the bar. He seems so nervous and jumpy, cannot stay still, wanders from group to group. Delecia tells of his accident with the elephant: “His nerves are terrible and he will go hunting in the forest with only one good arm.” She smiles, “He’s difficult at times.”

  “And, Delecia, do play to us tonight.” “Well, maybe, but not at the club, and we must have dinner, a wash and thousands of drinks. I’m feeling completely passed out now. I’m going to my room, do send Ned along soon, he’ll only get cross if he stays too long in the bar.”

  “A great pity,” murmurs the Colonel as she goes. “A great girl, Delecia, but she cares too much for her pets and he cares too much for her.”

  Despite his growing sense that he was losing the woman he loved, Frédéric must have accepted his new rival’s appearance with a degree of equanimity, because that August, the two men agreed to go on a four-week safari together. Frédéric invited Alice to join them, and all three began making the necessary arrangements. On August 20, 1926, at a cost of forty-five pounds Raymund purchased a license to shoot two elephants. They engaged a white hunter to guide them and began to gather the necessary equipment for the trip. A safari was perhaps not the best idea under the circumstances. Alice, Frédéric, and Raymund would be spending both days and nights for a whole month in extremely close proximity to one another and without respite. Raymund would doubtless make frequent attempts to spend time alone with Alice and to persuade her to leave Frédéric. Meanwhile, Frédéric would be in no doubt of Alice’s feelings for Raymund and would continually have to stifle his sense of hurt pride. Any underlying tensions were bound to erupt in the isolated environment of the wilderness.

  Even in the weeks leading up to the safari, friction between Raymund and Frédéric began to surface. There were frequent disputes, usually about literature, fueled by drink and altitude. Too gentlemanly to argue outright over Alice, they elected to fight about books instead. Both of them moved in literary circles and considered themselves intellectual. Raymund had attended a military school rather than a university, but he could nonetheless be dogmatic when it came to literary matters, readily defending his wide knowledge of the classics and his favorite nineteenth-century authors. He was indifferent to Shelley, loathed Byron, but loved William Thackeray, George Eliot, and Charles Dickens. Frédéric, on the other hand, was a legitimate intellectual, a graduate of Cambridge University, with a degree in English, and a friend and contemporary of Proust. He venerated in particular Honoré de Balzac, Gustav Flaubert, and Charles Baudelaire. Exactly what took place during the trip itself is unknown, but it is hard to imagine that the dynamic among the three participants was anything but fraught. It is perhaps not surprising that Alice decided to depart a week early and return to Wanjohi Farm without her husband or lover, anxious to leave the men to their own devices. Frédéric wanted to push on north to Uganda. Raymund was torn between going back with Alice—thereby ensuring he could have time alone with her—or going on with this next leg of the adventure. It is characteristic of Raymund that he put hunting first. He had been told that there were gorillas in the Ugandan forests near Lake Victoria and the Congo and had already decided that he would supplement his farming and family allowance by capturing live animals and selling them to European zoos. At the time, live gorillas fetched extremely high prices in Europe. Raymund elected to plow on.

  Alice made her way home with a driver and a servant. It was mid-September, and building work on her house was almost finished. The Indian builders had moved quickly, working from dawn until dusk. In her three weeks away, the house had been transformed. Alice was able to unpack the rest of her crates and move furniture and beds into position. Idina was there to advise. Idina’s French maid, Marie, made curtains. Soon, Wanjohi Farm House began to look like home. But it was no longer a home Alice wished to share with Frédéric. Alone, she had time to think. She confided in Idina, telling her friend that she was contemplating divorce. Although Idina disliked Raymund, she did not find this news in the least bit shocking. After all, she was a veteran divorcée. “If Raymund makes you happy, darling, then that’s what you must do,” she advised. “But for heaven’s sake, don’t leave us; do come and live here near us in your angelic little valley.” Next, Alice drove to Nairobi in order to discuss matters with Margaret Spicer. Margaret warned Alice to be careful. The Spicers liked and admired Frédéric; meanwhile, they had met Raymund, knew of his reputation, and were wary. Alice returned to Wanjohi, but not before ordering some extra furniture from a Scottish joiner named Mr. Macrae, who made excellent Georgian-style pieces for colonial homes. In more ways than one, Alice was attempting to set her house in order.

  Even though Alice had sought Margaret’s advice, it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she was not going to follow it. Frédéric and Raymund were due back very soon, and Alice began to steel herself for their arrival. To her surprise, Frédéric returned alone. Raymund had remained in Uganda, trying to negotiate a game-capturing safari, for which he needed special assistance and crates. It should have been Alice’s first inkling that she was not going to be Raymund’s first priority; instead, she reassured herself that it would not be long before he pitched up again. Meanwhile, there was obviously something terribly wrong with Frédéric. He was gaunt and complaining of fever. Alice sent him straight to bed, then drove to Nakuru to contact a doctor. The doctor offered the diagnosis of a severe and dangerous type of malaria, dosed Frédéric with quinine, and ordered Alice to apply cold, damp towels to her husband’s legs to draw the heat down from his head and reduce his temperature. Not wanting to take the local doctor’s word for it, Alice asked Idina about good doctors in Nairobi. Idina told her to drive directly to Nairobi to pick up Dr. R. W. Burkitt, the famed Irish surgeon, who was known for his rough but effective treatment of malarial patients.

  Burkitt’s diagnosis was gloomy. Frédéric was suffering from the early signs of blackwater fever, a condition brought on by malaria and the dosing of quinine he had just received. Frédéric had contracted blackwater fever previously while serving as aide-de-camp in Morocco during World War I and had been invalided out of the French air force as a result. Once contracted, the disease can easily return if stimulated by a new bout of malaria and quinine. Frédéric’s urine was beginning to turn black, a sure symptom of the disease. It was decided that the count should return to Paris for treatment. The doctor also recommended that Frédéric stay away from places where he might contract malaria in the future. Rema
ining in Kenya on any permanent basis was out of the question. Alice was faced with the following dilemma: Should she return to Paris with Frédéric or stay in Kenya with Raymund? She was in love with Raymund, but Frédéric was her husband and he was dangerously ill.

  Alice was honest with Frédéric. She informed him that she was not prepared to leave Kenya for good. The couple considered their options. Frédéric could return to France alone, leaving Alice to look after the menagerie. Or Alice could return to Paris with him for a temporary period, but then what would they do with the animals? They contemplated turning Samson loose, but he was only four or five months old, still an uneducated cub, and unable to fend for himself. Neither of them could bear the idea of losing Samson. The lion cub was so concerned about his master, he was visibly moping, laying his great head on Frédéric’s sickbed and insisting on sleeping there. Frédéric agreed to travel to France alone unless Alice could find someone to look after the pets. Valentino, the baboon, had recently escaped, taking his collar, chain, and ground anchor with him one night when everyone was down in Nairobi on a Muthaiga race-week binge. So that was one problem less. But Alice and Frédéric still needed someone to buy or shoot meat for the other animals. Geoffrey Buxton’s manager, who lived next door, agreed to supervise. Before they left for France, the de Janzés threw a housewarming and farewell party. That evening, Wanjohi Farm swarmed with cars, servants, and guests. Everyone bought a contribution in the form of drink—vodka, gin, wine, whiskey, and brandy. Dinner was laid out for twenty on the extended table in the dining room, and Samson wandered in and out. At one point in the evening, the lion cub snatched the tablecloth in his jaws and began nodding vigorously, eventually pulling the cloth off the table altogether, thereby sending glasses, knives, forks, and plates crashing to the floor.