A Knightsbridge Scandal

by Anita Davison

  Lydia snorted. ‘Evangeline does what she wants, no matter what her family say. I doubt she feels the need to deceive anyone. Of course, she’s always been indulged, especially by Mr Lange. He adores her.’

  In which case, why hide away from her father when she would only have to deal with him at home?

  ‘And Harry?’ Flora asked, while the young man held court to the group of young women, all of whom gazed back at him with admiring eyes.

  ‘The match was arranged by their respective families.’ Lydia turned to watch him, her head cocked. ‘Harry’s an easy-going sort, and besides, what man could object to Evangeline for a wife? She has poise, beauty, and money.’ Lydia flushed and dipped her nose to her cup. ‘Oh dear. That makes me sound envious, doesn’t it?’

  ‘A little envy of those with an unusual number of attributes is quite natural.’ Their new friendship sat lightly between them, and Flora hoped she might see this charming young woman again. Then the thought struck her that if something had happened to her close friend and Flora turned out to be the bearer of bad news, Lydia might wish to avoid her association.

  ‘Even so, I really should learn to keep my thoughts to myself.’ Lydia bit her bottom lip and frowned at the door. ‘But I’m more than a little concerned about Evangeline’s absence tonight. Yesterday at school, she said she had something important to tell me.’

  ‘So am I,’ Flora murmured, too low for Lydia to hear, then louder. ‘Do you know what it was about?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I expect – oh dear, Harry’s spotted us. Give him a few seconds and he’ll come over. You’re a new and attractive face, and Harry likes those.’

  As Lydia had predicted, Harry Flynn said something to the group of women, then backed away and made straight for them, his approach the loose-limbed, unhurried walk of a man confident of his welcome.

  ‘Good evening, Harry,’ Lydia greeted him with an air of resignation. ‘I must congratulate you on your diplomacy with Mr Lange just now.’

  ‘He’s not difficult to manage. Chap’s all bluff and bluster with women, but a brief word by a fellow and he calmed down.’

  ‘He’s looking for his daughter, I believe,’ Flora said.

  ‘Oh, excuse me, I almost forgot.’ Lydia coughed and switched into hostess mode. ‘Allow me to introduce you to Flora Harrington.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Flynn.’ His eyes were a startling green, though his long thin nose, over a full lower lip, together with a small scar on his chin kept him from being conventionally handsome.

  ‘This is Flora's first visit to the society,’ Lydia explained. She looked about to add something more when Flora forestalled her.

  ‘I came to hear Miss Sharp speak. She has some controversial ideas, don’t you think?’

  ‘She does indeed,’ Harry, said, his voice low, rich and leisurely. ‘I cannot imagine Miss Grey throwing rocks at windows, she’s far too proper.’ Beside him, Lydia stiffened, though Harry didn’t appear to register he might have offended her. ‘Evangeline, on the other hand, isn’t afraid to break the rules.’

  ‘Flora is a friend of Evangeline’s,’ Lydia said pointedly.

  Harry’s eyes lit for a second then darkened. ‘I don’t recall her ever mentioning you.’

  ‘I’m more of an acquaintance.’ Flora held her breath, hoping she wouldn’t have to tell many more lies.

  ‘I expected Evangeline to be here tonight, actually.’ Harry gave the room a cursory glance. ‘Which is what I was told before old man Lange got into such a state. Odd that she didn’t inform me she wouldn’t be coming.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’ Flora’s suspicions that Evangeline was indeed the body in the alley took firmer root, but more than ever she hoped she was wrong. Though the fact Harry expected her that evening might remove him from the list of suspects. If his concern wasn’t simply an act for everyone’s benefit.

  Harry’s eyebrows lowered; the question seemed to confuse him. ‘Well, I’m not quite sure. I believe it was yesterday.’ He squeezed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. ‘No, I remember now, it was the afternoon before. We went for luncheon at the Criterion in Piccadilly Circus, then she left and went home. At least, I think she went home. Actually,’ his tone lowered, ‘we had a slight disagreement and she left me at the table.’

  ‘Disagreement?’ Flora prompted, alert for contradictions but thus far she couldn’t find any.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing really. I suggested we set a date for the wedding, but Evangeline accused me of rushing things. Rushing things indeed, we’re engaged aren’t we?’ A nerve flicked at the corner of his eye which suggested their disagreement might have been serious. ‘By the time I had paid the bill and followed her onto the street, she was nowhere to be seen. I assumed she went home, but then she was pretty angry so might have asked the driver to take her to Victoria?’

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Flora asked, frowning.

  Harry shrugged. ‘Evie regularly flounces off to her godmother’s in Brighton. Sometimes I think she does it to teach me a lesson.’

  Or needs time away to sort out her feelings. Second thoughts Lydia had said.

  ‘I see. Have you contacted this godmother to see if she’s there?’ Flora asked.

  ‘She never stays there long,’ Lydia interjected. ‘As Harry said, it’s something she does to get away from friction. She even keeps some clothes down there all prepared. Evie is nothing if not well organized.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen her since?’ Flora asked. ‘Not even to see if she had returned home safely?’

  ‘Er no, but now you mention it, perhaps I should have.’ Harry cast a swift glance at the door through which Mr Lange had disappeared. ‘From what her father said just now they’ve been having ructions at home about her activities in the society. He asked me what I was doing here without her.’ He scanned the room again as if something had occurred to him. ‘Now you mention it, the last thing she said to me was that she was looking forward to hearing Miss Sharp speak.’ He flushed and coughed. ‘Well, actually that’s not quite accurate. She called me a pompous bully and left the restaurant, so I suppose that was the last thing she said.’

  Lydia giggled, while Flora studied his face closely, but neither worry nor anxiety sat in his expression. He certainly didn’t appear like a man who was worried about how his actions might be interpreted. The way he kept scrutinizing the room also indicated he still hoped Evangeline might appear.

  A slow dread had formed in the pit of Flora’s stomach, though she dare not introduce what she really thought had happened. Evangeline might still walk through the door, although it was a hope which faded as the evening wore on.

  ‘I doubt there’s cause for alarm.’ Harry’s forehead lowered into a distracted frown as several people caught his eye and called out greetings. ‘Evie’s a sensible girl. After a good old chinwag with her godmother, she’ll come round to the wedding idea.’ He raised an arm in salute to another young man who stood with a plain girl dressed in navy blue. ‘Oh, excuse me. A friend of mine looks as if he needs rescuing from that dreadful bore, Mabel Danvers.’

  Flora watched him go, while she sympathized with the unfortunate Miss Danvers. ‘He doesn’t appear very upset about Evangeline’s absence,’ she said once he was out of earshot.

  ‘As I said, Harry’s easy-going.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘He doesn’t get into a fug about anything.’

  ‘Even bolting fiancées?’ Flora asked.

  ‘I wondered about that.’ Lydia tapped her top lip with a finger. ‘It’s not like Evangeline to leave London in the middle of a school term. She’s far too conscientious.’ She started at something on the far side of the room. ‘Would you excuse me? Miss Sharp is about to leave and I must say goodbye to her.’ She pressed Flora’s arm as she backed away. ‘I do hope we meet again.’

  Flora nodded her farewell, while she wondered what to do next; the question still unanswered as to whether Miss Evangeline Lange lay on a slab in a London police station, or
was alive and well in Brighton.

  ‘That toff doesn’t have a clue, does he Missus?’ Sally spoke at her shoulder. ‘His intended disappears, and he’s no idea.’

  Flora jumped and swung to face her. ‘I didn’t see you there. And don’t call everyone a toff. It’s not only rude but inaccurate.’ She slanted her eyes sideways at her. ‘Did you hear much of what we were saying?’

  ‘Enough to know you’re worried about this Evangeline person. Who is she anyway?’ Sally bit into a slice of fruit cake, leaving a line of dark crumbs on her top lip.

  ‘I don’t want you repeating this, Sally, and it may mean nothing at all, but—’ Flora leaned closer, but hesitated. Would confiding her fears banish or reinforce them. ‘I’m sure I saw this Miss Lange outside the apartment building last night. I have a feeling she’s the woman they found in the alley.’

  ‘The one who was murdered, you mean?’ Sally’s rounded eyes combined with the moustache of crumbs on her upper lip made her expression bizarrely comical.

  ‘Hush!’ Flora glanced over her shoulder, but no one was close enough to overhear. ‘It might not be her.’ She frowned at the plate in Sally’s hand, empty now but for a few raisins. ‘Did you eat that entire plate of food?’

  Sally shrugged and licked her fingers. ‘It’s all free ain’t it? And we’re here legitimate like.’

  ‘Sort of.’ Flora took in the rapidly emptying room. ‘Come on, it’s time we went home. William will wonder where we’ve got to.’ She took the plate from Sally and returned it to the table, then tugged her by the arm toward the door.

  Outside on Victoria Street, two ladies who had descended the steps in front of them were being jostled on the pavement by a trio of laughing workmen.

  ‘Part of the Sister’ood are ya?’ one of the men yelled, shoving one lady roughly towards the kerb. ‘You can be my sister any day.’

  His companion released a burst of suggestive laughter, but the objects of their derision ignored them, quickening their pace as they hurried along the street and were swiftly swallowed up in the dense fog.

  ‘Louts!’ Flora muttered, impulse driving her several steps toward the men.

  Sally pulled her back with a firm hand on her sleeve. ‘No, Miss Flora. Don’t draw attention to yourself. It’s over now with no real trouble caused.’

  The man who had catcalled was being jokingly punched by a companion, who slung a careless arm across the man’s shoulders as they staggered across the road in a parody of a three-legged race.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Flora said. ‘They’re most likely drunk too, though that gives them no excuse to be disrespectful to women.’

  ‘I’ve known less reason for men insulting ladies than being suffragists,’ Sally muttered, tugging her scarf over the lower half of her face against the cold.

  Beads of moisture formed on Flora’s scarf as they waited for a hansom cab, her mind filled with queasy uncertainties. She had depended on the meeting quieting her fears for the woman in the green coat. The fact she now had met her friend, fiancé and a concerned, if angry, father hovering in the background contrived to make the situation more complicated.

  Chapter 10

  The temperature plummeted overnight, and by morning, the thin morning mist that hung over the city was already a thick, yellow-green layer that left a film of oily soot particles on every surface. Despite the efficient heating system in the apartment, Flora woke to find ice lined the inside of the windows, while a layer of frost rimed the skeletal trees in the park opposite. The boiler in her bathroom gushed hot water, but bathing proved less than pleasant as the frigid morning air cut to her bones.

  ‘I hope there’s a fire in the dining room, Sally.’ Flora braced her hands on either side of her waist as her maid fastened the tiny row of buttons on her gown.

  ‘There is, Missus. Randall got up early and there’s one in the sitting room too.’

  ‘We’ll have a real ‘pea souper’ today.’ William observed when Flora joined him for breakfast. ‘I imagine it’s worse in the East End, what with all those factories belching out coal smoke from dawn to dusk.’

  ‘Isn’t Knightsbridge considered the healthy part of the city?’ Flora drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she sat. ‘At least that’s what the advertisements for the Alexandra Hotel tell us.’

  ‘I’ve known it worse than this,’ William peered at her over the top of his newspaper. ‘The fog was so bad one year, over eleven thousand Londoners died of bronchitis. Eighty-six I think it was.’

  ‘Apologies it’s so cold this morning, sir.’ Randall nudged the door open with a hip and hurried in, a dish of scrambled eggs and tomatoes balanced on a tray. He had apparently eschewed the bain-maries on this occasion. ‘The pipes froze during the night, sir and they need time to thaw so as not to crack them.’ He added more coal to the fire, poking the glowing coals with a brass poker until the flame broke through and spread. ‘Imagine we’ll need more coal today, sir.’ He braced a hand on one knee and pushed himself upright. ‘I’ll bring more from the store.’

  Thanking him with a nod, William set aside his paper and picked up his cutlery. ‘Monet said, “Without fog, London would not be a beautiful city. It is the fog that gives it its magnificent breadth.”’

  ‘Monet?’ Flora picked at her scrambled eggs, frowning. They tasted smoky and slightly sour which made her think the fog had seeped into the kitchen. ‘You mean those moody paintings of London landmarks that look as if you are viewing them through cotton wool?’

  ‘That’s one way of describing them.’ William chuckled as he lifted the coffee pot in the air to offer her a cup.

  ‘Monet must have had no sense of smell to see beauty in this.’ She gave a vague wave towards the window, her cup held out for a refill. At least the coffee was drinkable.

  ‘Did you find something to occupy yourself last evening, Flora?’ William transferred half a tomato to his mouth and reached for the toast rack. ‘You weren’t too bored, I hope’

  ‘Not bored at all. I went to a suffragist meeting,’ Flora said carefully. Then before he could react, asked, ‘Would you like some of this cherry conserve?’ She slid the crystal pot across the tablecloth toward him. ‘I bought it at Fortnum’s, it’s very good.’

  ‘I would indeed.’ He reached for the pot and examined the label. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll explain your excursion into women’s rights to Bunny. He thinks he’s entrusted you to a respectable pillar of society, not a radical.’ William set his empty plate aside and spooned the rich, purple conserve onto a slice of toast.

  ‘You won’t have to explain anything.’ Flora eyed him enviously as she nibbled her toast spread with a miniscule scraping of the conserve. She loved sweet things and hadn’t been able to resist the decorative pot and its enticing contents, but her figure, not to mention her corset, wouldn’t allow such indulgences. It was a source of frustration that William stayed so athletic no matter what he ate. ‘Bunny doesn’t disapprove of women’s suffrage.’ At least she didn’t think so, but it wasn’t a subject they had broached at any length. ‘What is your opinion of women’s rights?’

  ‘I’m all for them, and don’t look at me like that. Did you think I was a misogynist?’ Flora started to stammer an answer but he cut her off. ‘I’m joking, though I cannot help feeling that harassing the government into changing hundreds of years of traditional thinking in one stroke isn’t the way to go.’

  ‘At least that’s one subject we shan’t disagree on.’ Flora abandoned the eggs which had begun to make her queasy and nibbled at a slice of dry toast.

  ‘I tend to keep my opinions to myself whilst in the marbled halls of Dunbar Court. Can’t be seen to be aligning myself with the Liberals.’ He wiped his fingers on his napkin, streaking the white linen with a purple stain. ‘What prompted you to attend one of their meetings?’

  Flora chewed her toast slowly, giving her time to summon a suitable response which required no mention of Evangeline Lange. ‘Yesterday, a young woman suffragi
st delivered leaflets to the building. Mr Dunne was extremely unpleasant to her.’

  ‘Hmm, so you decided to champion her cause? Aren’t those meetings full of middle-aged, unmarried bluestockings?’ He accompanied this with a slow wink to show her he was teasing.

  Flora didn’t respond, instead, she cradled her cup in both hands, her eyes narrowed above the rim as she contemplated introducing him to Lydia, which was guaranteed to change that opinion. He was as susceptible to a pretty face and a breathless mode of speech as any man.

  ‘Don’t keep scowling at me, Flora. I’ve already said I’m in favour.’ William topped up his coffee cup. ‘I don’t have the first idea of what a bluestocking looks like. Now, where was this meeting?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to. I’m a bit out of sorts today. Must be this awful fog. The meeting was in Victoria Street. At the headquarters of the National Union—’

  ‘—of Women’s Suffrage Societies,’ William finished for her. ‘I’m familiar with the various groups that have sprung up over the years. We, I mean the government, have to keep an eye on any organization which advocates a change in the order of things. In fact it’s the perpetual name changes and fringe groups that convinces most of government that these women are too fickle to be taken seriously.’

  ‘Strange you should say that.’ Flora slowly lowered her coffee cup. ‘A Miss Evelyn Sharp was the chief speaker last night and she said Emmeline Pankhurst has broken away from the NUWSS and started a Women’s Social and Political Union in Manchester. Miss Sharp wants to form a similar group in London.’

  ‘They want to be political now?’ William raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Do they need a new name because they want to wear lilac flowers in their lapels instead of red ones?’

  ‘That’s a facetious statement.’ Flora bridled though her mouth twitched. ‘Actually, it’s more alarming than that. They advocate taking more direct action against the government.’