‘Actually, I didn’t take her with me.’ Flora avoided his eye but his frustrated sigh was enough to tell her he disapproved. ‘I took a cab to Cannon Row,’ she added by way of mitigation. ‘London is full of young women walking around on their own and no one turns a hair. Besides, Sally gets restless and huffs and puffs beside me. I would gain more co-operation if I were walking a dog.’ She broke off, aware she was gabbling, a habit of hers when she knew she was in the wrong.
William watched her with a sardonic lift of his left brow. ‘Maybe so, but while you are here, I insist you take Sally with you whenever you go out. Would you do that? If only to please me?’
‘How old-fashioned you are.’ Flora attempted a laugh, but it fell flat in the face of his uncompromising glare. He was in a strange mood this evening, and just when she thought she was beginning to understand his mercurial character.
‘I’m serious, Flora. A young woman from a notable family close to your own age was strangled not fifty yards from this door. We don’t know by whom or why, so until the killer is found, you should take more care.’
‘I’m sorry, I should have thought of that.’ A shudder ran through her at the notion she wasn’t entirely impervious to danger.
‘I know you consider yourself a modern young woman, but this isn’t Surrey. London is a dangerous city with crime and corruption on every street corner.’
‘You make it sound like Babylon.’ Despite his insistence, she did not intend to surrender her interest in the case entirely. Evangeline Lange deserved more than to be consigned to the victim of an unknown assailant.
William’s jaw hardened. ‘I’m aware I have only recently stepped into my role as your father, but I assure you I take the responsibility quite seriously.’
Flora was about to remind him that as her husband, Bunny, had taken over that duty, but offered a conciliatory smile instead. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful in future.’ It was an easy promise to make, though the prospect of having to endure Sally’s constant grumbling made her regret the impulse.
‘Then we’ll say no more about it.’ William retrieved his coffee, which Flora suspected was lukewarm by now.
The ticking of the mantle clock and crackle of the fire were the only sounds the break a companionable silence that followed. William opened a newspaper while Flora read an instalment of the latest Conan Doyle story in Strand Magazine, but couldn’t concentrate.
What had sent Evangeline Lange to Mr Crabbe’s apartment that night? Her words, ‘Unless I get what I want, you may well see me again,’ had certainly sounded like a threat. Was it one their neighbour shrugged off or had he felt the need to prevent her carrying it out? And why was William so adamant the man couldn’t have had anything to do with it?
‘So tell me, Flora,’ William asked, turning a page of the broadsheet. ‘What did you do with the rest of your day?’
‘Well…’ Flora hesitated. She had annoyed him enough for one evening and had no wish to compound her error, but there seemed no reason to be secretive now. ‘I went to see Miss Grey to tell her about Evangeline. They were friends and colleagues, so I wanted to spare her hearing her friend was dead from an unsympathetic source, like the police. I was too late as it happened, for they were already there.’ She held up the silver coffee pot. ‘Would you like some more?’
‘Not for me, thank you. Already where? At this Miss Grey’s house?’
‘No, sorry, didn’t I say?’ She threw him a distracted smile. ‘I went to see her where she worked, at the Harriet Parker Academy. It’s in Lowndes Square.’
William’s cup hit his saucer with a harsh clunk which sloshed coffee onto the rug.
‘Oh dear.’ She stared at a teardrop-shaped brown stain in dismay. ‘Will you tell Randall or shall I?’
Ignoring her, he leapt to his feet and made for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Flora asked.
‘Sorry, I er-forgot I need to see to something. Shan’t be long.’
‘William, it’s after ten. Can’t it wait until morning? Surely whatever it is cannot be that im—’ She broke off as she realized she addressed an empty room.
*
Flora rose the next morning with her head full of questions, a situation Sally appeared to share as she chattered all the way through the dressing ritual, although she had no more to add to what Flora already knew. Her thoughts drifted back to William’s dash from the apartment the night before. She had lain awake for a while, but he must not have returned until after she had fallen asleep. If he had returned at all.
Once Sally had rushed off to the basement housekeeping room in search of more gossip, Flora went along to the dining room and poured a cup of coffee, just as the click of the front door opening sounded and she heard William’s voice from the hall. ‘We need to find out what connection this woman had with our man, if any.’
‘You’re certain it’s not simply a coincidence?’ Mr Crabbe responded.
‘I very much doubt it. There have been too many of those lately.’ A muffled cough and a shuffling noise followed.
Cup in hand, Flora crept to the half-open door, where William’s head appeared around the jamb, startling her. ‘Ah, there you are, Flora.’ The cup and saucer tilted, spilling hot coffee onto her fingers. ‘I shan’t be joining you for breakfast. Crabbe and I need to go, but Randall will prepare anything you like.’
‘I’ll see you this evening then.’ Flora flexed her wet, stinging fingers, aware of her cheeks burning at the possibility she had been caught listening.
He gave a mock salute and started to back away.
‘William,’ Flora halted him, ‘is everything all right? You seem, well brittle and worried this morning.’
‘Perfectly!’ His over-bright response was unconvincing, but before she could challenge him, he rapped the door frame with his fingertips. ‘Must go. Crabbe’s waiting outside in the taxi.’
‘No Mr Gordon this morning?’ Flora said in an attempt to delay him. Despite his warning on their first night, and her assurances she had kept busy, Flora couldn’t help being frustrated by the fact he always seemed to be rushing off when the purpose of her visit had been to get to know one another better.
‘Ah, no.’ He glanced towards the window, beyond which the hansom patiently waited. ‘I’ve dispensed with his services as a nursemaid. He cast a swift glance at the window, beyond which the cab waited. ‘I’m quite capable of getting myself to the office without his assistance, so I have instructed him to meet me there in future. It’s not as if there isn’t enough paperwork to keep him occupied.’
‘I see, well have a good day then, and is there anything special you would like for dinner?’
‘You’re supposed to be having a holiday from domestic duties, Flora. Leave all that to Randall. Take Sally with you to visit the shops and maybe take a walk in Hyde Park. Anything to distract you from thinking about murderers.’ He gave a half-hearted wave and pulled the door to, his voice mingling with Randall’s in the hall as he left.
Flora couldn’t have felt less rejected had he patted her on the head, but with no one to complain to, she went back to the table and replenished her coffee cup.
Her breakfast arrived, but she barely touched it, occupied by questions which crowded her head; the main one being that William seemed to know far more about Evangeline Lange’s murder than he admitted to. Gordon was too efficient not to have taken William’s statement to the police station, so when had Inspector Maddox informed William they had identified the body? And why?
The rhythmic click of silver against china as she stirred her coffee mingled with distant traffic sounds on the road outside. What had William meant when he referred to ‘our man?’ and what were these coincidences he talked about?’ It was all very puzzling.
On the one hand, her regard for William prevented her dismissing his wishes, but her more determined side refused to allow a murder to go unsolved. The image of Evangeline lying on the ground on a frosty night, cold, alone and dead, plagued
her. It brought to mind thoughts of Flora’s own mother, whom everyone believed had been murdered when she was a child. The fact her mother’s body had never been found, or that there was no grave she could visit contributed to Flora’s determination to secure justice for Evangeline. Justice her own mother would never have.
At that moment Randall appeared.
‘Randall?’ Her question made him pause. ‘Has Inspector Maddox called here in the last day or so?’
‘Not that I am aware, Miss Flora.’ He regarded her with his habitual bland expression before his gaze shifted pointedly to the tray in his hands.
‘I see. Thank you,’ she murmured, dismissing him with a sigh. If William had instructed him not to mention the policeman’s visit, she wouldn’t learn of it from his manservant.
Chapter 16
Flora had felt hungry while she waited for her breakfast, but when it arrived, the food had tasted odd, so she abandoned it half-eaten.
‘Is something wrong with the food, Miss Flora?’ Randall eyed her plate, his expression anxious. ‘If it’s not satisfactory, I could get you something else?’
‘Please don’t worry, Randall. There’s nothing wrong. I’m simply not hungry.’ As she rose from her chair, the room spun around her. She staggered, braced both hands against the table to stop herself falling, and waited for a stomach churning nausea to abate.
‘Well, if you’re sure, Miss Flora.’ Randall cast her a worried look before removing her plate to the sideboard.
Not trusting herself to speak, she forced a smile until finally, he bowed and left the room at which she exhaled in a rush and slumped back onto her seat. She dropped her head in her hands, her breathing fast and shallow as bile rose in her throat.
When the queasiness finally passed, she rose unsteadily to her feet and made her way slowly to her room. The corridor seemed endless as the nausea threatened to return, until at last she closed her bedroom door and leaned against it.
‘Are you going out this morning, Miss Flora?’ Sally looked up briefly from sorting a pile of linens, halting with a petticoat hanging from one hand. ‘Are you all right, Miss? You do look awful pale.’
‘Maybe, only I need to lie down for a few moments.’ She crawled onto the bed and pulled the coverlet over herself, registering Sally’s disgruntled look that told her she had just straightened it.
‘I didn’t sleep well last night,’ Flora lied. If she told Sally breakfast had made her ill, her maid would take her complaint straight to Randall, which was the last thing she wanted. Flora had more than a vague notion what was wrong with her and it was nothing to do with bad eggs.
‘I could ask Randall to get you some dry biscuits.’ Abandoning the linens, Sally gave her a knowing look she was unable to interpret. ‘They sometimes help with – well you know.’
‘Help with what? And please don’t mention food.’ Flora’s stomach clenched and a sour taste flooded her mouth. She threw off the coverlet and bolted from the room, saw she had gone the wrong way but it was too late to correct. Instead, she made for the tiny guest cloakroom, pushing past an astonished Randall in the corridor. With no time to explain, she burst inside the tiny closet-sized room just in time to empty her stomach into the washbasin.
Sally followed her in and secured the lock, most likely to keep out an inquisitive Randall.
‘Why is this called a cloakroom when there aren’t any coats in it?’ she asked.
The horrible process repeated itself and Flora grabbed a small hand towel from a pile and wiped her mouth while Sally rubbed Flora’s back in firm rhythmic circles. ‘It-it’s for the use of guests.’ Flora took a deep breath to steady her rapid heartbeat and waited for the awful feeling to settle.
‘Much better than an outside privy.’ Sally leaned nonchalantly against the wall and stared round, one hand still kneading Flora’s back.
Flora dragged in another lungful of air, her eyes squeezed shut. ‘Sally, is that pounding you’re giving my back supposed to help?’
‘Yes, Miss, why?’
‘Because it isn’t. At all. Do you mind—’ she broke off as another surge of sickness overwhelmed her, and lurched for the washbasin again. Her stomach clenched and her throat went into spasm and her heaving turned to dry retching.
Sally pressed a cold, damp towel against Flora’s brow, which brought some relief, but in seconds, she was retching again. The spasms continued, and Flora’s knees started to shake. She crumpled to the tiled floor, her forehead pressed against the brass frame that supported the washbasin.
‘What’s that?’ Sally opened the door a crack and peered into the hall.
‘What’s what?’ Flora groaned, too miserable to care.
‘Listen!’
Flora ignored her. Her head spun so badly she didn’t dare move, much less show an interest in what was happening outside the room.
‘Oh, lord, Randall’s let someone in.’ Sally shut the door, then shook Flora by the arm, though there was barely room for the two of them in the tiny room. ‘Miss Flora, you must get up.’
‘Why?’ Flora pressed her forehead to the cold porcelain of the washbasin, both arms wound around the brass pole.
‘You have to, Miss!’ At any other time, her maid’s tone would have acted as a warning, but Flora’s head felt as if it were full of cotton wool and her throat was sore from all the retching.
‘Miss Flora is, er, indisposed, sir.’ Randall’s distinctive voice came from immediately outside the door.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Bunny’s voice penetrated the fuzziness that crowded Flora’s head. ‘I insist you allow me to see her.’
She was hearing things now. Surely Bunny was still in Richmond? ‘Sally, send whoever it is away. I want to be left alone.’
‘Wish I could, Missus, but I’ve this horrible thought—’ Whatever the thought was, Sally didn’t finish it, as suddenly the door was thrust open, shoving Sally hard into the corner behind it.
‘My darling, whatever is wrong?’ Bunny’s voice penetrated Flora’s fogged thoughts, but she couldn’t summon the energy to move. Was it was really him?
‘Sally,’ Bunny snapped. ‘Come out from behind the door. Your mistress needs some air.’
‘I can’t sir, you’ve trapped me behind it. I can’t move.’
‘For heaven’s sake.’ Bunny growled. He circled Flora’s waist with one arm, flung her other one over his shoulder and hauled her upright. ‘Randall, direct me to Miss Flora’s room. And where is Mr Osborne?’
‘Down that way, sir,’ Randall said. ‘And my master has gone to his office, sir. I could call him if you think it is necessary?’
‘No, I’ll do that myself. Firstly, I want to know what’s wrong with my wife.’
Flora offered no resistance as she was half-dragged, half-carried along the hallway to her room. Bunny manoeuvred her through the door and laid her on the bed, still rumpled from when she had left it. She groaned again at the notion of Bunny finding her sprawled on the floor with her head pressed against the washstand support.
‘Bunny?’ Flora mumbled, finding her voice at last, though her words came out slurred. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you for another day or so.’ All she wanted to do just then was lie down so her head would stop spinning.
‘Have you summoned a doctor, Sally?’ Bunny demanded, covering Flora with the heavy coverlet. ‘If not, then perhaps someone ought to do so now?’
Flora smiled as his cool hand brushed her hair away from her forehead.
The thick mattress and soft pillows felt wonderful but a voice inside Flora’s head told her she had to stop him. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
‘No, sir,’ Sally answered Bunny’s stern question. ‘She doesn’t need no doctor.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bunny pushed a hand into his hair and kept it there. ‘Look at her, she’s in a faint. And why was she so sick? Have you considered she might have food poisoning?’
‘Certainly not from my coo
king, sir!’ Randall protested from the door frame, apparently reluctant to come inside. ‘I’m very careful about cleanliness in my kitchen.’
‘Bunny, it’s all right, really.’ Flora’s head began to clear and she summoned strength enough to grip his arm. ‘I don’t have food poisoning and I’ve already seen a doctor.’
‘When? Since you arrived here? How long have you been ill?’ Bunny lowered himself onto the side of the bed, his face a mask of concern. ‘What did he say?’
From the corner of her eye, Flora saw Sally propel an indignant Randall out of sight. They could say what they liked about Sally, her discretion couldn’t be faulted when she chose.
‘Listen to me.’ She tugged Bunny onto the mattress beside her so she didn’t have to shout. ‘I saw the doctor two weeks ago before I came here.’
‘I had no idea you weren’t well.’ His eyes widened behind his spectacles. ‘I would never have let you come if I had known. It isn’t serious is it?’ He rose to his feet again and stared around, frantic. ‘Why didn’t William call me?’
‘Bunny, please sit down.’
He complied, if reluctantly, grasped her hand in both of his and patted it ineffectually.
Flora wanted to pull it away but resisted, despite the rhythm was grating on her nerves. She pulled herself into a sitting position. Her head had stopped swimming and she felt reasonably sure she wasn’t going to be sick again. ‘There was nothing you could have done which would have made any difference.’ His face fell and panic entered his eyes which told her she had said it all wrong. ‘No, I didn’t mean—’ She tried again. ‘The doctor said—’ She broke off as bile rose in her throat again and she had to concentrate on fighting the mounting nausea.
‘Sally,’ Bunny shouted. ‘Get a bowl – quick!’
Sally reappeared from wherever she had been hiding, dumped the pitcher on the dresser and held the bowl beneath Flora’s chin. Her vision trained on the pattern of apricot peonies on the edge but nothing happened. Sighing, Flora relaxed back against the pillows again.
‘Darling, you aren’t making sense.’ Bunny gestured to Sally, who obligingly removed the bowl and disappeared again. ‘If you aren’t ill, then why are you so pale?’ He bit his lip, his brows drawn together. ‘You’re still shaking and your eyes are clouded. In my book, those are all signs of—’
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