A Knightsbridge Scandal

by Anita Davison

  ‘How nice of you to call,’ her hostess said in a high-pitched voice. ‘John will be here presently, but in the meantime, do join me for some tea.’ She gestured Flora into one of an assortment of upholstered chairs arranged round the hearth, each in differing styles and flowered fabrics.

  ‘I rarely meet John’s friends,’ she said in her high, affected voice. ‘Thus I do appreciate you coming to visit. I gather you heard about our darling Evangeline? This has been such a dreadful time for all of us.’

  ‘Yes indeed. I hope you don't think it improper of me, a virtual stranger, calling to offer my condolences for your—’

  ‘Not at all, it’s very kind,’ Mrs Lange cut her off. ‘Do tell me how you met John?’

  A small fire burned in an iron grate, not large enough to banish the chill of the air that smelled of dust and lavender as if the room wasn’t used often.

  Seated, Mrs Lange didn’t look at all comfortable perched a few inches from the edge, her hands laced together in a vice-like grip on her lap. Hands with protruding knuckles and raised veins scattered with age spots told Flora she was older than she first appeared.

  Flora opened her mouth and closed it again. John hadn’t told her? Apparently not, or why would she assume they were friends?

  ‘Um, our acquaintance is quite recent actually.’ She sidestepped that it had happened at a police station. Then inspiration struck at the sight of an NUWSS leaflet on a table at her elbow. ‘I’m an acquaintance of Lydia Grey.’

  Her hostess’s face showed no recognition at the name, only confusion. ‘She was a work colleague of your daughter’s, at the Harriet Parker Academy’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Mrs Lange gave a grimace of distaste. ‘The establishment run by that foreign woman. Why Evangeline felt she needed to work was quite ridiculous. We provided her with all she could possibly need.’ She twisted her hands with increasing agitation as she spoke. ‘Anyway, she would have had to give it up when she and Harry Flynn married, so I chose not to make as much fuss about it as my husband.’ She broke off as a maid entered the room with a tea tray. ‘Ah, thank you, Jane. Put it on the table beside me. And when Mr John returns, would someone inform him that his friend is here?’ She waved a vague hand in Flora’s direction. ‘What was your name again, my dear?’

  ‘I didn’t give it, but it’s Flora, Flora Harrington.’ Her gaze strayed again to the NUWSS pamphlet lying on top of a pile of magazines.

  ‘I meant to throw that awful pamphlet out.’ Mrs Lange followed Flora’s look. ‘Another of Evangeline’s causes. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn her involvement with those people was what got her killed.’

  Was the woman’s distracted manner part of her grief, or anger with Evangeline for making her own choices? As if she couldn’t resist the self-righteous triumph of having her predictions proving true.

  ‘How is your husband coping with the tragedy, Mrs Lange?’ Flora asked, taking a sip of the too weak tea. She began to feel awkward and wished John would arrive.

  ‘He’s devastated, poor man.’ She released a long sigh. ‘Evangeline was his joy. However, he isn’t one to mope about the house. He goes to the police station every day in order to ensure that detective person is doing his job.’

  The click of the door announced the arrival of John. ‘Jenks informed me I have a guest, but I wasn’t expecting anyone – oh!’ His face paled at the sight of Flora, then his eyes shifted nervously to his mother.

  ‘John, darling, there you are.’ Mrs Lange’s face creased into a beatific smile more appropriate for a lover. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned this charming young woman to me before now?’

  ‘Haven’t I? How remiss of me.’ His chin hardened as if he gritted his teeth, giving the impression he had hoped not to have to explain.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lange.’ Flora set down her cup and saucer. ‘I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I came to offer my condolences.’ She split a look between him and his mother. ‘To both of you.’

  ‘That’s most – kind.’ He rushed to his mother’s side and eased her out of her chair, despite her mild protests. ‘Thank you for looking after her, Mother. Mrs Harrington and I have something important to discuss, so I’ll take over now. Perhaps you could go and lie down for a while?’

  ‘Mrs Harrington?’ Mrs Lange levelled a withering glare at Flora. ‘You might have mentioned that small detail, my dear.’

  Flora’s lips parted in sudden shock, but her hurried apology dissolved on her tongue as John shoved his mother bodily into the hall. He muttered something Flora couldn’t make out before the door closed behind him with a loud click.

  *

  ‘I'm sorry, that must have appeared rude of me.’ John reappeared and took the chair his mother had vacated. ‘Mother is still very distressed about Evangeline. I thought it best we discuss anything pertaining to the – attack alone.’

  ‘I take it your mother is keen to see you settled?’ Flora ventured, though it seemed a poor excuse for the way he practically threw the poor woman out of the room.

  ‘Indeed. I’m afraid she tends to view every young lady of our acquaintance as a possible wife for me, which can be very tiresome. Also, I haven’t told her how you and I met; I feared she might consider our unorthodox introduction improper.’

  ‘I suppose it was unconventional.’ Flora conjured the scene on the Embankment when she was convinced John was about to push her beneath the hooves of a carriage horse. ‘Your mother seems angry about your sister’s death as well as distressed. It must be so very hard on her.’

  ‘She isn’t handling Evangeline’s death well.’ His eyes fluttered closed briefly. ‘Our doctor makes frequent visits to calm her, for at times she forgets Evie isn’t coming home and rails at her as if she were in the room.’

  ‘How awful for her.’ Flora’s sympathy rose, recalling how losing Riordan Maguire had left her numb and exhausted. John’s mention of the doctor also explained Mrs Lange’s enlarged pupils and disorientation, most likely due to laudanum as distress.

  ‘Now.’ John clapped his hands together as if banishing the heavy mood he had himself introduced. ‘What brings you to Connaught Square?’

  ‘Well, after you left me the other day, my maid and I located Evangeline’s bag.’

  ‘Her bag, where?’ His eyes widened and he rubbed his neck with one hand. ‘Inspector Maddox said it wasn’t with her… body. Thus the assumption she had been killed during a robbery. Where did you find it?’

  ‘It's complicated.’ Flora had no intention of explaining the exact circumstances. ‘Someone found it before the police arrived. It contained something which might—’

  ‘Do you have it with you?’ he interrupted her.

  ‘Er-yes.’ Flora withdrew the small bag from inside her own larger one and handed it to him. ‘I wanted you to see it first out of courtesy, but my next stop should be to the police.’

  ‘Why, is there something in here which might help?’ His hand trembled as he took it from her, the silk cord hanging free.

  ‘Well, not as such, but-’

  ‘Then I shall return it where it belongs,’ he interrupted her. ‘Amongst the rest of Evie’s possessions.’

  ‘But what about the police?’

  ‘I-I suppose you’re right.’ He flicked a sharp look at her and away again. ‘However, if you don’t mind, might I be the one to take it to them?’

  ‘Of course, if you prefer. Although,’ she hesitated. ‘I realize you must find this difficult, but there was something inside which might be pertinent to their inquiry.’

  Frowning, John sorted through the meagre contents. ‘There’s nothing here as far as I can tell. Just a few personal items. ‘He held up the empty coin purse. ‘I assume whoever attacked her stole whatever was inside this?’

  Flora merely smiled, refusing to make the matter any more complicated than it was. Paying off Meg might be seen as interfering with police matters and the last thing she wanted was to incur Inspector Maddox’s bad temper.

 
‘I don’t suppose it matters now anyway.’ He clicked the clasp shut and placed the bag on a table.

  ‘Your sister rented a mailbox at Boltons Library.’ She withdrew the receipt and the square of paper she had cut from the newspaper from her bag and handed them to him, adding, ‘The second one is an advertisement she placed in the classified section of The Times.’

  ‘I-I had no idea.’ He scanned the cutting, his eyes shadowed. ‘Who’s this chap Victor, and why did Evangeline want to speak to anyone who knew him? Are you quite certain these are hers?’

  ‘Certain? I hoped you could tell me that.’

  ‘The name means nothing, but it occurs to me that without a surname it’s a pseudonym. The only person I can think of is Harry Flynn.’ He eased his collar again in a gesture he had made his own and laid the cutting and the receipt beside the bag.

  ‘I doubt it. Harry is not swarthy nor does he possess dark hair and hypnotic eyes.’ In response to John’s casual shrug, she added, ‘Do you genuinely suspect Harry, or is that your personal prejudice talking?’

  ‘Maybe the latter. But then do you expect a chap to hand over his beloved younger sister to any plausible young man who asks for her hand?’

  ‘Harry doesn’t strike me as just any young man,’ Flora said, confused as to why she was defending him. Harry was just as likely a suspect as anyone. ‘Your parents were satisfied Mr Flynn was a suitable match for Evangeline, weren’t they?’

  He snorted. ‘Our fathers attended the same public school if you feel that qualifies as suitability.’

  He cupped the back of his neck in one hand and rotated it in a half-turn, his features slightly contorted. Briefly, Flora wondered if he was in pain.

  ‘I’ll go and see Inspector Maddox and show these things to him. Perhaps it wasn’t a random robbery after all.’ His eyes brightened as if the thought had that moment occurred to him. ‘Or this Victor person discovered Evangeline was looking for him and killed her to keep her quiet.’

  ‘That was my first thought too. But what was it she could have found out that would make someone kill to keep it quiet?’

  ‘That’s the police’s job, though I’m afraid I have low expectations of Inspector Maddox if he relies on young women with a heightened curiosity to do his job for him.’ He held up the two pieces of paper in emphasis.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll see it quite that way. Thus I would appreciate it if you would not mention how you came by the bag. The barmaid at The Grenadier er-came upon it in actual fact.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to keep your name out of it.’

  ‘I’d better go. I only came to show you those.’ She turned towards the door, but his hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm.

  ‘Please don’t go, you’ve only just got here. Stay and take another cup of tea with me. You can tell me more about Evie’s friends at the NUWSS. I never did pay much attention at the time. And now, well, it’s too late.’

  Flora eased her arm from his hold, surprised at the strength of his grip.

  He released her, both hands held out open palmed. ‘I apologize, I didn’t mean to be so insistent. It’s simply that – well a house of mourning can be a gloomy place.’

  ‘I understand, but I’m expected at home, so I really should go.’ Although not unsympathetic, she found his mercurial moods unsettling; stricken with grief one moment, then without warning, he became angry, which turned in a heartbeat to flirtatiousness. ‘Do thank your mother for me, won’t you?’

  ‘I will. I expect she’s sleeping now.’ He summoned the butler and asked him to find Sally.

  Once settled in the hansom on her way back to the apartment, Flora decided she was being too harsh toward Mr Lange and that grief affected people in different ways. She also hoped he would keep his promise and not tell Inspector Maddox how he came by Evangeline’s bag.

  *

  Flora pulled up her collar against a grit-laden wind as the driver guided the horse into the Bayswater Road. Perhaps motor taxis did have their advantages. At least they were warm.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Flora asked when Sally’s head remained buried in a copy of The Woman at Home dated several weeks before.

  ‘The housemaid gave it to me.’ Sally beamed. ‘Mrs Lange lets her have it when she’s finished with it, and she gave me this one. It’s full of articles and pictures about female beauty and fashion. Have you ever had a gown made for you by a court dressmaker, Miss Flora?’

  ‘Hardly. I find my mother-in-law’s seamstress in Kingston more than adequate.’

  ‘Mrs Lange does, according to the housekeeper. She likes her clothes and spends a fortune on them.’

  ‘That’s all very fascinating, but not quite what I sent you to find out.’

  ‘Your dresses are smart enough,’ Sally continued as if she hadn’t heard her. ‘But think what it would be like to go to a real dressmaker who makes clothes for the cream of society?’

  ‘I’m not likely to be presented to Queen Alexandra, Sally. That sort of thing is a little beyond my circle.’ Not to mention her purse.

  ‘You don’t have to have a debut or mix with toffs to go to a court dressmaker. This one is in Dover Street which is less than a mile from Master William’s apartment.’ She shoved the magazine under Flora’s nose. ‘Madam Kate Reily’s establishment is visited by ladies just like you. It says so right here.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s excellent, but I won’t be able to fit into my existing clothes in another few weeks, let alone an expensive new gown.’ Sally’s shoulders slumped and Flora gave her an awkward pat in consolation. ‘Perhaps I’ll save up and try Miss Reily’s when the baby comes. Now that’s enough about clothes. How did you get on in the Langes’ kitchen?’

  ‘Well, the cook and housemaid are mother and daughter.’ Sally laid the magazine in her lap and tucked the blanket provided by the driver around their knees. ‘Not very grateful for their jobs either, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Not really.’ Flora was prepared to wait for an explanation, glad Sally had returned to the subject in hand.

  ‘Well.’ Sally wiggled her hips further into the seat. ‘I hadn’t even begun my cup of tea before they gave up the goods on their mistress. The cook said Mrs Lange is a bit of an odd one, but her daughter was quick to call her a very rude name. Began with a b and ended with a ‘haich’’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how she treats her servants, but she was distracted rather than odd.’ She recalled Mrs Lange’s sharp disappointment when she found out Flora was already married. ‘Not that I can condemn her under these circumstances. To have lost a daughter in such a way must have been dreadful.’ If Mrs Lange used medication, or even the brandy bottle to help her through life, Flora had no right to judge her.

  ‘She didn’t,’ Sally announced with more than a little triumph. ‘Evangeline’s mother died in childbirth. Camille Lange is her stepmother.’

  ‘Really?’ Flora’s eyes widened and she drew the word out slowly. ‘Now I wonder why John Lange hadn’t mentioned that?’

  ‘Mr Lange married her exactly one year after his first wife died. Evangeline was still a nipper. No more’n four or five.’

  ‘In which case, Camille would have been instrumental in raising Evangeline. Bonds would have been formed even if she wasn’t her own child.’

  ‘Not according to the maid.’ Sally cast a glance at the box above and then lowered her voice. ‘She said Mrs Lange hated Evangeline.’

  ‘Hated? She used that word?’

  Sally nodded. ‘By all accounts Evangeline was strong-minded and she clashed with her stepmother over all sorts of things. The suffrage thing for one, and her working at the school.’

  ‘Maybe they simply didn’t get on.’ Flora cut off the thread as she had heard all this before. ‘And as I heard it, Mr Lange didn’t approve of her independent ways either. That doesn’t mean much, Sally.’

  ‘Just telling you what was said.’ Sally picked at a corner of the magazine with a fingernail. ‘Lots of shouting and slammin
g of doors according to the housekeeper, Mrs Hicks.’

  ‘Between Mrs Lange and Evangeline?’

  ‘Mr Lange too. Mrs Hicks said when he bellows, the whole house shakes. Thinks them suffrage women are – what was the word – con-ten-tious.’

  ‘And John? Did they have an opinion of his attitude to Evangeline? As he’s obviously older than Evangeline I assume he’s Mrs Lange’s child but Mr Lange’s stepson?’

  ‘He was about ten at the time, Mrs Hicks said. Quiet boy always, but he always supports his sister, and the housemaid seems to be a bit sweet on him.’

  ‘I see.’ Which pretty much fitted with what Flora had learned herself. ‘You did an excellent job, Sally. Thank you.’

  ‘I haven’t finished.’ Sally tutted. ‘The night Miss Evangeline died, she had an argument with. She was all dressed to go out, but he didn’t want her to go and tried to persuade her to stay at home.’

  ‘A pity then that he didn’t succeed. She might still be alive. Did she hear anything more specific?’ Like actual words.

  ‘Not really. Mrs Hicks kept saying as how Miss Evangeline was a wilful miss and should have been more mindful of the gentleman’s wishes. Then the housemaid chimed in saying she was being old-fashioned. They was going it at it like knives when that creaky old butler turned up and said you were about to leave.’

  ‘Even so, you did well, Sally.’ Flora rather liked the idea of having a willing accomplice, a role Sally seemed to have adopted easily. ‘What do you say we walk the rest of the way home? We can go through Hyde Park and we’ll make it before it gets dark.’ A layer of fog shimmered above the browned grass and obscured the upper half of the trees. ‘I need some time to think and the walk will do us both good.’

  ‘As long as there’s a pot of tea at the end of it,’ Sally muttered, tugging her scarf higher.

  Flora pulled down the trap and told the driver to stop. She paid him and then stepped down from the cab. Sally followed her onto the pavement.