‘I have an unrelated matter to discuss with Mr Osborne.’ He looked past her along the hall as if he had already forgotten her. ‘Please don’t let me detain you.’
Flora bridled at his brusque dismissal. ‘You won’t. And had I known you would be back to see us so soon, I would have asked Randall to lay a place for you at breakfast.’
He looked about to deliver a suitable rejoinder when William emerged from the study and greeted him like a long-lost friend. ‘Ah, Inspector, there you are. I apologize for summoning you back, however there has been a development.’
Flora lingered in the hope she might learn more, when Sally appeared at the kitchen door and gestured with a series of hisses and elaborate hand signals. When the study door had closed on William and the policeman, she obeyed Sally’s summons.
‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of that copper.’ She drew Flora into the kitchen, then checked the hallway again before closing the door.
‘What is it, Sally? Surely you aren’t afraid of Inspector Maddox? He’s not as scary as he looks.’
‘Not me, Missus – her.’ Sally stood aside, revealing the hunched figure of a young woman who sat at the kitchen table, her arms folded in front of her and her head down. ‘It’s Meg.’
Flora recognized the barmaid from The Grenadier, though her presence in William’s kitchen remained a mystery. She gave the kitchen a brief look, but there was no sign of Randall.
‘He says he wants nothing to do with this.’ Sally interpreted her look. ‘Says he’ll come back when she’s gone.’
‘I see.’ Flora turned back to the girl. ‘Well, Meg and what can we—’ she broke off with a gasp when Meg raised her chin and pinned Flora with one, wide blue eye. The other was an angry red, swollen almost closed, and a blackened scab had begun to form on her split lower lip.
‘Who did this to you?’ Flora asked, horrified.
*
Meg hunched her shoulders and stared at the oversized mug of stewed tea that sat on the table in front of her, but made no attempt to explain.
‘Well go on then,’ Sally prompted. ‘Tell Miss Flora what you told me.’
Flora’s brief head to toe glance revealed a pair of thin shoes which had begun to crack, a shabby, patched skirt and a blouse which showed shadows of old stains, much washed and which had probably never seen a flat iron. Her frizzy, brittle hair and the pallor of her skin indicated a poor diet in a life which must be a constant fight for survival.
Finally, Meg inhaled a noisy breath and fingered her cut lip with the bitten-down nails on one hand. She took a sip of her tea, swallowed and released a sigh. ‘I was leaving the pub last night and I got jumped by some bloke.’
‘Jumped? You mean you were attacked? By whom?’
‘Dunno, do I?’ Meg’s scathing look told Flora she was being naïve. ‘He came at me, from be’ind.’ She seemed reluctant to meet Flora’s eye and continued to stare at the mug she cradled in both hands. ‘I-I didn’t tell your maid everything the other day.’ She flicked a look at Sally and away again. ‘But when I first saw that woman, there was a man bent over her.’
‘You saw who strangled Miss Lange?’ Flora gasped.
‘Not exactly.’ Meg hunched her shoulders in a deprecating gesture which revealed her shame. ‘He was standing over her when she was on the ground, holding her hand, looked like, but I couldn’t see clearly. I was in the pub yard and saw him through the gate.’
‘Could you describe him?’ Flora’s heartbeat quickened, but only for an instant as Meg shook her head.
‘No. I must have cried out, for as soon as he saw me, he took off. It’s dark in that alley and I couldn’t see him properly. He wore an overcoat and a cap pulled down, but he wasn’t old as he moved pretty quick.’
‘Are you saying he returned to The Grenadier and beat you because of what you saw? To make sure you stayed silent?’ At Meg’s nod, Flora went on, ‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘Only that he knew it was me who took the bag. Said he saw me the other night.’
Flora took the wheelback chair opposite and dragged it closer to the table, then sat. ‘Did you tell anyone about the bag?’
Meg glared at Sally as if she held her responsible. ‘I didn’t tell no one ’cept you.’
Flora ran through the names of those who had been told about the bag since that night. Apart from herself, Sally and John Lange, it included William and possibly Arthur Crabbe.
‘You’re sure it was the same man who did this to you?’
‘Must have been. I tol’ you, I didn’t see his face that time either, but who else could it be?’
‘If he attacked you from behind, how did your eye get injured like that?’ Flora asked. ‘You should report him to the police.’
Meg started to rise as panic entered her one good eye. ‘Now look, I don’t want no trouble.’
Flora waved her back down again. ‘I’m sorry, it’s your choice of course.’
Meg sank back down onto the chair. ‘I didn’t see‘s face ‘cause I didn’t want to. I kept me eyes and me mouth shut.’
‘What did he want, Meg?’ Flora asked.
‘The brooch.’ Meg slumped further in her chair.
‘What brooch?’ A rush of excitement sharpened Flora’s voice. Meg flinched and fingered her eye, either from pain or guilt Flora couldn’t tell. ‘Is that why he came back?’
Sally uttered a derisive snort as if that conclusion was obvious. Flora gestured her to be silent as she waited for Meg to answer.
‘The brooch weren’t in the bag,’ Meg said after a moment. She lifted the mug of tea again but found it empty and set it down again. ‘It was on the ground near her. I said the police had found it when they came for the body, but he didn’t believe me. That’s when he punched me in the mouth.’
‘You said you gave me everything you found apart from the money.’ Sally strode forward and pointed a finger at Meg’s chest, then jerked her chin at Flora. ‘A guinea and two half-crowns she told me.’
‘That’s irrelevant now, Sally.’ Flora leaned closer to Meg, keenly aware of the smells of mildew and sweat that emanated from her drab clothes. ‘What did you do with the brooch?’
‘After this?’ Meg’s eyes flashed and she pointed to her face, where the beginning of ugly purple bruises had started to erupt. ‘I gave it to him didn’t I?’
‘That eye looks painful, Meg. Have you seen a doctor?’ Flora drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her thoughts whirling.
‘Don’t have no money fer doctors,’ she murmured, though her defensive manner dissolved and she looked no longer poised for flight; which Flora imagined would change if she knew Inspector Maddox stood a few feet away. She also chose not to remind Meg that she kept the money in Evangeline’s purse, plus what Sally had given her. ‘It’s your decision of course, but you should tell the police what you saw the night Miss Lange was killed.’
‘What for?’ Meg’s left eye widened, though the right remained no more than a slit, which probably meant her attacker was right-handed. Not that it meant anything; most people were. ‘I can’t tell them anything, so what’s the point? I didn’t see the bloke’s face. Not then or last night. I only came here this morning to well, let you know that he came back.’
‘Huh! Hoping for another reward, more like,’ Sally muttered.
Flora rolled her eyes at the maid’s cynicism. She could not find it in herself to blame Meg. Even the sparse kitchen where they sat with its clinical walls and plain furniture must seem comfortable compared to wherever this girl laid her head every night.
The concept of doing the right thing or a sense of public duty were principals other people lived by. That Meg might face punishment for taking Evangeline’s bag was also a reality; the police were not known for their compassion.
‘I ain’t going to the police,’ Meg muttered under breath to anyone who might be listening.
‘I understand.’ Flora was tempted to remind her that had she told the police in the first
place, the beating might not have happened, but it was too late for that. ‘See she has something to eat, Sally.’ Then lowered her voice, ‘And give her something for her trouble, but don’t let her leave until you are sure Inspector Maddox is off the premises.’
‘I’ll see what I can do about those bruises first,’ Sally halted her with a hand on her arm. ‘That was kind of you not to grass on her to the flatfoots. She’s a sorry-looking scrap, but there’s no real harm in her.’
‘I know.’ She squeezed the maid’s hand, partly in acknowledgement that Meg and her maid had come from a similar background. ‘And when Master William’s visitor has left, would you tell him I went for a walk and I’ll see him tonight?’
‘Would you need me with you, Miss Flora?’ Sally asked, though the glance she gave Meg told her she did so reluctantly.
Flora shook her head. ‘I’m only going into the park. I need some air and some time alone to think.’
Chapter 27
Hyde Park was considered one of the more healthy areas of the city where St James’ and Green Parks provided what constituted a barrier against the more industrial riverfront with its tanneries and factories that churned out sooty smoke into the atmosphere.
Flora liked the mornings before the worst of the London fog obscured the buildings and muted the daylight. The sky above the park was almost clear apart from a blanket of white mist that hovered at the tree line. She walked the entire length of Rotten Row with its constant parade of horses and riders out to see and be seen, just as they had done for hundreds of years.
Pausing at the Serpentine bridge, she leaned against the wide stone balustrade to stare at the water, her thoughts on Meg and her strange story.
Why had the killer returned to Old Barrack Yard at all? For the brooch, or the bag? And if so, why, when there was nothing in it. Unless he knew about the mailbox receipt and didn’t want anyone to know Evangeline had been searching for Victor. Which made sense if Victor was the killer.
Meg had told her attacker who had the bag, that’s why he had broken into the apartment the night before. A surge of anger against Meg rose but died in an instant. Who wouldn’t reveal everything in the face of such a violent assault?
She hoped Sally didn’t give her more than a half-crown this time.
The killer wasn’t to know Flora had given the bag to John, but why was it so important. Or was it? Had the robbery, if that’s what it was, been about the brooch all along? Was Lydia’s conviction that Evangeline might have fought her attacker accurate? That in the struggle, the brooch was ripped from her coat and lost in the dark alley, and the killer fled when Meg saw him.
But then why would an opportunist thief risk coming back to the scene to retrieve the brooch?
Flora expelled her breath in a rush as the thought came her to her in a flash.
He would have – if he knew for sure it was valuable.
A group of black-garbed nannies in uniforms and pert hats came into view on the edge of the Serpentine, distracting her from these and other questions that had drummed inside her head but were no closer to answers. Flora smiled, watching their respective charges squeal and throw bread at a flock of enthusiastic ducks who crowded round them in hope of a few crumbs. One child panicked and with a high-pitched scream, abandoned her handfuls of bread and ran to seek shelter behind her nanny’s skirt.
Flora pushed away from the balustrade, tucking back a loose strand of hair the wind had pulled from her hairpins. As she flicked it back, she caught sight of the man in the grey overcoat beside a tree at the far end of the bridge. When he saw her looking at him, he turned away and studied a flower bed with fierce intensity, while she resisted a mischievous impulse to wave at him.
William had apologized again at breakfast for having her followed, his touching plea that he only sought to keep her safe overriding all her objections. Bunny’s complicity, however, was another matter, but she would deal with him later. The thought she would see him again soon put a spring into her stride as she approached a line of benches set beside the glistening grey water which swept through the centre of the park in a sinuous curve. A line of willow trees enclosed the lake, their heads dipped to the water, while pigeons bobbed and strutted close by in search of crumbs the ducks had missed.
A little boy of about four years old ran full pelt into the heaving mass of grey bodies, scattering them into alarmed flight. As they flapped into the air and soared away towards the Bayswater Road, his lower lip trembled. Before it could develop into a full-throated wail, one of the nannies gathered him up and comforted him with the offer of a sweet from a cone of paper.
Flora smiled. One hand crept across her middle in an unconscious acknowledgement to the tiny life that grew there. There would be a time quite soon when she might well stroll this same spot with her own child, warning him or her not to stand too close to the water, or explaining patiently that the ducks didn’t like being chased or trodden on.
Thus preoccupied, she didn’t notice the young woman join her on the seat until she spoke.
‘Good morning, Flora.’
Flora spun round, then relaxed with a smile as she recognized Lydia. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘I know. I waved from the bridge but you didn’t see me.’
‘It’s nice to see you. No school today?’
‘No. Miss Lowe has arranged for the younger girls to visit the British Museum, so I have the morning off. I went to your building first, but that nice porter said he saw you enter the park, so I followed. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. I meant to call on you again but I’ve been busy lately. How have you been?’
‘I think about Evangeline a great deal.’ Lydia’s eyes welled. ‘I still cannot quite accept she’s gone.’
‘That’s understandable.’ Flora contemplated how much she should share of what she had learned about Evangeline and Victor. If anything.
‘I don’t know whether or not you wish to attend her funeral,’ Lydia said. ‘The service is at St John’s the day after tomorrow. She’s to be buried in the Lange family vault at the Brompton Cemetery.’
Flora nodded, not sure if she would be welcome or not. She was a stranger to Evangeline after all. But then funerals were for the living, to close a final chapter. She would have to think about it. ‘Was that why you sought me out at the apartment? To tell me about Evangeline’s funeral?’
‘Not exactly, though I did come here in order to speak to you. About Evangeline.’
Flora stared out at the water, waiting, conscious that Lydia struggled with what she wanted to say as her eyes kept darting from treeline to the lake but did not settle on anything.
‘I wish you had known her.’ Lydia closed her eyes as if she were summoning Evangeline into her head. ‘She had charm, beauty and determination to live her life and not simply endure it. She was also convinced that one day, women would be treated the same as men.’
‘You’re right. I would have liked her.’
‘You remind me of her in many ways.’ Lydia’s eyes welled with unshed tears, at odds with her sweet smile.
‘Do you know her family?’
‘Not really. I met her father once, but he didn’t have much to say to me. You must remember him, from the meeting the other night.’
‘I do indeed.’ Flora recalled an angular man with piercing eyes who towered over those around him, his face set in obdurate anger. Was his disapproval of his daughter’s principles enough to drive him to murder? ‘You said you had never met her brother, John.’
Lydia blinked as if surprised Flora should mention him. ‘No, though he came to the school a few times, mostly with some complaint or other I assume began with their father. He was bad tempered, even bullying toward Evangeline. She was always generous about him too, which I found odd, making allowances when he agreed with her father. As if she were compensating for something.’
‘Really? From what I saw he was devoted to his sister.’ Flora recalled the cautious young man w
ho had approached her outside Cannon Row. ‘He’s grief-stricken and determined to discover who was responsible for her death.’
‘Brothers and sisters don’t always get on. That’s natural, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean they aren’t distraught if one of them dies. Not that I know, as I have no siblings.’
‘Neither do I,’ Flora drew the words out, remembering the constant teasing and squabbles among the Vaughn sisters, but who were all devoted to one another. ‘I don’t understand how those relationships work either.’
‘Do the police have any idea yet as to who might have killed her?’ Lydia asked.
Flora hesitated. Not that Lydia could possibly be a suspect. ‘Since you ask…’
She gave Lydia a brief account of the sequence of events which had led to their having found the receipt for Boltons Library, the letters, now stolen, and her encounters with Molly Bell and Cecily Moffatt. She kept to salient details, which did not include a reference to either William or the Serbians. ‘It’s possible this man Victor, whoever he is, might have killed Evangeline to prevent her ruining his reputation. That might seem like a weak reason but murders have been committed for far less, and—’
‘She was doing it for me,’ Lydia’s low whisper halted Flora’s chatter.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Flora frowned, unsure if she had heard her correctly. ‘Who did what for you?’
‘That’s what I came to talk to you about this morning. Evangeline was killed because of me.’ Lydia twisted the end of the ribbon that fell from her hat in her gloved fingers.
‘I don’t understand.’ Flora inhaled sharply as the only explanation that made sense hit her. ‘You knew Victor?’
Lydia nodded, dislodging fat tears from her lower lashes and slid down her cheeks.
Flora twisted to face her, making their conversation more intimate. ‘Tell me everything.’
Lydia inhaled slowly, then started to speak, though she kept her eyes straight ahead, the conversation obviously difficult for her. ‘I was coming out of the school one afternoon after the pupils had gone home and he was sitting on the wall of the house next door. I asked him if he was waiting for someone.’ Lydia swiped her face with a gloved hand. ‘He smiled at me, and said he had seen me go into the school several times and asked if I worked there.’ Her hands stopped twisting and she tugged at a button on her glove that had begun to loosen. ‘I know I should have rebuffed him because we hadn’t been properly introduced, but it was like being hit in the chest. I could hardly speak. I just wanted him to go on smiling at me.’
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