A Knightsbridge Scandal

by Anita Davison

  ‘I understand.’ Flora smiled. Had she not experienced the same thing with Bunny?

  ‘He apologized for his forwardness and invited me to take a walk in the park. This park actually.’ She stared around for a moment with a wistful expression as if she recalled happier times. ‘We would meet here after the school day and when the holidays started I-I invited him back to the house after Mother had gone to bed.’

  ‘Why did you feel you had to keep him a secret?’

  ‘Because he insisted.’ Her eyes rounded in surprise. ‘He said his family back in Belgrade would disapprove if they knew about us. That we would tell everyone later- when—’

  Belgrade!

  ‘You’re sure that’s what he said, Belgrade?’ Flora snapped.

  Lydia blinked. ‘Yes, why?’

  Nothing. Just something - then what happened?’

  ‘I never found out.’ Lydia’s attempt at a laugh was more like a sob. ‘He didn’t keep our last appointment. I waited over an hour but he didn’t come. I haven’t heard from him since.’ She tugged at the same button on her glove. ‘I thought something might have happened to him. That was when I realized I hardly knew him. Not his address, or even his full name. Just Victor. I didn’t know whom to ask.’ She rummaged in a pocket of her coat and brought out a folded handkerchief she held to her nose. ‘I know it wasn’t respectable of me to keep him a secret, but he was so persuasive.’

  ‘How long did this liaison last?’

  ‘Seven weeks and two days.’ She gave a strange little shrug as if embarrassed she had kept count.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘The last week of August. By the time the autumn term began, I hadn’t seen him for a month.’

  ‘And you told no one about him?’ Flora looked up, distracted briefly by the same young boy who now chased a mallard along the shoreline, his nanny in pursuit.

  ‘I told Evangeline. She found me crying in the common room one afternoon. I made an excuse but she prised it out of me. I was upset because I had seen him that morning at the school and he had ignored me.’

  ‘Go on.’ The button on Lydia’s glove took some more punishment until Flora was convinced it would part company with the material.

  ‘At first, I thought he had come to see me, but then the maid showed him into Miss Lowe's office. He walked straight past me on the stairs and didn’t even appear to see me.’

  ‘Victor went to see Miss Lowe? Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Her hazel eyes widened in mild reproof at being doubted. ‘I had to go and take my next lesson, and by the time it finished, the maid said he had just that moment gone.’

  ‘Do you know what he wanted to see the headmistress about?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘I told you. He left without speaking to me. Evangeline said she would see that he faced the consequences of his actions.’

  ‘What did she mean by that?’

  ‘I had no idea, not then. But when you mentioned the advertisement and those letters, I realized what must have happened. You see, Evangeline admired Mrs Fawcett and longed to emulate her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lydia, I don’t understand.’ Flora massaged her forehead as she tried to make sense of Lydia’s confused ramblings. ‘What does Millicent Fawcett have to do with Evangeline and Victor?’

  Lydia clamped her lips together before she began speaking again. ‘Mrs Fawcett invited a few of us from the Society to her house in Gower Street for tea on one occasion. She told Evangeline and me that some fifteen years ago, a servant of a friend of hers was pestered by an army colonel. Mrs Fawcett had been incensed, but society never blamed men who behaved in that way. She and a friend decided to shame him by throwing flour over him in the street.’

  ‘She did that?’ Despite the seriousness of their talk, Flora couldn’t help but laugh. She could imagine the diminutive, gentle but forceful Mrs Fawcett acting in such a way.

  ‘I know, I could hardly think she would do such a thing either,’ Lydia said. ‘She treated us to a wonderful description of how the flour stuck to his waxed moustache, got into his eyes and down the back of his neck. Then the ladies pinned a paper on his back saying, this man is a cad or something like that.’

  ‘Did it have the desired effect?’ Flora asked, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

  ‘Apparently so, as he was turned out of a gentleman’s club, and cut by his lady friends. He became a laughing stock and his fiancée was so humiliated, she ended their engagement. Mrs Fawcett said she had no pity for the odious creature and would have had him cashiered if she could. Evangeline laughed so much, and from that moment, she almost worshipped Mrs Fawcett.’

  ‘I’ll have to become better acquainted with Mrs Garrett Fawcett. She sounds like an admirable woman.’

  ‘Oh, she is. She’s done so much for the suffrage movement over the years. I think it’s dreadful the way Mrs Pankhurst has broken away to form her militant group. Mrs Fawcett is convinced it will set the cause back years.’

  Flora silently agreed, but was eager to get back to the subject of Evangeline. ‘Then you believe that advertisement in the paper was part of Evangeline’s scheme to embarrass Victor?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Lydia’s eyes widened. ‘Evangeline loved to take up causes. She saw herself as a pioneer for women. I can imagine her confronting a rake in public to make him look foolish. That’s what she called Victor, a rake.’

  ‘Did Evangeline ever meet Victor?’

  ‘Not meet exactly.’ Lydia crumpled her handkerchief in one hand. ‘One afternoon about three weeks ago, I was with Evangeline outside Harrods when I spotted him with another man. I must have looked shocked because Evangeline knew immediately something was wrong. I pointed him out to her and she marched right up to him.’

  ‘She did?’ Flora gasped. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Victor said she must have mistaken him for someone else. That she had accused him unjustly.’ A deep crease appeared at the bridge of her nose. ‘But he lied. It was him, I know it was. He was embarrassed to see me and brushed us aside.’

  ‘What about the man who was with him? Did he have anything to contribute?’

  ‘Nothing, as far as I know. Victor told Evangeline she had no right to accost him in front of his employer.’

  ‘He said that this man was his employer?’

  ‘That’s what she said,’ Lydia snapped, as if annoyed Flora kept echoing what she said. ‘Evangeline was furious and insisted we follow them, though I knew it wouldn’t do any good.’

  ‘Where did they go?’ Did Victor see this confrontation as threat enough to silence Evangeline?

  Lydia flapped a hand as if this were irrelevant. ‘I’ve no idea. They walked off in the direction of Hyde Park. Evangeline followed them, but I couldn’t bear to be near him anymore, so I went into the store and walked around.’ Lydia sniffed into the handkerchief. ‘When she came back she took me out to tea. She was sweet and kind and understood how awful I felt.’

  ‘How long was she gone?’ Flora asked as something occurred to her which was no more than an unformed idea.

  ‘What? Oh about twenty minutes, maybe a little longer. Why?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Harrods was a ten-minute walk from Prince Albert Mansions. Was Victor’s employer someone who lived in her building? Was that why Evangeline visited Arthur Crabbe the night she died? Suddenly Flora felt guilty about not telling Inspector Maddox everything.

  Restless, she patted Lydia’s hand and rose. ‘I think we both deserve a cup of hot chocolate.’

  ‘That would be very welcome. It’s quite cold here.’

  The children and their nannies had gone, the queue for the kiosk short when they arrived at the tiny wooden hut. The cheerful kiosk owner kept up a constant stream of chatter as he presided over copper urns of steaming tea and hot milk, the latter whipped expertly into a rich, purple-brown liquid topped with a layer of creamy froth.

  ‘Does this mean you’ll have to mention me to
the police?’ Lydia took the cup Flora held out.

  ‘Haven’t they already interviewed you?’

  ‘About my friendship with Evangeline, yes.’ Lydia blew the thick froth to one side before taking a sip. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t mention Victor at all.’

  Flora took a sip from her own cup as she pondered, the hot, sweet mixture warming her stomach, reminding her she had not eaten much that morning.

  ‘I’m not sure if they need to know, I’ll have to take advice about it.’ Though with whom she would discuss Lydia’s dilemma was also subject to debate.

  ‘I knew the moment I heard Evangeline was dead that I would have to tell them about Victor at some time.’ Lydia’s drink left a line of froth on her upper lip which she didn’t appear to notice. ‘Some people think her connection with the NUWSS was the reason she was murdered, but I’m sure they are wrong.’

  ‘I think so too.’ Flora took her own handkerchief from her pocket and used it to wipe Lydia’s lip. ‘It will give me some satisfaction to see Inspector Maddox’s face when he realizes that.’ Though her theory about Arthur Crabbe still did not fit. Why would an officer of the Foreign Office kill Evangeline because she had recognized Victor? And who was Victor? A Serbian diplomat the government wished to protect, or maybe one of William’s spies? Was Arthur Crabbe working with the Serbians? William’s reaction at seeing the advertisement came back to her. Did William have any idea of what was going on?

  ‘Are you all right, Flora?’ Lydia’s breathless voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘You’ve gone quiet.’

  ‘I was just thinking.’ Flora drained her cup, the liquid having cooled quickly in the sharp cold. She took Lydia’s empty one from her hand and wandered over to the kiosk, handing both cups back to the stallholder, who wished them a cheery good morning.

  She tucked her arm through Lydia’s, and together they strolled back across the bridge and along the path towards the Knightsbridge Road, their ponderous walk taken in virtual silence while questions lined up in Flora’s head.

  Victor’s visit to Miss Lowe kept nagging at her. Was the headmistress in some way connected to William’s spies, or was she another of Victor’s conquests? It was unlikely to have had anything to do with Lydia as he had abandoned their relationship before then.

  ‘Did Victor ever question you when you first met, Lydia?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I don’t know. The school, Miss Lowe?’

  ‘Well, actually yes he did.’ Lydia’s steps slowed. ‘He asked me what I knew about her. How long she had lived in London. Things I couldn’t really tell him.’

  ‘But what you could tell him was of interest?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I didn’t know anything about her life before she came to the school, but I did mention the villa in Biarritz. Oh, what was it called now?’ She thought for a moment, her lips moving as she searched her memory. ‘Palais de something. It began with an ‘s’ but I cannot remember exactly.’

  ‘Le Palais de Sacchino,’ Flora murmured.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Never mind, Lydia, it’s probably not important. I don’t suppose you would know why Evangeline would visit Arthur Crabbe’s apartment on the night she died?’

  ‘I didn’t know she had. Who is Arthur Crabbe?’

  ‘Ignore me, I’m just trying to put together loose ends, but they keep eluding me.’ She set off again, pulling Lydia with her toward the gate which lay opposite Prince Albert Mansions. Morning traffic had become a steady stream in both directions so they had to shout about the noise of hooves and engines.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have been so secretive.’ Lydia paused at the kerb. ‘I didn't want Mother to find out I had been, well, indiscreet.’

  ‘That’s understandable. But I don’t think you should punish yourself, in fact—’ Flora broke off, aware Lydia was no longer listening, her attention on something past Flora’s shoulder.

  ‘Who is that woman, Flora?’ Lydia asked.

  Flora waited for a motor bus to pass, then scanned the façade of Prince Albert Mansions.

  A woman in a black coat, her hat and face covered by a thick black veil had emerged from a hansom opposite.

  ‘That’s Mrs Crabbe,’ Flora replied. ‘She wore that veil the last time I saw her. I wonder if she has some facial disfigurement she doesn’t want anyone to see?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure about what, her name or the disfigurement?’

  Lydia continued to stare as Dunne came bustling from the building and helped the woman down from the cab.

  ‘Her name. I cannot see her face but her gait is similar; the way she pokes her head forward when she walks. The pupils always joke about it at school.’ Lydia glanced at the clock above a shopfront opposite and released a gasp. ‘Oh, look at the time. I must get back to Mother. I gave Tilly the day off, and Mother gets out of sorts if her medication is late. Thank you so much for listening to me, Flora, although I don’t know if it will help find out who killed Evangeline.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ Flora mused to herself, still watching the woman being shown into the building.

  ‘Flora.’ Lydia’s hesitant tone brought her attention back to her. ‘You won’t say anything about – well you know?’

  ‘Not if I don’t have to.’ Flora hoped she could keep her promise, though, at the same time, she was aware the police would have to decide whether Lydia’s secret was relevant or not.

  Chapter 28

  Fuming with impatience, Flora waited for a line of motor buses and cars to stream past her in the road as the woman disappeared inside the building. A gap finally appeared in the stream of traffic and Flora hurried across the road and up the front step.

  ‘Did you enjoy your walk, Mrs Harrington?’ Dunne asked, holding open the door.

  ‘Um-yes, thank you.’ She climbed the stairs to the first landing, conscious of the porter’s confused stare following her as she paused outside the door of Arthur Crabbe’s flat. Before she could think better of it, she pressed her finger to the brass doorbell. A tinny tone sounded from inside, and for a long second while the door stayed closed, she almost changed her mind. She could be quite wrong in her sudden suspicion about Mrs Crabbe. If so, she could always invite her to afternoon tea. An innocuous enough suggestion to make to a neighbour.

  The woman who opened the door still wore the thick veil, from behind which she regarded Flora in silence.

  ‘Good morning,’ Flora said with false brightness. ‘I’m staying with my father in the apartment below and, thought I would come up and introduce myself.’

  The fact she couldn’t see the woman’s face properly unnerved her. What expression sat behind that thick gauze? Surprise? Pleasure? Anger?

  ‘That is kind of you, but quite unnecessary.’ The woman’s careful enunciation and slow speech banished Flora’s reticence, certain she had heard it before. The woman made to close the door, but before the lock caught, Flora shoved against it.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly leave without making some effort to be cordial.’

  ‘In which case, you had better come in.’ A sound came from behind the veil which could have been a sigh of either disappointment or frustration. ‘I seldom encourage visitors as a rule.’

  Ignoring this obvious snub, Flora stood her ground until the woman released the door and stepped back, allowing Flora into an apartment smaller than William’s; the entrance hall was shorter and contained fewer doors.

  Flora tried to think of a way to get her hostess to remove the veil, but short of ripping the thing from the woman’s head she was at a loss.

  The woman gestured her into a room on Flora’s right, where the door stood a few inches ajar and a man’s lace-up shoe visible at the end of a black trouser leg.

  Flora hesitated at the thought they were not alone, but with a strength that took her by surprise, the woman gripped her arm and bodily shoved her through the door, where Flora found herself face to face with Mr Gordon.r />
  His black eyes widened when he saw her, then narrowed. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Gordon.’ The sight of him confirmed all Flora’s suspicions, which she was still unsure of up until a few moments before. ‘And to you too, Miss Lowe.’

  Sighing, Helen Lowe flung the veil aside, but remained with her back to the now closed door, her face impassive and cold. Her eyes, which had danced with animation at their first meeting at the Harriet Parker Academy, were empty and soulless.

  However, it wasn’t her changed demeanour that sent a frisson of alarm through Flora as much as the small black revolver she held levelled at Flora’s waist.

  *

  ‘What exactly are you doing here, Mrs Harrington?’ Miss Lowe’s voice was slow and menacing.

  ‘I-er I was in the park when I saw you come into the building.’ She was unable to drag her eyes away from the tiny hole at the end of the gun barrel. ‘I thought you were Mrs Crabbe.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’ She tossed the veil onto a nearby chair without looking to see where it landed. ‘I saw you from the hansom with Miss Grey. It was she who recognized me, wasn't it?’

  There was little point in contradicting her, but Flora still didn’t know what these two were doing in Mr Crabbe’s apartment? Whatever it was, she doubted it was Foreign Office business. Her instinct was to warn William – but how?

  ‘What gave me away?’ Gordon asked, his eyes as cold as Miss Lowe’s.

  ‘Does it matter now, Petar?’ Miss Lowe snapped.