‘What happened after that?’ Flora asked, suspecting that was not the end of the story.
‘Three days later, Mrs Drake, that’s the lady who helps her in the shop—’
‘Er, yes, we’ve made her acquaintance,’ Flora said.
‘Ah I see. Well, she called on me to say Sylvia had become unwell. I visited her at her home and found her to be running a high fever. I had her admitted to the hospital straight away, but she never recovered. She died from sepsis, that is, blood poisoning.’ She sighed, looked from Flora to Bunny and back again. ‘Not one of my successes, I’m afraid. However, I fail to see how this would help you find out who killed Leo.’
‘We don’t know either, but it’s possible his mother’s death is a factor,’ Bunny said.
‘I see.’ Dr Grace appeared to give this idea some thought. ‘I only knew Sylvia as a patient, we didn’t mix socially. You might describe her as being – delicate – and would summon me with the mildest of symptoms. I was happy to reassure her, and unlike some of my patients, she never complained about my bills.’
‘What about Leo?’ Bunny asked. ‘Did he enjoy good health?’
‘Excellent, as far as I could tell. He chose to be treated by Dr Fairbrother.’ Her voice held resignation, as if accustomed to this attitude from the male population, despite the elderly physician’s mediocre reputation.
‘Is blood poisoning a common outcome of an injury like Sylvia’s?’ Flora asked.
‘It depends. Most of the patients I treat, or rather those I am allowed to treat, live in conditions where hygiene is poor; the word “clean” being subject to interpretation. It’s not uncommon and, as in Sylvia’s case, often lethal when it occurs.’
‘Although poor hygiene wasn’t an issue with Sylvia,’ Flora assumed by what she had already learned about the woman.
‘It was not, no. I made several professional calls at her villa in Tivoli Road, which was always pristine, making it all the more puzzling. But then blood poisoning can be caused by many things.’
‘You said it was Mrs Drake who called you, not Leo?’ Bunny asked. ‘How did he react to Sylvia’s illness?’
‘Leo was away at the time of the incident and returned that same evening. It was Leo who decided Sylvia was getting worse and sent Mrs Drake to fetch me. He went with her to the hospital and stayed with her until the end.’
‘You said Mrs Thompson was delicate,’ Flora ventured. ‘Could she have been suffering an underlying condition which the injury worsened?’
‘Only in temperament.’ Her wry smile appeared. ‘Sylvia was healthy, as far as I know. However, sepsis combined with, say, an undiagnosed heart complaint might certainly have contributed to her death.’
‘Which you couldn’t know unless a post-mortem was carried out?’ Bunny mused, evidently not expecting an answer.
‘I did suggest it, but Leo refused. I could hardly insist, so that was an end to the matter.’
‘How did Leo take his mother’s death?’ Bunny asked.
‘Badly,’ Dr Grace replied, emphatic. ‘Disbelief at first, devastation, anger and then endless questions as to what could have been done differently. All the usual reactions. By the time of the funeral, he appeared calm, accepting, even grateful to me for taking care of her.’
Silence fell as each of them became occupied with their own thoughts, broken only by the whine of a tram outside the window.
That Leo had refused a post-mortem gave Flora pause for thought. Did he refuse from distress at the thought of his beloved mother being violated, or because he had something to do with her death he didn’t want discovered?
‘I don’t wish to be inhospitable,’ Dr Grace rose slowly. ‘But if there’s nothing else I can help you with, I have to feed my son before afternoon surgery.’
‘In that case don’t let us keep you, Dr Grace.’ Bunny collected the needlework case from where he had placed it beside the fender. ‘In fact we need to catch our train if we are to reach London before midnight.’
‘How is your boy?’ Flora asked, recalling Dr Grace’s son must be five years old by now.
‘Freddie is well, very energetic and I’m happy to say healthy. He’s also bright and inquisitive which means his nurse finds him a handful with all his constant questions.’
‘Something I shall have to look forward to,’ Flora said with a sudden rush of pride.
‘Ah yes, I heard you have a son now too?’ Her features softened in a way only a mother’s could when children were mentioned.
‘Yes. Arthur. He’s a year old now and thriving.’ Flora would like to have talked more about their relative experiences but there was no time. Instead, she gathered her things and followed Dr Grace into the hall.
‘We really appreciate you talking to us like this.’ Bunny said. ‘Especially when you aren’t obliged to.’
‘Not at all. I do hope you find out who killed poor Leo. It’s so sad, he has no other family to mourn him.’ She called out to the housekeeper. ‘Kindly ask John to fetch the gig and take my guests to the station?’
The woman dipped a curtsey and retreated.
‘There’s really no need, Dr Billings,’ Bunny said. ‘We’ll hail a cab on the street.’
‘This isn’t London, Mr Harrington,’ she said, laughing, the idea plainly ridiculous. ‘You’d have to walk all the way to the Promenade to find one. They don’t tend to hang about on street corners here.’
‘That’s kind of you, and we wouldn’t want to miss our train,’ Flora said as they descended the narrow staircase in single file and assembled on the front step.
‘I hope you’ll keep me informed of your progress,’ Dr Grace said as the gig appeared round the corner driven by a tow-headed youth.
‘I would wish you good luck, but something tells me you’re both tenacious enough to solve this mystery. Sylvia would have appreciated your efforts and Leo deserves it.’
‘Yes, I suppose he does.’ Flora murmured, climbing into the gig. She had been so focussed on Ed’s plight, she had barely given a thought to the fact an innocent young man was dead. But then how innocent was Leo Thompson? No one seemed to know much about him.
Chapter 8
The savoury smell of cooked meat greeted their arrival back at Eaton Place, instantly banishing Flora’s resolve to have consommé for supper.
‘Well, what did you find out?’ Ed bounced on his heels at Flora’s shoulder, blocking her way. ‘Did you speak to Mrs Thompson?’
‘Give us a chance to get inside, Ed,’ Bunny chided him gently. ‘We’ll discuss it over sherry in the sitting room before dinner. Which smells delicious by the way.’
‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering cook to roast a chicken for you, sir, and madam,’ Stokes said unnecessarily, bowing them inside. ‘As I always say, one can never rely on hotel cooking.’
‘Very insightful of you, Stokes.’ Bunny handed him his coat. ‘Luncheon seems a long time ago now, and we’re both ravenous.’
‘What’s that you’ve got there, Flora? Ed pointed to the brown paper wrapped parcel she had placed on the hall table. ‘Have you brought me a present?’
‘I bought myself one actually. It’s a rather beautiful needlework case from Mrs Thompson’s shop. I want to catch Arthur before he falls asleep. I’ll be down directly and then we can talk about what we learned today.’ Flora fled upstairs to the nursery where Arthur was fragrant and sleepy after his bath but awake enough to appreciate a cuddle from his mother.
‘I’ve missed you today,’ she whispered into his powdery cheek, rewarded by baby gurgles and laughs. Before Tilly could remind her he should be settled by this time, Flora laid his chubby body in his crib, soothed his mild protests with kisses and crept away.
In her room, she changed out of her travelling dress, grateful it was Sally’s day off and she wouldn’t have to answer questions about their last-minute trip to Cheltenham. She had been fielding oblique questions from her maid since Ed’s unexpected arrival in a way which demonstrated resentment a
t being left out of any excitement.
Flora made no attempt to re-dress her hair, only tidying up the messy bits. She peered into the mirror and rubbed the soot smuts from her cheeks. Trains might be fast and efficient, but they were also dirty.
Joining Bunny and Ed in the sitting room, she walked straight into an ongoing argument.
‘What you’re saying is, you went all that way for nothing?’ Ed’s sherry glass hit a table at his elbow with a thump.
‘I said nothing of the sort.’ Bunny frowned at the glass, which shivered slightly but stayed upright. ‘The lady who worked for Mrs Thompson didn’t mention anything about a department store. Are you sure that’s where Leo told you he was going?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Ed perched on the edge of the armchair, his forearms on his knees. ‘I didn’t make it up if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Don’t fret over it, Ed.’ Flora accepted the glass of sherry Bunny held out. ‘You weren’t to know every word you and Mr Thompson exchanged would be this important.’ That his and Ed’s glasses were almost empty told her she had been longer upstairs than she had anticipated.
‘We have little more than fragments at this stage.’ Bunny withdrew a notebook from his pocket, complete with a miniature pen. ‘For instance, we don’t exactly know how Thompson was killed, or what sort of weapon was used.’ He scribbled something, then held the notebook away from him as he examined what he had written. ‘I’ve made a note here about his family but cannot make it out.’
‘You’re wearing the wrong glasses.’ Flora patted his shoulder on her way to the sofa. ‘The reading pair are in your pocket.’
‘What? Oh, yes of course.’ He withdrew a metal-framed pair and swapped them for the ones he wore. ‘That’s better. It’s about Thompson’s father. Mrs Drake said Sylvia Thompson never spoke about him.’
‘Which is probably irrelevant.’ Ed strode to the sideboard and poured himself more sherry. ‘Didn’t Leo’s mother tell you what you wanted to know?’
‘Er… I’m afraid not, Ed.’ Flora studied her glass, mainly to avoid looking at him. ‘His mother died four months ago.’
‘What?’ Ed swung to face them, glass in hand. ‘Leo didn’t mention that!’ He resumed his seat, perched on the last two inches of squab, as if he was about to flee the room at any moment.
‘Perhaps Leo preferred not to talk about his mother if his feelings were still raw?’ Flora suggested. ‘Especially to a stranger.’
‘That doesn’t help me much though, does it?’ He took a long swallow from his glass.
‘Ed!’ Flora warned.
He flushed. ‘Sorry. It’s awful that she died and all that, but, well, doesn’t it seem strange that the two of them died so close to one another?’
‘Funny you should say that, Ed. Because that struck me too,’ Flora said.
‘Now don’t go looking for shadows, you two. One murder is enough to solve at this stage without inventing more.’ Bunny crossed one leg over the other and brushed fluff from his trousers. ‘We called on Dr Billings, who treated Mrs Thompson during her last illness. She said her death was pretty straightforward.’
‘You saw Dr Grace?’ Ed’s eyes brightened with interest. ‘I haven’t seen her since I had tonsillitis last year. Mama disapproved, of course and wanted me to see Dr Fairbrother. Mind you, the old boy’s rumoured to be retiring soon, so what Mama will do then is anyone’s guess.’
‘That old quack’s been threatening retirement for years.’ Bunny’s derisive laugh came out more of a snort. ‘I imagine he’s still handing out liver pills and diagnosing growing pains and hysteria. They’ll have to take an axe to him to make him retire.’
‘Bunny!’ Flora’s shocked protest was muffled by the subsequent gales of masculine laughter. Though he had a point. Flora had clashed with the doctor over the death of Riordan Maguire. Neither she nor Bunny thought much of the man, at least on a professional basis.
‘We did learn that Mrs Thompson didn’t think much of Leo’s friends,’ Flora added as the laughter died down.’
‘Again, that doesn’t help me, as I have no idea who his friends were.’ Ed took another large mouthful of sherry.
Flora tried not to stare at Ed’s almost empty glass. What was it, his second or third?
‘Look, I appreciate what you are trying to do,’ Ed discarded the empty glass on the table, ‘but I think I need an expert on this. I mean, it’s not as if you’re professional detectives. Perhaps I should hire one?’
Bunny lowered the notebook, exchanging a loaded look with Flora, which Ed intercepted.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—’ Ed broke off with a sigh. ‘I’m just worried. In fact, I’m terrified.’
‘We understand that, Ed, but you have to be patient.’ Flora eased closer on the squab, encircling his shoulders with one arm. ‘This is only the first day of our enquiries. Now, how have you occupied yourself today?’ For a country boy like Ed, restriction was bound to be hard.
‘If you mean did I escape my incarceration and go for a walk in Hyde Park? Then, no.’ Ed’s sly smile told her he had read her thoughts. ‘I read most of the time and visited the nursery this afternoon. Arthur is getting so big. He jumped up and down in his cot when he saw me and shook the bars so hard, I was convinced he would have the thing over.’
‘He likes people, especially anyone who will give him some attention.’ Flora regretted the fact they had got home too late for their bedtime game. She would have to be satisfied with a few moments spent watching him sleep before she retired.
‘I’m not usually fond of babies, but I enjoyed it. Even when that nursery maid kept staring at me the whole time.’
‘I have the same problem.’ Flora enjoyed a sensitive relationship with Tilly, when she often felt judged as a mother. Alice had tried to reassure her the best children’s nurses always became attached. It was the disinterested ones she should be wary of.
‘Not, I imagine, in the same way she stares at Ed.’ Bunny exchanged the notebook for his glass. ‘He and Milly are about the same age, I should imagine.’
‘Oh, I see, yes of course.’ When Flora looked at Ed, she still saw the boy she had once cared for, not a wealthy, handsome and eligible young man who was bound to attract the attention of a pretty girl. The notion she would lose Arthur one day to a pair of beguiling eyes and a sweet smile saddened her a little. ‘We ran into Amy Coombe in the Promenade,’ Flora said, changing the subject. ‘She suggested Mr Thompson attended the Summer Fair at the Abbey last year. I don’t suppose you saw him there?’
Ed rolled his empty sherry glass between his hands but made no move to refill it, much to Flora’s relief. ‘The place is stacked to the gunnels on Fair Day.’ His face flushed slightly. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t have recognized him even if I had. Must you keep asking me all these questions?’
‘Yes, we do, Ed,’ Bunny insisted. ‘The police will do the same, but worse. They’ll keep asking you the same ones to see if your answers change. It’s an interrogation technique used on suspects because it’s more difficult to remain consistent when lying than if telling the truth.’
‘Is that what I am, a suspect?’ Ed directed a hard glare at each of them in turn before dropping his gaze to the floor.
‘It’s a figure of speech.’ Flora shook her head at Bunny over Ed’s bent head. ‘And you might remember something you had overlooked before.’
‘Well I haven’t.’ Ed rubbed his hands down his trousers, scraped back his chair and rose. ‘Would you excuse me? I’m not very hungry after all. Mrs Cope made me a gargantuan luncheon. If it’s all right with you, I’ll go to my room.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Flora said when they were alone. ‘He had hoped for much more from us.’
‘He needs to be patient. These things take time. I’ll go up and talk to him in a while.’
‘Perhaps Inspector Maddox has found the hotel where Mr Thompson planned to stay?’
‘If he has, there’s no guarantee he’ll pass the informati
on to us. He doesn’t so much welcome our interference as tolerate it. Ah, there’s the dinner gong. Let’s go in, I’m starving.’
‘You’re always starving.’ Flora brushed fluff from his lapel as they strolled along the hall to the dining room. ‘Bunny, do you think Ed knows more than he is telling us?’ she asked as he held out her chair.
‘Interesting you should say that. The same thing occurred to me. It’s as if he’s eager to know what we had found out but nervous at the same time.’
‘Because there’s something he doesn’t want us to discover?’
‘Like what?’ Bunny shook open his napkin and laid it across his lap.
‘No idea. Just a feeling.’ Flora lifted the lid on the platter of roast chicken, releasing aromatic steam that made her mouth water. ‘I wonder if Mrs Thompson’s late husband left them an inheritance? One large enough to give someone a reason to kill them both?’
‘A pertinent question. Though we haven’t established her death was murder, and we aren’t likely to. Where wills are concerned, estranged relatives do have a tendency to crawl out of the woodwork. I could look up the register of wills, but it could be a long search. Thompson isn’t an uncommon name. Nor do we know which year he died.’ Bunny forked several slices of white chicken breast onto his plate. ‘This looks good, really succulent. Ed will be sorry he missed it.’
‘I’ll ask Stokes to take him up some sandwiches later.’
‘You’re too soft with him, Flora. Going without supper might do him some good and teach him some humility.’
‘Is this the sort of treatment Arthur will have to expect for future misbehaviour?’
‘Arthur won’t misbehave.’ The slow wink he aimed at her made her smile. ‘Don’t you think it was strange that Thompson travelled first class?’
‘He told Ed the hotel sent him the train ticket.’
‘Ah, yes he did, I had forgotten. What kind of hotel makes their guests’ travel arrangements?’
Having no answer to that question, Flora handed him a dish of vegetables, debating how they were going to prove Ed’s innocence before his parents returned from New York. They needed something, or Inspector Maddox might become impatient and drag him off to a cell in Canon Row?
The Bloomsbury Affair Page 8