The Bloomsbury Affair

by Anita Davison

  Upending the contents on the bed, she picked up the mauve envelope and slid a thumbnail beneath the seal and withdrew two pages of closely written handwriting.

  Dear Mrs Harrington,

  she read in a spidery, sloping script.

  What a surprise to receive your letter, and naturally I remember you from your time at Cleeve Abbey, having a passing acquaintance with Lord and Lady Trent. I hope you have fully recovered from the dreadful murder of Mr Maguire three years ago, an event which I believe altered your circumstances considerably. How gratifying it must be for you to be received as part of Earl Trent’s family.

  Flora smiled at her way of saying she had graduated instantly from butler’s daughter to Lord Trent’s niece.

  Sylvia Thompson and I were indeed close friends,

  the letter went on.

  However, she was always reluctant to discuss her life before she came to Cheltenham, so forgive me if I am unable to provide you with the information you seek.

  Being a military widow myself, I often liked to reminisce about my dear late husband, whereas Sylvia preferred not to discuss her years overseas at all. What I do know is her husband served as an officer somewhere in the tropics, but I never learned exactly where.

  I believe he died of fever when their son was a toddler, prompting her to return to England, where she resided with her parents in the Gloucestershire countryside. Her father died within two years, which is when she and Leo moved to Cheltenham with her mother and purchased the shop, which they ran together until that lady’s death.

  A delicate creature, Sylvia had always been ill-equipped for life, emotional and inconsolable at the simplest of crisis. Nor did she handle illness well, so I’m afraid, at first, I failed to treat the injury she suffered last year with sufficient seriousness. Thus, I was as shocked as anyone when she contracted blood poisoning.

  However, I digress, as you asked specifically about Leo, a young man of whom I am very fond. Leo was very close to his mother and always deferred to her. She suffered greatly when he went away to school, which seemed odd when we have one of the best day schools in the town. Once, she lamented at having no choice but to send him to boarding school, a statement which puzzled me a good deal.

  Leo is a charming young man, but he did not enjoy the same affluence as his boyhood contemporaries. Perhaps he harbours a certain resentment which prompted an interest in politics, which Sylvia strongly disapproved of. I believe they had some disagreements about it and the fact Leo had embarked on what she referred to as his, ‘Foreign studies’. Not being a political person, I can shed no light on what any of this signified.

  It wasn’t until I received your letter, did I realize I hadn’t seen Leo since early February. I called at Thompson’s Haberdashery yesterday, only to be told by Mrs Drake that he had left for London again and planned to be away for a while. I will happily mention your enquiry to him when he returns, and of course, give him your condolences in respect of his mother.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Katherine Tilney

  Flora summoned Sally, then refolded the letter, uncomfortable with the knowledge Mrs Tilney would never be able to fulfil her promise. Despite the length of her reply, she had not revealed anything Flora didn’t already know, apart from a vague reference to Leo’s political interests. The knowledge that Leo’s schooldays might have been tainted by Ed and his friends sat like a stone in her chest. Ed had always been a sunny, generous child, which had not changed as he grew into a young man, making his behaviour so much harder to believe.

  Bunny often spoke of his happy days at Marlborough College and always said when Arthur was old enough, they would send him there as well. Flora had found the subject easy to avoid with their son still a baby, but what of the future? What if his classmates discovered his mother had once been a governess? Being Earl Trent’s niece might compensate to some extent, or would her past become something her son would come to be ashamed of?

  Her troubled thoughts were sharply interrupted as Sally burst into the room, breathless from three flights of stairs.

  ‘Sorry for being so long, madam.’ She dropped the pile of towels she carried onto the bed. ‘Abel had a slight mishap with a saw when he was cutting wood for a vegetable frame.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I hope he isn’t badly hurt.’ Flora placed the letter in a drawer and slid it closed.

  ‘The blade slipped and sliced his forearm,’ Sally added. ‘Clumsy great thing.’

  Flora grimaced. ‘That sounds painful.’

  Sally removed the muslin covering, lifted the dress from the hanger and held it out by the shoulders. ‘Oooh, madam, this dress has turned out lovely. Now, best be getting you into it or you’ll be late for Miss Lydia’s wedding.’

  ‘Has Abel gone to the hospital?’ Flora stepped into the cornflower blue silk, her back turned while Sally fastened the long row of covered buttons.

  ‘Hah! Not him, he’d rather be fussed over by me and Mrs Cope. Me with the water and bandages and her with the tea and cake. In his element he was. Who would have thought a strapping young man like Abel would be such a baby about a bit of blood?’ Sally kept up a stream of enthusiastic chatter over Flora’s shoulder. ‘Not that he would keep still so I could clean the wound. I told him, I did, soil in cuts is dangerous. All sorts of furry creatures use the garden as their privy. But would he listen? Would he heck? Squirmed about like a kid with earache. Shall I tie the sash in a bow at the back, madam or would you prefer it draped round your waist and pinned?’

  ‘Draped and pinned, I think. Trailing sashes always make me feel like a schoolgirl.’

  Once Sally had finished arranging the gown to Flora’s satisfaction, she took her place at the dressing table.

  ‘Madam?’ Sally met her eyes in the mirror, hairbrush in hand. ‘Is there something funny going on at that hotel you went to?’

  ‘Why? Has Timms been gossiping over cups of tea in the kitchen?’ It shouldn’t surprise her that hers and Bunny’s activities would cause interest among their staff. She would have to suggest Bunny have a quiet word with them to ensure none of it went beyond the house.

  ‘Timms don’t gossip as such, but I heard Mr Bunny ask him to see what he could find out before you went. The Dahlia, wasn’t it?’ Her focus appeared to be on winding conker-coloured hair round her fingers into sausage curls on her head.

  ‘I’ll tell you, but only to stop you eavesdropping,’ Flora began, resigned. ‘The two owners and their father might be involved in the murder, but it’s by no means certain. I’d like to take a closer look to see if I can find out more.’

  ‘What do you want to find out?’ Sally’s hand stilled, a curl held in mid-air. ‘They ain’t hardly likely to admit anything to you, are they?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Mr Frederick didn’t strike her as a killer, but there was always his brother Francis, whom she had not yet seen.

  ‘Lots of interesting things happen in hotels. What about the chambermaid Timms spoke to? She might be up for a bit of extra dosh in exchange for some idle talk.’

  ‘Did he tell everyone in the servant’s hall?’ Flora inwardly groaned.

  ‘Course not, madam. He knows you and I do these things together, so it stands to reason he would tell me. Only, the minute you start poking about in a hotel where you have no business, someone is going to notice and ask what you’re up to.’

  ‘I could pretend I’m a chambermaid looking for work?’

  ‘What, you, madam?’ A wry smile tugged at her lips. ‘You’d have to dress down a bit. Pretty chambermaids aren’t popular in posh hotels as they cause trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ she asked, appreciating the compliment.

  ‘Attention from men. Those what like it and those what don’t, both of them trouble in their own way.’

  ‘I see, I think.’ Flora frowned at her reflection. Even after three years in her service, Sally’s turn of phrase could be confusing.

  ‘I’ll go and hang about the back door chattin
g to the chambermaids, if you like? A few shillings might loosen some tongues.’

  ‘A kind offer, but absolutely not.’ Flora recalled the trouble they had got into the last time she had involved Sally in an investigation. A villain had drugged her and locked her up on a barge intent on selling her to a brothel in Kentish Town. Fortunately, she and Bunny had rescued Sally in time, but she didn’t want a repeat of the horror she had felt at being responsible for Sally’s fate.

  ‘How’s about we make up a story and ask one of the staff to help us?’

  ‘What kind of story?’

  ‘We could say your husband is having it away with a girl and you want to catch them at it.’

  ‘Sally! What are you suggesting—?’

  ‘I’m suggesting nothing, but the chambermaids would sympathize with a jealous wife, if you see what I mean. They must see that sort of thing all the time.’

  ‘I’m not sure The Dahlia is that sort of hotel.’

  ‘All hotels are that sort.’ Sally sniffed. ‘Some aren’t so blatant about it, but most turn a blind eye to a well-dressed woman going to a gentleman’s room, never to be seen again.’

  ‘Would Inspector Maddox be interested to hear about this?’

  ‘Not likely.’ Sally shrugged. ‘Chances are his lot take backhanders to keep out of it.’

  ‘What a cynical view of the police, Sally.’ Flora bit her lip to prevent a laugh at the idea of Inspector Maddox taking a bribe. Or was she being naïve?

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Sally muttered. ‘And toms make good copper’s informants. How else can a Whitechapel girl raise herself out of the gutter?’

  ‘Isn’t that a contradiction?’ Flora bent her head so Sally could fasten her necklace. She had a pretty good idea what ‘tom’ meant but refused to ask Sally and show her ignorance. ‘Doesn’t that sort of work lower a woman’s status in society?’

  ‘Depends which way you look at it.’ The tip of Sally’s tongue appeared between her teeth as she concentrated on the fiddly clasp. ‘A girl on our road worked for four years as a tom, then she packed it in and bought a share in a tea house in Clapham.’

  ‘I had no idea such a trade was so lucrative.’ Flora met Sally’s knowing eyes in the mirror.

  ‘You’d be surprised. Not all girls ply their trade on street corners. She worked the hotels as well. The porters take commission and the girls don’t even have to provide the room.’ Sally stepped back, her head tilted as she studied the finished effect. ‘You look beautiful, madam.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Flora adjusted her hat a fraction of an inch. ‘Remind me never to dismiss you, Sally. You make my life so much more colourful.’

  ‘When I marry Abel, he might not want me to carry on working. Especially a lady’s maid hours.’

  ‘Is this your way of telling me I work you too hard?’ She checked the clock and, realising the time, collected her bag and gloves. Bunny would be pacing the floor in the hall. He hated being late.

  ‘Ask yerself,’ Sally swept a pile of discarded linens from the floor and made for the door, ‘why would I want to help undo your corsets at midnight, when Abel could be undoing mine?’

  Flora laughed softly as Sally left. But she had a point. Short of booking in as a guest at The Dahlia, how could she wander round in the rooms without being challenged?

  Chapter 23

  In the muted gold light of a late spring afternoon, Flora strolled the short distance to Eaton Square on Bunny’s arm. St Peter’s Church dominated the west side of the square, its Ionic columns, white Portland stone façade and neat clock tower like a painted toy at the end of a railed garden.

  Timms, handsome in his uniform cap, had been waved off by the kitchen maids, a buttonhole pinned to his lapel by a blushing housemaid. Bunny’s motor car had left an hour before, having been pressed into service to transport the bride; the bonnet artfully festooned with sprigs of cherry blossom, white freesias, and pink sweet pea tied with white ribbon.

  ‘Either we’re very early, or Harry’s family carried out their threat not to attend.’ Flora slid into a pew on the left side of the nearly empty church to the faint strains of organ music. Posies of ruffle-headed carnations and foliage were attached to the end of each pew, their heady scent making her nose twitch.

  ‘It would be a poor show if they did,’ Bunny flicked up the flaps of his frock coat and sat, nudging aside a prayer cushion with his foot. His glance slid to the parcel wrapped in tissue paper on Flora’s lap. ‘What did you say we had bought them for a wedding present?’

  ‘I didn’t, because you never asked.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And I bought them a silver pierced marriage box.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Frowning, he leaned closer. ‘What exactly is that?’

  Flora tried not to sigh. ‘A trinket box engraved with their names and today’s date.’

  ‘Harry will appreciate the reminder, no doubt.’ Bunny grinned. ‘I’ll be sure to react accordingly when she thanks me. By the way, Inspector Maddox called when you were having your bath. That spike I handed over was the murder weapon. He’s sending an officer round to collect Ed’s jacket.’

  ‘Do you think that will make things worse for him?’

  ‘It doesn’t make it any better, put it that way. I didn’t mention Reverend Bell’s letter to him, but don’t assume he hasn’t discovered for himself that Leo Thompson was the real Leonard Hunter-Griggs. Or that Thompson and Ed attended Marlborough at the same time.’

  ‘Inspector Maddox isn’t a fool, despite his smug attitude. He’ll be trying to find out who the imposter is at The Dahlia.’

  ‘Either that or he thinks he’s got enough evidence to convict Ed and won’t look any further.’

  ‘No.’ Flora shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t do that. It makes sense the imposter is the more likely suspect.’

  ‘But without more evidence there’s no proof Ed didn’t do it.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find some for him, won’t we?’ Flora glanced back down the aisle, to where a group of guests had entered the church.

  ‘Looks like the Flynns have arrived.’ Bunny followed her gaze to where a gaunt woman with dead eyes and a mouth puckered in disapproval strolled slowly down the aisle; a single white ribbon tied round the crown of her hat the only relief in a deep purple gown.

  ‘She looks as if she’s wearing mourning.’

  ‘Perhaps she is.’ Bunny’s chuckle was abruptly cut off by her sharp nudge to his arm.

  Flora craned her neck to get a view of a portly, bald man who strutted at her side leaning heavily on a cane. ‘Lydia has spoken about them,’ she murmured into his sleeve. ‘We’ve never met. It looks as if I was spared an unpleasant experience.’

  ‘Those anaemic-looking creatures must be Harry’s sisters,’ Bunny referred to two girls in their late teens, both dressed in pastels which leached colour from their already pale faces.

  ‘They barely acknowledged anyone,’ Flora observed the group take their places at the front of the church.

  ‘Perhaps they’re still suffering from shock that their son is marrying a schoolteacher,’ Bunny said.

  ‘Lydia’s not just a schoolteacher.’ Flora’s hackles rose on behalf of her friend. ‘She’s the headmistress of a prestigious Ladies’ Academy. She has three earls’ daughters and those of several Members of Parliament among her pupils. They should admire her achievements, not be so critical.’

  ‘You don’t have to convince me, I’m a staunch advocate of Lydia. In fact, any woman who forges a career.’ Flora shot him a look and he shrugged. ‘Not in that way, obviously. She’s very accomplished. Like you. But not as beautiful, naturally.’

  ‘Good recovery.’ Flora resumed her study of the groom’s family, who had spread themselves out across the pew as if to discourage any interlopers.

  In a previous murder case of Flora’s, Lydia’s long-standing friendship with the victim’s fiancé had blossomed into love, a development which surprised no one.

  The groom, an attractive
young man with fair hair, twisted in his seat to greet his family. His glance swept past them and caught Flora’s eye, gave a delighted start, then waved. His parents and sisters exhibited no curiosity at this exchange and sat with their backs rigid, their gazes fixed stoically to the front.

  ‘Harry looks happy enough.’ Flora waggled her fingers at him in a restrained wave.

  ‘As do they.’ Bunny tapped Flora’s shoulder, his chin cocked towards the church door where William and Alice had paused in the porch, where an usher consulted a list. Alice wore a wide lapelled jacket in a shade of olive-grey over a primrose gown, a matching wide-brimmed hat with a primrose sash wound round the crown in soft folds arranged at an artistic angle on her ash blonde curls.

  Released from the usher’s attention, the pair progressed down the aisle arm-in-arm. William’s intense, penetrating stare alighted for a few seconds on each face, making the men nod in approval and the women dimple prettily at being the focus of his attention, if briefly. Alice glided rather than walked, her ankle-length gown swaying gently, a shy smile directed at those who acknowledged William’s greetings.

  ‘Looks like your plan to get them here together worked.’ Bunny’s lips twitched.

  ‘More Lydia’s than mine, but they do look good, don’t they?’ Flora watched them with possessive pride.

  Alice’s gaze swept the half-empty church before she paused beside their pew, her head dipped to brush her lips against Flora’s cheek. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Dissension among the families,’ Bunny whispered, his hand thrust out to shake William’s. ‘This union has not received the seal of approval from the Flynns.’

  ‘My favourite kind of wedding,’ William said as they settled in the pew behind them, plucked Alice’s hand from her lap and laced his fingers with hers. ‘Will it get interesting later?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not.’ Heat suffused Flora’s face and she swung back to face the altar, strangely uncomfortable with their easy intimacy. An emotion which confused her when she had worked so hard to bring them together again.