Free Murder by Mistake by M.J. Trow

blood, they could calm down and decide rationally what to do about Sandra. He asked her if she had any Tuinal—sleeping tablets—around. Was he trying to find a pain killer for her, or even now was he coming up with a very belated Plan B to effect her “suicide”?
    Again, it was not rational. The headlines in the press the next day would have been laughable—“Countess of Lucan, 5 feet 2 inches, batters nanny to death with lead pipe and takes overdose.”
    Frances had already seen them, mummy dazed, crying and bleeding. She could not understand what had happened or what daddy was doing there at all. She’d been sent to bed. John went into the bathroom to wet some towels for Veronica’s head wounds, still no doubt trying to work out what the hell he could do now.
    When he came back to the bedroom, Veronica was gone and he knew his choices now were infinitely fewer.
    “Veronica? Veronica, where are you?”
    On my way to the help and sanity of the outside world. And to tell that world all about you.
    www.crimescape.com

Epilogue: “I’ve got my father on the line again.”
    All the places are still there. The Plumbers Arms in Lower Belgrave St. is open for business and does a very nice pint. The murder house at Number 46 is there too, with a thick thatch of passion flowers over the infamous window where Lord Lucan saw a fight. Rumor has it that later owners had the place exorcised to remove the angry, bewildered ghost of Sandra Rivett and the evil that exuded from her killer, which had somehow seeped into the brickwork. 5 Eaton Row is a sad little place, run-down and rather desolate, like the reclusive Veronica Lucan, who still lives there.

    5 Eaton Row
Home of Veronica Lucan
    72A Elizabeth St. still stands, large and imposing, as befits a house where an earl intended to live with his children. The Clermont Club is still there, in fabled Berkeley Square, its frontage as exclusive as ever. Ironically, the only building that has altered its purpose and appearance is Gerald Road’s police station. It closed down in 1993 as part of the ever-developing reorganization of the Metropolitan Police—only the curious bollard of a “bobby” is there to remind passersby of its 85-year existence. The people have moved on.

    ‘Bobby’ bollard outside old Gerald Rd. Station
    In September 1975, Dominick Elwes, the “joker” of the Clermont set, who had been sent by Lucan’s friends to visit Veronica in the hospital, killed himself. He was accused by various members of the set of selling private photographs of a friend to the
Sunday Times
newspaper. He hadn’t, but it made no difference. Elwes, always a manic-depressive, went to pieces in the face of their ostracism and took his life in a morass of self-pity. He felt very close to Lucan and told a
Daily Express
reporter he felt sure that his friend was still alive—“Why, oh why doesn’t he get in touch with any of us?” His memorial service hit the headlines when John Aspinall made a less-than-complimentary speech and was smashed in the jaw by Elwes’ cousin, an international rugby player—“And that’s what I think of your bloody speech, Aspinall!” An enterprising photographer took a snapshot of it.
    Two months later, racing driver legend Graham Hill, who may have smuggled Lucan out of England in his private plane, crashed his Piper Aztec light aircraft in foggy conditions near a golf course in North London. He did not survive.
    One by one, the Lucan set dwindled. Susan Maxwell-Scott died in September 2004, taking, as the London paper the
Evening Standard
said, “her secrets to the grave with her.” John Aspinall, always the least likeable of the friends, died of cancer four years earlier.
    Michael Stoop, whose Corsair Lucan borrowed on November 7, remained a backgammon and chess master for the rest of his life, regularly taking on famous players like Omar Sharif. He died in April 2010, aged 87.
    What of the family? After Veronica recovered, she tried to carry