The Temptress: The Scandalous Life of Alice De Janze and the Mysterious Death of Lord Erroll (7 page)

The de Janzés stayed on with the Hays through Christmas and New Year’s, experiencing the customary revelry of Nairobi’s race week. By January 1926, Idina had given birth to a daughter, called “Dinan,” in Nairobi. It was at this point that Alice and Frédéric decided to go back to France, at least temporarily, to see their children. Alice refused to be parted from her pet monkey, Roderigo, and so she took him with her on the liner to France, successfully disembarking with him at Marseilles. On their arrival in Paris, the de Janzés were reunited with their children, who must have been delighted at the sight of their mother with an African monkey perched on her shoulder. Nolwen and Paola, now ages three and a half and twenty months, respectively, were staying with Aunt Tattie at her rather grand apartment on the rue de la Pompe. Their parents had been away for five months, an interminably long time for young children. Although Nolwen would have recognized her parents immediately, little Paola would already have grown completely accustomed to life with Aunt Tattie.

Meanwhile, Aunt Tattie was not at all happy about the arrival of Roderigo in her elegant home. Terrified that the monkey would ruin her furniture, she suggested that they all go and stay at the de Janzés’ rue Spontini apartment. That January, Alice, Frédéric, their children, a French nanny, the monkey, and a grand piano took up residence in the rue Spontini. Not surprisingly, Roderigo wreaked havoc. The children loved him, but the nanny was up in arms—every day the monkey would knock over another vase or ornament as he leapt from sofa to sofa. (We can only imagine what an African monkey made of being transplanted to the confines of a sophisticated Paris apartment.) For Alice, Roderigo was a living connection to Africa, to the Wanjohi Valley, and to her friends there, Joss in particular. Throughout her life, Alice would continue to show a greater attachment to her pets than she did to her two daughters. Although she was doubtless pleased to see Nolwen and Paola, she was also determined to leave them again as soon as possible to return to Africa.

After only a few weeks in Paris, the de Janzés received a cable from their lawyer, Barratt, to say that completion of the Wanjohi Farm acquisition could take place in Nairobi as soon as they returned to Kenya. By mid-February, after only a few weeks in France, they were ready to leave again. Both Alice and Frédéric feared that Alice’s moods would return if she stayed in Paris a moment longer. Frédéric had kitted himself out with powerful rifles and a shotgun in preparation for going on safari—he was looking forward to hunting game on his return. Alice, meanwhile, packed up crates of linen, silver, books, and other household essentials for their new African home. Based on her experience of living with the Hays, she knew exactly what was needed to make the place comfortable and personal. Her linen was exceptionally beautiful, with the de Janzé coat of arms embroidered on every sheet, pillowcase, hand towel, and table napkin. Pictures, lamps, and carpets were also included in the de Janzés’ luggage, as well as a few pieces of antique French furniture to lend refinement to their drawing room. With four vast crates in the hold and some new Paris clothes in a cabin trunk, they said good-bye to their daughters once more.

For half the year, Nolwen and Paola would be installed at Château de Parfondeval in Normandy with Moya, their devoted grandmother. For the rest of the year, they would be in Paris with Alice’s aunt Tattie. This second trip to Africa marked the beginning of what was to become for Alice a total separation from her children. Perhaps it was Alice’s instinct—and in this respect, she may have judged correctly—that Moya and Aunt Tattie would simply be better mothers to the girls. Evidently, Alice lacked the maternal instincts that her aunt and Moya so naturally bestowed upon Nolwen and Paola. Alice had been severely shaken by both her daughters’ births, enduring postnatal depression, which had only recently been relieved by her escape to Africa. Like many women of her generation and class, Alice would have found it not at all unusual to be living at a distance from them. Wealthy families of the period were often divided in this way—with parents posted overseas while their offspring stayed at home to be looked after by relatives or sent to boarding school. (Idina and Joss would also arrange for their daughter, Dinan, to be brought up by a relative—in this case, Idina’s sister in England—while they remained in Africa.) Later in life, both Nolwen and Paola always maintained that they adored their mother and did not resent her desertion. Perhaps they understood why Alice had to live away from them, and were pleased to see her happy. Nonetheless, they must have missed her deeply at times, anticipating and longing for her letters and return.

After the long journey from Europe, Alice and Frédéric arrived in Nairobi again. The de Janzés signed the documents for Wanjohi Farm in March 1926. The certificate of title reads as follows:

Alice lost no time persuading Chops to build her a house on the site she had marked out. She also needed him to fix up the small manager’s house at the rear of the property so that she and Frédéric could move in there immediately. With the help of Idina, Alice drew plans for Chops to follow. The lines of the house would be similar to those of so many of the settlers’ houses in the area. It was to be built on a single level in the shape of a fat H, with stone foundations that were visible to a height of three feet. There would be cedar half logs cladding the sides, a cedar roof, and a square veranda. The house would overlook the Wanjohi River at its rear and the long silvery waterfalls of the Satima Peak in the Aberdare Mountains at the front. Inside, walls would be plastered and some basic wiring would be installed, with a generator housed in the servants’ quarters. Two wings would be devoted to bedrooms, with Alice’s bedroom on the left as you faced the veranda and more bedrooms and bathrooms on the right. In the center of the house, there was going to be a long drawing room with a central stone fireplace. A central chimney would also serve the dining room, with its large pantry off to one side. As was traditional, the kitchen would be separate from the house—food would be cooked there and, when it was ready to serve, taken to the pantry in the main house. After the title for the land was transferred to the de Janzés on June 2, 1926, construction finally began.

On her return to Africa, Alice went about adding to her menagerie. To protect her dogs from nighttime marauders, she had an open wire kennel constructed near her temporary living quarters. Here she also kept her baboon, Valentino. Joss lent the de Janzés two Somali ponies, which were housed at Geoffrey Buxton’s stables across the river. Every morning, Alice continued to ride out before breakfast through the morning mists with Frédéric, her new greyhound, Fairyfeet, running alongside. Frédéric recorded stories from these morning rides in his book of pen portraits about Africa,
Tarred with the Same Brush
(1929). The book—which is dedicated to one of its characters, “Delecia,” a pseudonym for Alice—describes one ride in particular, which helps to paint a picture of Alice’s close relationships with her animals. One morning, Delecia/Alice goes out riding alone with her greyhound for company. Her pony bolts, leaving her winded but uninjured beneath a cluster of trees. The greyhound panics and tears off in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, the dog returns to his mistress, deeply scarred and bleeding after catching a paw blow to its side and front legs from a lion. The dog has saved her life. Greatly shaken, she walks home, leading her pony and hound. Back at the farm, she bathes the poor dog and bandages his wounds, nursing him all day and into the night.

Looking at the photographs of Alice during this time, it is possible to see the degree to which she was evidently invigorated by her surroundings. In her Paris photos, Alice often looks pale and has a haunted expression. In the Kenyan photos, she radiates ease. The eyes look out to the horizon, her face tanned across her broad cheekbones. Alice told friends that she had never felt happier in her life. Her dreaded depressions had lifted; she felt cured, as though she had taken a miracle draft of smelling salts. In fact, there is a scientific explanation for this new stabilization of her moods. Kenya is on the equator, blessed with intensely bright light year-round. Studies have shown that sufferers of cyclothymia often demonstrate a marked improvement in mood after being exposed to bright-light therapy. It is thought that sunshine stimulates the pituitary and pineal glands, effecting the release of mood-altering hormones. Doctors all the way back to Hippocrates have recommended natural light as a cure for unhappiness; for her part, Florence Nightingale found patients recovered more rapidly when kept in sunny wards. Adding to the beneficial effect of so much sunshine, the Wanjohi Valley is six thousand feet above sea level, and at such a height, alterations in psychology, behavior, and cognitive functioning are common.

Then there was the sheer uplifting beauty of the place. Evelyn Waugh, who visited Kenya in 1931, described well the effect that the highlands have on those who visit. “There is a quality about it which I have found nowhere else but in Ireland, of warm loveliness and breadth and generosity,” he wrote. “It was not a matter of mere liking, as one likes any place where people are amusing and friendly and the climate is agreeable, but a feeling of personal tenderness. I think almost everyone in the highlands of Kenya has very much this feeling, more or less articulately.” He went on to evoke the particular quality of the light: “Brilliant sunshine quite unobscured, uninterrupted in its incidence; sunlight clearer than daylight; there is something of the moon about it, the coolness seems so unsuitable. Amber sunlight in Europe; diamond sunlight in Africa. The air fresh as an advertisement for toothpaste.” In Kenya, those combined effects of sunshine, altitude, and landscape continued to affect Alice’s mental chemistry positively.

In other words, it was easy to be happy in Happy Valley. The de Janzés would drive over to Slains every day in their new 1925 straight-six Buick with its drop head and spare tires. They variously entertained their neighbors, the Leslie-Melvilles and Geoffrey Buxton. Alice had her new house to plan and her animals. There was the thrill of her occasional liaisons with Joss to add to her pleasures. Her life in Paris was fading to a distant memory. She no longer felt trapped by her role as countess and by her marriage. Certainly she missed her daughters, but they were to be visited on a regular basis, and Alice decided that as soon as her house was built and furnished, she would return to see them. She wrote long, descriptive letters for Aunt Tattie to read out loud to her girls, always starting “My Darlings,” giving news of her house and her new servants, and including little stories about Roderigo and the other animals.

Perhaps for the first time since her early childhood, Alice was actually at peace. Then, as so often happens when a person finally achieves a degree of contentment in life, Alice was about to fall in love.

A
MONTH AFTER THE DE
J
ANZÉS’ RETURN TO
Kenya, a new face appeared on the Happy Valley scene. It was that of Raymund de Trafford, a twenty-six-year-old English aristocrat. Darkly handsome, slender, and the youngest son of Sir Humphrey de Trafford, third baronet, Raymund could trace his ancestors back to the eleventh century and the time of King Canute. By all accounts, Raymund could also be described as something of a cad, a man who had already left a trail of broken hearts stretching from Mayfair to Buenos Aires and back again. Some years later, Evelyn Waugh, who visited Raymund at his farm in Kenya, described him as a “bachelor farmer,” adding “though perhaps he is more typically bachelor than farmer.”

Raymund had been brought up in the rather starchy environment of a Catholic English country home at the turn of the century before being sent away to boarding school, as was customary. He was educated at St. Anthony’s, a Catholic school in Eastbourne, and at the Oratory at Edgbaston (often described as the “Catholic Eton”). At the age of eighteen, he entered the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, and was gazetted as an ensign in the Coldstream Guards (First Battalion) on December 20, 1918, thereby narrowly avoiding probable slaughter in the trenches of France. He left the army on February 27, 1924, after serving in the British army of occupation in Constantinople. In his final year of army service he developed asthma and was told by his doctors to go abroad for his health. He embarked on a tour of South America beginning in 1925, spending time in both Uruguay and Argentina, where the dry climate proved beneficial to his weak lungs. In South America, he learned to cut cattle on ranches, went boar shooting in Uruguay with one Aaron Ancharenas la Barras, and was entertained by a family of wealthy polo-playing ranchers named Basualdos in Argentina. On his return to London early in 1926, Raymund decided to travel on to Kenya, a place with another dry climate and a popular destination for so many Englishmen of his age and class. As the youngest de Trafford son, he was a victim of primogeniture, meaning that his eldest brother would inherit the family estate. Although Raymund received regular payments from the family coffers, the expectation was that he would begin to make his own money at some point, especially now that his health had improved.

Raymund decided to try his hand at farming and business in East Africa. The prospect of big-game hunting was also a considerable lure, but other factors played a part in his decision. He had heard much about the Kenya highlands from his fellow members at the London club White’s, to which he was elected in 1922. Apparently, there were a group of English aristocrats living in decadent fashion in a place called the Wanjohi Valley. Raymund would have heard tales of drunken parties, wife swapping, and general debauchery. The joke would have gone around at White’s: “Are you married, or do you live in Kenya?” Given Raymund’s appetite for alcohol and women, Wanjohi would have sounded like absolute heaven. Soon after his return to London from South American, he started to make preparations for his departure. Raymund could have begun his journey to Kenya from Southampton, but this would have taken him through the Bay of Biscay to Gibraltar, a route that could be rough, sick-making, and even dangerous. Instead, like many English passengers bound for Africa, he chose to leave from Marseilles, after which the route to Mombasa was comparatively smooth sailing. Raymund took the train to Marseilles in early April 1926, boarding the SS
General Duchayne,
bound for Kenya on the fifteenth. He arrived in Nairobi via the Lunatic Line about four weeks later and was seen soon after his arrival on the veranda of the Mombasa Club with a pretty fellow passenger, who probably had succumbed to his charms on board the ship.

Next, Raymund set about finding himself a home in the highlands. Although not an Etonian, which so many of the upper-class settlers in Kenya of the time were, he brought with him an impressive list of introductions from his father and friends in England. First, he called on Lord Delamere and Sir Francis Scott, the two most prominent expatriate farmers in the region. He went to see Geoffrey Buxton, a former Coldstream Guards officer. Soon after his arrival, Raymund settled on buying a maize farm near Njoro called Kishobo. Here he employed a manager to run the farm, purchased a lorry, and rented a Buick car. There was already a house on Raymund’s newly purchased land, albeit a fairly basic one, but he improved it, furnishing it for the most part with his extensive collection of books, which he had brought out in crates. Photos of Raymund from this period show an immaculately dressed young man, slim-framed and athletic, with dark hair and a winning smile, his hat often set at a rakish angle. Needless to say, he soon established a reputation as something of a lothario among the small community of settlers—doubtless relishing his own notoriety. Raymund’s primary interest, however, was hunting of another variety. Big-game safaris in Africa had been fashionable among aristocratic Europeans since the turn of the century, and by the time Raymund arrived in Kenya, Denys Finch Hatton, the most famous of the white hunters in Kenya, had just begun his new business venture, escorting wealthy clients into the wilderness on safari. Raymund was keen to join in.

By June 1926, Raymund had heard of Joss and Idina and their friends the de Janzés, but he had yet to meet them. When he called on Geoffrey Buxton early in June, he asked him to engineer a meeting with Frédéric in particular. Raymund was anxious to undertake his first safari and had heard that Frédéric was also keen. What’s more, Raymund was intrigued to meet the count for another reason. Although mostly self-educated, Raymund considered himself well read, and he had heard that Frédéric was a writer. Geoffrey arranged for Raymund to meet the de Janzés, along with Joss and Idina, at Satima Farm that June. Some years later, Raymund related to Margaret Spicer the details of his first meetings with Alice. He remembered Alice standing by the fireplace in Geoffrey’s drawing room, looking up over a glass of champagne, her gray eyes vivid and lit by the fire. He also recalled the next time he saw her, which was the following day. After staying the night with Geoffrey, Raymund decided to drive over to Slains to discuss a hunting safari with Frédéric. At Idina’s insistence, Raymund stayed for lunch, which gave him the opportunity to study Alice in daylight. Raymund recalled in particular Alice’s hair, which was beautifully arranged around her face, and her tight sweater, emphasizing her breasts. She had made up her eyes to kill. He also noticed that she drank spirits easily and was unaffected by them.

In later years, Alice would tell friends that she met Raymund “on a lion hunt.” With her well-developed sense of drama, she had evidently decided that “lion hunt” had a better ring to it than “introduced by mutual friends.” In any case, Alice was immediately drawn to this good-looking unmarried arrival, with his polished conversation and tales of South American adventures. It was, for both parties, a mutual attraction of powerful proportions. Raymund resolved to find some way to see Alice alone. It transpired that he did not have to wait long for the opportunity. Frédéric was leaving on a safari the following week and there was no room for Raymund on this occasion. Instead, the count suggested another date, in August, and gave Raymund instructions as to how to obtain an elephant license. While Frédéric was away, Raymund set to work arranging a secret rendezvous with Alice in Nairobi. She agreed to meet him there so that they could then travel together down the coast near Mombasa.

For Alice, this entailed a double deception. Not only did she need to keep the trip secret from Frédéric; she also had to make sure that Joss would not find out. Since her return to Africa, Alice had resumed her affair with Joss, and she sensed that he would not be keen on this new dalliance with Raymund. Idina was no fool, however, and when Raymund and Alice returned from their trip, Idina confronted her friend. Although Idina is often seen as Happy Valley’s high priestess of free love, in fact, she was happiest when relationships were within her control—she may even have taken Alice’s new affair as a kind of infidelity to Joss. Suffice it to say, she sensed that the happy foursome of the de Janzés and the Hays had just been disturbed. Idina duly informed Alice that she was not pleased about Raymund and did not like him.

Undeterred, Alice returned to Wanjohi Farm to oversee the work on her new house and to welcome her husband back from his safari. Despite the reappearance of Frédéric, Raymund set about redoubling his attentions to Alice, becoming a frequent visitor at Wanjohi Farm. As the de Janzés did not have a telephone, he would drive down unannounced. An accomplished amateur photographer, Raymund took many pictures of Alice during this period. In one portrait, Alice is standing chest-deep in the waves during a clandestine trip to the coast, her eyes obscured by a wide-brimmed sun hat, her swimming costume pulled down around her shoulders, revealing bare shoulders and torso. She exudes happiness, health, and sex appeal. During the initial stage of this new romance, Alice continued her meetings with Joss, although her primary interest was now Raymund. Alice’s new interest was unattached and could potentially help her escape from her situation with Frédéric, whereas Joss had never offered her any long-term commitment or a route out of her failing marriage.

Besides, Joss’s eye was already wandering elsewhere. The object of his attention was Mary Ramsay-Hill, sometimes known as “Molly”—a pale-skinned thirty-three-year-old beauty with a red-lipsticked mouth and matching lacquered nails. At the time of her first meetings with Joss, Mary was already married and living with her husband, Cyril, in the ostentatious Spanish palace that he had built for her on the nearby shores of Lake Naivasha. This impressive structure and its mistress enthralled Joss, even if Mary’s origins were dubious. Born in London in 1893, she was often referred to as “Miss Boots,” because it was rumored that her fortune was from the chemist chain. In fact, her father was a bankrupt London clerk who had lost all his money by the time Mary was fifteen (the exact source of Mary’s wealth is not known). Cyril was her second husband; she had married her first at age sixteen. Now she set her sights on Joss, or at least he set his sights on her. The attraction was mutual. He was lured by her money, lavish home, and sexual experience; she was drawn in by his title, good looks, and considerable reputation as a lover. For both parties, the liaison may well have also helped to provide a route out of marriages that were turning bad.

With Joss directing his attentions elsewhere and Alice engrossed with Raymund, Frédéric was faced with an altogether new dynamic. While the affair between Joss and Alice had never threatened the status quo, Alice’s attraction to Raymund was altogether more destructive. If Frédéric guessed what was going on, he said nothing. Alice’s moods were powerful and potentially destructive, and Frédéric may have preferred to remain silent in order to preserve the relative peace. What’s more, the de Janzés could still find plenty of common ground when it came to their animals. At this point, their menagerie included Alice’s baboon, Valentino; a marmoset monkey; Fairyfeet, the greyhound; and a mongrel dog called Monster. Alice’s prize pet, however, was her lion cub. Frédéric had first discovered the cub one morning while out riding alone on his pony. In his description of the incident from his book
Tarred with the Same Brush
, about his adventures in Africa, he wrote, “I had only a fleeting impression of a yellow streak darting out at us from behind a rock.” Frédéric and his pony eventually came to a halt, the poor horse trembling with fear. Frédéric guessed that he had just been saved from a lion’s charge, so he decided to tie up the pony in order to see if he could locate the den. He approached the area from the opposite side and managed to get a glimpse of a lioness and her cubs. The next day, he took Alice with him and they watched through binoculars from a safe distance. In the coming days, the couple frequently returned to the area, approaching to within fifty yards of the den. They could see four cubs inside. The lioness greeted these visits with low growls, but she did not attack.

Two weeks later, Alice and Frédéric received an unexpected visit from an Indian maharaja, his two young princes, and an older aide-de-camp or vizier. They explained that they were on safari and were hoping for lunch, which Frédéric and Alice were happy to provide. After the meal, the maharaja invited the de Janzés to view his trophies—gazelles, kongonis (large antelope), and a great kudu (another species of antelope), as well as two lion skins pegged out in the sun. Frédéric inquired as to where the lions had been killed. “Oh, quite near,” he was told. “Among some kopjes [small hills] a few miles from here.” Frédéric asked, “But didn’t you see the cubs?” The maharaja replied, “Oh no, they were all alone; the lioness charged from some rock piles after letting us get within fifty yards.” Frédéric was furious and immediately went to saddle up his pony. He found the poor little lion cubs in a small cave. They had been starved for three days. One was dead. Frédéric took the three remaining cubs back to the farm, but one more died in the night. He wrote, “It is an unpardonable crime to shoot females of any species.” The maharaja’s party was invited to stay the night, but the atmosphere between the de Janzés and their guests was strained, and the visitors left the following morning.

Alice and Frédéric doted on the little cubs, feeding them on tinned milk and raw meat. These new visitors were ravenous; they slept together in a basket, two round, fat balls of fluff. Christened Samson and Judah, they were soon introduced to the other members of Alice’s menagerie. They got along well with the dogs, and even the monkeys, particularly Valentino, the baboon, who elected himself the cubs’ keeper and cuffed both of them if they got out of line. One night, when the cubs were older, Judah escaped and was never seen again. Samson, however, became a household pet. He was playful and often naughty, and possessed great character. In the evenings, he would often wander into the house and lay his head on the laps of his master and mistress. There is an iconic photograph of Samson and Alice taken by Raymund, in which Alice is sitting on the veranda, with Samson draped across her knees—a Madonna and child, with the cub playing the part of the infant. The cub’s tail is hanging down to Alice’s toes and his paws are bigger than her hands. He must have weighed at least fifty pounds, and was easily old enough to do some harm, but Alice appears completely unperturbed. She is wearing a loose shirt and baggy trousers, a large felt hat on her head, and is gazing into the middle distance with the look of a woman who has come into her own. The photo was sent to her children—whom Samson had literally replaced—and Frédéric’s mother, Moya, as well as to Alice’s father, William.