Authors: M.J. Trow

Murder by Mistake (9 page)

BOOK: Murder by Mistake

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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 on as normal, with the children living with her, but in 1977, she had a nervous breakdown. George, when he reached 14 and was boarding at his father’s old school, Eton, stated officially that he wanted to live permanently with the Shand Kydds, which, of course, had been Lucan’s wish all along.

It was not until 1992 that Lucan’s financial affairs were at last sorted out. His estate was valued at a measly £14,709 ($24,800 at the exchange rate of the time, value today approximately $40,000). Seven years later, the High Court ruled that Lucan was officially dead, but the ruling was complicated. Only in Britain could there be a situation where a man can be declared dead to all intents and purposes, but his son and heir was not allowed to claim his father’s title and inheritance because there was no actual death certificate!

Veronica Lucan, occasionally calling herself “Dowager” Lady Lucan today, never remarried and largely avoids the world. She occasionally gave interviews to journalists and crime writers, but all that stopped in 2003 when she set up a website with the title “Setting the record straight.” In it, along with unpublished family photographs, she attempted to answer the sort of questions that journalists asked or to correct errors she had found in books. The website is rather sad—her breakdown is a conspiracy; her children have abandoned her; the “dream of paranoia” has become reality.

The Lucan children are all academically brilliant and highly successful. Frances, who has the clearest memories of November 7, 1974, went to St. Swithun’s School, Winchester, like her mother and then to Bristol University. Today she is a successful lawyer and keeps out of the limelight. Camilla, only three at the time, also went to St. Swithun’s, then to Balliol College, Oxford, and is also a lawyer. She is married to Michael Block, QC (Queen’s Counsel), and the couple has four children.

From time to time, there is a flurry of interest in the Lucan case—a new book, a new sighting or odd knee-jerk reaction from the police to use new techniques such as DNA testing on the old bones of the case. The children are then duly pestered for their views. When Barry Halpin was put forward as a possible Lucan in 2003, Frances said, “That isn’t my father. He has been dead for decades.” Camilla has told reporters, “Any desire I may have had to ascertain the truth about the events of November 1974 has long since dwindled.”

The same cannot be said of George, mercifully asleep as a 7-year-old boy on the night in question. Like his father, he went to Eton; unlike his father, he went to Trinity Hall College, Cambridge. Then, like his father, he went into a London merchant bank. Not actually able to sit in the House of Lords, George Bingham can nevertheless call himself the 8th Earl of Lucan. When Duncan Maclaughlin’s book on Barry Halpin was published, George said to the
Daily Telegraph
, “I get a little tired when former Scotland Yard detectives at the end of their careers get commissions to write books which happen to send them to sunny destinations around the world.”

George remains convinced that his father did not kill Sandra Rivett. The media, he says, say his father was “a racist, snob, gambler, coward, dimwit and murderer. And yet I can’t find a single person who ever knew the man who was prepared to say anything but that he was the most wonderful company, incredibly generous and the nicest person to be with.” Clearly George had not spoken with his mother on the subject!

On the question of Lucan’s survival, George has a dry sense of humor. “Oh, it’s just another letter from daddy,” or “God, I’ve got my father on the line again.” “Last I heard he was in Botswana. But it was a very bad line, so I can’t be sure.”

So now there is a new mystery to deal with—not only whether Lucan killed Sandra Rivett, but where is he now? If he is alive, he would be 77. Perhaps Lady Lucan is right—“My husband died on November 8, 1974”—and his body lies with his boat at the bottom of the sea. Perhaps he shot himself, overcome with a sense of shame at having besmirched the honor of the Lucans. Perhaps his friends—and he had many—conspired to bury him secretly and took some old-fashioned schoolboy vow of silence.

On the other hand, perhaps he actually
was
sighted around the world. Perhaps…

…Perhaps, my Lord, if you are reading this, you might like to do what you told Susan Maxwell-Scott you’d do 37 years ago and come back to London to “sort things out.” You’ve been “lying doggo” for long enough.

www.crimescape.com

Photo Credits/Index

All photographs, drawings and sketches are the work of M. J. Trow and/or Eloise Campbell unless otherwise attributed

Richard John Bingham, 7th Earl of Lucan

House where Lord Lucan lived

Old St. George’s Hospital

Former Gerald Rd. Police Station

Lucan family coat of arms