The Temptress: The Scandalous Life of Alice De Janze and the Mysterious Death of Lord Erroll (5 page)

In 1907, after Winston Churchill returned from his visit to East Africa as undersecretary of state for the colonies, he brought back news of the line. He was impressed by it, describing it as “one of the most romantic and wonderful railways in the world,” and adding, “The railway is already doing what it was never expected within any reasonable period to do, it is paying its way.” Indeed, by the time of Churchill’s visit, the railway
had
begun to pay for itself. In a bid to justify the line’s existence, the commissioner for East Africa, Sir Charles Eliot, had invited settlers from the British colonies to farm the land surrounding the newly founded railway town of Nairobi. In this way, it would be possible to say the railway was serving the purpose of connecting these farmers and their goods with the coast, thereby silencing those critics who questioned the line’s practical purpose. In other words, the British had built the line and then come up with a reason for its existence. Recruitment of farmers began in 1901 and the first pioneers started to arrive in 1903. They came from as far away as Canada and New Zealand, as well as from Great Britain, and although many from the British contingent were aristocrats, the majority were middle-class men and women who faced the enormous odds of farming this uncharted territory with little capital but great tenacity.

After the end of World War I, a second wave of European settlers—made up mostly of ex-servicemen—arrived to farm the land and to help swell the numbers of whites in the area. The colony’s foothold seemed ensured, and by the early 1920s, the settlers had established their own parliament and legislative council. It was at this juncture that the early pioneers began to sit back and enjoy the fruits of their labors. They started to build large stone houses for themselves, with verdant lawned gardens and airy verandas. They employed local servants to tend to their properties and staff their kitchens. This was the era of the “English squires established on the equator,” as Evelyn Waugh described them, and these moneyed residents were determined to translate the English way of life to Africa. Servants were taught how to be “proper” butlers and chambermaids, how to lay tables with polished silver in the correct manner, and how to serve and cook imitations of English cuisine. Meanwhile, their masters played polo, tennis, and croquet and held luncheons and tea parties. There was now an impressive level of comfort to the lives of many of the colonial settlers in Kenya.

Wealthy socialite travelers had begun to come to Kenya for adventure, romance, and safaris, and many of them decided to stay. The undisputed ringleaders of this small but decadent new circle were the de Janzés’ friends, Joss and Idina. As part of Idina’s divorce settlement with her former husband, she had inherited 2,500 acres of farmland in the Wanjohi Valley north of Gilgil. The Hays had built a house on the land, calling it Slains after the Erroll family home in Scotland (sold by Joss’s predecessor, the profligate nineteenth earl of Erroll). Here, Idina began to throw house parties for visiting friends and local socialites. The flow of cocktails only served to fuel natural highs brought on by the extreme altitude of the highlands. Far from home, the Hays and their clique of friends found themselves freed from the restrictions of their families and society. Inhibitions were cast aside with abandon. Idina’s parties would often last for days at a time, and it was even rumored that—at the hostess’s insistence—every guest would have to sleep with someone other than the person with whom he or she had arrived before the party could finish. This liberated atmosphere was to give rise to the name “Happy Valley.” It was also the heady realm into which Alice and Frédéric were about to enter.

Joss arrived to meet his guests at the Norfolk Hotel on October 25, 1925. The three friends were reunited at the hotel’s door, excited to be meeting again so far away from Paris. They would have spoken in a mixture of French and English. Joss explained he had left Idina behind at their home for a very good reason. She was pregnant and the journey to Nairobi was bumpy and arduous. Joss was driving his brand-new 1922 long-bodied, open-top Hispano-Suiza, a wedding present from Idina. It was a car of enormous power, with an in-line six-cylinder engine, a single overhead cam, and over six liters in capacity. The car’s massive semielliptic front and rear suspension had been designed to cope with rough Spanish roads, making the car ideal for the challenges of the steep and rutted Kenyan byways. Practicalities aside, there would have been few cars more glamorous than Joss’s in 1920s Nairobi, its hood topped by a flying stork, “La Cigogne Volante.” The man behind the wheel of the Suiza would have been just as imposing, his blond hair ruffled from the drive, his skin tanned from the African sun, and his body clad in a well-cut safari suit.

Joss had brought with him a Ford box-body car, a backup to the Suiza, driven by a Somali who carried a spear. The following morning, after an early breakfast, Joss’s servant loaded up the two cabin trunks on the Ford. Joss, Frédéric, and Alice climbed into the front bench seat of the Suiza. It would have been characteristic for Joss to insist that Alice sit in the middle, between the two men, ensuring she was thigh-to-thigh with him for the journey to Wanjohi. The gear handle and hand brake of the car were to the right of the driver (who also sat on the right), so there was nothing to come between Alice and her attentive host. Joss set off at high speed, his preferred tempo. The roads leading out of Nairobi at this time were made of murram, a degraded stone gravel dug from nearby quarries that was crushed, then spread and rolled, making for a dusty ride, especially at high speeds. The Suiza quickly scaled the Kikuyu Escarpment, some six thousand feet up and twenty miles from the city. Here, a heart-stopping sight awaited the travelers. Looking down from the precipice, Alice and Frédéric could see below them the sheer drop of the Great Rift Valley. This continental divide, a literal rift through the heart of Africa, stretches four thousand miles, from Mozambique to northern Syria, and is one of the true marvels of the world. Herds of wild game roam the valley floor, which is dotted with defunct miniature volcanoes, including Longanot or Mount Margaret and the double-headed Suswa (described by H. Rider Haggard in
King Solomon’s Mines
as the “Twin Bosoms of Cleopatra”). It would have been an exhilarating prospect for the de Janzés, who had still only recently left behind them the tightly gridded streets and boulevards of Paris.

Next, the Suiza began the descent to the bottom of the valley. Driving downhill at such an incline was enough to put an enormous strain on any car. The Suiza’s brakes, although powerful, would have burned out had Joss not shifted into second gear to brake his descent. The engine grew hot, and at the bottom of the decline, Joss refilled the radiator with water from the stream that crossed the road and was fed by a shaded spring. Next, he raced across the road, heading to the right turn that would take them back uphill toward Gilgil and the Wanjohi Valley. Again, the climb was steep on a road that was rougher and dustier than the rest, so that by the end of the drive, a fine layer of red murram dust covered all three passengers. Alice wore a hat, but even so, her hair was thick with red specks. Joss, ever attentive and gracious to women, especially a woman as wealthy and beautiful as Alice, reassured his guest that Idina had brought a French lady’s maid to Kenya and that she would wash and dress Alice’s hair for dinner that evening.

Everything was conspiring to intoxicate Alice: the hot sun, the high altitude, the breathtaking views, the glamour of riding in the Suiza next to this attractive and confident Englishman. The two cars sped down the private road to Kipipiri, overlooked on the left by the Aberdare Mountains, before sweeping into the drive of Joss and Idina’s farm. Idina was waiting for them, dressed casually yet elegantly in trousers and a blouse, her preferred outfit while in Kenya. The whole household had turned out to meet the new houseguests: the number-one houseman, a cook, a kitchen
toto
(Swahili for child), a
dhobi
(washerman), as well as the French maid, Marie, who immediately took to Alice when she heard her speak French. The house, which had been built to Idina’s specifications in 1923, had four bedrooms with bathrooms, an elegant drawing room with a large raised fireplace, a dining room, and an office. The rooms were fitted out with imported antique English furniture, old silver, leather-bound books, and grand family portraits of Idina’s and Joss’s mothers.

But the feature that would have impressed Alice the most would have been Idina’s bathroom, which was adjacent to the master bedroom. It was ten feet by eight feet and made of green travertine marble. Hot water was piped in from three forty-four-gallon drums heated by a log fire outside the bathroom. The water was somewhat discolored by the local iron and murram sediment, but it was refreshing and stimulating. Idina was in the habit of taking a bath before dinner, wallowing in steaming water with a cocktail in hand while holding forth for dinner guests, who were invited to join her as she bathed—in the nude, of course. The bath ceremony was just one of the many unconventional rituals at Slains. Another custom was that of dining in pajamas and a dressing gown. Alice had no pajamas, but she found a pair laid out neatly on her bedroom pillow by Marie. Dinner was usually late—around eleven at night—but in deference to Alice and Frédéric’s long journey, it is likely that it was served earlier that first evening. The African cook had been well taught by Marie and could manage a cheese soufflé and
oeufs en cocotte
, and there was champagne to celebrate the de Janzés’ arrival. Despite the prevalence of French wine and food, Alice would have felt herself as far away as possible from the formalities of Parfondeval and Paris.

The following day, Alice and Frédéric had their first sighting by daylight of Slains and its surrounding landscape. It has often been observed that the Kenyan highlands are reminiscent of the English and Scottish countryside—albeit on an epic scale. When the onetime editor of the
East African Standard,
George Kinnear, later visited Wanjohi, he, like so many visitors before and since, found himself in thrall to the landscape. His description of the valley gives an idea of the sight of the Aberdare Mountains that awaited Alice and Frédéric when they awoke that morning:

That morning, Alice and Frédéric were indeed treated to views of rolling hills layered in early-morning mists, the mountain peak of Kipipiri rising from the clouds, a great waterfall in the distance, and dense forests of cedar. Breakfast would have included porridge and fresh cream from a nearby dairy. Joss and Idina were intent on owning their own dairy and were breeding Guernsey cattle to enable them to do so. After breakfast, Alice and Frédéric participated in another Slains ritual—the early-morning ride. Together with Joss, they rode out on three Somali ponies, with Idina staying at home because of her pregnancy. Although in France, Alice had been forced to ride on the left side, in Kenya, she was free to ride astride. These early-morning rides would have thrilled her: the beauty of the vistas, the unpopulated landscape, the sense of breadth and possibility, and, above all, the chance to see wild animals in close proximity. When she spied monkeys gamboling in the trees, she expressed a longing to own one as a pet. Joss and Frédéric duly obtained a tame monkey and gave it to her. Alice christened him Roderigo, and he seldom left her side; she carried him shoulder-high everywhere she went.

Alice would have cut a striking figure in Kenya, monkey at her ear. True to form, she had brought with her a sophisticated collection of Paris fashions and shoes, which she continued to wear, especially whenever she visited Nairobi. At Slains, however, she began to sport the cord trousers and loose blouses preferred by Idina. Like Coco Chanel, who had already shocked French society by wearing men’s clothes, Idina and Alice carried off their masculine look with immense elegance. Alice also had several sets of khaki safari outfits made for her by Ahmed, the tailor in Nairobi, to her own design, complete with wide-brimmed hats and calf-high leather mosquito boots to protect her ankles from bites. Alice probably wore her boots only when visiting lower altitudes, however, as mosquitoes generally cannot survive Wanjohi Valley’s cold nights and high altitudes.

During their stay, Idina would take Frédéric and Alice by car to the nearby town of Gilgil to collect their mail. Letters from Aunt Tattie and Frédéric’s mother, Moya, were soon arriving care of the post office, filled with news about the children. Alice would write back, regaling the children with tales of her morning rides and the beauty of the African countryside. She described for them the scurrying warthogs and how they would suddenly stop, their tails sticking straight up in the air. She told them about the sweet little dik-dik (tiny antelope with cloven feet) and about the monkeys, especially Roderigo. But despite her eagerness to communicate with her family in France, the truth was that Alice was relieved to be away. She had never been comfortable in her role as a mother. As a child, she had been abandoned, once as a result of her mother’s death and again when she was removed from her father. On some level, she must have been very comfortable with the idea of her children being cared for by Aunt Tattie—after all, this had been her own experience as a child.