by Rhys Bowen
“No, I’m up in a little turret room with Jean-Paul.”
“Jean-Paul?” Her eyes widened. “You mean the Marquis de Ronchard?”
“The very same. I can hardly believe it, but he seems interested in me. I hope you’re not too cross with me. I did nothing to encourage him.”
“Of course you didn’t, you sweet thing.” Belinda touched my cheek. “That’s why he finds you so delicious. A completely unspoiled, unscheming female. What a change. No wonder he is captivated.”
“I know you wanted him for yourself.”
“I have to confess that was the idea, but as it happens I have moved on to pastures new, thanks to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes. Remember the young man who went to buy you a drink last night and returned only to find you had been whisked away by your marquis?”
“I do. His name was Neville.”
“That’s the one. Well, I was left to cheer him up after he’d been so cruelly abandoned by you, and we hit it off rather well. To the extent that I’ve been invited to stay at his aunt’s villa. His aunt is Lady Marchington and it just happens that she used to hunt with my papa, so I’m considered suitable and all that.”
“I gather Neville isn’t particularly well off, from what I heard at Victoria Station.”
“Not at the moment, darling, but he will inherit a title one day, and a very nice estate. Not that I plan to be around that long, but Lady Marchington’s villa is certainly a step up from the little pension near the railway station where I was staying. And Neville actually shows promise as a lover—for an Englishman, that is. So all in all, I’m satisfied for the moment.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “I was trying to persuade Mummy to have you to stay with us, but it seems that she has to keep a bedroom free in case one of her pals decides to come and stay.”
“So all’s well that ends well,” Belinda said. “I just hope you know what you’re doing with your marquis. He has quite a reputation, you know.”
“So I’ve heard. But he is rather gorgeous, isn’t he? And I’m rather enjoying being wined and dined. It’s a new experience for me.”
“Poor Darcy,” Belinda said. “Dropped like a hot potato.”
“Poor Darcy has someone else,” I said.
“No, surely not.”
“I’ve seen them together,” I said bleakly. “They have a child.”
“Good heavens. Well, that is a bit of a shock, isn’t it? I really thought that you and he . . .”
“So did I,” I said, and I blinked back tears. “I’d better go back or Jean-Paul will wonder where I am.”
We hugged, and as I crossed the restaurant to return to Jean-Paul, the first thing I noticed was several men standing around our table. To my horror I recognized one of them as Inspector Lafite.
“Ah, there she is now,” one of the men said.
“Inspector.” I eyed him coldly. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come for you, Lady Georgiana,” he said.
“If you wish to ask me more questions, you can see that this is not a good time or place. I have nothing more to tell you, either about the missing necklace or about the death of Sir Toby.”
“I do not wish to ask you questions at this moment,” he said. “We will do that at the police station.”
“The police station? I’m not going to any police station at this time of night.”
He took a menacing step toward me. “I insist that you accompany me, mademoiselle. I am arresting you for the murder of Sir Toby Groper.”
Chapter 23
The night of January 26, 1933
In a French police station. Horrid experience.
I stared at him. My mouth was probably open, which I know is not acceptable for a lady. But you must admit it’s not every day that one is accused of murder.
“If you will please step outside, mademoiselle,” Lafite said quietly. “I’m sure you do not want to cause a disturbance or a scandal in such a place as this.”
Shock does funny things. I looked at his comical face with its exaggerated mustache and I started to laugh as he took my arm.
Jean-Paul, however, had leaped to his feet. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “This young lady is the daughter of an English duke. She is related to royalty.”
“Her background is of no consequence,” Lafite said.
“Please come with me quietly, mademoiselle, and let us have no unpleasantness. I am sure you would not wish to cause embarrassment to Monsieur le Marquis.”
One of his men took my other arm. I was conscious of faces staring at me as I was led through the restaurant and out to the street, where several police motorcars were drawn up.
“Now, mademoiselle. Get in, please.” Lafite opened a rear door of one of the cars for me. I was moving mechanically, like a puppet, but Jean-Paul stepped between me and the police-vehicle door.
“This is absurd,” Jean-Paul said, his eyes blazing. “You know who I am, and I can vouch for her.”
“Forgive me, Marquis. Of course we know who you are. However, we have reason to believe that this young lady is guilty of this terrible crime.”
“What reason?” I demanded.
“I am not at liberty to discuss this here. We will wait until we are in the privacy of the police station. Now, please enter the automobile.”
“I’m coming too, if you are taking her,” Jean-Paul said. He tried to force his way into the motorcar.
“I am afraid that is not possible, Marquis. You must realize this is a very serious matter. You cannot be allowed to interfere with the course of justice.”
“Then I will go immediately to telephone a lawyer friend of mine.” Jean-Paul scowled at him, then touched my arm gently. “You are not obliged to say anything until you have a lawyer present. Do not worry, ma petite. It is all a horrible mistake and we will have you back home in no time at all.”
For the first time I realized the enormity of what was happening to me. “Please go and tell my mother where I am. Madame Chanel and Vera will know what to do.”
“They will be hammering at the police-station door like ravening wolves,” Jean-Paul said with a smile. His hand touched my cheek. “Courage, chérie. All will be well.”
With that, Lafite bundled me into the backseat of the car and we took off, driving along the winding coastal road until the lights of the city appeared below us. I sat with my lips pressed together, trying to look composed and haughty, but under my thin dress I could feel my legs trembling. I was in a foreign country. I knew little of their justice system and I was in the hands of a bumbling policeman. I prayed that Jean-Paul’s lawyer and Mummy would arrive as soon as possible.
The police station appeared horribly bright after the darkness of the car. I was led through tiled hallways to a bare room that contained a table and two uncomfortable-looking chairs.
“Please take a seat, mademoiselle,” Lafite said.
“I am not ‘mademoiselle,’” I said, trying to sound like my great-grandmother. “I am a noble lady, a cousin to the King of England, and there will be serious repercussions about this folly when His Majesty learns of it.” At least I think that’s what I said. My French might have become a little wobbly at such a moment of stress.
Lafite did not appear to be worried by this threat. “Believe me, I realize the seriousness of this charge and would not have acted had I not been completely sure of my facts. We have proof, you see.”
“What proof?” I demanded. I was so angry and frightened that I forgot Jean-Paul’s warning not to say anything until I had a lawyer present.
Lafite looked smug again. He put his hand up and stroked at his mustache. “You were seen entering the house of Sir Toby this afternoon.”
Oh, crikey. Someone must have seen me making my way down the cliff to his garden. I couldn’t think how, unless it was from a passing boat. Our terrace and Sir Toby’s swimming pool were not visible to the outside world.
“Well, that’s easy enough to explain
,” I said, trying to sound calm and in control of this situation. “I came home, walked on the terrace, looked down and spotted Sir Toby floating in his swimming pool. I called for help, but nobody came from his house, so I made my way down the cliff to see if I could help him. When I was close enough, I could see that he was dead, so I climbed back up and we summoned the police.”
He shook his head. “No, mademoiselle. You were seen entering his house by the front entrance.”
I sighed again. “Yes, of course. I did go to visit Sir Toby earlier in the day. But that was in the morning, when I can assure you Sir Toby was alive and well, and his manservant was also there to let me in.”
Lafite’s eyes narrowed. “You did not mention this to me when I questioned you earlier. In fact, you gave me to understand that you did not know Sir Toby. And yes, his manservant tells us that not only did you visit him at his house, but you went out sailing on his yacht—just the two of you. This does not indicate to me persons that do not know each other.”
“I thought it had no relevance to his murder, since there would be plenty of witnesses to confirm that he was alive when I left his boat. And I only met Sir Toby last night. I admired his yacht and he was kind enough to invite me out for a short sail. That was the only time I had any contact with him. I had never been to his house before or after.”
“But again you attempt to deceive Lafite.” He wagged his finger at me. “You are not telling the truth, I think. You were seen by a reliable witness entering the house of Sir Toby at around three o’clock this afternoon—which happens to be the time that the doctor has estimated for Sir Toby’s murder. What is more, this reliable witness describes your behavior as furtive. He says you crept through the shrubbery as if you did not wish to be seen. And you were carrying something. What have you got to say to that?”
“I say it is nonsense,” I replied. “At three o’clock this afternoon I was at the villa of the Marquis de Ronchard. He and his servants can vouch for me.”
“And you left his villa at what time?”
I frowned. “I’m not quite sure of the time . . .”
“You are not quite sure of the time,” he mimicked.
“It was immediately after it started raining,” I said. “I was certainly home by four.”
“Giving you enough time to pay a visit to the villa of Sir Toby,” he said triumphantly.
“It was pouring with rain,” I said.
“Murders can be committed in the rain, I believe. But my witness does not mention rain. I suspect it was a short, sharp shower and it had stopped by the time you paid your visit.”
“This is absurd,” I said. “Pray, what would my motive have been, given that I had never met Sir Toby until last night?”
“Who can say? You come to the Riviera and immediately a valuable necklace is stolen from your neck. And the next day you are alone with a man who is murdered. We in the police of France are taught not to believe in coincidences. What do these two events have in common? we ask ourselves, and the answer to both the robbery and the murder is you, mademoiselle.”
He wasn’t going to get the manner of address right, or else he was being deliberately rude to me. I sighed. “I am a member of the ruling family of England and as such I hardly like to steal the queen’s necklace or to kill a man I had never met before.”
“We have done a little prying into your affairs, Lady Georgiana.” He was looking even more smug by now. “And we find that, yes, you are related to the king, but that your brother and yourself are in dire financial straits. You have no money, Lady Georgiana. You have no prospect of any money. Maybe you took the necklace, then set up a plan to rob Sir Toby?”
“Utter rubbish!” I said. “Ask anyone who knows me. They will vouch for my character. I have had plenty of chances to marry for money or to live with a richer family member. I choose to make my own way, living in poverty. I have pride and I have integrity.”
“Very well. I take your word on this for the moment. So let us then say that it was a crime of passion.”
“Of passion?” I almost laughed out loud. “I felt no passion for Sir Toby, I assure you.”
He leaned closer to me. His garlic breath became stronger, almost overpowering in that small room. “I understand that you leaped from Sir Toby’s yacht into the arms of the marquis. Maybe this Sir Toby tries to have his way with you. Maybe he forces you against your will, and you return to seek vengeance for your honor.”
“You sound like an Italian opera,” I said. “Maybe people behave in that way in France, but not in England or Scotland, I assure you.”
“Then you please tell me why you crept into Sir Toby’s garden, sneaking forward like a thief and carrying something under your arm.”
“The answer to that is that it wasn’t I. Your observer saw someone else who may have resembled me. In fact, several people have mentioned that they have spotted someone in Nice who looks like me. I suggest you find her.”
“Were you wearing white trousers today, milady?” He glanced at a sheet of paper in front of him. “And a dark blue jacket? And a sailor’s hat?”
“Yes, I was, but—”
“This is exactly how you were described when seen creeping into Sir Toby’s house at around three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Who exactly described me and witnessed this fictitious event?”
“One of Sir Toby’s gardeners. He had finished his work and gone home for the day, but then he remembered that he had left out the good pruning shears and he saw that it was about to rain. So he returned and was looking for the implement among the shrubs when he heard someone coming. He thought it might be Sir Toby and he did not want to get into trouble for leaving his tools behind, so he ducked down, and was surprised to see a young lady—the same young lady that he had seen that morning, in fact, wearing the same outfit she had worn in the morning—creeping furtively up toward the house as if she didn’t want to be noticed.”
He got to his feet, coming to stand over me. “It would be easier for us all if you confessed right away. Crimes of passion are understood in France. If this man violated your honor, the judge will understand that you came to confront him. Perhaps he laughed at you. Mocked you. Boasted about his control over you. And on the spur of the moment you were angry and humiliated. You picked up a heavy object and hit him. You did not mean to kill him, but he pitched forward into the pool. The court will understand this and will not pass a heavy sentence on you, I promise. The jurors have daughters. They will understand that your action was justified.”
“I would be happy to confess if any of this had happened,” I said. “Fortunately it is all untrue. I did not go to Sir Toby’s house and I did not hit him over the head. Now please release me and let me go home until I can meet you tomorrow at a civilized hour with a lawyer present.”
Lafite smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no, milady. That would not do at all. I am well aware that your relative the Prince of Wales cruises this coast on the yacht of the famous Duke of Westminster. If I let you go, I suspect they would spirit you away on this yacht and you would not be seen again. Lafite does not lose his quarry so easily.”
“But you can’t keep me here,” I said. “I’m innocent. You only have the most circumstantial evidence that just isn’t true.”
He leaned down and grinned into my face. His garlic breath nearly overwhelmed me once again. “You forget that in France we follow the Napoleonic Code. Here you are guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. If you did not commit this murder, you will have to prove it to me and prove it to the judge.”
“Then I will do so,” I said, staring him in the eye to show that I wasn’t afraid.
At that moment there came the sound of raised voices from outside the door, among them a man saying loudly in French, “No, Mesdames, you may not enter.”
“We demand to see Lady Georgiana. What have you done with her?”
“I assure you she is quite safe, but she is being questioned by Inspector Lafite
.”
“By that fool?” Coco’s voice had become shrill. “Let us in at once.”
“I cannot let you pass, Madame,” came the worried voice. “Now please go home before I have you arrested.”
“Then arrest me.” Coco’s voice was getting closer by the moment. “Arrest Madame Daniels. Arrest Madame Bate Lombardi when she gets here. It will only make you look extremely foolish when you have to apologize to us. I should tell you that at this moment a message is being sent to the yacht of the Duke of Westminster, who is a dear friend of mine and related to Mrs. Bate Lombardi. And you know who is on that yacht? The Prince of Wales, son of the English king and cousin to the young lady you have locked up in your jail cell. A message has also been sent to the English consul, who is on his way here, and to the ex-husband of Mrs. Bate Lombardi, who is a correspondent for NBC—the important American broadcasting network. Soon your chief’s foolishness will be known all over the globe and the British ambassador will be hurrying down from Paris with a stern message from the English king.”
I thought I noticed Lafite turning a trifle green. At least his smile had faded. I don’t think until this moment he had quite realized my importance or that he may have created an international incident of great magnitude. I don’t think I had either.
Then another, richer, louder voice boomed over Coco’s, echoing off the tiled hallway walls of the police station. “My poor baby. I demand that you let me see my child. I demand to know what you brutes are doing to her. You couldn’t be heartless enough to keep her mother from her in her hour of need!”
Mummy was playing the part of the bereft mother—and, naturally, playing it awfully well. Miraculously, she was actually acknowledging me as her daughter, but her speech was being lost on the constable guarding the door as it was in English, Mummy’s French not being up to dramatics. Lafite went to the door and opened it with a sigh. “Madam,” he said in English, “your daughter is safe and unharmed. Please observe her for yourself.”
“My darling!” Mummy cried and threw herself at me, uttering great, heart-wrenching sobs. It was a very convincing performance and I think the younger policeman dabbed his eyes. Then she turned the full force of her gaze onto Lafite. “You will let me take her home, won’t you? If you keep her here, I shall sit on the pavement outside in the cold all night, hoping and praying and waiting.”