Louisa turned her head back to the water only to find that, without trying, she could not help but hear their row.
‘You’re at the beck and call of that bloody woman,’ shouted the maid.
‘I’m my own man, be in no doubt of that, you b—’ The next words were lost to the wind, which was probably no bad thing, thought Louisa. ‘… ought to be grateful for the cash.’
The maid said something in return. Louisa could hear only sounds being spoken but not the words, before Jim called out: ‘Blythe, don’t, you know I—’
Blythe. Jim had mentioned her name to Louisa before, the maid that was supposed to be helping out at Diana’s party. It might have been the cause of the argument. Louisa stole a glance. They made a handsome couple and it must have been common enough for romance to bloom between members of the crew, but it must make it sticky if you fell out and still had several weeks left of working together. Louisa did not wish to eavesdrop any more, and took the longer route back to the doors leading inside so as not to let them know she’d overheard. She had the feeling that even if there wasn’t much information to gather for Iain, this was going to be a situation that gave her plenty of glimpses into other people’s lives.
* * *
A few hours later, Louisa was with Lady Redesdale, Unity and Diana, waiting in the foyer of deck C as the ship’s crew prepared the gangway for their exit onto dry land. Herr von Bohlen was not with them, but Louisa had been told they would be meeting him, with his companion, at the local museum, recommended on the ship’s daily newsletter. The Princess Alice Bulletin, a printed sheet of paper that was slipped under every cabin door in the morning, also informed that Livorno was one of Italy’s largest seaports, close to Florence, and that the weather would be fair, with temperatures reaching a high of seventy-three degrees.
A crowd gathered at the doors and when they were finally opened, the people pushed out with a surge and a rise in their chatter as if they were being released like doves from a box.
For a while Louisa and the Mitfords walked along a seemingly predestined route until they reached a warren of smaller streets and found that their fellow passengers had more or less fallen away. Viridian hills lay beyond, contrasting beautifully with the terracotta-coloured buildings of the town. The heat lay on the cobbles so still and thick, Louisa felt as if they were pushing the air with each step.
‘I need to find the central post office,’ said Diana, as they slowed their pace and started to peer into the Italian shop windows. ‘I told Nanny Higgs that the boys could write to me care of the Poste Restante here.’
‘They’re three and two years old – how can they possibly write?’ demanded Unity.
Louisa noticed Diana’s colour change, but she answered peremptorily. ‘They can’t. Nanny Higgs does it for them, but it’s good to get them into the habit. She’ll ask them what they want to say to me and so on.’
Lady Redesdale said nothing to this. Louisa wondered if they were thinking the same thing: it wasn’t a letter from her children that Diana would be hoping for but from Sir Oswald. That made her remember the smudged letter she had in her cabin and the promise it had made to explain why he was taking a trip abroad. Louisa wanted to see any new letter Diana received, too.
After asking a couple of people in loud, slow English where the post office was, a charming young Italian man with perfect British diction told them the directions. It was only a few minutes’ walk and when they arrived they saw there was already a queue, mostly made up of passengers they recognised from the ship. Halfway along the line was Mrs Fowler. Diana made a beeline for her.
‘Ella,’ she called out and the woman turned around. She had resumed her composed good looks and was wearing a chic pale blue duster coat and round gold-rimmed sunglasses.
‘Mrs Guinness.’
‘Oh, do call me Diana.’ Diana had sidled up to Ella, much to the muttering consternation of the people immediately behind her, but no one told her to get to the back of the line. Diana’s bearing was far too regal to permit that sort of suggestion.
Unity and Lady Redesdale followed Diana, standing close by, pretending they weren’t queuing, but when Ella reached the counter, Lady Redesdale leaned across and asked if she couldn’t get her ten stamps for England, handing over several lira notes. The post mistress handed most of them back, along with coins for change, and Lady Redesdale thanked her, as well as politely acknowledging the others in the queue, efficiently cancelling any protests they might otherwise have made.
Diana received three letters, one of which she hastily put in her pocket. ‘Nanny Higgs and Bryan,’ she said in a satisfied voice as they walked out. ‘Shall we find some lunch now?’
The fact of Bryan still being in love with her, despite the impending divorce, was well known. Louisa felt a pang of pity, but it wasn’t his missive that drew her interest. She forced herself not to look at Diana’s pocket concealing the letter she wanted to read. Knowing she would have to find a way to steal it and read it, without Diana realising, was going to distract her until it was done.
Ella came outside with them. She had nodded to Louisa but not spoken to her.
‘You’re lucky,’ she said to Diana. ‘I’d love to hear from my youngest boy, but he’s at school and they only write once a week, and sometimes he can’t be persuaded to do even that much.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Lady Redesdale.
Louisa knew this was a loaded question: the answer would immediately bracket Ella in a position that would place her as either ‘one of them’, or not.
‘St John’s in Poole,’ Ella replied innocently.
‘Oh? I don’t know that one,’ said Lady Redesdale, and Louisa saw Diana’s look of irritation with her mother. Had she planned a friendship with Ella? If so, it wouldn’t last beyond the length of the voyage now there could be no pretence about the social gulf between them.
‘We need to be at the museum in one hour and twelve minutes,’ said Unity, checking her wristwatch.
‘Well, then. Let’s go here,’ said Diana, gesturing to a café with tables outside and an olive-skinned waitress standing in the doorway bearing a clutch of menus. Diana’s hair was shining blonde in the sunlight and her happiness was evident. Louisa was certain that was down to the envelope in her pocket, not the two in her hand.
‘It’s too hot outside,’ her mother interjected. ‘We’ll go in. Would you like to join us, Mrs Fowler?’ Her tone was neutral; there was no way of knowing if she hoped Ella would say yes, or not.
‘If you’re sure it’s all right, I’d love to.’
‘It’s only luncheon,’ replied Lady Redesdale, and led the way inside.
It was cool and dark after the blazing sunshine, and they stood and blinked a little in the doorway. The waitress had gone ahead and was laying down menus on a table in the far corner. It was empty inside but for an old man at the bar with a small glass of cloudy liquid, and two men close to the back wall.
Ella took Diana’s elbow and said in a low voice, ‘I’ve remembered I promised my boys an Italian toy each. I’d better go.’
Diana, not understanding, answered more loudly, ‘Please don’t, it’s not our only stop, there will be more shops. I’m eager to find out more about you.’
At this, the two men looked around and Louisa recognised the one with the moustache – he was the one who had been talking in an urgent manner to Ella the night before. He stood and walked over to the group but didn’t acknowledge anyone but Ella.
‘What are you doing here?’
She braced herself, straightening her back and lengthening her neck. ‘It wasn’t planned, dear. May I introduce you? Lady Redesdale, Mrs Guinness, Miss Mitford.’ She turned to the women. ‘This is my husband, Joseph Fowler.’
He bowed his head in their direction. ‘How do you do?’ But he offered nothing further, drawing his wife around by her shoulder and inclining his head to hers. ‘I’m in a meeting with Sir Clive. I don’t think it’s appropriate.’
Louisa looked across at
his table and saw the man he was with. He was half-standing awkwardly, a napkin in one hand; it was clear he had expected to be introduced and his manners were far too good for him to sit back down again until the female party had done so first. He was in his early fifties, she supposed, with slicked-back dark hair greying at the temples, and although his suit was undeniably cut to flatter, with a navy dotted ‘kerchief peeking out of his top pocket, his face was broad and misshapen, with a crude nose, thick lips and bushy eyebrows that threw shadows over his eyes, which were small and dark, yet somehow inviting. Caddish or charismatic? As if in answer, Iain’s advice came swiftly to the surface: she was to strive to notice detail without imposing supposition upon facts. Easier said than done, she was now realising.
Ella broke away from her husband. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Redesdale. You’ll have to excuse me. There’s an errand I must do before we are back on the ship. Enjoy your luncheon and I hope to see you all soon.’
Without looking back, she walked into the sun and her husband sat down again, to resume his meeting with Sir Clive.
After lunch, when Louisa and Unity left slightly ahead of the others to keep the appointment that had been made with Herr von Bohlen at the museum, only Sir Clive acknowledged their departure with a raised hand.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The museum in Livorno was eventually found in a side street after Louisa stopped to ask for help from three strangers. Each time, Unity jiggled impatiently and accosted Louisa for the new instructions, reminding her that they were due to meet Herr von Bohlen in six minutes, then three minutes, and finally that they were late.
‘We’re almost there, Miss Unity. I can’t make it happen any faster.’ Louisa was exasperated. Unity was well out of the schoolroom, wore red lipstick and had once been drunk on champagne. But she had never been anywhere without a chaperone, still spoke in her secret childish Boudledidge language with her sister, Jessica, and, certainly in the company of her mother or Nanny Blor, reverted to girlish behaviour as easily as rice pudding slipped off her spoon and down her throat.
‘Do I look all right?’ Unity asked for the umpteenth time. She was wearing her best, most fashionable day dress, cream with red buttons off-centre from neckline to hem, which landed mid-calf. A narrow cut, the belt was cinched too tight and made her tummy pouch below ‘like the udders on one of Pamela’s Jersey cows’, Nancy had said when the dress had its first outing in London. Unity lacked the easy chic of her older sister, Diana, with wrinkles in her stockings and creases in her jacket, and if she wasn’t concentrating, her mouth pulled down at the edges.
‘Perfectly fine for a museum outing,’ said Louisa, knowing she was being disingenuous but refusing to be drawn in otherwise.
Unity sighed at this, but they were walking quickly and soon they were at the wide wooden door of the Museo della Città di Livorno, and just inside, waiting in the cool of the marbled hall, was Herr von Bohlen. He had an admirably athletic figure, visible in a suit that Louisa recognised as expensive, and greeted Unity with old world manners, though he could not have been more than twenty-five years old. Louisa he ignored; he must have been briefed that she was merely a chaperone.
‘If you please, I would like to introduce my companion,’ he said, in a noticeable German accent, though his delivery was smooth. A man of similar age but much shorter, with a countenance that revealed neither pleasure nor displeasure, removed his hat and gave a small bow to Unity. ‘This is Herr Müller,’ continued von Bohlen. ‘Shall we go through? I have taken the liberty of purchasing your tickets. Will Lady Redesdale and Mrs Guinness be joining us?’
Unity gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘They’ll be along later. We don’t have to wait for them, they can get their own tickets.’
‘Ah, but Fräulein Mitford, I have purchased their tickets also. I will leave them at the desk.’
He went to the ticket office to leave instructions, while the three of them remained waiting for him silently. When he returned, the group set off, heading for the first room indicated on the guide, from which von Bohlen read aloud. Unity, usually ready to challenge any instruction given by her parents or sisters, agreed to each of his suggestions. The museum had some early Roman relics on display and though Louisa was fairly interested, she soon realised that her role was to stand a few steps behind as Unity and von Bohlen inspected and discussed the pale stone artefacts. Both Louisa and Herr Müller appeared to be employed in the same capacity and both spent their time listening to the conversation conducted, proffering no thoughts or ideas of their own. Not that their opinions were sought. The thought crossed Louisa’s mind that Herr Müller’s mission may well have been very similar to her own. The Nazis presumably had a secret service.
Even with two silent companions following their every word and movement, Unity was utterly without guile. Herr von Bohlen was to be left in no doubt as to her allegiances. Each question he asked her was answered, but so too were a thousand unasked queries. By the time they had reached the second room, with its modest display of seventeenth-century religious paintings, Unity had told her new friend about her parents, her sisters and her brother, her desire to go to Germany, to learn German and to study German history and culture.
‘You are almost more of a patriot than me,’ he laughed at one point.
‘Oh, but I think I probably am,’ Unity replied seriously. ‘My parents want me to go to Paris to learn French, but I have already told them that Germany is the future, not stupid old France.’
‘And what, Fräulein, makes you think that Deutschland holds the key to the new world? After all, we have been destroyed and outcast by our European neighbours for some time now.’
They were standing before a painting in which Jesus was lying outstretched on a golden rock, bleeding from his wounds on his hands and feet as a young woman tended to him, a cloth in her hand and a pail of water by her kneeling figure.
‘Resurrection,’ she said. ‘I believe the Germans will be reborn from their suffering and be stronger and more powerful for it.’
‘You have been reading some interesting theories,’ was von Bohlen’s comment, and though he did not wink, Louisa felt he had only resisted with an effort.
Unity smiled. ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted. ‘But I do believe it, too. I’ve also been reading about your new leader, Herr Hitler. He sounds…’ she searched for the word, ‘… inspiring.’
‘Indeed?’ Von Bohlen raised an eyebrow. ‘I must say, I approve. He is a true patriot. He believes in Germany for Germans and he will be the one to lead our country to strength once again.’
Louisa felt Müller straighten beside her. She wondered if he was standing to attention at the mention of his country’s leader. What was it Iain had said to her about him? That he was a dictator? She knew that Lord Redesdale would not have a German name mentioned in his house: ‘Damned Huns’. But then his generation had fought in the war and his own brother had been killed in Flanders. Unity knew nothing of life before the war, could not remember a time when peace and prosperity seemed to stretch ahead in an Edwardian haze of goodwill and confidence, its monarchy as solid and immutable as marble chess pieces. Today, the Depression showed few signs of ending, with daily newspaper reports of the mile-long queues for bread in America and much of Europe, though the Mitfords and their circle seemed immune to it all. They had carried on their dances and house parties, Diana’s wardrobe had remained resplendent, and cocktails had been drunk. Louisa knew money had been lost by the Guinness family, but they had such a lot of it, it had apparently not made too much difference.
She’d allowed her mind to wander and only now realised that Lady Redesdale and Diana had come rushing into the room, disturbing the quiet atmosphere with their hurried movements and exclamations of thanks to von Bohlen for buying their tickets.
‘Wolfgang, it was too kind, but we’re terribly grateful,’ said Diana, and Unity bristled.
He gave another of his stiff, small bows and extended his hand to catch hers and kiss it. ‘I
t was no trouble at all; I am delighted to be of service.’
‘Danke schön.’ Diana giggled. ‘This is my mother, Lady Redesdale.’
The ritual was re-enacted, but Louisa thought Lady Redesdale less enamoured by the elaborate charm, withdrawing her hand quickly after he had raised it to his dry lips. He briefly introduced them to his companion, who did not step forward but merely inclined his head.
The enlarged group moved sedately around the museum, with Unity and Diana on either side of Wolfgang, and Lady Redesdale keeping a slight distance, peering more closely at the paintings and artefacts, spending more time reading the information cards beside them.
Diana was quick to establish her credentials, telling Wolfgang of her ‘close friendship’ with Mosley, as leader of Britain’s own fascist party.
‘He went to visit Mussolini in Rome last year,’ she told him. ‘Sir Oswald was terribly impressed with everything Il Duce has achieved.’
Wolfgang held his hands behind his back as he walked beside Diana, like a visiting dignitary. ‘I understand he is most impressive.’
Unity was holding a copy of the museum guide and Louisa saw that tiny rips had been made all around the edges. Lady Redesdale waylaid herself – deliberately, it seemed – by an arrangement of Roman household items from the first century BC, and Unity leaned into Wolfgang, keeping her eye fixed on her mother.
‘I’ve joined the BUF.’
Wolfgang looked quizzical.
‘The British Union of Fascists. Sir O’s party.’ Her whisper became more hurried, more urgent. ‘It’s marvellous. He’s absolutely tremendous. As soon as you hear him, you cannot help but join him.’ She stopped and took a breath. ‘I’m sure you understand. You know, with Herr Hitler.’
‘You are a perceptive young woman,’ said Wolfgang. ‘I should be interested to meet this Sir Oswald and discover what it is he is planning for Great Britain.’
Diana flashed Wolfgang one of her more brilliant smiles. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged. Are you planning to be in London?’
The Mitford Trial Page 7