‘No, and I’m supposed to be back on shift soon.’
‘I expect things are in a muddle for everyone,’ said Louisa, biting her tongue. She didn’t want to leave Blythe alone with Mrs Fowler, but she couldn’t risk explaining why. ‘Can I talk to anyone for you? Find someone to take over?’
‘Thank you. Mrs Kelway is Head of Housekeeping. If you find any other maid, you could ask them to take a message to her.’
‘I’ll do that. I need to talk to Mrs Fowler first, though.’
Blythe’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘You?’
‘DS Sullivan is incapacitated. He asked me to see how she is.’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘You mentioned she’s been calling things out. I’m sure she won’t be sleeping well, and anything she can remember now could be vitally important. Has she said anything about what’s happened?’
‘No, not exactly.’
Louisa knew she had to pull rank. True, she had no real rank to speak of, but needs must. She had to do this for Guy. Possibly for Iain. Which meant, for king and country. At which point she told herself not to be ridiculously self-important.
‘She has said something then?’
Blythe leaned forward a little and lowered her voice. ‘She keeps saying something about Sir Clive.’
‘What is she saying about Sir Clive?’
But Blythe’s brief show of confidence had been dispelled. ‘Nothing. She’s saying his name, no more than that.’
‘I still need to talk to Mrs Fowler. Perhaps now would be a good time for you to go to find the housekeeper? I assume she’ll need someone to cover your duties this morning.’
Blythe hesitated in the doorway and Louisa felt the tension between them as a standoff, but the younger woman relented quickly. ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
Louisa watched her walk around the corner and waited for the sound of the door closing before she knocked gently and went through to Mrs Fowler.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The woman Louisa hoped to talk to was in the bed, lying on her side, her eyes open and staring at the blank wall beside her. There was a window in the room, but the curtains were still shut and only a faint haze of sunshine showed around the edges. There was a small lamp on the dressing table, which gave out the only light in the room. Prone, Mrs Fowler did not acknowledge Louisa’s entry into the room and she felt like an intruder. After all, she had no real right to be there, no legitimate power. But she did want to find out what had happened – for Guy, and maybe for Iain, too. What she was doing might have been questionable, but it wasn’t illegal.
Was it?
‘Mrs Fowler,’ Louisa called softly. ‘It’s me, Louisa, Lady Redesdale’s lady’s maid.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Ella, her voice firmer than expected. ‘Why are you here? Where’s Blythe?’
‘She’s gone to talk to the housekeeper. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. I’m here because my husband is DS Sullivan.’
Ella’s head turned sharply. ‘A policeman?’
‘Yes, you met him earlier, but it would be understandable if you didn’t remember.’ She edged slowly towards the bed and did not dare sit down in the chair but hovered, bent at the waist a little. ‘He’s investigating what happened last night but has been briefly…’ She tried to hold Mrs Fowler’s gaze. ‘He’s unwell himself. He asked me to talk to you.’
‘What good will it do?’ She slumped back onto the pillow and pulled it down, curling herself up.
‘Anything you can remember will help. I know it’s been a terrible night…’
‘How is Joseph?’
Louisa hesitated. ‘I’m sorry to say that it’s not looking good, Mrs Fowler. He’s still unconscious.’
Ella let out a howl of – what? Fury? Pain? Despair? Louisa couldn’t tell, but the visceral sound disturbed her and she nearly ran from it. It was the last noise she had expected to come from the wretched heap in the bed.
‘Go away, go away. Go away,’ shouted Ella. She pushed herself up with her hands and faced Louisa. ‘I did it. I did it and I will pay the price.’ Her eyes red, she spoke hoarsely and with feeling. ‘Everything is destroyed, don’t you see? Leave me, please, I beg you, just leave me. I only want to be alone.’
Louisa put one hand on the bed. ‘Mrs Fowler? How did you do it?’
There was no coherent response. Ella had gone face down into the pillow and was muttering into it, her words stumbling. Louisa felt panicked, at a loss as to what she should do next, when there was a knock at the door and it opened. She straightened up and saw Dr O’Donnell come in. He did not acknowledge Louisa but immediately went to Ella.
‘Mrs Fowler? Mrs Fowler?’ He spoke in a no-nonsense tone, one hand on her shoulder, until she sat up on her knees. Louisa couldn’t see her face, but she watched as the doctor spoke to her tenderly. ‘Mrs Fowler, I’m going to give you some more morphia. Would you like it?’
‘Is that a good idea, doctor?’ The words were out before Louisa could stop them; she had been about to extract a confession, she was sure of it. Did the doctor realise? Was there a reason he wanted to keep Ella quiet?
The doctor gave Louisa a cold glance and bent over his patient.
Like a child accepting a sweet in return for stopping tears, Ella mouthed a silent ‘yes’, her face streaked, her mouth parted. She lay down on her bed, mute and pathetic. It moved Louisa more than anything. The doctor administered morphia and soon Ella’s eyes were closed, her breathing heavy. When it was all done, he started to walk out of the room, and indicated to Louisa that she should follow.
‘I’ve arranged for a nurse to come and sit with her,’ he said. ‘She’ll sleep now for some time, I hope.’ He rubbed his eyes and when he opened them again Louisa could see they were spent of all light. ‘The truth is, I think her husband is about to die and she hasn’t the strength to cope with the news yet.’
‘I see,’ said Louisa, not knowing what the correct response to this should be. Sorry as she was for Ella and Joseph, she was more concerned for Guy. ‘And my husband, DS Sullivan? How is he?’
The doctor gave a thin smile. ‘He’s fine. There are no signs of concussion. You can go and see him, take him to breakfast. I expect you’ll both need your strength. I need to get back to Mr Fowler.’
With that, they both parted, leaving only the young cabin boy standing at the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
24 May 1935
Old Bailey, Court Number One
The newspapers made quick work of reporting on the previous day’s cross-examinations and, over fried eggs and bacon at the café down the road from the Old Bailey, Guy had heard the chatter of the men and women around him as they took on their own roles of judge and jury on what was being called ‘the ship murder trial’. It was, without question, the sensation of the day, and although part of him could not help but feel some professional pride at his involvement, he also felt a dread, the knowledge that his part in it would be analysed by the world as closely as they picked apart Ella’s outfits that she wore in court. This could be the case that saw his career sink or swim. The irony in that gave him no pleasure. In the courtroom, he could do no more than watch and hope for the best.
‘The court calls Dr William O’Donnell for the defence,’ said Tom Mitford.
Guy realised that Nancy was in the court, tucked away in a far corner in the back row of lawyers. Strictly speaking, only those with professional connections to counsel or the case should sit there, but it was well known that in certain trials, family members would be granted special favours. She looked as if she would break into song from pride at watching her brother.
A man in his late fifties, slim and with only the merest flecks of silver in his hair, took the stand. He looked like a ship’s doctor in a romantic film, thought Guy. Handsome enough to distract a young honeymooning bride from any physical discomfort.
Dr O’Donnell confirmed that he had received a telephone call from the Fowlers’ cabin at about quar
ter to one in the morning and it had taken him fifteen minutes or so to get there.
‘Could you tell the court what you saw?’
The doctor touched his silk tie before speaking. ‘Mr Fowler was on the armchair but in a loose position, his legs stretched out before him. A blanket had been spread over him. He was wearing his evening trousers and shirt but no tie, waistcoat or jacket. There was a bloodstained towel wrapped around his head, and his head was covered with blood, which was clotted and clinging to his hair, so that I could not make any proper examination immediately.’
‘What condition was Mrs Fowler in?’
‘She was excited and seemed to be intoxicated.’
Guy heard a giggle from the public gallery, but a sharp glance upwards from Mr Justice Hogan silenced it.
‘Did you speak to her?’ Tom asked his questions as he looked down at his papers. Nervousness?
‘Yes, I asked her what had happened, and she said, “Look at him: look at the blood. Somebody has killed him.”’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I thought it was a case that required immediate attention. I telephoned through for a nurse and two of the crew to come as quickly as possible with a stretcher.’
‘Did Mrs Fowler discuss anything that had happened that evening before you arrived?’
‘Yes, she said she and Mr Fowler had had dinner and made a plan for their visit to Rome when the ship next docked. She said that Mr Fowler was happy about it. She drew my attention to the fact that he had given her a passage in a book to read about suicide.’
‘Did she say how she came to find Mr Fowler?’
‘Yes. She told me she had gone to bed after returning from supper alone, as Mr Fowler had stayed at the bar for a further drink. She said she had been aroused by a cry or a noise, I am not sure which, and that she ran into the drawing room, found Mr Fowler lying back in his chair, and on the carpet by him a pool of blood and his artificial teeth.’
Tom was pulled up short by his statement. The artificial teeth detail. Guy had forgotten that would be coming up. Even he could guess what would fuel tomorrow’s headlines now.
‘Please tell the court what happened next.’
‘Using a stretcher, Mr Fowler was transported to the sick bay, which contains a basic operating theatre. It was a longer journey than anyone would have liked for a man in his condition, but there was no other way around it. He was unconscious, but we ensured he was still breathing. It was necessary to shave Mr Fowler’s head to find out the extent of the damage, and we saw three distinct, separate wounds on the back of the head. I knew then that this would be a matter for a criminal investigation.’
‘Did you telephone the police?’
‘No, there was no official police presence on the ship. I telephoned the captain, Captain Schmitt, who I believe immediately made his way to the Fowlers’ cabin.’
‘Had you met Mrs Fowler before this evening?’
‘Yes, she had taken several trips on the Princess Alice and I had given her morphia relief in the past. She suffered chronically from chest trouble.’
‘Had you seen any sign that she might be a drug addict?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Were you concerned that the morphia she received from you was excessive in its amount?’
The doctor’s head jerked up at this question. ‘Absolutely not. I measured and monitored the doses carefully.’
Tom took a slip of paper that had been passed up to him from the front – a note from senior counsel. He read it and continued his questioning. Nancy was still watching him as adoringly as a mother watching her child in a nativity play.
‘I want to ask you if you know anything about her and her previous life. Did you hear at any time that Mr Fowler had threatened suicide?’
‘Yes, he had told it to me once, and Mrs Fowler had also told me of his remarks.’
‘Speaking generally, how would you describe her temperament?’
‘Uneasy and very excitable. Occasionally, I was witness to her drinking too much. She had also confessed to me that Jim Evans was her lover.’
‘Did you not report this to the captain?’
‘It was a confidential conversation – I could not.’
There was a whisper of a reaction to this, but Tom moved swiftly on.
‘Did she take you into her confidence further with regards to Jim Evans? And could you tell us when such conversations took place?’
‘Yes, she spoke to me only the day before the attack. She told me that she believed Evans must be taking drugs and that he had tried to procure more drugs when the ship was docked at Livorno. I saw Evans because Mrs Fowler asked me to see him to find out what drugs he was taking.’
‘Did you ask him?’
‘Yes. I was concerned as a fellow employee of the ship, and as a doctor. I saw him the next day—’
‘To clarify, the day of the attack?’
‘Yes. I asked him if he was taking drugs and he said, “Yes, cocaine.” I asked him where he got it and he told me he found some cocaine at home and it gave him pleasant sensations and so he carried on.’
‘Did you warn him?’
‘Yes, and I offered him help if he wished to give it up.’
Mr Justice Hogan leaned forward then. ‘Did he accept your offer?’
‘No, my lord.’ The doctor’s hands moved to his tie once more, but he gave it only the merest of adjustments.
‘How many times did you see Mrs Fowler over the course of her trips on the Princess Alice?’ Tom had resumed his questioning.
‘I would say almost daily for each trip she was on. I believe she was on the ship six times in three years. Possibly more.’
‘And you have said that you have never treated her for drug-taking?’
‘I have said so and I say it again now.’
‘Was she an extraordinarily excitable woman?’
‘At times.’ There was no emotional expression in the doctor’s face. Guy supposed they saw and heard all there was to life in their surgeries, as his colleagues did in the police cells.
‘I am not suggesting by these questions that in a state of excitement she did what she is accused of, but I want to know what sort of atmosphere there was between the married couple. To what did you put down these sudden fits of excitement?’
‘Sometimes too much alcohol; other times, if there was any upset or if she was cross.’
‘Nearly all temperament?’
‘No, illness. The condition I attended her for was one of pulmonary tuberculosis.’
The judge interrupted again. ‘Being a person suffering from tuberculosis, did you recommend any alcohol?’
‘No.’
Mr Justice Hogan allowed a note of impatience. ‘Did you advise her about alcohol?’
‘Yes. My advice was to lead a quiet life and practically give it up.’
After a polite pause, Tom took up the cross-examination again. ‘Did you believe Evans when he said he had been taking cocaine?’
‘I suppose I did. He told me he had tried to get some when he had last been home and had failed.’
‘Did he tell you where the money came from?’
‘No, and I did not ask him.’
To this final answer, Tom turned to the judge. ‘No further questions, my lord.’
He sat down and Guy wondered if he was the only one to notice a bead of sweat trickle down Tom’s cheek before it was quickly mopped away by a starched handkerchief.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As she was not too far away, Louisa quickly went first to Lady Redesdale’s suite, but she was thankfully still in a deep sleep. It was only half-past seven and Louisa thought it would be safe not to return until nine o’clock; Unity and Diana would be certain to remain in their rooms for even longer. Reassured, Louisa went to find Guy, but by the time she reached the sick bay he was already standing outside the door, his shoes and jacket back on.
‘I was hoping you’d come and find me,’ he said. ‘I coul
dn’t lie there any longer but wasn’t certain what to do next.’
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Louisa, tender towards her husband. She reached up behind his head. ‘Oh, that is a lump. You poor thing.’
Guy felt it himself and grimaced. ‘Yes, it’s a little sore.’ He bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Tell me, did you manage to do those things?’
‘Yes, there’s a bit to report. I know the doctor said to get breakfast, but I don’t think there’s time…’
With both of them in need of fresh air, they walked outside onto the deck, where the warmth of the sun and the salty breeze revived them.
Leaning on the railings, Louisa told Guy about the mallet and gave him the key to the drinks cabinet, as well as Ella’s apparent confession.
‘And there was blood on the mallet?’
Louisa confirmed there was.
‘Then there’s a strong chance that Mrs Fowler is telling the truth in her confession,’ said Guy. ‘Is someone standing guard at her room?’
‘Yes, I sent the maid, Blythe, to get rest, and the doctor said he was arranging a nurse to sit with her. But he gave Mrs Fowler another dose of morphia, so she won’t be going anywhere for a while.’ Louisa felt very thirsty, her mouth was dry. ‘Why is she also talking about someone else having done it, though? The “sir” she mentioned, I mean.’
‘Blythe told me that too,’ said Guy. ‘Do you know who that could be?’
‘Sir Clive,’ Louisa recalled, quickly. ‘She said Ella was saying his name, though no more than that. He’s the man to whom Joseph owed money, remember…’
‘I’ll need to talk to him,’ said Guy. ‘Anything else?’
Louisa revealed Mr Logan’s admission that whoever had been hiding in the tool room – and pushed the shelves onto Guy – was still loose on the ship.
‘Does he have any idea who it was?’ asked Guy.
‘He mentioned that everything has to get signed in and out, and few members of the crew even know of the existence of the room. The mallet surely came from there. I think it was Jim.’
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