‘You’re right,’ said Guy. ‘There’s motive and he’s crew. If he didn’t have authorised access to the tool room, he could have known about it.’
There was the distinct feeling of movement around them. A few of the guests would be getting up now and both Louisa and Guy knew that gossip about the night before would soon be whispered over tea and toast, from table to table, cabin to cabin, deck to deck.
‘If there’s no one in that cell, then Logan won’t still be in the office next door,’ said Guy, thinking out loud. ‘We’ll have to ask the captain where he is. But we need to see the logbook for the tool room as soon as we can.’
‘But whoever attacked Mr Fowler won’t have signed the mallet out, will he?’ said Louisa.
‘No, but they may not have taken it from the tool room themselves. Or they may have taken it for a perfectly legitimate reason, only for it to be fatally used later.’
Something about the way Guy was taking charge was attractive. Louisa had almost forgotten how much she liked watching him at work.
‘You look tired, my love. Why don’t you go to our cabin for a bit, then we can meet again later?’
‘I couldn’t feel less tired,’ said Louisa. It was true. Her blood seemed to be pumping through her veins at twice the normal rate; she felt light-headed.
‘I’m going to go and see the captain and track down that register. If Jim’s name is on there, I’ll bring him in for questioning.’
‘You’d better ask the captain for a room to conduct interviews.’
‘Yes, you’re right, good thinking,’ said Guy. He put a hand affectionately on her shoulder. It felt strong and warm. ‘Now, please. Go and change. You’ve got work to do, too.’
‘How will I find you? I’ll see to Lady Redesdale and the others, then I’m sure to get some free time.’
‘I’ll leave a message for you at the purser’s office.’
Brisk, full of purpose, Guy left Louisa and she made her way to her cabin. Once there, she had a wash, changed her dress and brushed her hair. She knew that Guy meant for her to have a catnap, but she didn’t want one, and she knew the danger of it turning into deep sleep if her body realised how tired it was. She was itching to get a response from Iain, but that would be at least a few hours more. It was time to return to her post as Lady Redesdale’s lady’s maid. Nor could she forget her commission: she still needed to read the letter that Diana had picked up from Livorno, if it was the follow-up that Sir Oswald had promised.
When Louisa arrived, a maid had already brought up Lady Redesdale’s breakfast and she was sitting up in bed looking refreshed. Sun flooded the cabin, with not a single cloud in the azure sky to blot the view.
‘Ah, Louisa, you’re here.’
‘M’lady.’
‘I feel much better now. Could you knock on Miss Unity’s door and tell her to come through?’
‘Yes. Before I do, I wonder – did you hear what happened last night?’
Lady Redesdale turned to Louisa, trying and failing to cover up an aghast expression on her face. Louisa instinctively knew this was not because of any horror over the events of cabin B-17 but because she had initiated a conversation. And if a maid, even a lady’s maid, had initiated a conversation, it was almost certainly one that Lady Redesdale didn’t wish to have.
‘Oh dear. My daughters,’ she said with a sigh, spreading butter generously onto a piece of broken-off toast. ‘What have they done now?’
‘It’s not Miss Unity,’ Louisa said, banishing the image of Unity on the stairs. That would have to be dealt with separately. ‘And Mrs Guinness has only a minor part in it. No, it’s to do with Mrs Fowler and her husband. I thought you should know as it’s likely the entire ship will be talking about it by the time you get outside.’
Briefly, without going into any upsetting details, Louisa explained to Lady Redesdale what had happened. Then she had to tell her that she was involved.
‘What on earth are you talking about, Louisa?’
‘My husband is here, m’lady…’ She trailed off.
Lady Redesdale’s silent response told Louisa all she needed to know of what her employer thought about that.
‘As Mr Fowler is British and we are out at sea, the crime falls under the jurisdiction of the British police. Which means he has taken charge of the investigation.’
‘That is most tiresome. But why should you be caught up in it?’
Louisa looked at her blankly before she realised it was a serious question. ‘I’m his wife.’
Lady Redesdale put down her knife with a slight clatter on the plate. ‘A wife has no need to interfere in her husband’s affairs. I should say it’s far better if she stays well away from them. I may say that the position works equally well in reverse. I have never asked for Lord Redesdale’s involvement in my own business.’
That certainly was true.
‘Lady Redesdale, I shall still honour my duties to you, Miss Unity and Mrs Guinness. Any assistance that I offer to DS Sullivan’ – no harm in reinforcing his rank, thought Louisa – ‘will not interfere with that.’
‘Hmm, well. It’s not as if we’re completely helpless, and it must be distressing for Mrs Fowler.’ Lady Redesdale ate the last of her toast and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. ‘If you could take the tray away, Louisa, I’ll get up. My migraine has gone, thank goodness. I’ll wear the light blue skirt and jacket today, with the cream silk shirt.’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ said Louisa, calculating that she could be away from the room within the hour and would make brisk work of it with the other two.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When Louisa went through to Unity’s room, she was taken aback to see her up and dressed, sitting by the window and looking out at the vast body of water that lay around the Princess Alice. If one was lying on a raft looking for land, the situation would feel quite hopeless.
Unity leaped up when Louisa entered. ‘There you are. I’ve been simply longing to get out of here. Is Lady Redesdale up?’
‘Yes, her migraine is gone.’
At this news, Unity’s face fell. ‘Damnation. Sorry. I meant … I was hoping to go and find Herr Wolfgang, you see. I thought he might ask me for a stroll on the deck.’
Louisa decided not to respond to this but set about tidying some of Unity’s things in the cabin.
‘Would you ask Lady Redesdale if you and I could walk on the deck? Then we might bump into him.’ Unity had not put any cosmetics on her face and she looked fresh and young.
Louisa thought of the tall, blond man in his SS uniform and something of the image made her inwardly shudder.
‘Miss Unity, as you know, that’s not my—’
‘Oh, hang your duties, Louisa. I don’t see why my parents shouldn’t approve of the match. He’s an aristocrat, an Olympic sailor. He’s even in the army, a special division, and he’s told me that his father is frightfully pally with Hitler. Herr Hitler! I do long to meet him. Tell me what is wrong with any of that.’
Louisa decided there was no longer any point in playing the part of the acquiescent maid. ‘He’s not an Englishman, that’s what’s wrong. You know how Lord Redesdale feels about foreigners.’
‘Well, he’s a stupid old human. The war was forever ago. Everyone’s forgotten about it. I don’t see why he can’t.’
To this Louisa merely raised an eyebrow as she folded a cardigan and put it in a drawer. Unity slumped in her chair and started kicking at the table leg mindlessly.
‘You haven’t asked about what happened last night,’ said Louisa, changing the subject to one she wanted to discuss.
Unity perked up at this. ‘I can’t believe I quite forgot. How is Mr Fowler?’
‘It’s not good. He’s unconscious and not expected to recover.’
‘Poor man. Who did it to him? Diana had the most ghastly shock with that scene last night. She said she would telephone me when she woke up. Has Mr Sullivan spoken to her yet?’
‘That’s a lot of questions,
’ said Louisa. ‘Mr Sullivan is working on the case now. I’d like to try to find him soon. I’ve been assisting him a little. Would you come with me?’ This wasn’t Louisa’s first choice, to take Unity with her, but after what she had seen on the stairs, she was taking no chances in leaving her alone.
Unity widened her eyes. ‘That is unorthodox. What would Lady Redesdale say?’ Then she broke into a wide smile. ‘Absolutely I’ll come with you. Can we go this minute?’
* * *
At the purser’s office, Louisa found a message from Guy telling her that he would be in D-326, and she could go and find him there. Unity stayed close to Louisa’s side, unable to resist looking out for Wolfgang, pointing out various places where he might be – the dining room, the smoking room, the deck – until at last Louisa stopped stock-still on the stairs.
‘Miss Unity, you are going to have to stop trying to make arrangements with Herr von Bohlen. Lady Redesdale is never going to agree to it.’
‘Are you going to tell her what you saw last night? Or what you thought you saw. It was perfectly innocent.’ Unity’s shoulders were braced.
‘I shan’t, but I’m not entirely sure that I’m doing you a favour.’ Louisa turned her back and carried on up the stairs. This time Unity followed quietly.
When they reached D-326, the door was ajar. Louisa knocked and heard Guy’s voice tell her to come in. Before she could stop her, Unity had followed Louisa in. This was a cabin that belonged to someone, with a half-drunk bottle of whisky on the side and books on a low table by a winged armchair. It was not a generously sized cabin, but it had a lived-in, homely feel. By the window was a table that had been cleared of everything but an ashtray, with two chairs on either side of it. Guy and Logan were standing by the chairs.
‘Miss Mitford,’ said Guy, in acknowledgement.
‘Hello, Mr Sullivan. What’s going on in here?’
‘This is First Officer Logan and he has kindly lent me his cabin to pursue inquiries.’ Guy answered patiently, but the pressure was building. Louisa knew he needed to prove to himself and his superiors at home that he could handle this investigation.
‘Miss Mitford understands the need for discretion,’ said Louisa, resisting the urge to cross her fingers as she said this. ‘Has anything changed since I saw you?’
Guy looked at Logan, who took up the cue. ‘We’ve decided to ask each head of department to call a meeting. Cabin stewards and maids will be asked to report on the guests in their rooms. We need a head count of everyone on the ship.’
‘And then you can tell who is missing,’ said Louisa.
‘Why? Who is missing?’ Unity stepped closer to Guy. He looked to Louisa, who indicated that he could tell Unity the truth.
‘That’s it: we don’t know for absolute certain. But someone is hiding on this ship.’
‘A stowaway?’
‘That is a possibility,’ said Logan. ‘Please do not be concerned. We’re absolutely certain that there’s no danger to anyone.’ He didn’t look as certain as he sounded.
Unity regarded them all for several seconds. ‘I don’t see how you can be so sure. It’s obvious that whoever you believe to be running around loose on this ship, hiding and goodness knows what else, is the man who attacked Mr Fowler. How are you to know he won’t attack someone else?’
Guy looked pained at this, but Unity was still rattling on.
‘I have the perfect answer. You should tell Herr von Bohlen about this.’
‘Who is Herr von Bohlen?’ asked Guy, curiosity getting the better of him.
‘He’s in the Schutzstaffel, the Nazi police force. Not just anyone can get in, which means he’s frightfully clever, too. I’m sure he could catch your man in the blink of an eye. Rough him up too, if you liked.’
‘Miss Mitford, I do think…’ But Louisa couldn’t finish the sentence. She was too appalled to be able to spell out exactly what she thought. Did Unity not understand the depravity of what she had just said? She faced her husband. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Yes,’ said Guy. ‘I need to talk to Sir Clive Montague, but it would be better if you could bring him here, rather than me. It would be more discreet, if you understand my meaning.’
Louisa was about to reply in the affirmative when Unity turned to her.
‘Do you imagine Lady Redesdale would be more pleased with this idea than my taking a stroll on the deck with Herr Wolfgang?’
There was no answer to this. Instead, Louisa said goodbye and left the cabin, with Unity close behind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
‘Shall we go and find Herr von Bohlen?’
Louisa and Unity were walking away from Guy’s newly appointed interview room, making their way up the central staircase to deck B. Louisa’s life as a servant had always involved frequent trips up and down stairs, but never quite like this. Unity was dressed in a belted white linen dress with a sky-blue cardigan – she looked as pretty as she ever might, but there was no softness or charm to her demeanour. She was blunt and heavy, the caveman’s club to Diana’s samurai sword. The one thing that could be said for her was that you weren’t left guessing at Unity’s meaning when she talked. Whether it was naivety, ignorance or impatience on her part, she was never coy. Louisa knew if she asked the question, Unity would answer. If she didn’t want to say anything, she would be silent. Either she talked and told you, or she said nothing: there was no nuance in between.
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to see him and because he can help track down whoever did it,’ Unity said, slightly breathlessly.
‘I’m not going to cut across DS Sullivan’s orders,’ said Louisa, ‘and he’s asked us to find Sir Clive Montague.’
‘Fine.’ This was followed by a familiar look: Unity sulking.
Louisa was aware of a change in the atmosphere of the ship. Voices were hushed yet there was no silence. Everywhere she looked, she saw people whispering to each other with urgent rhythms, scandalised looks on their faces. Rumours would be spreading fast about who had done what to whom, and there were most likely about ten different versions of the story circulating around the passengers and crew already. Hysteria would build; they needed to find Jim. He couldn’t have gone far – unless he had gone overboard. Louisa’s heart pounded at that thought.
Logan had given Louisa the number for Sir Clive’s cabin, B-38, portside, the other side to the Fowlers and Mitfords. There was a palpable sense of a clock ticking down, as if it were embedded in her chest, her heart thudding with the second hand. The ship was due to dock at Rome the very next morning, less than twenty-four hours away. If Jim was still missing then, he would have a good chance of escape. She realised, too, that as well as the whispers, there were more crew visible than usual, standing by exits to the decks or at the stairwells. Each one on heightened alert, checking their watches too frequently, their eyes darting from left to right. It was enough to make anyone feel paranoid.
Unity tugged at Louisa and whispered into her ear, ‘Do you think the killer is walking around the ship, weapon in hand, ready to strike again?’
Louisa hoped no flicker of fear showed in her own face. ‘Of course not. If he’s got any sense at all, he’ll be hiding somewhere, laying low.’
‘How do you know it’s a man?’
‘I don’t, but it’s more likely, I’d say.’ Not looking where she was going, Louisa bumped into another passenger, a portly man with a red face and even redder hair. ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ she said.
‘You need to be careful, miss,’ he said, excitement flushing his cheeks even more. ‘They’re looking for an armed man, you know. Dangerous type, could be anywhere.’ He waggled his comical eyebrows and sped off.
Louisa thought she heard a chuckle as he departed. She despaired of the human race sometimes.
Two more corners at speed and they arrived at B-38. Louisa knocked on the door.
‘What are you going to say to him?’ Unity mouthed.
‘I’ll think of som
ething,’ Louisa replied, but she wasn’t sure at all.
Nobody came to the door. Louisa knocked again. Unity pressed her ear to the wall but shook her head.
‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘Perhaps he’s gone to breakfast.’ Louisa stood by the door, at a loss as to what to do next, knowing that every second wondering was a second wasted.
They were about to walk away to the dining saloon on deck A, when there was a click at the door. Sir Clive, immaculately dressed as always, opened it.
‘Miss Mitford.’ He looked at Louisa, questioningly. She noticed that he hadn’t put the cufflinks in his shirt yet.
Louisa knew how this worked: she couldn’t talk to Sir Clive because she hadn’t been introduced. Nor would she be, as a lady’s maid. As imperceptibly as possible, she nudged Unity.
‘Sir Clive,’ said Unity. ‘I do apologise for disturbing you.’
‘Not at all. How can I help?’ As he said this, he stepped outside, pulling the door almost to behind him.
Unity looked at Louisa helplessly but pressed on. ‘I expect you’ve heard what happened last night?’
Sir Clive glanced quickly at the empty passage. ‘Yes, I have.’ He seemed to refocus on Unity. ‘Are you … involved in some way? Can you tell me how Mrs Fowler is?’
‘No, I’m not involved. That is, not really. Mrs Fowler is well, I believe.’ Unity was stammering and Louisa thought she had better step in, introduction or no introduction. Nothing was normal this morning.
‘Sir Clive, would you come with us, please? Mrs Fowler is, naturally, disturbed by the events of last night. Her husband is very unwell. There is an investigation underway—’ She froze. From the cabin had come the sound of something – or someone? – falling down. A clatter, followed by a dull thud. Sir Clive did not react.
‘What was that?’ Unity went to look behind Sir Clive, but he held firmly onto the door.
‘Probably some books falling off a shelf,’ he said tersely. ‘Keeps happening, every time the ship rolls. I don’t know why they bother putting books in the cabins at all.’
The Mitford Trial Page 16