The ship hadn’t rolled. They may have been out in the deep seas, but the water was completely calm. Someone was in there.
‘Sir Clive,’ Louisa began again, ‘I can’t really explain now, but please would you come with us? Your help is needed.’
‘I can’t see what I have to do with it.’ He turned to Unity. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I’d like to assist if I could, but I’m afraid the matter has nothing to do with me. Will you send my regards to your sister and mother?’
With that, he opened the door and started to slip in, but Louisa grabbed his arm.
‘Sir Clive, there’s a policeman on the ship and he insists on talking to you. Don’t you think it would be much easier if you could come with us now? There won’t be any gossip if you’re walking with us, but I fear people already recognise my husband.’
That made him stop. ‘Your husband?’
‘Yes, I am here as Lady Redesdale’s maid, but my husband is DS Sullivan of the CID.’ She relaxed her grip on his arm, knowing she had him now. ‘Shall we go?’
Sir Clive knew when he was beaten. He closed the door and together the three of them walked away and down the steps to the interview room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
24 May 1935
Old Bailey, Court Number One
Mr Manners called Sir Clive Montague to the stand. Guy had been tipped off that he would be appearing next and knew it would cause a stir in the public gallery: anyone with a title always did. He couldn’t help feeling that there was a general sense that toffs deserved a hard time in court, even if they weren’t the ones in the dock. As for his own feelings towards Sir Clive, Guy’s were mixed. While he was a gentleman in manners and appearance, there was something about him that was shadowy. Guy had never managed to shake the feeling that he was hiding something, however helpful and charming he had been during the investigation. It was entirely possible that he was hiding something, but that it was nothing to do with the case that Guy had been trying to solve. But perhaps the skill of the barrister’s cross-examination, the formality of the judge in his robes and the presence of ten men and two women jurors would bring Sir Clive’s secret out into the open.
Sir Clive climbed into the witness stand, his large bulk seeming to fill it completely, like a bull in a pen, and yet the care he had taken over his appearance with his carefully combed hair and his immaculately trimmed and polished nails made him almost touchingly vulnerable.
‘For the court, please confirm your name, age and place of residence.’
‘Sir Clive Leinster Montague, fifty-three years, of 42 Cadogan Square, London, and also of Maudlen Park, Derbyshire.’
‘Thank you, Sir Clive. We appreciate your being here and will make it worthy of your time,’ said Mr Manners rather obsequiously, thought Guy. ‘Could you please tell the court something of your professional background?’
‘I trained as a lawyer then went into the City, I’m afraid.’ Guy saw Nancy smile at this. ‘I was lucky and made money before the war. Since then, I’ve invested in property and land.’
‘Have you been a successful man, would you say, Sir Clive?’
‘I’ve been lucky enough to have seen some success, yes.’
‘And yet your fortune is not limitless, is it?’ Mr Manners delivered this with a smirk. But Sir Clive appeared to take no offence. Presumably, they had worked out this line of questioning in advance.
‘As with many other unfortunate people, I lost a great deal of money in the crash of 1929. However, it was not all of my capital, and I have simply had to make more careful investments in the years since.’
‘I see.’ Mr Manners cleared his throat and changed his stance. Guy recognised this now as the barrister’s trick for indicating that a slightly new line of questioning would now be pursued. ‘Could you please tell the court how you came to know Mr and Mrs Fowler.’
Sir Clive briefly faced the jury and gave them a polite nod, as if he had been introduced to them at a cocktail party. ‘We were fellow guests on board the Princess Alice. I believe I first met them at one of the captain’s cocktail parties in 1931, towards the beginning of the year, on a cruise from Southampton to Venice. It is one of my favourite trips and I always get the Orient Express home.’
‘Quite.’ Mr Manners’ response was dry.
Guy, and no doubt the counsel, was conscious of a reaction in the public gallery. Casual journeys from Venice on the Orient Express were not common currency for most – did Sir Clive not know this or was he deliberately painting a picture of a cultured and wealthy man?
‘What was your impression of them?’
‘I liked Mrs Fowler a great deal, immediately. She was attractive and charming, a good conversationalist, a marvellous singer. I found her husband a less socially agreeable character, but it was evident that he had genuine talent as an architect, an area that I naturally find interesting.’
‘Because of the nature of your investments?’
‘Yes.’ Sir Clive glanced briefly in the direction of Ella Fowler in the dock, but quickly refocused on Mr Manners.
‘Eventually, you came to invest a substantial amount of money in an architectural project of Mr Fowler’s. Can you describe how that investment came about?’
‘We had met on the ship several times and I had discussed much of Mr Fowler’s career with him; we shared an alignment when it came to our views on buildings and landscapes, the future of architecture and so on. When he first told me about the invitation by Blenheim Palace for him to compete for a bold new vision for a farm and educational institute, I was intrigued.’
‘Mr Fowler did not, then, ask you for money straightaway?’
‘Not at first, no. He was more cunning than that, flattering my ego, hoping that I might be more susceptible to his proposals later. I am embarrassed that I fell for it.’ Sir Clive gave a coy smile in the judge’s direction, who ignored it.
‘What was your investment for, exactly?’
‘It was for the initial pitch. To win such a commission means not only that a project is financed, it means acclaim and a strengthening of a reputation, which should lead to further work. We envisaged becoming a partnership thereafter. My money was for the costs of the surveys, the drawings, the wining and dining of councillors who would need to approve the project, et cetera. It’s fairly standard stuff but expensive. Few architects, certainly those without a firm of their own, can afford to do it without an investor.’
‘Was Mrs Fowler aware of your financial agreement?’
‘I believe so, though it was never a topic of conversation between us. I must say that I would find it hard to credit her husband with the habit of involving her in his work affairs. Once or twice he mentioned that it was best for her not to know how much money he was bringing in as, he said, “she would only start asking for more”.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Mr Manners, with an eyebrow half-raised. ‘Some of us know the feeling.’
There was a titter from the gallery and the judge looked up from his notes.
‘Keep to the point, Mr Manners.’
‘Yes, my lord. Sir Clive, we know that Mr Fowler did win the commission for Blenheim Palace, but that the project collapsed a few months in. You therefore lost a great deal of money—’
‘A great deal.’
‘But you understood that this was simply the way of business?’
‘I am a man of experience.’ Sir Clive seemed to stifle a cough, then saw a carafe of water and a glass before him. He poured himself a glass, and it seemed to Guy as if the whole court stopped to watch Sir Clive slowly pour the water, then take a few sips, as if it were a deliberate part of the proceedings.
‘Relations between yourself and Mr and Mrs Fowler remained cordial?’
‘Naturally. We continued to see each other as fellow guests on the Princess Alice. As I have said, I enjoyed the company of Mrs Fowler and saw no reason to discontinue.’
‘Sir Clive, when did you become aware that Mrs Fowler was conducting a love affai
r with a member of the crew on board the Princess Alice?’ Mr Manners asked this as dispassionately as he might have asked Sir Clive to confirm the date and whereabouts of his place of birth.
Sir Clive, however, was less comfortable. The cough threatened to stick in his throat once more. Again, he took sips of water. ‘I think towards the end of 1932, around October, on a cruise between Cannes and Barcelona. Mrs Fowler told me directly of the affair and the unhappiness it was causing her.’
‘Were you shocked?’
‘A little. But I am a man who has lived a number of years and travelled widely. I’d be a fool to think such things do not occur. Mostly, I was sad for my friend.’
‘How so?’
This was the juice in the orange, thought Guy. The entire court was utterly still.
‘The signs had been there that her marriage was not a happy one. I believed her to be a woman of great character, certainly deserving of a good life. But I could see she had sought refuge in the wrong places, and this was not being borne out by her lover’s apparent ill treatment of her.’
‘Of what did she complain?’
‘She told me that Jim Evans, her lover, was leaning on her heavily to give him money to buy cocaine.’
Guy could have tapped a cue for the ripple of low voices that this statement started.
‘What was your suggestion to Mrs Fowler?’
‘I told her that she should report Jim Evans to the captain and ensure his dismissal from the ship.’
‘Did she follow your advice?’
‘She said that she would but, much to my great sadness and regret, she did not.’
‘Thank you, Sir Clive. No further questions, my lord.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
For the long walk from deck B to deck D, neither Sir Clive nor Louisa said a word. Unity, however, kept up a constant stream of chatter, which was most unlike her. Fortunately, she didn’t talk about the attack but instead reiterated a long list of reasons why she found Herr Wolfgang and his homeland so fascinating, so courageous and extraordinary. Quite apart from her infatuation with Wolfgang, Unity must have been nervous, and Louisa felt guilty that she had brought her charge into the middle of a rather unpleasant situation. On the other hand, she didn’t see what choice she had. A brutal attack had happened on a ship: it could be said that all of the guests and crew had been unwittingly drawn into it, each one to varying degrees affected by the awfulness of it, unable to escape it because of the harsh reality that they were in the middle of a body of deep water. And that was before anyone realised that the person who had committed the terrible act was loose on the ship.
What Louisa needed to do, urgently, was tell Guy that someone needed to get into Sir Clive’s cabin to find out what was what. She knew the sound she’d heard wasn’t books falling on the floor. The question that kept circling in her mind was: why would he hide someone? And given there was only one person hiding on this ship, and it had to be the person who had attacked Joseph, why would Sir Clive hide them? Someone who had attacked a man he, Sir Clive, had done a business deal with? One he had lost money with, in fact.
Ah.
Could Sir Clive be protecting the attacker because he had set it up, to avenge himself for the debt?
Louisa wanted to turn around and run back to Sir Clive’s cabin, but she had to keep on walking as if nothing had changed and she bore no suspicion or knowledge about anything.
The walk started to seem oppressively long and repetitive. The ship felt too warm and the whispers between the guests started to echo so that she could hardly tell what she was hearing and what was reverberating in her own mind. By the time they reached the interview room, Louisa thought she might faint. Without waiting for a reply to her knock, she nearly fell into the cabin and walked fast to Guy. Sir Clive and Unity followed behind, he now looking distinctly uneasy, Unity at last biting her tongue.
Guy started at their entrance, then took one look at his wife and seemed to understand.
‘Sir Clive Montague, I assume? Thank you so much for coming here. I won’t keep you long. Please, take a chair. I’ll be with you in just a moment.’
Sir Clive, looking as if he had seen the ghost of his Christmas past, sat down as Guy hustled Louisa and Unity back out of the cabin. He closed the door behind them.
Louisa spoke in a rush. ‘I think Sir Clive is hiding someone in his cabin. You need someone to go down there quickly. It may already be too late.’
‘There’s no one to send. Logan called the other officers to do a head count of crew and guests, to establish who is missing. I’m on my own here.’
‘Then you will have to go. It will take too long to find someone else.’ Unity said this, and Guy and Louisa stared at her as if they’d forgotten she was there.
‘You’re right,’ said Guy. ‘It has to be me. If it’s the man who attacked Joseph Fowler, he could be dangerous. You’ll have to stay here and watch Sir Clive. I doubt he’ll go anywhere.’
‘No, but what if he suspects that you’ve gone to his cabin? He’s a big man. I doubt either of us could hold him back.’
‘I keep trying to tell you, we need Herr Wolfgang,’ said Unity.
‘No,’ said Guy and Louisa in unison.
‘I’ll have to lock him in,’ Guy decided. ‘We’ll go back there together. Miss Unity, please could you go to the captain’s office and try to find someone who can come and stand guard here. I’ll take the chance he won’t batter the door down. They’re heavy beasts even if he tried.’
‘I’m not supposed to go anywhere alone…’ Unity started, then stopped. ‘Oh, hang it. Yes, I’ll do it. Where shall I meet you?’
‘Come back here. Either way, I hope we won’t be long,’ said Guy grimly.
Louisa knew she was deserting her Mitford post, but only because her husband needed her more. Him and Iain. She needed to know as much as she possibly could about what was going on and hoped she’d hear from Iain soon.
Guy took a key out of his pocket and locked the door. He did it as quietly as possible, but there was no mistaking the distinctive clunk as the bolt slid in. None of them waited to hear if Sir Clive had noticed.
This time, there was no careful trot through the ship. Louisa led Guy to the back stairs, free from the sight of guests who might otherwise be alarmed, where they ran as fast as they could up to deck B and along the passages to Sir Clive’s cabin. The door was closed.
‘Is it locked?’ whispered Guy.
‘I didn’t see him lock it,’ Louisa replied. ‘Perhaps he needed to make sure that whoever was in there could get out.’
Guy nodded. Louisa kept her eyes fixed on him.
‘I’m going to go in first,’ said Guy. ‘You stay at the door.’
He pushed it open and stepped in. Louisa followed but did as instructed and stayed just inside the doorway, having shut it quietly behind her.
She could see at once that it was one of the smarter cabins, more like Diana’s than Unity’s. Sunlight flooded through the large windows and the walls were covered in an embossed blue paper, a match for the Mediterranean skies beyond.
Guy moved noiselessly on the thick carpet, while Louisa looked down the narrow hall that must have led to the bedroom and bathroom, possibly a dressing room, too, but nothing unusual revealed itself. For the longest minute she could not hear nor see anything of Guy, but felt only her blood pumping around her ears, like waves crashing on a stony beach. And then she heard the raised voices of two men, shouting – but in confusion, not anger. Daring herself, she moved towards the drawing room door and looked through.
Guy put his hand out to stop her, but he didn’t look afraid.
She leaned further forward and looked around the corner. Crouched behind the sofa, with his back to the wall, was Jim Evans. He had dark sweat patches under his arms, his face was grey, his eyes wide with fear.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said, over and over to them. ‘I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know where to go.’
Louisa walked further into the room. There was nothing to be afraid of, but there was everything to ask.
CHAPTER FORTY
‘Get up.’
Jim, trembling, slowly started to rise but remained behind the sofa, pressed as close to the wall as he could be. Louisa remained at the doorway, while Guy stood, his tall frame broader and stronger than she’d ever seen, deliberately imposing his strength upon the wilting hideaway.
‘I’m going to need you to come with me, answer some questions,’ said Guy.
‘I don’t know anything, I promise I don’t. I…’ He ran out of the little courage he’d managed to muster. His head bowed down, he leaned back, almost unable to support himself on his feet.
Louisa took a step forward. ‘Jim.’
At the sound of his name, he looked at her, like a willing dog.
‘Why are you in here?’ Louisa kept her voice soft.
Guy gave her a glance, but she refused to meet his eyes. She knew it wasn’t her place to interrupt – he was the policeman. But instinct told her that Jim was terrified and might respond better to a gentle enquiry.
‘I didn’t know where else to go. When I saw what had happened, I knew they’d look for me, and I was right, wasn’t I? He’s right here.’ Jim pointed to Guy. ‘He saw me earlier, saw the fight with Mr Fowler. I’m the accused, aren’t I? And now I’ve gone and hid, and you’ll never believe me now. And, oh God. I knew it would come to this and I told her to stop, I told her…’ He ran out of air, wiping his face with the crook of his arm.
This time, Guy signalled to Louisa to carry on. She stepped further forward, almost at the sofa now, Jim still behind it, still pressing back as if he hoped he could disappear into the wall.
‘Who did you tell to stop, Jim?’
‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled, head back down again.
‘Mr Fowler has lost consciousness. The doctor thinks he has hours left to live.’
‘Christ, man. I knew he was in a bad way, I saw the blood. That’s why I had to get out of there.’
The Mitford Trial Page 17