The Mitford Trial

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘When did you see him?’ Guy had spoken.

  ‘I heard the row, but I didn’t know what had happened, I didn’t know it was that. And then I went in and I saw him…’ Jim looked at them both now, pleading. ‘I had to get out or everyone’d think the wrong thing. I bet you’re thinking it now. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Who was Mr Fowler having a row with?’ asked Guy, dipping his head, trying not to lose eye contact with Jim.

  But he clammed up at this question. Shook his head. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. I couldn’t, no.’

  ‘You need to come with me now,’ said Guy.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me?’

  Guy didn’t answer that. Instead, he walked around and took Jim’s arm – there was no resistance – and the three of them left the cabin and returned to the interview room on deck D.

  The return journey felt long. Not only because of the silence between the three of them but because it was soon apparent that rumours spread faster than they could walk. Guy had beckoned a member of the crew stationed at one of the stairwells and told him to find First Officer Logan and report that he was needed urgently at the interview room but was not to go inside until DS Sullivan had arrived.

  The young worker looked at Jim, in his steward’s uniform, and gestured with his thumb. ‘He the one they’re after, then?’

  Guy refused to answer the question, but the damage was already done. The man ran off and by the time they had gone down two decks, it was clear he’d started the Chinese whispers. Nobody pointed their fingers, but they didn’t need to: looks were accusatory enough.

  When they reached Logan’s cabin, he was standing there, with Unity and Diana.

  Louisa hurried over and pulled the sisters away. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Diana saw me walking by myself after I’d been to see the captain and jumped on me as if I was the fifty-two bus.’

  ‘I could tell she was hiding something,’ said Diana. ‘And you, Louisa. What are you hiding? What’s been going on this morning? Everyone is acting in the most extraordinary manner.’

  ‘Perhaps we had better go back to your rooms,’ said Louisa.

  ‘I don’t want to go there.’ One of Unity’s infamous sulks had arrived in its usual sudden manner. ‘For once, something exciting has happened and you want us to hide away?’

  ‘It’s not exciting,’ said Louisa. ‘A man has been viciously attacked and is almost certain to die. It’s tragic.’

  ‘Keep your wool on, you know what I mean. I don’t see why we should be kept away from it, is all. Besides, Diana was practically at the scene, she might be of use. DS Sullivan needs to talk to her, doesn’t he?’

  Diana bristled. ‘I was not at the scene. I was called afterwards and I left as soon as I could. I know nothing of any of it and only wish this whole ghastly business had never happened. I need to talk to the Leader. In fact, that’s what we’re going to do right now. Come with me, please, the two of you. We’ll go to the telephone office and ask them to send a telegram.’

  Louisa looked behind her, but Guy, Logan and Jim had gone, presumably into the cabin. She would have to find out later whether Jim had said anything further to incriminate himself. It wasn’t clear that he had done it, but it wasn’t exactly indisputable that he hadn’t done it either.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  There was a short queue at the telephone office by the time they got there. Louisa overheard snatches of their telegram requests: ‘Leaving ship at Rome.’ ‘Book three nights in Paris hotel.’ ‘Returning in five days, tell the servants.’ One attack had been enough to spook several of the guests. If they discovered it was a member of the crew who had committed the crime, they might start trying to swim for shore. Eventually, Louisa reached the desk, where she recognised the telephonist from before, a redhead who was most likely a regular reader of Hollywood fanzines with articles on ‘Movie Star Lipstick Tricks’.

  ‘Mrs Sullivan,’ she said warmly, a strong Manchester accent quickly apparent. ‘I’ve got a telegram for you.’

  The sisters did not hide their surprise. ‘Who would send you a telegram?’ asked Unity.

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ lied Louisa. ‘I do hope it’s not my ma.’ She took the envelope from the redhead, thanking her. ‘Would you mind if I read this privately? If it’s bad news…’

  ‘Of course,’ said Diana. ‘No need to explain.’

  Louisa moved off and stood by a window. The blue sea and sky still stretched out around the ship, empty and clear, meeting at the horizon like a neatly stitched waistband. She opened the envelope carefully, prising it with her fingernail, wanting to avoid any tears. The message inside had been written quickly in pencil on the ship’s own telegram card, taken down from the tapped-out Morse code. Not that the language into which it had been translated did not also need to be decoded.

  AUTHORITY GIVEN • THIRD OFFICER

  W WELLESLEY • IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED •

  There was no sender name, only the address in Dolphin Square, enough to make it clear to Louisa who had sent it. Who was Wellesley? What had been authorised? She turned the card over, seeking further clues, but it was completely blank. Louisa put the card back in the envelope and folded it in half so it would fit in her skirt pocket. Just in time – Diana and Unity were heading towards her.

  ‘Was it your mother?’ Unity did not look concerned, merely curious.

  Louisa was caught off guard. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Then who was it from?’

  Louisa was saved by Diana. ‘It’s not actually any of your business, Unity. We’ll go to the upper deck now. I need the air. It feels terribly stuffy in here.’

  Diana marched ahead with great long strides towards the central staircase, Unity and Louisa keeping up behind. Diana’s natural elegance, shown off to perfection by her couture wardrobe, reduced all other beings around her to goblin-like figures. At least, that was how it felt. All three were stopped when a middle-aged woman in a cheap-looking violet dress interrupted Diana on the stairs.

  ‘Mrs Guinness?’

  ‘Yes?’ Diana smiled at her, friendly but guarded. She did not, as a general rule, talk to strangers without an introduction.

  ‘I know about you and Sir Oswald Mosley,’ the woman began, talking in a voice that was just loud enough for a few other passengers to turn their heads.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t—’

  But Diana got no further. The woman drew herself back, then jutted forward and spat into Diana’s face.

  ‘You’re both disgusting,’ she said, each word a poisoned dart, before turning away and hurrying down the stairs as fast as her lumpen figure would allow.

  There was a horrified silence for a few seconds as they watched the woman disappear around the corner, and then Diana was gasping like a fish out of water. Unity and Louisa ran to her, shielding her, handing over a handkerchief so she could wipe her face.

  ‘Quickly, Mrs Guinness,’ said Louisa, urging her to move on, away from the scene. Something in the atmosphere of the ship had soured; enough, at any rate, to allow the woman to believe she had the freedom to attack.

  Diana held back until they were out of sight of anyone else, then she burst into tears. ‘Why would that woman do such an awful thing?’

  Unity was patting her sister’s face with a fresh handkerchief.

  Diana pushed Unity’s hands away. She stopped crying almost as soon as she had started and stiffened her back. ‘Because I am married still, that’s why.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I knew something like this had to happen at some point. It’s almost a relief for it to be done. It’s over now. I think I’d like to lie down for a while, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll walk you there,’ said Louisa, feeling rather disturbed herself. She also still needed to get into Diana’s room to find the letter. But she was thwarted once more.

  ‘No. I want to be alone.’ Unity started to say something, but Diana put her finger on her lips. ‘Yo
u are to say nothing of this to anyone, especially not to Muv. Do you understand?’

  Unity nodded miserably.

  ‘I will see you at luncheon,’ Diana said firmly and walked away without looking back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  In the so-called interview room were Guy, Sir Clive Montague, Logan and Jim. Guy had noticed Sir Clive and Jim exchange concerned looks, but neither of them said anything to each other. The cabin was not a generous one; it would be impossible to interview the one without the other hearing every word. Nor could he interview them at the same time. Being on the ship might have broken certain protocol, but he could not risk doing anything that meant evidence presented at a trial would be dismissed.

  ‘Mr Logan, would you please take Sir Clive back to his cabin and stay with him? I’d appreciate it if conversation remained at a minimum.’

  Logan agreed and began to walk towards Sir Clive, but the older man stood, indignant.

  ‘What is going on? I may remind you that you have charged me with nothing, nor will you. I am willing to help you with your inquiries, but I will not be moved around this ship like a guilty prisoner.’

  ‘Sir Clive,’ said Guy, as calmly as he could. ‘I’m sure a gentleman like you understands that we are at the beginning of what is almost certainly about to become a murder inquiry. I am the sole policeman on this ship and must proceed with every caution. I would appreciate your co-operation.’

  There was some muttering to this, but Sir Clive did not object any further and shortly left the cabin with Logan.

  Guy turned to Jim, who was shaking, the colour drained from his face. There was a sour smell of sweat coming from him and his blond hair looked dirty, falling lankly on his forehead. Most of all, he looked very young and afraid, a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.

  ‘Sit down, please,’ said Guy, gesturing to one of the chairs by the table.

  Jim did so, hands on his lap, trembling.

  ‘I’m going to ask you some questions now about your movements last night.’

  Jim made no response to this, but his eyes flicked from the door to the tabletop. Now and then a noise would come from the hall, a bump or loud voice, and Jim would flinch.

  ‘Before we go any further, my name is DS Sullivan and I’m with the CID branch of London’s Metropolitan Police. I did not come to this ship in any official capacity, but given that the attack happened at sea, I have the jurisdiction to conduct an inquiry. We met, as you will no doubt remember, yesterday evening when I broke up a fight you had with Mr Joseph Fowler in the Blue Bar. How did that begin?’

  Jim looked out of the small window at the sea. ‘I don’t know.’

  Guy put his pencil down. ‘Jim, you can either make this difficult for yourself or easy. I suggest you make it easy and tell me straight what happened, or you’re going to be leaving this ship and walking directly into a prison, which you won’t be leaving for many years, if ever. Tell me what happened, if there were any mitigating circumstances, and you might have a chance of feeling the sun on your face.

  ‘Let’s start again, shall we? How did the fight in the bar begin?’

  Jim looked out of the window again while he spoke. He never managed to meet Guy’s eyes when he was talking.

  ‘He thought he’d seen me say something to Mrs Fowler when we were in the bar. It made him angry. I told him to let go of her arm.’

  ‘Had you said anything to her?’

  There was no verbal response to this, only a small shrug of his shoulders.

  ‘Had you made him angry before?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ He raised his voice a fraction. ‘I don’t care much for him. He doesn’t deserve her. I didn’t care what he said to me, so long as he was leaving her alone.’

  ‘Her? Mrs Fowler, you mean?’

  Jim nodded.

  ‘Were you having an affair with Mrs Fowler?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’

  Jim rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. ‘We did at one time, for a bit. Only on the ship, when she came on it. She was nice to me, she bought me things.’

  ‘Flattered, were you?’ Guy was scoffing.

  ‘Something like that.’ Jim crumpled a little further, his back soft.

  ‘Why didn’t her husband deserve her?’

  ‘He’s a bully. She was frightened of him.’

  ‘Did you see him bully her?’

  ‘Once or twice, but I didn’t need to see it to know it was going on.’

  Guy couldn’t tell if Jim was being simple or obstructive. He needed to push harder. Someone knew what had happened last night, and he was going to make that someone tell him. But he’d have to be stealthy about it.

  ‘After the fight was broken up, what did you do?’

  ‘I was on duty. I went back to work. I had rooms to get ready for the night. I’m the steward for the first-class cabins, the odd numbers between one and twenty, starboard side.’

  ‘I believe the altercation in the bar occurred at around half-past seven,’ said Guy, referring to notes he’d made earlier. ‘You were then seen in cabin B-17, belonging to Mr and Mrs Fowler, at around half-past ten, when Mrs Fowler returned from dinner. Correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Between half-past seven and half-past ten, you were working in the cabins on deck B, were you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened when Mrs Fowler returned to her cabin?’

  Jim’s eyes moved from the door to the window, looking anywhere but at Guy. ‘I don’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Can you remember who she was with?’

  ‘She was with Lady Redesdale’s maid. Louisa. I don’t know why. But she wasn’t there long; Mrs Fowler told her to leave as soon as they’d got in the room.’

  ‘What sort of state was Mrs Fowler in when you saw her then?’

  Jim clasped his hands together, then wiped them on his trousers. ‘Upset, I suppose.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think she’d had an argument with Mr Fowler at dinner.’ He stopped and put his hands on the table, supporting himself as he moved nearer, shifting his chair closer, too. ‘Is she all right? I want to see her.’

  ‘That’s not going to be possible,’ said Guy.

  ‘Whatever she said to you, don’t listen. She didn’t do it.’

  ‘Who did?’ Guy was wary. If this was confession or conspiracy, he couldn’t tell yet.

  Jim shifted again, sat on his hands, looked out of the window.

  ‘Mrs Fowler and I were…’ He stopped, took a breath, then carried on. ‘We had started to, you know … But we heard the door go. She told me to hide on the balcony.’

  Guy was not there to judge, only to gather facts. Even so, the baseness of people perturbed him sometimes.

  ‘They had an argument, a big one. I heard it. He was screaming at her, things he’d said before. That he wanted to die, that she was a…’ There was a hesitation that went on too long for Guy.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A slut. She was screaming back at him; she’d had too much to drink. Nothing new there, either.’

  Guy waited, but Jim didn’t say any more. He prompted: ‘What happened then?’

  Jim shook his head. ‘I can’t say. I need to see her first.’

  ‘As I’ve said, that isn’t possible. You’re both witnesses.’

  ‘Fine.’ Jim looked out of the window again, stared at the blue. Then he turned back to Guy. The trembling had stopped, the colour had returned to his cheeks a little. He seemed calm. ‘I did it. I did him in, with the mallet.’

  ‘Where did you get the mallet from?’

  ‘It was in the cabin. I’d borrowed it, from the tool room, yesterday morning. I didn’t get it for … that. I got it because there was a loose nail in the floor, and I forgot it was there. I was meant to return it.’ He took a shaky breath. ‘It was in their cabin, it was just there.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

>   ‘I hit him with it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘What do you mean, “how”? I hit him on the head. Didn’t you see the blood? There was … there was such a lot of blood.’

  ‘How many times did you hit him?’

  ‘I don’t know, I wasn’t counting. Twice? Four times? Enough. Enough to do it.’

  Guy folded his arms and fixed Jim with a cold stare. ‘And when did you go to the tool room?’

  Jim frowned. ‘I just told you, didn’t I? Yesterday morning.’

  ‘I’m not talking about when you borrowed the mallet. I mean when you were hiding there – when you pushed the shelves over, doing me an injury.’

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ protested Jim.

  ‘Then who was it?’ Guy had to restrain himself from physically shaking Jim. It was lucky for them both that there was a knock at the door, and before Guy could reply it had been opened by a young cabin steward.

  ‘Apologies, sir. I was sent urgently to tell you that Joseph Fowler has been pronounced dead.’

  Guy stared at him blankly, his mind racing, then pulled himself together. ‘Thank you. You may go.’

  The door closed and Guy stood. ‘Jim Evans, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Joseph Fowler.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  When arrested, Jim said nothing, only nodded and stared at the empty tabletop. Guy called through to the telephonist and, after a short discussion, was put through to the bridge, the ship’s command room. When the call was over, Guy felt a surge of pleasurable anticipation rush through him. It didn’t always happen in his line of work, but when he had a hunch that he was on the brink of solving a case, the gratification was intense. Shortly after, there was a knock at the door and Guy instructed whoever it was to enter.

  ‘Third Officer Wellesley at your disposal, sir,’ said the man who came in.

  Guy tried to find a distinguishing feature about him – a policeman’s habit – but it was difficult: he was of average height and good looks, in his thirties, Guy guessed, unsurprisingly kitted out in a crisply ironed white suit with navy and gold trim. There was, he supposed, meant to be a look of the military about the crew, but Guy was sure none of them could have been trained much beyond a salute to the captain when the ship set sail.