The Italian police would be waiting to imprison those whom Guy had arrested and charged, if he had managed to do so. The expectations would be high. He was a detective sergeant in a force with an international reputation for excellence. But the pressing point was that once they were off the ship, the opportunity to gather further clues and information would be gone. There would be additional questioning of the suspects, but it would be Guy’s reports on the ship that would direct the trial at court. There was no room for error, and that meant recording as many hard facts as possible rather than relying on supposition or assumption made after the ship had docked.
From seeing Joseph’s body, Guy went to the purser’s office and found the message from Louisa waiting for him, which told him that she would be working for Lady Redesdale until after seven o’clock, when she had seen them to the restaurant. He looked at his watch: it was a little after six.
Jim Evans had been arrested and charged, and was being held in E-131, guarded by a rotation of crew. No one was armed, and there was nowhere for Jim to run to, unless he threw himself overboard.
Ella Fowler, also arrested and charged, was being kept in her cabin, also under watch.
He should feel settled, but the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right wouldn’t leave him. He went over the facts in his mind. Ella and Louisa had returned from dinner to cabin B-17, where Louisa had been dismissed. She was witness to the fact that Jim Evans was in the room when they arrived, and still there when she left. Joseph Fowler had returned later, around midnight, shortly after Guy had seen him and the fight had been broken up.
These facts were certain.
After that, it got sketchy.
As far as Guy could see it, there were four options.
First, that Jim had left the cabin before Joseph arrived, then when Ella’s husband returned, there was an argument, which had led to her grabbing the mallet and hitting him over the head with it three times, before she telephoned the maid and the doctor.
Second, that Ella and Jim were interrupted by Joseph returning, there was an argument, and Joseph was attacked by both Ella and Jim. Ella could have encouraged Jim to flee, while she worked to clear up the mess.
The third scenario was that Ella and Jim were interrupted by Joseph, Jim hid on the balcony, heard the row between Ella and her husband, came out and found the bloodied body, knew he would be a suspect and fled.
The fourth possibility was that Ella went to bed, and Joseph returned to the cabin to find Jim there. The fight they had had earlier in the evening broke out again, resulting in Jim attacking Joseph with the mallet, fleeing and leaving Ella to discover her husband’s bloodied body. Given the amount of morphia she seemed to take, as well as how drunk she was, perhaps it was possible that she wouldn’t have heard anything until it was too late.
It was only from the point at which Blythe and the doctor had arrived at the cabin that Guy could pick up the facts again with any certainty. When Blythe arrived, Ella had removed her husband’s bloody waistcoat and jacket, and asked the maid to rinse them out. A towel was wrapped around Joseph’s head, too, presumably to prevent further loss of blood. Which begged the question: why would Ella attempt to murder her husband and then immediately try to save his life?
Diana Guinness had also been telephoned – why? It was as if Ella was planning a party. Was she celebrating the attack? Or what she saw as a new possible future with Jim? Or was she, in her drunken, possibly morphia-induced state, unaware of the seriousness of her husband’s condition? By the time Guy had arrived, the captain and other members of the crew were in the room, alerted by the doctor, and Ella was blind drunk, playing music on the gramophone player and seemingly having, to all intents and purposes, lost her mind. She was seen dancing and even trying to kiss one of the crew.
Whatever had happened, Jim had done himself no favours by going on the run in the ship, hiding in the tool room, where his panic and distress had meant he’d pushed the shelves over, knocking Guy out in the process. Guy would be able to arrest him for assaulting a police officer, at the very least.
The tool room was another conundrum. Logan had expressed his surprise that Jim had even known where it was. Any tools that were borrowed had to be requested through the Deck Department, where the senior officers were based. The return would be arranged similarly, in reverse.
The central difficulty was this: both his arrested and charged suspects were confessing to the murder, when neither seemed capable, even if the motives did fit. Why would both of them admit to it? Unless each thought the other had done it and was trying to protect them, taking the hit out of love. That led to the possibility that neither of them had done the deed.
What if a third person was responsible?
Jim had been discovered hiding in Sir Clive Montague’s cabin. Why had he gone there? And had Sir Clive truly not known he was there? There was something fishy about that man. Louisa had told Guy that Sir Clive was in love with Ella Fowler, that her husband had offered up his wife on a plate to cancel out the debt. Could he and Ella have plotted together to kill Joseph? But then why would she confess? More likely, Sir Clive had been outraged by Joseph’s suggestion, and killed him for it. The problem was, although he had no alibi, he didn’t seem concerned about this, which meant either he had the confidence of a supreme liar or he was innocent. Also, it didn’t explain why Ella and Jim would take the rap.
What if an unknown person was responsible?
The logbook. Guy needed to check it. He should have been furious with himself for not doing it sooner, but he couldn’t waste another minute. It was basic policing: find the weapon, link it to someone and you have your man.
Guy ran to Logan’s cabin and knocked on the door. It was clear from Logan’s rattled appearance that Guy had woken him from deep sleep. There was a muddle of apologies on either side, but Guy cut it short, explaining that he needed to see the logbook for the tool room. Logan grabbed his jacket and took them both down there, again down the endless stairs, through the thick, heavy doors that shut out all sound and light, until they reached the final door, beside which hung the logbook, attached by a string to a nail.
The mallet had been signed out the day before.
‘I don’t think this will tell you anything helpful,’ said Logan, studying the initials. ‘Only a limited number of people have access here, as you know. And the mallet was signed out by a man I know well and, frankly, I would put my life in his hands. He’s completely trustworthy.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Guy.
‘The initials are W.W. It’s Third Officer Wellesley.’
The man who had been guarding Jim Evans in the cabin. Was that a coincidence?
‘Why would Jim have asked him to sign out the mallet?’
Logan’s mouth twitched. ‘Jim might not have asked him. The request would have been made to the Deck Department and a message would have been left there. I would guess that Wellesley was checking over the requests and decided to fulfil it. The higher-ranking officers are required to make regular checks of the tool room; this would have killed two birds with one stone.’ He looked down at the logbook again. ‘There is something unusual, though.’
‘What?’ Guy held his breath. Those tiny details that people noticed at second glance were often the most telling of all.
‘Well, he’s worked on this ship for four years and this is the first time he’s ever logged a tool out.’ Logan looked back up at Guy. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’
Third Officer W. Wellesley. Guy would talk to him now.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Louisa did not know how to handle this situation. This was far more difficult, darker and plain terrifying than anything she thought she would get into when Iain had first asked her to report on Diana and Unity. She knew fascism was ugly. After Sir O’s rally had spoiled their wedding day, she had closely watched the growth of the movement in Britain, as well its counterparts in Italy and Germany. The connection with Diana had appalled her, m
ade Louisa feel dirty and guilty, merely by association. There had been an increasing use of militaristic uniforms by Sir O’s followers, which were, as she understood it, to motivate the fascists and intimidate the opponents. Guy told her that the news of any gathering crowd of the Blackshirts put the police on high alert. There had not yet been any serious fights, but Guy knew that people who opposed the movement would turn up to make their voices heard, and the Blackshirts were said to be increasingly armed against them. There were whispers of knuckledusters and barbed wire wrapped around chair legs, ready to be used as weapons.
But all this was tame when it came to Nazi Germany, Iain had explained. She wasn’t sure if the two leaders, Hitler and Sir Oswald, were exactly in alignment with each other, but Unity’s fervour for fascism, and Diana’s encouragement of it, was both unnerving and bewildering. Louisa couldn’t think what it was that had cast such long shadows in their hearts. The Nazis were beginning to hound Jewish people in their own country, and while she hadn’t heard Diana or Unity say anything directly in sympathy with such extremism, there had been casually anti-Semitic remarks that had revolted her.
And now she was somehow caught up in this violent, political game. She needed to talk to someone about it, but she was no longer confident she could talk to Wellesley, as Iain had instructed her to do. If he had told Wolfgang about Louisa, then he could be working for the other side. Her best hope now was to not cause serious damage. Thank goodness the ship docked within hours. If she could stall Guy from concluding his investigation before they arrived in Rome, then she could get in touch with Iain and find out what needed to be done.
Having left Diana with Wolfgang on their way to supper, Louisa walked the short passage to Unity’s room and entered without knocking. She hoped she could take Unity quickly to the Blue Bar, where Diana said she would be, before the three of them went in to dinner.
The lights were on in Unity’s room, even though the sun hovered above the horizon, and Louisa saw that Unity was before a small dressing table, closely inspecting her face in the mirror. She had done her hair differently, and not very well, with two short plaits on either side, pinned at the back with a mass of hair grips.
‘Louisa,’ mock-wailed Unity. ‘I was trying to do a Germanic look, but I don’t think it’s worked.’
A diplomatic silence was all Louisa could manage.
Unity started to pull out the grips and undo the plaits. Her hair now had thick, uneven crimps in it. ‘I don’t know what I thought I was doing trying to compete with Diana.’
‘What are you competing for?’ Louisa asked, as if she didn’t know the answer.
‘Herr von Bohlen, of course. She already has the Leader, but she has to have every man fall in love with her. It’s not just her. No one in my family ever lets me have what I want.’
Louisa was not going to get into this. ‘Let me brush your hair; I’m sure I can fix it. You shouldn’t keep them waiting.’
Unity handed Louisa the brush, and she got to work.
‘What was going on between you and Herr von Bohlen when I saw you on the stairs last night?’ Louisa knew this question was a risk, but it was one she had to take.
Unity’s pale skin never was able to conceal her blushes. Sitting in front of the mirror and watching herself colour, she couldn’t avoid answering Louisa.
‘Please, don’t tell Muv. We were talking, and Herr Müller was being kind, giving us privacy by being on lookout.’
‘I won’t tell Lady Redesdale,’ said Louisa, hoping this pledge wouldn’t be tested. ‘But I do have to make sure that you are not in any danger.’
‘Danger?’ said Unity archly. ‘From what? Men aren’t a danger; I know how to say no. And besides, we really were only talking.’
‘Really?’ Louisa stopped brushing and locked eyes with Unity in the mirror.
Unity’s face assumed defiance. ‘There was a kiss.’
Louisa saw her own face: it showed panic.
‘Only once. I had to … to know what he thought of me. It’s not his fault, I don’t want you thinking that. Besides, why shouldn’t we kiss? It’s not as if he’s married.’ A dagger in her own sister’s back. ‘He was so terribly nice about it and was the one who suggested that if we were to … talk, alone, we should go to the staircase, where no one would see us and my reputation wouldn’t be ruined.’
‘Very kind,’ muttered Louisa.
‘I thought so,’ said Unity.
‘Then what were you talking about?’ This was as intimate a conversation as they’d ever had, but it was her chance, she couldn’t let it go.
‘I asked him if he knew anyone suitable in Munich that I could stay with. I don’t want to go to Paris, like Diana and Jessica. I want to learn German, and I want to try to meet Herr Hitler. I feel so certain that I could do it and we could be friends. At the very least, I could admire him from a shorter distance than this one. We’ve so much to learn from him. I wish you could see it, Louisa.’
‘Perhaps politics is not for me.’ Louisa did not want to start that particular conversation with Unity. ‘But I think you should be careful. He’s quite a lot older than you.’
‘He’s twenty-eight, not so much older. Perfectly suitable.’
‘Lord Redesdale would never allow it,’ said Louisa.
‘He can’t tell me what to do. I’m a grown woman.’ Unity’s mouth had set with determination. ‘Have you finished brushing my hair? I’d like us to leave now. Whatever my sister thinks she’s doing, she’s not going to get a monopoly on Herr von Bohlen.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Louisa took Unity to the dining saloon and left her there with Diana and Wolfgang. She felt reluctant, but she also had no choice.
She couldn’t talk to Guy for fear of revealing herself – if Guy knew she suspected someone on the ship of being a secret agent, she’d have to tell him about the commission from Iain, and that could endanger him. She couldn’t talk to Wellesley. There was one person who was caught up in all this that might give her some answers. If she could ensure that Guy did not charge the wrong people with murder, she would have done the best by her husband, without compromising her safety with Wellesley.
Louisa went straight to his cabin and knocked on the door. Sir Clive opened it and failed to disguise his surprise at seeing her there.
‘Do you have a message from Mrs Guinness for me?’ he asked.
Louisa shook her head. ‘I need to talk to you.’
He hesitated, then stepped aside and let her into the room. Inside, he poured himself a whisky, without offering her anything, then sat down. Louisa remained standing.
‘Will you tell me what this is about? I’ve had quite a day of it so far.’
‘My husband is investigating the murder, as you know,’ Louisa began, willing herself to find the courage to go on. ‘I am assisting him, given that he is here alone and was not aboard this ship in any official capacity.’
‘Go on.’
‘I know that you lost money in a deal with Mr Fowler, and that you are in love with Mrs Fowler.’
Sir Clive raised his eyebrow. ‘I’ll neither confirm nor deny such a bold statement. But what makes you think those things?’
‘Mrs Fowler told me.’ His silence confirmed her earlier statement. She decided it was all or nothing. ‘Do you think Mrs Fowler killed her husband?’
Sir Clive put his drink down carefully, slowly. ‘No, I don’t. She was unhappy and he was a bully, yet I think she was fond of him, protective, even. He allowed her to have her caprice’ – his mouth pursed, as if he’d tasted lemon – ‘with the cabin steward, and she was grateful to him for it.’ His hulk softened, like a plum left out in the sun.
‘What I don’t understand is where you fit into the picture,’ said Louisa.
It was strange, in the room. She could feel the cold of the night air pressing against the window. The darkness beyond, the low light in the room, somehow levelled her with Sir Clive. There was an atmosphere of intimacy and trust that s
he knew would disappear as soon as the door was opened. But for now, she had found her voice.
‘Why were you talking to Herr Müller?’
Clive raised his eyebrows in surprise, then he chuckled. ‘You don’t miss a thing, do you?’
‘Tell me. I’ve got time for the long story.’
‘I see. I’ll tell you, but it can’t go any further.’ His voice was low, gentle.
‘Why not?’
‘That will become clear. When I met Mr and Mrs Fowler, I was struck by them as a couple. She is someone of exceptional character. Yes, she is beautiful, but any fool can see that. If we are talking privately, and I think we are, then I will confess that I think what is often missed – especially by her husband – is her passion, her talent for music and beauty. She is no ordinary woman: she won a medal for bravery in the war, brought up her first son alone, is an artist. She is defiant in the face of British convention in a way I hope to be but never am. But she is also vulnerable to the weaknesses of her sex and needs guidance and protection. I wish she would allow me to give that to her.’
‘And Mr Fowler?’
The Mitford Trial Page 23