‘He was a talented architect, of that there is no doubt.’ Sir Clive’s posture was expansive, as if he was relieved to be able to talk about his relationship with the Fowlers. ‘In fact, I’ve seen his work in British Columbia, I know what he’s capable of. But he was foolish to leave his first wife and children for Ella. I understand the temptation, of course I do. But how could he have ever thought that he could provide for and satisfy someone as extraordinary and wonderful as her? He is too dull, too failed, too embittered. I invested heavily in his proposal for Blenheim because I believed in his vision, but also because I hoped that the success of it would at last allow him to give Ella the life to which she should become accustomed. But it failed. I stood to lose a great deal of money in it, which I could just about stand, but then I heard about the potential investment by the National Socialist Party.’
‘What is that?’ But she knew. Louisa felt a cold trickle of fear spill down her spine. The final pieces of the jigsaw were starting to fall into place. But only she would be able to see the finished picture.
‘Blythe North told me.’ Sir Clive knew there would be a reaction from Louisa to this name.
‘I’ll exchange your confidences for one of my own,’ said Louisa. ‘Blythe has already told me that you paid her to check the passenger lists in advance.’
Sir Clive shrugged. ‘Miss North is easily bought. She told me about a conversation she heard between Joseph Fowler and Herr Müller on the first day of this trip. Blythe heard Mr Fowler boasting of the investment he’d had from figures “high up” in the Third Reich. He believed that Hitler himself was keen on the idea of Blenheim Palace as his own residence when they take over Britain.’
Louisa did a double take. ‘What? When they “take over” Britain? What does that mean?’
‘His statement was no surprise to me. Sir Robert Vansittart is a friend of mine. He’s the permanent under-secretary at the Foreign Office. It’s an open secret that he believes when the current government in Germany has gained the confidence to do so, they will loose another war on Europe.’
Whether this Sir Robert would prove to be right or not – and she hoped he would not – it was clear Iain had not been acting on his own hunches.
‘I think there’s a strong possibility that Herr Hitler, or someone close to him, heard about Joseph’s project and saw this as a way in. A peaceful invasion of the country, if you like, though everyone involved would understand that the British might not see it that way. So any investment would have to be kept very hush-hush. No one knew Mr Fowler had already spent a great deal of money – my money – before he gained the permissions he needed. What Blythe heard was Joseph trying to persuade Müller to use his influence on that Wolfgang fellow to put some money in himself. Those Nazis are thugs. I don’t care what anyone else thinks or says about them, I don’t trust them. It was not the debt I cared about, I wanted no association at all. And I believed that this told the real story about Joseph. He’s a man out for himself.’
Louisa listened intently, desperate to understand this and ask the questions for which she needed answers. Wolfgang knew about the mallet, didn’t he? Was this why?
‘Are you saying it’s possible that Herr von Bohlen, or Herr Müller, killed Joseph Fowler? To keep him quiet?’
Sir Clive nodded. ‘I am. I can’t confirm it because I wasn’t there, but it’s likely. If the Nazis thought Joseph Fowler had lost the money and was in danger of exposing their plans, they would need him silenced – permanently.’
Louisa remembered the gap in the curtains. Could Jim have been hiding on the balcony when the attack happened? But then why would he say he had done it? Unless he had run out through the windows when Joseph Fowler returned to the cabin, heard the row and assumed Ella had killed him. He must have been protecting Ella – as she seemed to be protecting him. She must have been in the bedroom, heard the row and assumed it was Jim.
‘Why did you hide Jim Evans in your room?’
‘Blythe made me do it. She was determined that he would not get the blame for something that Ella had done – or so she believed. I thought it was only temporary, a chance for him to clean himself up. It was madness, trying to hide on a ship. But I don’t think any of us were thinking straight in those small hours.’
‘No.’ Louisa walked towards the door. She knew why Sir Clive had told her all this. Then she turned. ‘One more question: how did you know I am an agent?’
‘I’m afraid, my dear girl, you are an amateur and you revealed yourself with your questions. You know too much, you are too observant. And’ – he reached in his pocket – ‘you should not write things down.’
He pulled out a piece of paper. It was the scrap on which she had written the address at Dolphin Square to send telegrams to. It must have fallen out of her brassiere and she hadn’t noticed.
She took it out of his hand. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘That’s for me to know, but your secret is safe with me. For obvious reasons. I don’t know if “pink elephants still fly in blue skies” or whatever your phrase is now, but I used to do the same for a while, after the war.’
So she could trust Sir Clive. But she couldn’t tell Guy any of it. If he arrested the wrong people – Ella and Jim – he would be making a terrible, even tragic, mistake. Yet there was nothing in her power to stop him. Louisa, Guy, Ella, Jim: they were pawns in a Nazi’s game, and they had no chance of winning.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
24 May 1935
Old Bailey, Court Number One
When Ella Fowler was called to the stand, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere of the courtroom. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for. Guy found himself holding his breath as she was led from the dock to the witness box. Her face was pale beneath her soft navy hat and even the bulk of the coat she was wearing could not disguise her thin figure. It looked too heavy for a summer’s day, but presumably she felt the cold and had not, after all, had much opportunity to feel the sun on her face in some time.
When prompted, she took the oath in a voice that was almost inaudible. Guy felt the entire weight of the courtroom crowd lean slightly further forward towards her. Mrs Fowler confirmed that she had been married to Joseph Fowler for eight years and had been married twice before. Her first husband was killed in the war, and she had divorced her second. This merely confirmed the facts to the people in the public gallery who had devoured yards of press reports on her life.
Mr Manners, her defending barrister, led his client quickly to the nub of the matter.
‘Could you describe relations with your husband?’
‘Since the birth of our son we occupied separate rooms,’ said Ella faintly.
‘Were you antagonistic to each other?’ Mr Manners held her gaze, willing her, perhaps, to go on and talk firmly, to try to allow no room for doubt in the jury’s minds.
‘For the most part, we tried to be civil.’
The barrister moved a piece of paper in front of him, signalling a change of direction. ‘Could you please tell the court when you first came to know Jim Evans?’
‘My husband and I travelled on the Princess Alice in 1930—’
‘That is, three years before the murder of Joseph Fowler?’
Ella flinched slightly. ‘Yes. Evans was our cabin steward. We met him then.’
‘Did you become Evans’ mistress?’
There had barely been a pause before the shocking question. There was a collective intake of breath. Ella gave a nod that was in danger of being completely imperceptible. Nonetheless, it was an admission.
‘On our third cruise on the ship,’ she whispered.
Mr Manners maintained a brisk line of questioning. ‘Taking it quite generally, from that time until your husband’s death, did relations take place between you and Evans regularly, each time you were on the ship?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were on the ship for the following dates: May 1930, October 1930, May 1931, August 1931, January 1932, Ju
ne 1932, October 1932, January 1933 and, of course, June 1933.’
‘Yes.’
Somewhere outside the courtroom a door banged, and everyone started.
‘Aside from those first two dates, on every other one, relations took place between you and Evans?’
‘Yes.’ Ella’s ungloved hands reached out to the front of the box and gripped it tightly.
‘Did your husband know of it?’
‘He must have known of it because he told me to lead my own life four years ago. I had told him I was taking him at his word and was leading my own life.’ Her voice had become firmer now. She was, after all, in this situation; she had better make the best of it, thought Guy.
‘Was there an occasion, in the early part of the year – the trip in January 1933 – when there was a quarrel between you and Evans?’
‘Yes, I wanted to sever connections on account of the difference in age, and Evans said he did not want to.’
Mr Manners picked up a piece of paper that Tom Mitford had handed to him. ‘Before you went on the Princess Alice in June 1933, it seemed your banking account was overdrawn. This would be about ten days before Mr Fowler died. And he – that is, your husband – gave you £250?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get that?’
‘I got it as I usually did. I used to get extra money twice a year when I was overdrawn. I always had to make up a different story each time to get it.’
‘Having got the £250, did you have a cheque for fifty pounds cashed on your account by Evans in Livorno?’
‘Yes, Evans used some of it to get me a ring. Other money was spent on shopping. I handed Evans fifteen or twenty pounds.’
‘Did you ever meet up outside of the ship?’
‘Once, we met in London when he was off on leave.’
‘Did you stay in a hotel?’
‘Yes.’
Mr Manners gave a small cough. ‘In London, at the hotel, were you living as man and wife?’
‘Yes.’
The questioning and the intensity of it had been going on for what felt like a while now. Guy could feel a tension in his stomach that would not unclench. Mr Justice Hogan scratched his chin. Mr Manners, however, had more to do.
‘To bring you to the day in question, the eighteenth of June 1933. Before going to supper, you were alone in your cabin with your husband. Can you tell the jury something of the conversation that evening?’
‘He mentioned a book he was reading. He said he admired a person in the book who said he had lived too long and “before he became doddering, finished himself”.’
‘What was your reply to that?’
‘I thought perhaps he needed cheering up. I said I would make arrangements for us to take an outing when the ship docked in Rome a few days later.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I retired momentarily to my bedroom. Evans came in. He was very angry.’
‘Did he explain his anger?’
‘He accused me of living with Mr Fowler that afternoon with the bedroom door closed. I told him I had not. He was very jealous of Mr Fowler.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing. I thought he had calmed down. He left my room and the cabin.’
‘Did you see him again that evening?’
‘Yes, twice. There was a fight in the Blue Bar between him and Mr Fowler. Neither of them was seriously hurt.’
‘Do you know how the altercation started?’
‘Mr Evans made a comment to my husband, to let go of my arm.’
‘Had such a thing happened before?’
Ella shook her head. ‘Never.’
Mr Manners moved on swiftly. ‘You said you saw Evans again that evening?’
‘Yes, after supper. I returned to the cabin and Evans was there. Mr Fowler had gone for another drink in the bar.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I said I was in no mood to talk, then retired to my bedroom and was asleep until I awoke a little later. Some noise disturbed me.’
Ella turned to face the jury. Her skin was stretched taut over her high cheekbones and Guy could see a thin line of sweat had broken out just below the rim of her hat. ‘I heard Joseph groan. I jumped out of bed and ran into the drawing room.’
Mr Manners paused, and then, looking directly at Ella, asked her the question Guy had been both hoping for and dreading. ‘What did you find?’
‘My husband, sitting absolutely still in his chair. I ran over and only then saw the blood. I tried to take his pulse and shook him to try to make him speak.’
‘Did you call for help?’
Ella shook her head. ‘Not right away. I tried to make him speak; I put his teeth back in to help him. I poured a glass of whisky to save myself being sick. I drank it neat. I tried to become senseless, to blot out the picture.’
‘Did you yourself murder your husband?’
Ella did not rush her answer. ‘Oh, no.’
‘Did you take any part whatsoever in planning it?’
‘No.’
‘Did you know anything about it?’
‘No. I would have prevented it had I known before, naturally.’
There was a silence. Ella’s breathing had become shallow.
‘Mrs Fowler, why did you admit to the killing at the time?’
For the first time, her stillness broke. She became agitated, pulling at the fingers on her gloves. ‘I was confused. We had been so unhappy, said such awful things. I felt that even if I had not struck him with my own hand, I must have caused it in some way because Jim—’
‘Because what, Mrs Fowler?’ The lawyer was stern. She had to answer the question.
‘There had been a mallet in the room, and I couldn’t see it any more. Only Jim and I knew about its being there, and I thought he had to have done it. But I couldn’t bear for him to take the blame. I loved him then.’ At last, she broke, the sobs convulsing her thin body.
Mr Manners turned to the judge. ‘No further questions, my lord.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Guy headed down to E-131, but Wellesley was no longer standing guard. A young deckhand was leaning against the wall examining his fingernails, standing straight as Guy approached. Guy showed him his badge and entered the cell. He might as well have one or two questions answered while he was there.
Jim, who had not slept since the night before the attack, had his head on the table, his arms used as a pillow. Blearily, warily, he sat up.
‘What now? Has she been talking again?’
‘Has who been talking again?’ asked Guy.
‘Mrs Fowler,’ said Jim. Fear hummed around him, but Guy could hear the exhaustion in his voice too. Sleep deprivation was a form of torture, wasn’t it? At some point, the prisoner wanted only for this all to end, one way or another. ‘It’s her talking too much – that’s what got us into this trouble.’
‘If she – or you – have anything further to say, it will be added to your statements,’ was all Guy would reply to this. ‘I’ve come in to ask one question: why did you borrow the mallet from the tool room?’
‘There was a loose nail on the floor of the cabin. Mr Fowler said he kept catching his socks on it.’
‘Is it usually the job of a cabin steward to fix nails in floors? Isn’t there a ship’s carpenter?’ said Guy. He was standing while Jim remained seated. Perhaps he should handcuff him to the chair, but Guy knew Jim had enough of that sort of treatment coming to him.
‘It was quicker if I got on with it myself.’ Jim shrugged.
‘Did anyone else, apart from you and the Fowlers, know that the mallet was in B-17?’
‘Third Officer Wellesley, who signed it out.’ He thought some more. ‘The first officer would check the records regularly – he would have known, too.’ Jim looked at Guy, his eyes glassy with confusion and fear. ‘Does that mean I’m not the only suspect? Could either of them be the ones who did it?’
‘Not without a further link between either man
and Mr Fowler. You remain under arrest.’
Jim’s shoulders dropped. ‘Yeah, of course.’
Guy left the cell and, after asking the young guard outside, began to make his way up to the Deck Department to talk to Wellesley. He felt exhausted and muddled. There were mere hours until the ship docked, and he was not convinced that he had done everything he should have. And where was Louisa?
Guy changed direction and headed to deck B, where the Mitfords’ cabins were situated. It was possible that she was with them to prepare them for dinner. It still bewildered him that fully grown women required his wife’s services to help them get dressed, but he reasoned that most of the ways of the world were beyond him. Solving crimes sometimes seemed simpler.
As he crossed the main foyer of deck B, Guy saw Louisa. He knew she was tired, yet she looked pretty, as she always did to him. They walked towards each other, but he realised that she was taking more hesitant steps. People milled around them; no one took any notice. Guy revelled in the anonymity of it for a brief moment and wondered if he dared take her into his arms.
She made the decision for him. As Guy drew near, she held her hands out, as if in defence.
‘I’m sorry, Guy,’ she said.
‘What for?’
‘I can’t really say. I’m so tired, so fed up with this ship. When we dock, I’ll go back to London with you. I don’t care about the Mitfords, they can look after themselves.’
‘I know it’s been testing,’ he said. ‘But it will all be over soon. I have to answer a few more questions and then I think I’ll be ready.’
Louisa nodded, and he could see she was holding back tears. It had been a long time since he had seen her in such distress and he found it hard to bear.
‘Would you like to come with me?’ he asked. ‘I’m going to see someone called Wellesley; I think he might know something.’
Louisa jumped. ‘No, you can’t see him.’
‘What? Why not? What do you know about him?’
Louisa had started trembling, her eyes looking beyond Guy. What was she checking?
‘Louisa?’ Guy tried again, remembering something. ‘I thought it was Wolfgang you mentioned before – you were going to tell me something. Or was it Wellesley?’
The Mitford Trial Page 24