The Mitford Trial

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘No, not him. Guy, please, promise me you won’t go and talk to either of them. I can’t tell you why, you have to trust me.’

  ‘I do but…’ Guy had lost his footing somehow. ‘Why can’t you just tell me?’

  Louisa grabbed his arm. ‘We can’t talk here. Come with me.’

  She led him out of the foyer and onto the deck, where it was dark and chilly, but empty.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Out on the deck, walking together, talking so they could not be overheard, Louisa told Guy that he had to halt the investigation and wait until they got back to London to continue. But she would not tell him why.

  ‘If I don’t have this case sewn up by the time we arrive in Rome, I’m going to lose my job.’ Guy, who so rarely shouted or lost his temper, was on the brink of fury. Could Louisa not see how much this mattered? ‘It’s not a case of personal pride. Once we are all off the Princess Alice, the opportunity to discover further clues is gone. If the wrong person is arrested and the real culprit gets off the boat and disappears into Italy, then there will be almost no chance of catching them.’

  ‘I know.’ Louisa spoke calmly, quietly. It was infuriating.

  ‘What’s more, we already know how this works. A man has been murdered on a ship full of rich passengers; the newspapers are going to be all over it. If I haven’t done my job properly, I’m going to be found out and exposed not only by DCI Stiles and the chief of the Metropolitan Police, but by the front pages of The Times and the Daily bloody Mail!’

  Louisa held his arm, looking up at him with brown eyes that could pull at his heart. Usually.

  ‘If you know something, you have to tell me. What are you keeping secret from me? What is it? What is it, Louisa?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. You have to trust me that if I could tell you, I would. But I can’t. All you need to know is that you have to release Mrs Fowler and Jim Evans, and wait for events to proceed once we have landed in Rome.’

  ‘I can’t un-arrest people! What do you think this is? A child’s game? On what grounds did they not do it, when they have both confessed? Why would they confess if they haven’t done it?’ Guy had been waving his hands in the air, needing to expel the energy of his frustration somehow, but now he felt spent. He wanted to collapse into a deckchair, but if he stopped moving, he’d lose the fight. And he couldn’t do that.

  ‘I’m going to think out loud here,’ said Guy, speeding up his pace, pulling Louisa along with him. He knew it was the behaviour of a detective in a penny dreadful, but it helped him think. ‘I agree that it is odd that they should both not only say they each did it, but are determined to ensure that I believe the other did not do it. It looks as if they are each trying to fall on their own sword, whether to protect the other or, possibly, a third person.

  ‘As to the third person, there are two possibilities. Sir Clive Montague, who lost a lot of money in Joseph Fowler’s architectural project, and who is also, we think, in love with Mrs Fowler. It’s possible he was so outraged by the proposal that the husband of the woman he loved proposed prostituting her, that it was enough to kill. But would he really risk murdering him on the ship? Surely a clever man would wait a while. Unless it was a crime of passion?’ Guy’s tone was more musing now. ‘If he went to the Fowlers’ cabin and threw himself at the mercy of Mrs Fowler, told her he loved her and would marry her, and Mr Fowler got in the way of that, he could have grabbed the mallet and hit him in the heat of the moment.’

  Guy looked at Louisa, trying to see if this prompted any recognition in her, any sign at all that he was on the right track. But she revealed nothing of this, only an expression of sadness.

  He shook his head at her. ‘No, I’m not letting this go. With or without your help, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’ He took a few more paces. At times like this, he wished he smoked. ‘The sticking points for me with Sir Clive are that he has no alibi for the time of the murder and is unconcerned about that. Surely, if you were guilty, you’d have created an alibi? Unless it’s a double bluff. Secondly, why did he hide Jim Evans in his room? I’m going to come back to that.’

  Louisa had let go of Guy and wrapped her cardigan around herself, hugging her arms around her waist. She remained silent.

  ‘The other potential suspect is Blythe North. She is in love with Jim, claims Jim is in love with her, and that they have plans to marry and set up a hotel together. She told you that Sir Clive paid her to check the passenger lists for him, so that he would know when the Fowlers would be on the Princess Alice – Mr Fowler obviously having been avoiding Sir Clive because of the debt. There’s a distinct possibility that she has been “helping” Mrs Fowler administer morphia. She’s no saint, that’s for sure. But I can’t see what benefit she would gain by Mr Fowler’s death, as it would leave her rival for Jim widowed and free to remarry.’

  Guy stood before Louisa. The ship would be at Rome in a matter of hours, and all this would be over, one way or another.

  ‘The third person has to be Sir Clive,’ he said. ‘But I can’t arrest him. I have no evidence, nothing that links him to the weapon or to being in the cabin at the right time. No witnesses, no confession.’ Guy came before Louisa and bent down so that their eyes were at the same height. He spoke gently. ‘What’s the link with Wellesley? Why won’t you let me talk to him? Do you know something that means I can arrest him? Because if you do, I am begging you to tell me.’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘No, I can’t. Please, trust me. Wait until we get to London.’

  ‘I do trust you,’ he said. ‘It’s you who won’t trust me, not telling me what you know.’ He stood before her and said, with more sadness than he had ever known he could feel, ‘I’m afraid for us, Louisa.’

  And then he walked away, off the deck and through the door, closing it heavily behind him.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  As the ship docked at eight o’clock in the morning, slowly manoeuvred into position by skilful steering of its hulking weight, a long queue of passengers stood by the doors, waiting to disembark with all the patience of Olympic runners at the start of a race. Lady Redesdale, Diana and Unity were not among them – they would avoid the rush of the steerage ticket-holders, but they certainly intended to leave the Princess Alice.

  Late into the night, Louisa and a borrowed maid had packed the numerous cases and retrieved the jewellery boxes from the purser’s office. There had been a long queue. Lady Redesdale telegrammed ahead to her husband and requested that he book them a night at a hotel in Rome, and they would take a train from there to Paris the following morning. Louisa had agreed to accompany them, easing the final leg of their journey by looking after their tickets and passports, tipping the porters and carrying their valuable items with her at all times. As it was, she wouldn’t be able to travel home with her husband even if he’d allowed it. Guy would have to see the prisoners off the ship and into local custody, where he would take their final statements, then work with the Italian police to take them on the train home, accompanied by a further guard.

  When they got back to London, they would have to work out whether they would remain in their marriage. Louisa wanted to stay with Guy, very much. She knew he was bewildered by her apparent betrayal, yet she was powerless to defend herself. She thought she was protecting Guy, but how could she ever explain that to him?

  More than that, she was also upset that Guy did not trust her. That he thought she would betray him over something insignificant. That he would not realise that she could know more than him, might be seen as intelligent and able in her own right. She loved him – more than her heart could bear to admit to right now, or it would break in half – but she was not afraid of being alone. If they stayed together it had to be because they both chose their marriage, not because they chose duty.

  She told herself this, bravely, but she wasn’t sure if she completely believed it. Before they had even said goodbye, she began to miss him.

  The last she would see of Guy would be as
she watched him escort his two suspects off the ship towards the waiting Italian police cars. News of the arrests had already reached the mainland. Rubberneckers and newspaper reporters were expected, but when the dock came into view, the sight of the people took her breath away. The crowd was four-people deep, and only a line of uniformed police, their arms hooked, prevented them from surging too far forward as the Princess Alice lowered its steps for the third-class passengers to walk down. There were reporters and cameramen jostling, too, flashes already popping and pencils poised over notebooks. The prurience of it sickened her.

  And then, all too soon, first off the ship and looking frighteningly alone and vulnerable as he headed towards the wolves – for that was how they looked to her – was her husband, tall and lean, his panama hat perhaps a touch too large for his head, his glasses reflecting the bright Roman sunshine. Before him walked Ella Fowler and Jim Evans, and though neither were handcuffed, their grey faces and hunched gaits left no one in any doubt as to the magnitude of their crime and their guilt.

  The sound of the shouts rose, an angry clamour that shrieked as loudly as the seagulls that flew overhead. Their path was kept clear by two lines of policemen, angrily shoving the spectators back, before bundling the prisoners into the cars. It was over in seconds, but time had slowed down. Louisa had seen every detail, her heart tearing apart with fear and longing to be with her husband, to shelter him from the horror.

  She was standing at the railing of the first-class deck, high above the people, so far from her beloved as to feel she was watching him in a dream. Although it was early in the morning, the heat was already intense, lacking the breeze they had enjoyed when out at sea.

  She looked down and saw Herr Müller’s stout figure walking down the gangplank, holding a large leather suitcase in either hand, stumbling slightly as he balanced the weight on a downhill trajectory. Several paces behind him, dressed in his close-fitting dark SS suit, the swastika’s white background dazzling in the sun, walked Wolfgang von Bohlen. He reached the bottom of the steps and, without any hurry, adjusted his hat and straightened his belt. Then he turned and looked up, straight at Louisa. He saluted her and gave a wide smile, showing all his teeth, then walked away, along the cobbled paths, until he took a corner and could be seen no more.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Two days after Louisa had returned from Rome with the Mitfords, she arranged to meet Iain. Guy had yet to make it back to London, stuck in Italy with the local police, making the arrangements to bring back not only the arrested suspects but also the body of Joseph Fowler. They had not parted angrily on the ship. It was much worse than that: they had been guardedly polite, almost formal as they said goodbye. It frightened Louisa.

  On the long journey home, all four of them were quiet. Diana was returning to an empty London as Bryan had taken the boys away and Sir Oswald was still on his motoring trip in France, with Baba. No one had expected Diana’s return for another three weeks, and her diary would be clear of any engagements; it was not a prospect she relished, as without the decree absolute yet in place, she could not risk being seen attached to any man. Lady Redesdale was furious and appalled by the events, wanting only to put as much distance between herself and the Princess Alice as possible. Unity was nursing a romantic disappointment: Wolfgang had departed without their exchanging addresses or any mention of whether they might see each other again. Louisa did not want to talk to any of them and yearned only to get home, to start to find her way back to the life she wanted with Guy.

  But first, Iain.

  They met on Hammersmith Bridge again. It hardly seemed possible that only a few weeks had passed since she had seen him last. The weather was a little warmer now, with the familiar damp breeze of the Thames. When Louisa saw Iain walking towards her, the need she felt to unburden herself was overpowering. She felt a terrible sense of guilt, as if she was meeting a lover, but having to keep everything to herself had been a strain.

  Iain barely greeted her but propped himself up on the wall and lit a cigarette. He inclined his head a little to the side, his invitation to her to speak.

  Much to her relief, as she tumbled over her words, Iain listened. She told him about Wolfgang von Bohlen, never without his henchman Herr Müller, and his admission to Unity that his family was working with Hitler on a secret rearmament programme and that he was on the ship – ostensibly – gathering information for Hitler’s own cruise ship for German workers. If that was the case, why did he steal a letter from her cabin and let her know that he had done so? Why did he talk about the ‘secret rearmament programme’ knowing that she was listening? It could only be that Wellesley had alerted him to her role as an agent and must therefore be a double agent himself.

  ‘Wolfgang von Bohlen works for us,’ said Iain.

  Louisa’s temperature dropped as if she had been thrown into an ice bath.

  ‘Then why was Wellesley on the ship?’

  ‘Because we suspect him of being a double agent and this was the best way to catch him.’ Iain calmly, too calmly, smoked his cigarette.

  Louisa steadied her breathing. There were still more questions than answers. ‘What happened between von Bohlen and Joseph Fowler?’

  Iain threw his cigarette into the river. ‘Joseph Fowler told senior members of the Nazi Party that he invested their money safely into securing the architectural proposals at Blenheim Palace, but he lost it all. Sir Clive knew this and told Herr Müller. There was a risk that Fowler would talk too much, tell people in his drunken state about the Nazi money coming into England.’

  ‘He put his life at risk?’

  Iain gave a small shrug. ‘Men are stupid sometimes.’

  Louisa felt a cool breeze across her face. She tried to remember more. She knew this was her only chance. ‘Wellesley signed the mallet out of the tool room for Jim Evans. Did he tell von Bohlen it was in there?’

  ‘Yes, Wellesley believed the Nazis wanted Joseph Fowler dead. They probably would have done if they’d realised, but the job has been done for them.’

  ‘By von Bohlen. By … you.’

  ‘Mrs Sullivan, these things are not personal. The security of our country is at stake. And who is to say that Joseph Fowler didn’t attack von Bohlen first?’

  ‘But why did von Bohlen need to kill Joseph Fowler?’

  ‘Fowler’s lips were too loose. We couldn’t afford anyone finding out about the Nazi plans while we were still investigating them. And it so happened that what the Nazis wanted was what we wanted too, with the added bonus of keeping Wellesley in the dark about von Bohlen’s allegiance.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Joseph Fowler invited Wolfgang to his cabin that night, to discuss the business deal. But when he arrived, he heard the row within. Then there was silence. We believe Mrs Fowler retired to her bedroom and it seems now that Jim Evans was hiding on the balcony. It was over in a matter of seconds.’

  ‘What if Mr Fowler had regained consciousness?’

  ‘That was a concern for a while, but it turned out well in the end.’ Iain did up the buttons on his jacket and shifted his feet. She knew he was preparing to leave.

  ‘Wait, someone attacked my husband in the tool room – was that Wellesley too?’

  Iain wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘Yes, I regretted that. He was concerned that DS Sullivan would get too close to the truth. Your husband was lucky: you prevented him from looking in the right direction, and it saved his life.’

  Louisa’s mind was in danger of spinning out of control. ‘As well as endangering a British police officer, two people have been arrested for a crime they didn’t commit, and they may hang for it. You need to intervene in the murder investigation.’

  ‘That can’t be done,’ Iain said, his voice level. ‘It’s an infamous murder, the heat won’t die down. The public want to see someone hang for it and the police have to fulfil that need.’

  ‘Even if that means innocent people hang?’

  Instead of answering, Ia
in looked impatiently over his shoulder. The traffic roared across the bridge, and Louisa felt the same noise inside her, the anger at this brute injustice.

  With a small sigh, Iain spoke to her like a teacher explaining basic sums to a small child. ‘Wolfgang is a vital link for us to the inside workings of the Nazi Party. If we know what they are doing, and we can prevent war, then this one death may save thousands – even millions. We cannot have another European war again, and we are doing everything it takes to prevent it.’ Louisa watched the water flowing under the bridge as she listened to Iain’s explanation. ‘It is an order from the very top that von Bohlen cannot be linked to this case in any way.’

  ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  Louisa locked eyes with him now. ‘I can’t work for you any more, you understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. But I warn you: if you tell your husband any of this, you endanger him. He must not compromise the trial in any way, and he will do that if he knows the truth. We will do our best to obtain mercy on their sentences. But again, I repeat: this is not personal, this is for the security of our entire country.’ With that, Iain hailed an approaching taxi, climbed in and drove away.

  Louisa walked home, afraid and crushed. She had put everything on the line – her marriage, her career, her self-worth – in order to work for Iain and the Mitfords. She thought she could handle it, but she couldn’t. She was profoundly disturbed by the chilling callousness of Iain, the casual disposal of innocent people in the pursuit of something so uncertain and the freedom of those who they knew to be wicked. The pavement beneath her feet felt spongelike, her breathing became ragged and her blood rushed around her body like a speeding train. All she wanted was to find a dark corner where she could curl up and hide, but the sun was shining with careless insouciance. This pain would last, she knew, and she was going to have to face it alone, and when she finally emerged at the end she could only hope against hope that her darling Guy would still be there.