The New Gazette had its scoop and Verity was hailed as its originator, much to Godber’s fury. The press interest was intense but to her relief, short-lived. When news of the King’s decision to abdicate came through, the whole of Fleet Street cleared its pages to concentrate on what all the papers recognized as an historic event. Nothing would ever be the same again, was the general feeling. The unthinkable had happened and now anything became possible.
On his way down to Mersham two days later, Edward called in at Marlborough police station. Lampfrey suggested going to the pub as it was almost lunch-time and neither of them had eaten. Each with a pint in his hand and a white-foam moustache, they found a corner where they could not be overheard. Lampfrey found it hard to know what to talk about first – the arrest of the Hepple-Keens or the King’s abdication. Edward settled the matter by giving him a brief account of his audience with the King and how disgusted he had been.
‘The man’s as weak as water with a strain of obstinacy like a spoilt child’s. He never said a word about Molly – well, I suppose I knew he wouldn’t do that – but, I don’t know, he wasn’t even ashamed of himself, and the lady wasn’t much better.’
When they had finished discussing the abdication, the policeman said, ‘I still don’t quite understand what happened to Mrs Harkness or rather, why it happened. I can see that Lady Hepple-Keen – poor woman – hated and feared her husband. I could understand her killing him but why kill Mrs Harkness?’
‘You have to understand the strength of a mother’s love,’ Edward said in his lecturing voice. ‘She hated her husband as a man but he fulfilled a vital function for her. He completed the family. He was a father and, for her, that was a crucial role which no one else could take on. Her children were the only thing she cared about – she was a sheep except where they were concerned, and then she was a tiger. Verity noticed it at dinner at Haling – so did I,’ he added modestly. ‘She could not bear the idea of children being ill treated. That was why she felt so strongly about the refugee children in Spain.’
‘That was genuine?’
‘Oh yes, I’m convinced of it. She cared all right. She cared most, of course, about her own brood. They had to be protected at all costs. When she went to speak to Mrs Harkness that night, it was to beg her to leave her husband alone. Somehow, she had discovered she had become his mistress. I don’t suppose he made much effort to conceal it. He was cruel to her in that sort of way, I believe. However, she had no thought of killing her until Mrs Harkness was stupid and cruel enough to tell her she was pregnant with Geoffrey Hepple-Keen’s child. That was the breaking point and it really sent her mad. She went out of the room in a state of total despair. If her husband wanted to divorce her she wouldn’t know how to go on. She wasn’t one of those modern women you read about who would have said “good riddance” and gone on to live the life she wanted. She needed her husband – however inadequate he was – and she was prepared to kill to keep him. She went back to her room briefly and then returned, hoping to gain entry to Mrs Harkness’s bedroom. She paced about in the corridor until she heard her go to the bathroom and then, seizing the moment, slipped into her room, poured the veronal into the flask and left. It shows she wasn’t thinking straight, taking the empty veronal bottle with her. However, Molly can’t have noticed. Maybe she had already taken Maalox. She must have taken a swig from her flask – probably more than a swig – and then sunk into her last sleep.’
‘But the door was locked in the morning and we couldn’t find the key.’
‘Miss Dannhorn went into Mrs Harkness’s room through the door which connected with my bedroom but she left through the other door – the one leading on to the corridor. She locked it and took the key.’
‘But why, for goodness’ sake?’
‘Out of devilry . . . to confuse the issue? I never got the chance of asking her. She must have been shocked to find Mrs Harkness dead, but she’s a cool customer. She made her search, found the letters under the pillow and then decided to mystify the whole thing by locking the door – thereby hinting that the murder and the theft of the letters must have been carried out by the same person, who had got in through the window using the creeper as a ladder.’
‘But the white glove Scannon found . . . that was Lady Hepple-Keen’s, not Miss Dannhorn’s?’
‘Yes, the doorknob was stiff – I noticed that myself when Verity had the room. It took her ages to open the door after she found the rat in her bed. So Lady Hepple-Keen took off one glove to open it. She had the veronal bottle in her hand. She wasn’t thinking straight. She would have done better to have left the veronal bottle behind and kept her gloves on. But there we are. It shows the murder was unpremeditated and the result of panic. All the evidence confirms that and I’m hoping it will weigh with the judge.’
Lampfrey looked dubious. ‘I don’t know about that. The fact that she went back to her room to fetch her gloves, with the express intention of not leaving fingerprints, suggests premeditation to me.’
‘Not in my view – for what it’s worth. She was mad when she killed Mrs Harkness. Her reason for killing was not that of a sane person. I don’t dispute that she did it as surely as if she had cut her throat. Even though she didn’t administer the poison herself, leaving that lethal brew by her bed in a flask she could see she had been drinking from . . . I suppose I should have realized who had committed the murder earlier, but I couldn’t see the motive. There were motives for almost anyone else to have killed Mrs Harkness except her.’
‘And of course we were confused by the open window and the creeper – which anyone might have climbed up.’
‘Except they didn’t. I must say I thought it was unlikely,’ Edward added comfortably.
‘Do you think Sir Geoffrey did go to Mrs Harkness’s room? I mean, did they have a tryst?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think she would have been surprised if he had.’
‘To plead with her not to give him up?’
‘Maybe. My belief is she had not yet given him his quittance and that she intended to tell him the affair was at an end that weekend . . . that evening, perhaps. If he did go to her room, he would have found her dead. Chief Inspector Pride will get that out of him.’
‘And when Scannon was killed . . . ?’
‘Well, like you, I thought it must have been either Hepple-Keen or Carstairs. I never thought Miss Conway had done it – she’s been released now?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Good! When I talked to Carstairs, I saw it certainly wasn’t him. He was too transparent. He is what my brother would call a cad and a bounder, but he isn’t a killer – except of animals, of course. He was – and is – a great hunter but quite out of place in London. I gather he’s on his way back to the colony?’
‘Yes. Apparently, rather to everyone’s surprise, he did quite well here – met a lot of important people. Was that anything to do with you, my lord?’
‘I gave him a couple of introductions,’ Edward said modestly. ‘Anyway, if Hepple-Keen killed Scannon it had to be because he was being blackmailed, but there I came unstuck. It was Verity who spotted that I had gone off the rails and my theory didn’t ring true. When we had dinner at the Café Royal to celebrate the success of the Jarrow march I was miffed when she called my summary of the case mere speculation – and yet . . . ’
‘So Miss Browne “cracked the case”? Smart lady,’ the Inspector said admiringly.
‘She did, as you say, “crack the case” but in the process, I think, cracked my chances – if you follow me, Lampfrey.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, my lord. Of course, it’s not my place to say so but you two belong together. I may be just a country copper but even I can see that.’
‘Get away with you,’ Edward said, nudging him just as he was lifting his pint to his lips. ‘I was never fooled by you, Lampfrey. You’re as shrewd a copper as ever I’ve met.’
‘Good of you to say so, my lord, I’m sure. Since we have finished o
ur beer and finished complimenting each other, if you’ll take my advice – as a friend, mind you, not as a policeman – you’d best be getting on over to Mersham.’
Without further ado, the two men got up from their bench, shook hands and parted – Edward in the pursuit of love and Lampfrey, with a shrug of distaste, to meet the Chief Constable who he knew would be full of praise for the way Chief Inspector Pride had ‘nailed’ two celebrated murderers. Lampfrey would listen patiently and say nothing.
After breakfast, Edward took Verity for a walk in the garden. It was cold and Connie said they should only be ten minutes if they did not want to catch pneumonia. When they reached the bottom of the lawn and looked over the ha-ha at the fields beyond, Verity said, ‘It’s so peaceful here, I have even begun to sleep at nights. It was so kind of Connie to bring me to Mersham. I’m going to start work on my book again this afternoon. I spoke to Mr Gollancz on the telephone yesterday and, despite the King’s abdication, he still seems to want it. He said the readership for my book is not interested in royalty and I think he may be right.’
‘Verity,’ Edward said in a rush, ‘I wanted to apologize to you for my behaviour over the last few weeks. I have tried to bully you and I was pompous and I got so worked up about those damn letters and, in the end, they really didn’t matter. I thought I knew what I was doing and who had murdered Molly, but it was you whose instinct was right. You sorted it all out.’
‘Oh, Edward – that was just being in the right place at the right time.’
‘Like any good journalist.’
‘Maybe. There’s one thing, though – just something trivial. You said Molly told you she was fancy-free. Why did she say that if she was Hepple-Keen’s mistress?’
‘I was discussing that with Lampfrey. I think she had chosen that evening at Haling to give Hepple-Keen the boot. That was what was so ironic. If only Molly had told Daphne she was finished with her husband! You see, Molly had convinced herself the King was going to summon her back. Madness, of course, but despite what she said to Daphne, she believed the baby she was carrying was the King’s – and it probably was. Her logic was that, if she were to get the King back and make him acknowledge the baby as his, she had to be purer than pure. She had to be able to say she had no lovers – no one else could possibly be the father – so she wanted nothing more to do with Geoffrey. She saw him as an obstacle to regaining royal favour. She even thought she was being followed by people who would report on her behaviour, and it could well have been true. Major Ferguson’s people keep the King’s friends under close scrutiny for security reasons. Mrs Simpson’s relationship with Ribbentrop is enough to make the government uneasy, to say the least of it.
‘As I say, it was all madness – a pipe dream. Molly would never have been allowed anywhere near the King again whether she was bearing his child or not; whether she was, or was not, sleeping with the whole of Knightsbridge. In fact, her life was in danger once it became known she was claiming to be pregnant with the King’s child. The government could never have allowed the scandal. It might have meant him having to abdicate but, as it happened, it was all beside the point. Molly died at Daphne’s hand and the King abdicated anyway.’
‘So, if Molly had told Daphne she had given up her husband and the child she was carrying was not his but the King’s, she would have lived?’
‘Yes, but who knows for how long. She had a talent for making enemies.’
‘But Edward, how do you know for sure the baby was the King’s?’
‘I can’t be absolutely sure but Molly certainly was. You know those letters from the King I found in her flat?’
‘Yes. You said they were love letters.’
‘They were. But they included one from Molly – a copy of one she had sent the King telling him she was pregnant. That was why she never heard from him again – why he would not speak to her when she rang, why he never said goodbye.’
‘And the jewelled swastika you found under the bed?’
‘I still don’t know if it was given her by the King or Hepple-Keen. Ribbentrop apparently dishes out such gewgaws to his favourites, so the King might have had one to give his mistress, but Mosley also has rubbish like that to hand out and H-K might have got one from him.’
‘One last thing, Edward. Do you think Daphne was right?’
‘Right?’
‘When she refused to accept that her husband might have murdered Leo Scannon in order to save her from the gallows, not just because he feared for his reputation?’
‘Who knows!’ Edward said, taking out his cigarette box and offering it to Verity, ‘Who knows. Their marriage, like all marriages, is a mystery that outsiders can never decrypt.’
As Edward escorted Verity back to the house he felt his heart beating rapidly. For a moment he did not understand why, but then he knew his body was telling him that this was the moment when he ought to take her in his arms and ask her to marry him. It probably wasn’t fair to ask her in her weakened state but, to hell with that; he would ask her anyway and, if she refused him, there was an end of it.
He tossed away his half-smoked cigarette and turned to Verity. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Connie calling. There was an anxiety in her voice which immediately made him conscious that she had had bad news.
‘Ned! Ned! I have just had a telephone call from Eton – from Frank’s housemaster, Mr Chandler. He says Frank has run away with a junior master, a man called Devon.’
‘Run away?’ Edward said, coming up to his sister-in-law and putting his arm around her. ‘Where has he run to?’ As he said the words, the answer burst upon him. ‘To Spain? Has he run off to Spain?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Ned. He left a note. He’s gone to join the International Brigade. Oh Ned, I’m so frightened. If Frank were hurt or even . . . even killed, Gerald would never . . . we would never get over it.’ Her voice faltered and she grabbed Edward to stop herself falling.
A cool, clear voice broke in upon their embrace. ‘Connie, I am so, so sorry. This is all my fault. I must start out immediately. I know Spain – I can find him. I know I can.’
Edward looked at her. ‘And I shall go with you, V. Connie, this isn’t Verity’s fault. Frank has made up his own mind and you must try not to worry. We’ll bring him back. I promise you, we’ll bring him back to you.’
The three of them gazed at one another in dismay, full of fear for the future.
‘Yes, bring him back to me, Ned,’ Connie said in a dark, urgent voice he had never heard before. ‘Bring him back.’
It was brought home to him once again that no love could ever be stronger than a mother’s love for her child.
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