The Woman Before Wallis: Prince Edward, the Parisian Courtesan, and the Perfect Murder

by Andrew Rose

  Between midnight and 1 a.m., the ‘stupendous thunderstorm’ reported the next day by the Star was at its first great intensity over central London. There was almost continuous lightning and even the most solid buildings vibrated with the thunder. The storm ebbed slightly for a while, before rising to another climax between 4.30 and 5 p.m. In the six hours from midnight, 2.57 inches of rain – the entire average rainfall for July – was recorded in Hampstead, in north London.

  ‘Last night was awful,’ recorded Jean, Lady Hamilton, in her diary, ‘it seemed as though the world really was smashing up … the thunder never stopped for four or five hours … the sheet lightning was continuous … and the horrible fascinating forked lightning…’293

  During the downpour, at about 2.30 a.m., a woman was found by police in Parliament Square, screaming hysterically in her nightdress, as MPs attempted, with varying degrees of success, to get back to their homes. Viscount Curzon (a distant cousin of the Marquess, later known as the racing driver, Earl Howe) was reported as having bravely ‘jumped into his swift little 2-seater and careered out of the gates as if it were a lovely moonlight morning’,294 while less adventurous MPs bedded down in the corridors of Westminster, and four representatives of the people were later found asleep in their cars.

  Some 3,000 telephone lines were put out of action, and wireless reception suffered severely. ‘Broadcatching [sic] in the London area was badly interfered with by atmospheric disturbance…’295 This, at any rate, had the merit of preventing listeners from hearing John Henry, an early radio ‘comedian’, with lugubrious Yorkshire voice, who seems to have been both very clean and consistently unfunny. Although the newspaper pointed out that ‘properly made aerials act as lightning conductors providing they are earthed’, a wireless set exploded at Thames Ditton and in nearby Walton a worse fate befell Mr Justice Russell, whose country house was completely burnt out.

  The Times reported ‘one of the most remarkable and spectacular [thunderstorms] seen in London for many years … a journey through the streets of London between 1.00 and 5.00 a.m. was a thrilling experience’; to the Daily Mail, it was ‘the greatest thunderstorm by far in this country that living man can remember’. And at the Star & Garter Home in Richmond, many of the resident ex-servicemen, still traumatised by the horrors of the trenches, were reported to have been severely disturbed by the noise of thunder and the brilliant flashes of lightning, cruel reminders of the Great War.

  The charge was not administered until mid-morning. Superintendent Parker of Special Branch (whose responsibilities included royal protection issues) was now in overall charge of the investigation. Acting under his authority, Divisional Detective Inspector (DDI) Alfred Grosse had first gone to the mortuary at Charing Cross Hospital, where he viewed the body of Ali Fahmy at about 5 a.m., before examining the scene of the shooting at the Savoy.

  The method of collecting of forensic material in this case was distinctly odd from the outset, which suggests that someone in a position of authority had already told Superintendent Parker and DDI Grosse, to ‘go easy’ on the process.

  In the first place, although a handwritten record was made of the bloodstained area, the management of the Savoy Hotel should not have been allowed to clean up the scene of the shooting by ordering the night porter to wash down the corridor and remove bloodstains from the carpet. That early mistake may have resulted simply from the inexperience of the first police officer on the scene, PS Hall, but the failure to take photographs was the responsibility of senior Yard officers.

  Although Ali had to be taken to hospital, there was ample opportunity for photographs to be taken of the corridor and rooms in the suite as they were when first seen by investigating officers. Photography of a crime scene was feasible at that date (examples can be found in official files on other high-profile English murder cases, such as that of David Greenwood in 1918 and Norman Thorne in 1925). Photographs could have been of great value to the prosecution. Furthermore, no photographs were taken by the police of Ali’s body, showing the position of injuries, although, for example, Leon Beron’s body had been photographed for use in the Stinie Morrison case of 1911.296

  The police search of the scene was perfunctory from the start. After PS Hall had arrived on the scene, Beattie went to the luggage lift where he had placed the pistol and – presumably without gloves – was allowed to handle the gun for a second time. Beattie also handed over the three empty cartridge cases he had found scattered on the floor outside the Fahmys’ suite. He also recovered two spent bullets from the area adjacent to the nearest stairwell, the wooden bannisters of which had been damaged by a shot or shots. This was work that should have been carried out by police.

  Extraordinarily, it was not until the next day that a chambermaid found another cartridge case in Marguerite’s bedroom. Over a week later, on 18 July, a hotel valet discovered the third of the three bullets that Marguerite had fired at her husband. The missing bullet was lying underneath a grating over a radiator opposite the stairs to the fourth floor and had obviously been missed by the police. Grosse was an experienced officer, who had investigated several important murder cases. His failure to conduct a thorough examination of the scene of the crime is astonishing and quite out of character.

  There were ricochet marks on the wall to the left of the door to suite 42, as well as on a set of folding doors immediately to the right of the stairs. Bloodstains could be seen on the carpet in the corridor. After their position had been noted (but not, it seems, photographed), Beattie, by night the hotel’s jack-of-all-trades, was ordered to clean them away. His duties were by no means over: he had to wait until 6 a.m. to make his first statement to the police.

  In Marguerite’s bedroom, Grosse took possession of the white Chanel evening dress, which Marguerite had been wearing when Ali was shot: there was some blood on the hem and beside the bed in Ali’s room DDI Grosse found a number of crushed beads (or small pearls) which matched those sewn on the dress.

  When Grosse returned to Bow Street and first saw Marguerite at 7 a.m., it was merely to order her removal to the matron’s room, above the cells, and to ensure that the prisoner had a cup of coffee. Not until two hours later did the legal formalities begin. Accompanied by Detective Sergeant Stewart Allen, who acted as interpreter, Grosse introduced himself. The bald statement, ‘I am a Detective Inspector’, was rather beautifully rendered in French as ‘Je suis le chef inspecteur de la Sûreté ici’. Grosse, a dapper, clean-shaven man, who sported a bow tie under his wing collar, told Marguerite that she would be charged with Ali’s murder and cautioned her in customary fashion: ‘Anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.’

  The Metropolitan Police files record the following statement. Marguerite was quite calm by now:

  Je dis au Police que je le fais. J’ai dit la vérité. Ce ne va rien. Il m’a battue devant tout le monde depuis nous avions été mariés. Il m’a dit plusiers fois, ‘me tué’, et il y a des personnes qui l’ont entendu.

  [I told the police that I did it. I have told the truth. It doesn’t matter. He has assaulted me in front of many people since we have been married. He has told me many times, ‘kill me’, and many people have heard him say so.]

  A police telegram was dispatched at 9.40 a.m. formally informing the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and his senior staff of Ali’s death by shooting and of his wife’s arrest. In contrast to modern practice, in which lengthy interviews are the norm, Marguerite was not interrogated at any stage by police officers. When she was charged, at 11 a.m., Marguerite replied simply, ‘Je comprends. Je comprends. Je perd la tête.’ (‘I understand … I lost my head.’)

  Sometime after noon, Marguerite’s fingerprints were taken by an officer who thought her ‘a perfect little doll’.297 Her personal details were recorded, including two beauty spots, one on each cheek. Shortly afterwards, Aimée Pain, Marguerite’s personal maid, arrived from the Savoy. She probably brought her mistress scent, soap and towels and took instruc
tions concerning the jewellery that madame would wear at her first appearance in court that afternoon. Marguerite also had the opportunity to speak to her maid about other matters. Aimée had already made her statement to the police, but Marguerite was anxious to talk to her about events on the night of the shooting. ‘Madame Fahmy’ was beginning to marshal her forces.

  After lunch, Freke Palmer walked into the matron’s room with his managing clerk, Collins. Because of his busy professional schedule and with the clout that comes from regular appearances as an advocate, Freke Palmer had persuaded the police, who controlled the list of cases of Bow Street Court, to put Marguerite’s appearance at the end of the afternoon, so as to give time for preliminary instructions to be obtained.

  The storm and the Savoy shooting had both occurred too late to be included in the daily press, but the first ‘evening’ newspapers (which started publishing around midday) were carrying the sensational story in their ‘STOP PRESS’ columns. Already a small crowd was gathering outside Bow Street Court, which forms part of a building also housing the police station, in the hope of securing a place in the limited accommodation available in Number Two Court, on the first floor of the courthouse, up a flight of stone steps and along a narrow corridor.

  ‘Bow Street’ always had, despite the best efforts of its cleaning staff, a smell of ‘old lag’ about it and on that broiling July afternoon the heat in the court, which had a glass roof, must have been intense, creating a particularly unpleasant atmosphere. The small dock, with its iron railings, stood a few feet from the door to the custody area, through which, at about 3.30, Marguerite made her entrance, looking pale and tired, escorted by Police Sergeant Claydon of the ‘Woman Patrols’ (who had relieved the matron two hours before). Necks craned forward to see her, and reporters’ pencils scribbled away.

  Despite the difficult circumstances, Marguerite had taken some care over her appearance. She was now a widow and the green silk blouse she had put on at the Savoy would have seemed a little too jaunty for so grave a charge as murder. Aimée had access to madame’s wardrobe at the hotel and so, despite the intense heat, Marguerite entered court wearing a long, satin ‘charmeuse’ coat, suitably black. The softly draped coat, comparatively lightweight, had a smooth, semi-lustrous finish and was trimmed with fur at the neck, sleeves and hem. She wore a small mushroom-shaped black felt hat, around which lay a lightly patterned strip of silk.

  Most eyes, however, were riveted on Marguerite’s jewellery, which she could not resist displaying, despite the pressing need for a sober look. Large, pearl-drop earrings matched a plain, but elegant, pearl necklace. Above her gold wedding band, she wore ‘a big square marquise diamond ring’ and on the third finger of her right hand, an even larger emerald, ‘set in quaint oriental style’. On her left wrist she wore a magnificent three-tier diamond and sapphire bracelet, set in turquoise, probably one that Ali had torn off and thrown at her in the lobby of the Majestic in Paris a fortnight before.

  Though these were hardly widow’s weeds, the press responded sympathetically to this wan, petite form, ‘typically Gallic, [whose] pallor emphasised dark marks under the large and impressive eyes…’298 Those compelling eyes were seen to fill with tears during the brief hearing and from time to time she would dab them dry with a large, green silk handkerchief.

  DDI Grosse told of the arrest and gave a short description of the scene of the incident to the Stipendiary Magistrate, Rollo Graham-Campbell, who agreed to Freke Palmer’s request that his client should not be transported to Holloway Prison in a van, like the common run of prisoners, but rather in the comfort of a taxi cab.

  More details about the Savoy Hotel were now appearing in the newspapers and the Evening Standard, Evening News, Star, and Pall Mall Gazette were splashing news of the night’s events on billboards. Front pages highlighted references to the French nationality and Parisian origins of the woman who had shot her Egyptian ‘Prince’.

  The storm had not cleared the air. That day, even hotter than its predecessor, was the date of a large evening party thrown by the Prince of Wales at St James’s Palace, entertaining ‘the most beautiful debutantes of the Season, men of distinction in politics and diplomacy’, prominent industrialists, and a bevy of Society matrons, including ‘the Duchess of Northumberland, the Countess of Birkenhead and Mrs Baldwin’.299

  A dinner for ‘fifty to sixty’ personal friends began at 8.15 p.m., followed by a large reception in the Banqueting Hall. Princess Mary ‘in glittering white’, acting as hostess for the bachelor Prince, had the unenviable task of shaking her gloved hands with some 800 guests, whose names were sonorously announced by Bruce Ogilvie, the Prince’s junior equerry. Coping as best they could with the sweltering night, the company could admire the banks of red and white flowers on display, while the subdued roar of conversation largely drowned music played by the accompanying Band of the Welsh Guards.

  The Prince felt ill at ease at such formal gatherings, where tailcoats and decorations were de rigueur for the men, but that night, for whatever reason, he was able to disguise his feelings, ‘played the part of host with a charm which robbed the party of all stiffness and formality’ and ‘looked so alert, so genuinely happy in himself ’.300

  On 11 June, the ‘yellow press’ (a contemporary term for modern-day ‘tabloids’ and ‘redtops’) went to town, with front-page headlines in the Daily Mail, Daily Express, Daily News, Daily Chronicle, Daily Sketch and Daily Graphic. More conservative newspapers, such as The Times, Daily Telegraph and Morning Post, carried the news in measured reportage, adding various layers of information to the bald facts of the shooting.

  By this date in 1923, York House at St James’s Palace was staffed by a ‘handpicked team’, comprising the private secretaries, Godfrey Thomas and Tommy Lascelles, together with equerries Joey Legh and the Hon. Bruce Ogilvy (who had replaced ‘The Lord Claud’ in 1921), with other personnel of military experience, Rear Admiral Halsey, sometimes called ‘The Old Salt’, and Brigadier-General Gerald ‘G’ Trotter’, a one-armed veteran of the South African War with a taste for late-night entertainment. The team seem to have worked reasonably well together, although the appointment of an ‘outsider’ the previous year had introduced a measure of disharmony.

  The newcomer was Captain Edward ‘Fruity’ Metcalfe, ‘one of the Indian Army ADC’s the Prince [had] retained to look after his horses’. Metcalfe, whose influence on the Prince has been noted earlier in this book,301 was a professional soldier, son of an official in the Irish prison service, and not quite out of the same stable in terms of social background as the ‘handpicked team’, who were also dismayed by his easy familiarity with the Prince. Metcalfe was ‘very nice and irresponsible’, in the opinion of Godfrey Thomas, ‘a wild, wild Irishman’, according to Admiral Halsey.302

  The few people ‘in the know’ about the Prince’s liaison with Marguerite had something very important to talk about that evening. Joey Legh had met Marguerite on several occasions in Paris during the war and may have picked up the unwelcome news from early press reports. Thomas and Lascelles, too, must have been well aware of their master’s fateful wartime liaison. Special Branch, with a pre-existing file on Marguerite and possibly with knowledge of her movements, might have tipped off York House soon after the Savoy Hotel incident. By whatever means, the Prince, his secretaries, ‘Fruity’ and all, would have become aware during that Tuesday of the identity of the young woman described as a ‘Princess’ in a welter of lurid press reports.

  All of the Prince’s team, including even the blasé Metcalfe, are known to have been ‘terribly afraid’ of what might come out at a murder trial.303 The priority, beyond doubt, was secrecy – at almost any cost. The fewer who knew about the Prince’s mésalliance with Marguerite, the better would be the outcome. The wartime letters had to be recovered and Marguerite stopped from revealing the affair. The Prince’s people must have been concerned from the outset to know what Marguerite would accept in return for handing over the letters and rem
aining silent. She had, as they well knew, already threatened blackmail in 1918.

  The fear was stark. Backed up by the evidence of the letters, Marguerite could easily make the Prince an object of ridicule, contempt, perhaps even hatred in Britain and abroad, by revealing stories of partying in Paris and Deauville, jollies in his Rolls-Royce, a luxurious existence enjoyed in chateaux and high-class maisons de rendezvous safely behind the lines, while men were being blown away in their tens of thousands on the Western Front. There was a real risk too that Marguerite might simply sell the letters abroad (in the USA, for example), causing enormous damage to the credibility of the British monarchy.

  Circumstances dictated that Thomas, assisted by Lascelles, should take prime responsibility for dealing with the acute problem presented by Marguerite. The Private Secretary and his Assistant were by far the most intellectually able members of the Prince’s personal staff. As will be seen later, their personal correspondence indicates a close involvement in protecting the good name of the Prince throughout the 1920s.304 Their first response to the challenge seems to have been made with commendable speed.

  ‘It is fortunate that he [the Prince] is off to Canada,’ later wrote the Foreign Secretary, Marquess Curzon.305 Although The Times had reported in early July that the Prince would visit towns in both Wales and England during mid-October, his engagement programme was abruptly altered on 11 July, just one day after the shooting. The good burghers of Aberystwyth and Winchester would now have to wait rather longer to salute their Prince. Given the urgent circumstances, this unexpected announcement cannot be seen as coincidence. The Prince would now be travelling to Canada for some six weeks, leaving in early September, ostensibly to visit his ranch near Calgary in Alberta, his return scheduled for 21 October. With suitably deferential hyperbole, the news was declared to be of ‘exceptional interest’ by The Times, apparently unaware of the real reason behind the sudden change of plan.306