Suddenly tired but also a tad relieved not to be with Mary and Harry for a moment, Guy decided to sit down at one of the tables this time and order a proper drink. He looked around to find a waitress he could summon and when a young woman walked over to him he only made out her slim shape and the tray she carried before her. When she bent down to take his order, he noticed with alarm that she was wearing a very low-cut top that revealed more than he had ever seen even on his Sinéad. Flustered, Guy asked her for a carafe of red wine – he’d learned just enough since arriving to order this in French though his accent must have left quite a lot to be desired – and then something made him touch her arm and stop her from leaving. Motioning for her to wait, he pulled the photograph from his pocket and showed it to her. ‘Do you know this woman?’ he said, in slow English. To his surprise, the woman answered in an accent that was straight out of Manchester.
‘That’s Rose,’ she said with surprise. Then she snapped her mouth closed and looked at him with fear and suspicion. ‘I ain’t saying no more. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Please,’ said Guy, ‘I mean her no harm. I’m just looking for her. Her family are worried.’
‘She’s not here any more,’ said the waitress. ‘She left.’
‘Do you know where she went?’
But the woman shook her head and retreated out of his sight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Diana had predicted accurately and returned from the dinner at around midnight without plans, for once, to carry on at a show or club. Louisa was summoned to Diana’s room minutes after they had arrived home. ‘Bryan is carrying on with the others but I’m too tired tonight to go on,’ she explained as Louisa helped her to undress, hanging her frock up and putting wooden trees into the shoes. Diana was not someone who drank beyond her limit as a general rule but her words were sliding tonight, making Louisa think of hospital corners on a bed being tugged loose. She always read before turning her light out, and Louisa had retrieved her book from the drawing room earlier, but it looked as if she would drop off as soon as her head touched the pillow. The newlyweds were sharing the same bed, though Louisa had yet to see the two of them in it at the same time. It wasn’t that it would matter, and Bryan would certainly be at ease, having grown up in households where servants came in and out of the rooms all the time, but Louisa was less used to it, having done the greater part of her work as a servant in the nursery. The rule that a lady’s maid, or indeed a valet, did not knock on a bedroom door before entering made sense, she knew; a maid had to be able to do her work efficiently, without having to wait for the command to ‘come in’. Nevertheless, Louisa couldn’t help but hesitate each time her hand took the doorknob and she made sure that she was never in the bathroom when Diana took off her dressing gown.
Her duty done and Diana already snoring gently by the time Louisa had left the room, she went downstairs to the kitchen. The light was on and she was concerned that the bad-tempered cook might still be there but thankfully, having had no supper to prepare, he had taken advantage and gone for an early night to bed. In fact, no one was in there but Luke, sitting on the well-scrubbed wooden table in the middle, his legs swinging.
‘Good evening, Miss Cannon,’ he said in a jolly voice. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten our assignation.’
‘Sorry, have you been waiting long?’ Louisa caught herself admiring his velvet jacket and handsome face and almost as quickly stopped herself. She had been disappointed before, when she had believed that a friend of Nancy’s was a friend of hers; they were from different worlds and it did no good to forget it. Besides, she had to keep reminding herself that he worked for the newspapers – he might only be after a story he could sell.
‘No. I saw Mrs Guinness depart for bed, gave it enough time for her to get undressed and so on, then came down. I’ve only been here a minute or two. I’m guessing she needed your help this evening?’
‘A lady’s maid never tells,’ said Louisa.
‘Ha, no. But your mistress was rather free with the martinis this evening. It was charming, actually. I enjoyed seeing her let herself a little loose for once. Now, speaking of which – where are the glasses? I smuggled this down.’ He opened his jacket with a flourish to reveal a silver hip flask nestling in the inside pocket. ‘Don’t look like that, a drop will do you no harm. Do you good, I should think. You need to live a little.’
‘My stomach still feels a bit funny from earlier. Those sandwiches in the club you took us to … ’ She pulled a queasy face.
‘Aunt recommends dry biscuits for nausea,’ said Luke.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’ Louisa found a few in one of the cupboards, as well as two tumblers, and Luke poured out a generous slug of clear liquid in each one.
‘Finest gin,’ he said. ‘Here’s to us.’
They drank. The gin burned in Louisa’s throat but it wasn’t unpleasant. She rarely drank alcohol and for a giddy moment, the sensation of light-headedness was pure pleasure. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, ‘what happened this evening?’
‘Ah! Curiosity got the cat after all. I knew it would.’ Luke put his glass down. He was still on the table, Louisa leaning against the cast-iron cooker, facing him. The lights were too bright but the room was warm, and there was the pleasant sensation of a party going on elsewhere in the house.
‘First of all, Diana kept her promise and did not tell her husband about what happened this afternoon.’ Luke opened his eyes wider, in mock surprise.
Louisa knew she should tell Luke to refer to her mistress as ‘Mrs Guinness’ in front of her, if she was to stick to protocol, but she was enjoying this intimacy.
‘You’re lucky,’ she said instead.
Luke waved his hand and took another mouthful of his drink. ‘Maybe so. But if you ask me, she didn’t mind keeping a secret from him all that much. I suspect she quite enjoyed it. Every now and then she would look at me from across the table and give me what my aunt would call an “old-fashioned look”.’
‘Who else was there?’ This sort of prying was shocking, really.
‘The usual crowd, from what I could gather.’ Luke reeled off a few names that Louisa recognized, from Diana’s conversation rather than from the newspapers. ‘Also Shaun and Kate Mulloney. They were at the wedding.’
‘I’ve seen them briefly,’ said Louisa.
‘You’d only need to see him once. Very dashing. Irish, though no accent. Shame, I rather like a Dublin lilt on a pretty boy.’
Louisa briefly questioned that last remark. Another time perhaps she’d ask about it. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Somewhere unpronounceable and artistic, and Bryan picked up the entire bill, which was frightfully generous. Particularly as Mr Mulloney had a fondness for cocktails and kept ordering round after round. I couldn’t keep up.’
Louisa nodded at their drinks. ‘You’re managing now.’
‘Only because I paused earlier. He’s one of those toffs that drinks four bottles of champagne while he’s dressing for dinner. I wasn’t brought up that way.’
Louisa spotted her opportunity. ‘Weren’t you?’
Luke looked at her and put his drink down. He seemed to think for half a minute. ‘In short, no. We weren’t poor but my father left my mother on his return from the war, remarried and moved to Scotland. He has a new family now and apart from a letter or two a year, I have no more to do with him. Mother and I got by, largely thanks to my aunt, my father’s sister. She paid my school fees and would have seen me through Cambridge if I hadn’t dropped out. I know my way around the cutlery, put it that way.’
That made Louisa smile but it also confirmed for her the feeling she’d had that there was an outsider element to Luke. It was probably why he was as happy to sit in the kitchen with her as he was to dine out with the Guinnesses.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Oh, I don’t know if there is all that much more to tell. I stared a lot at the glamorous Irish couple. She is … not beautiful
exactly, not in the way that Diana is, but she is arresting. You can’t help but look at her. And he is louche but witty.’
Louisa’s stomach suddenly turned. ‘I’m sorry, Luke,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure the biscuits helped. You’re going to have to excuse me.’
‘We’ve finished the gin anyway,’ he said. ‘I’d better go back upstairs, see what they’re all up to. Last I looked they were practically scrabbling at the back of the drinks cupboard hoping to unearth an exotic liqueur.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘Didn’t you excuse yourself earlier? Won’t they wonder where you went to?’
‘I doubt they’re in much of a fit state to notice. Besides, I’m not the centre of a crowd like that. I find I often slip easily in and out of a room.’ He tapped the side of his nose, gave her a comedy wink and left. Louisa watched him go, her hands on her middle, then turned and ran to the nearest loo.
The next morning, Louisa woke early, the light a thin line in a dark grey sky. She could hardly call it waking when she had barely slept a wink. All night she had vomited violently, her stomach churning as if a rotary blade was twisting her guts. At last, with nothing left inside, she had passed out on the top of her bedclothes, exhausted. Finally, she got up and staggered to the bathroom to splash cold water on her grey face and as she was walking back to her room, one of the maids came to her to tell her that Diana was ringing her bell rather insistently. Louisa quickly changed her dress. Her bedside clock showed that it was not yet eight o’clock in the morning. It was almost unfeasibly early for her mistress to be awake, but then she had had an earlier night than usual.
Louisa soon discovered that the reason for Diana’s rousing was not the dawn chorus of the birds in the trees by her window. She entered the bedroom to find her mistress up and out of bed, the curtains hastily pulled aside, and Bryan sitting in the armchair in the corner, still in his clothes from the night before. He was pale, completely still and quiet. Diana was pacing, her trembling hands pushing her hair back.
‘Close the door,’ said Bryan, uncharacteristically abrupt. Louisa pushed it shut gently and almost tiptoed across the room. The air was heavy with tension and Louisa prayed nothing had happened to either the Guinness or Mitford families. It would be a terrible portent for the start of their marriage.
‘Louisa,’ said Diana, her voice hushed but suffused with relief at the sight of her maid. ‘You must help us, we don’t know what to do.’
Even Bryan looked young and vulnerable. ‘My parents aren’t going to bear the scandal,’ he started before seeming to realize he was confiding in his wife’s lady’s maid. He turned to the window and looked out, his eyes glassy.
‘What’s happened ma’am?’
‘It’s Shaun Mulloney, who had dinner with us last night, and came back here. His wife, Kate, has just telephoned. He’s dead.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Guy had stayed in the bar for another half an hour but another waitress had brought his wine and he had been unable to find the one who knew Rose again. He worried that for whatever reason she had decided it was too dangerous to talk to him, it meant that she was losing money by cutting short her shift, so he decided to leave. He had left his name and the telephone number of the pension where he was staying with the barman, though he was not hopeful it would get passed along. He hadn’t even caught the waitress’s name and thanks to his bad eyesight and the dim lighting, was not even completely certain that he knew what she looked like beyond the disturbingly low-cut top. Disheartened, Guy had returned to his room and gone to bed. There had been no sign of Mary, who was presumably beside her husband, sleeping off his earlier enthusiasm for the French grape.
The following morning, the sky was brighter and so was their mood. Harry’s long sleep meant he bore no ill effects and Mary was full of the joys of Paris. The three of them decided to go for a walk, to find a typical Parisian brasserie and order croissants. It was then that Guy told them something he’d decided on as he’d tossed and turned on his thin mattress. ‘I’m going to go and find Louisa this morning,’ he said as the waiter set down the pretty rolled pats of butter and a pot of blackberry jam.
Harry looked shocked. ‘What? Not that old chestnut, Sully.’
‘That’s not a very nice way to talk about a lady,’ said Guy.
‘Ha ha. No, but I thought you’d never heard from her again? Do you mean to say you know she’s in Paris?’
Guy had withheld this from Harry and Mary. Quite possibly, he’d withheld it from himself, too. For all his flirtatious teasing, Harry was straight up and down when it came to marriage. He would no more look at another woman now he had Mary than he would smash his saxophone on the pavement. ‘And if I did look at another woman, that’s exactly what Mary would do to my saxophone,’ he had laughed, when he and Guy had had this discussion before, prompted by yet another pretty young girl offering to buy Harry a drink at the end of a set.
‘Yes, she’s in Paris. She works for one of the Mitford sisters, Diana. She’s here on her honeymoon and Louisa’s her maid.’
‘Coo,’ whistled Harry. ‘I thought she’d left them after … well, all that business at the party. With the murder.’ He rolled his eyes comically but Guy remembered; it had been a serious and disturbing time.
‘I think she did leave them for a bit but it seems Diana Mitford, or Mrs Guinness as she is now, has taken her back.’
‘Louisa will be a familiar face for her in her new world,’ said Mary. ‘I understand it. Harry darling, these croissants are delicious. Do have one.’
‘The point is, what about Sinéad? You’re engaged.’
‘I know I’m engaged, Harry. I’m not proposing to change anything on that score,’ he said, as firmly as he could. ‘I thought she might help with Rose. The servant grapevine and all that.’ He was aware of Harry eyeballing him but he carried on. ‘A few days ago I telephoned to find out where she was and the housekeeper said she was here. It’s too much of a coincidence not to follow up, don’t you think?’
‘What if she doesn’t want to see you? I mean, old chap, you’ve not seen her for some time.’
‘I know. I’ll admit a part of me wants to know why, though I’ve no right to ask. But I don’t feel the same about her any more. There’s no danger.’ As Guy said it, he knew he was denying a truth. He was desperate to know what she had been doing for the last few years and why she hadn’t replied to his letters. He knew that was wrong, with Sinéad, but there it was.
‘I see,’ said Harry. ‘You knew Louisa was here. Anyone else you’re keeping up your sleeve for me? Queen of Sheba here and all, is she?’
‘Don’t be so silly.’ Mary blew Harry a kiss across the table. ‘Now, eat.’
The scene over, Guy decided there was no time like the present and arranged to meet Mary and Harry for lunch at a brasserie they had spotted close by. Thanks to a friendly waiter he was able to look up Louisa’s address on a Paris map and, with the directions written out, set off.
Having decided the Metro was too complicated to undertake alone, Guy had decided to walk to the Guinness house, which was likely to take an hour but the weather was dry and clear and he was happy to have the chance to take in the Paris streets. As he walked southwards the view changed dramatically, with the streets growing broader and the buildings wider and grander. In the final furlong, Guy walked across the bridge from Place de la Concorde to the other side of the river, and he felt as if a big band was playing tunes on his heart. Was it the glory of the Champs-Elysées, where the image of Marie Antoinette and her bewigged friends on sleighs came easily to mind, or was it the thought that he was getting closer to Louisa?
When at last Guy arrived at 12 rue de Poitiers he wasn’t at all sure where to ring the bell. There was a rather imposing gate in an archway of the house that seemed to lead to an inner courtyard, but that seemed rather too stately for his own requirements. As it was, Louisa might not be pleased to see him, and especially not if his arrival meant she was reprimanded by Mr Guinness for th
e impertinence. So he walked along the side of the building until he found a more modest door and knocked. After a long minute, as Guy was thinking perhaps the whole thing was a mistake, the door was opened.
‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ said the young maid who opened the door. She looked pale and harried, as if she had been expecting someone else and was frustrated by the appearance of this stranger.
‘Hello, miss,’ said Guy. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak French. Is Miss Louisa Cannon there?’
‘Comment?’ But she blinked and then said. ‘Ah, oui, Mademoiselle Cannon. Entrez.’ She walked off and left the door open, so he assumed he was to follow. Inside, the house was remarkably stylish, with its muted colours and thickly tufted rugs laid on polished wooden floors, even though he was surely in the servants’ quarters. He walked behind the maid along a narrow hallway until they reached what must have been the housekeeper’s siting room. ‘Attendez ici, s’il vous plaît.’
‘Er, yes,’ said Guy, unsure exactly to what he was agreeing. He stood nervously in the small room, turning his hat round in his hands as he looked at the rather uncomfortable chair in front of the desk, the neatly ordered papers and sharpened pencils in a glass pot. He couldn’t hear anything – those thick rugs masking the footsteps of anyone approaching, he supposed – and was, therefore, completely startled when all at once Louisa was standing before him.
[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal Page 8