[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘Guy? What on earth are you doing here?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘Louisa, I’m sorry to have surprised you like this.’ Guy knew he was stammering. His idea of coming to see her might not have been so ingenious as it had seemed back in London, but he couldn’t contain the feelings of deep pleasure rising up in him at seeing her again. She looked as pretty as she always had done to him; he even liked that she looked a little older, a touch of tiredness about the mouth. Her figure was as slim, her eyes still dark brown with flecks of light hazel. She was staring at him, as if she couldn’t comprehend that he was standing there. That was probably fair. He was the last person she would have expected to turn up in Paris.

  ‘No need to be sorry,’ she said. ‘But – are you here because of what happened last night? Are you here on police business?’

  Now it was Guy’s turn to be alarmed. ‘What? No, I’m not. Well, not quite, there was something I wanted to ask you, but – what do you mean? What happened last night?’

  ‘Someone died.’

  ‘Someone died?’

  ‘Yes, a friend of Mr Guinness’s. That’s why I somehow thought they might have called the British police, though of course not. Even if they had, you couldn’t possibly have come this quickly.’

  ‘No, but why don’t you tell me what happened, what you know anyway. I’ll take notes, in case it’s of use to the police later. Are the French police here?’

  ‘The gendarmes. Yes, they have been here but they don’t think anything suspicious is going on. It was just a very unfortunate event. His wife says he was allergic to sesame, and he must have unknowingly eaten something with sesame in it.’

  Guy wanted to take her in his arms. He couldn’t, he knew. Even if he tried to pretend to himself that it would only be to comfort Louisa, it had been too long since he had seen her – and then there was Sinéad.

  ‘A horrible shock for everyone, nonetheless,’ he said, as warmly as he could.

  Louisa nodded. ‘Yes, horrible.’

  There was a chill in the room, the fire hadn’t been laid, given the upset to the household. ‘Come into the kitchen,’ said Louisa. ‘The cook is a bit stern but I’m sure I could get you a cup of tea. Even if Nanny Blor was right after all, it’s not the same over here as it is at home. I can’t tell if it’s the water or the milk, or what.’

  Guy was so relieved she had dispelled the tension in this way he almost laughed but stopped himself in time. The two of them walked down the corridor to the kitchen, practically following the smell of garlic. Did the French eat it for breakfast?

  Louisa boiled some water and after a search found the milk. Guy couldn’t help but think of when he had once followed her down to Asthall Manor years before and she had made him tea then, too. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, finding the cups and teaspoons, none of the French staff helping her. She seemed suddenly very alone and the old yearning he had always had to take her home almost clutched him by the throat. Guy coughed and Louisa looked at him. ‘One minute, almost there.’

  When they were both sitting down at a corner of the long table, out of the way of the maids who were peeling vegetables and feverishly whispering to each other, they began to talk. For all his questions, he felt he had better stick to the more immediate matter in hand.

  ‘What happened last night?’

  Louisa pulled in closer to him, and when she spoke her voice was low. ‘I think it’s being kept secret from the other servants, so we’d better talk quietly.’

  Guy nodded.

  ‘I think they – that is, Mr and Mrs Guinness – are trying to avoid any rumours and distancing themselves from this as much as they can.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Guy.

  ‘Yes. From what’s been said so far, they all went out to dinner and drank rather a lot. Most of them came back here, Mrs Guinness went to bed—’

  ‘You can’t call her Miss Diana any more?’ asked Guy, slightly incredulous.

  ‘I know, it’s funny after I looked after her for all those years in the nursery but I have to call her Mrs Guinness now or “ma’am”—’

  ‘You call her “mum”?’ Guy’s voice was in danger of reaching a shrill pitch.

  Louisa got the giggles. ‘That’s just how you pronounce it, it’s M-A-apostrophe-A-M. Then she has to call me “Cannon” if anyone else is in the room but she calls me Louisa when it’s just us.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Anyway, she went to bed and I came down to the kitchen and Luke Meyer had come down to meet me here—’

  Guy had to interrupt again. A sharp stab had pierced his chest. ‘Luke Meyer? The gossip columnist?’ Guy had seen his byline in the papers when reading up about the party at which the maid had died and Rose had gone missing.

  ‘He’s a sort of friend of Di— I mean Mrs Guinness’s. And mine, too, in a manner of speaking.’ She took a breath and carried on. ‘He told me that there had been a lot of cocktails drunk and the party was still going on. He noticed particularly that Shaun Mulloney had ordered a lot of drinks.’

  ‘Sorry, who is Shaun Mulloney?’

  ‘That’s the man who died. He’s married to someone called Kate, she’s the one who telephoned this morning to tell Mrs Guinness what had happened. Oh, please excuse me.’ Louisa turned pale and put the back of her hand to her mouth. There was a gentle hiccup. ‘I was sick all night. I don’t know what it was. I thought I was feeling better but I haven’t had much sleep.’

  ‘Can I get you some water?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ Louisa managed a small smile.

  ‘When did Mrs Mulloney find him? Does she know what happened?’ Guy took a sip of tea but he’d left it too long and it had gone cold.

  ‘They went to bed when they got in last night, about three o’clock in the morning. She says he was very sick when they got in but she assumed it was all the alcohol he’d drunk, and then she passed out herself. When she woke a few hours later, to get herself a glass of water, she found him dead on the bathroom floor. It looks as if he choked on his vomit. Sorry, I know it sounds horrible.’

  ‘Natural causes, then.’ No gun, no knife. Guy was almost disappointed, wrong as he knew it was to feel this way.

  ‘Yes. I just feel a bit frightened because … ’ Louisa looked at him and his heart lurched. ‘No, you’ll think me silly.’

  ‘What is it? I’m sure I won’t.’

  ‘It’s just that I was sick and in pain all night, too. It’s an odd coincidence, yet I can’t account for it. I had my supper here and they were all at a restaurant.’

  ‘Could be the water. Did you drink from the tap yesterday?’

  Louisa thought back. ‘Yes, but I have done every day. So do all the servants here.’

  ‘But they might be used to it, the French water, I mean. Not to mention there have been reports of tuberculosis in the system. My mother told me not to drink anything from the tap unless it had been boiled first. You can’t trust the foreign water, she said.’

  ‘Just like Nanny Blor. Perhaps there’s something in those old wives’ tales.’

  ‘Good old-fashioned bad luck for Mr Mulloney and you, then,’ said Guy.

  ‘Yes, it seems so.’ Louisa gave him a smile and his heart lurched. It made him despair – after all this time, he hadn’t been able to change how he felt.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Louisa did not linger long in the kitchen with Guy because she knew that Diana would need her upstairs, for the comfort of her familiar presence on this unfamiliar morning, if nothing else. She sent him off but not before he had extracted from her a promise to meet him later and given her the telephone number of the pension where he was staying. She had asked him why he was in Paris and he’d said that he was on a short holiday with Harry and Mary – Louisa thought it would be nice to see them, too – and some sort of police business that he hoped she could help him with but he didn’t go into it, only said he’d tell her more later. A bribe, perhaps, to make sure she’d get in touch. He knew her own c
uriosity for a mystery.

  It had been quite wonderful to see him. When she had been feeling lonely during those long barren months in London, embarrassed by her failure to join the police or make something of herself, she hadn’t written back to him, believing he would think less of her if he knew what had happened. Seeing him again, she finally understood he was a more generous person than that, in fact he probably would have helped her, if she would only allow herself to be helped. Guy hadn’t asked her about where she had been or why he’d never had a reply – they had been too concerned with Mr Mulloney – but she knew it would have been on his mind. She hoped so, anyway; she couldn’t bear to think that he hadn’t missed her at all, even if his few letters had dried up quite quickly. Louisa knew she would have to explain herself to him eventually, but for the moment she hoped they could simply enjoy each other’s company, away from London. When the drama was over, she hoped she might continue to enjoy the freedom of this novel city, uninhibited by the usual expectations of behaviour. She knew it was silly to feel that way; everything was changing, in London as well as Paris. Everywhere she looked there were well-dressed women striding around with purpose. In the newspapers there were constant stories of women who had earned impressive degrees at university, who were making great scientific discoveries, exploring new territories and flying aeroplanes. They beamed out from the pages, with broad, confident smiles and short haircuts, wearing wide-legged trousers. ‘Look at us,’ they seemed to say, ‘we can do anything any man can do!’ It should have inspired her but instead it made her feel weaker: all this opportunity before her and what had she done? Worked as if she lived in the Victorian age, as a servant and seamstress. She could have swapped lives with her grandmother and no one would know the difference.

  Being in Paris made her feel more hopeful that she might yet achieve something special. Especially now that Guy was here. For the moment, just feeling that was enough – she wasn’t willing to investigate exactly why quite yet.

  *

  Back upstairs, Diana and Bryan were in the drawing room, along with six or seven of their friends who had gathered from their various hotels and apartments in Paris to discuss the news. Louisa peeped through the gap in the doorway, looking for Luke, who glanced up and happened to catch her eye. She moved to the side in the hall, out of the line of vision, and soon he came out to talk to her.

  ‘You’ve heard what happened?’ Luke looked as if he hadn’t slept. His clothes had been changed from the night before but he looked rumpled, where he usually looked sleek. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled stale.

  ‘Yes,’ said Louisa. ‘I was summoned to her bedroom this morning, not long after they’d had the telephone call.’ She looked behind her, though she didn’t know what she was checking for other than she felt it wasn’t her place to discuss this. ‘What are they saying?’

  Luke ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Not much. The police took a statement from Kate, which she found very upsetting. I don’t think French gendarmes are particularly gentle. They’ve asked those of us who were at the dinner last night to leave our names and addresses, in case there are further questions to be asked. There’s the question of an autopsy.’

  ‘An autopsy?’

  Luke exhaled shakily. ‘Yes, it’s not entirely clear why he died.’

  ‘What do you think?’ It was dark in the hallway, with no lights turned on in spite of the grey clouds outside. Louisa couldn’t see Luke’s face clearly as he answered.

  ‘The doctor says it was something he ate that caused the extreme vomiting.’

  ‘But was it deliberate?’

  ‘I say, old girl, where does your mind go? He was allergic to sesame. I say it was nothing more than bad luck. Most likely something he ate at La Coupole. We were in Montparnasse, it’s a rackety part of town.’

  Everyone thought it was bad luck, then. Except for Louisa, who had something in the pit of her stomach that was quite different from whatever had made her feel sick all night.

  ‘You’d better go back in.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Are you feeling all right?’ Luke sounded concerned.

  ‘I wasn’t but I’m better now.’

  ‘Good. Do you know where the nearest telephone is, by the way?’

  ‘There’s a study just off the entrance hall,’ said Louisa. Then, because she could not help herself: ‘Who do you need to ring?’

  ‘Just my aunt, to let her know I’m well. And possibly my editor.’

  But before Louisa could respond to this – he wanted to ring the newspaper? – another voice interrupted.

  ‘What are you two whispering about out here?’ Diana had come out of the drawing room without either of them noticing.

  Luke jumped. ‘Nothing, Diana. I thought we might ask for some coffee.’

  ‘That’s not Louisa’s to fetch. I’ll ring the bell if you really want some.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Luke and he escaped back into the party.

  Louisa was about to turn away when Diana stopped her. ‘Mrs Mulloney is coming here shortly. Understandably, she doesn’t want to stay in their flat alone. Could you prepare the small blue bedroom for her? I don’t trust the French maid to make it cosy, as we would.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll do that straight away.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not sure what happens after today. Truthfully, I don’t much feel like staying in Paris.’

  Louisa didn’t know what to say to this; if she could, she would have protested that she wanted to stay, very much. Instead she nodded and left to plump the pillows and put a fresh vase of flowers in the blue bedroom.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  An hour or so later, Kate Mulloney’s arrival blew through the apartment like a mistral. Louisa was in Diana’s bedroom, rehanging her mistress’s frocks and smoothing out any creases by hand – more in the absence of knowing what else to do with herself than because it needed to be done – when the two women came in. They seemed not to notice her at first, or it could have been that she was at least partly hidden by the wardrobe doors. The first thing that Louisa remembered as she saw her, as surely everyone did, was that Kate was quite the most strikingly attractive woman that she had ever come across. Diana was beautiful, of course, but it was a classical beauty and her youthful naivety kept a certain kind of attention at bay; whereas Kate was all sophisticated charisma: white skin, dark hair and a mouth that was perfectly red. More predator than prey. Her figure was not fashionable, with her full bosom and round hips, yet even Chanel could not have dressed her better, nor could any woman help but covet her form. More than that, there was an air about Kate that drew people to her; even Louisa had to resist an impulse to sit at her feet and watch her. No wonder Luke had been so captivated the evening before. There was a sexual power, yes, but that wasn’t the full extent of her charm. All this even in her state of grief.

  Grief? Louisa supposed so. There were no tears but this was hardly something to remark on. People cried alone, she knew that much about the world. Diana and Kate had both sat down on the end of the bed, and were holding each other’s hands. Louisa thought she had better make her presence felt.

  ‘Beg pardon, Mrs Mulloney. Mrs Guinness.’

  Kate looked at her but said nothing.

  ‘Sorry, Kate, I didn’t realize Cannon was in here.’ Louisa thought her mistress looked uncomfortable but whether it was because she was in the room, or because Mrs Mulloney was tightly holding both her hands, she couldn’t say.

  ‘We’ve met,’ said Kate, her plucked eyebrow arched.

  Diana coloured slightly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘A lady’s maid on honeymoon. You’re even grander than I thought.’ Louisa started to walk towards the door as they talked, not particularly enjoying the sensation of their discussing her as if she wasn’t there. But Kate had other plans. ‘Wait, don’t go.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Mulloney?’ Louisa turned to face her, holding her gaze, though it took nerve. She was beginning to find the held hands rather disc
oncerting.

  ‘Could you be a darling and fetch my vanity case from my room? There’s something I’d like to give Diana.’ Kate looked at Diana as she said this.

  When Louisa returned a few minutes later with the navy-blue leather vanity case, stamped with Kate’s initials – K. G. M. – the two women were apart, with Kate sitting back up on the bed, her legs up, leaning against the pillows and Diana standing by the window. Taking the case from Louisa, Kate snapped open the fastenings. Inside, amongst the diamond earrings and smaller jewellery boxes, lay a revolver with pearls inlaid on the handle. It was almost pretty, if one could call such a violent object pretty. Had Kate realized that Louisa had seen it? She wasn’t particularly trying to hide the weapon, it seemed, but, still, Louisa was standing close to the bed. She had the strong sensation that she shouldn’t leave Diana alone, and besides, she hadn’t been told to go. Kate rummaged around the case and then drew out a red box. ‘Here, darling. This is for you.’

  Diana’s face revealed little. ‘Kate, please. Now is not the time to give things away, you might regret it later.’

  Kate held out the box on an open palm and made a face of dramatic pleading. ‘Shaun gave these to me but I hardly ever wear them. I want you to have them. You have been so kind to me today.’ She broke off into a gulped-down sob.

  Diana took the box from Kate and opened it. There were a pair of ruby studs, set in a circle of tiny diamonds. ‘They’re beautiful but—’

  ‘I won’t be argued with.’ Kate was firm, and the case was snapped shut. This seemed to disturb them in some way and they both turned simultaneously to look at Louisa who had been standing there as still and colourless as a statue in the Louvre.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,’ said Kate suddenly, still looking at her.