[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘Miss Cannon, may I introduce you to my aunt, Lady Boyd? Aunt, Miss Cannon is Mrs Guinness’s lady’s maid.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Lady Boyd. She was plainly dressed and plain to look at, with watery eyes and a firm chin. Her clothes were practically Edwardian, with a hat that was a far cry from the close-fitting cloches that Diana and her friends favoured; Lady Boyd’s was high, with an upturned brim and a large yellow silk chrysanthemum tucked inside. Frizzy wisps of grey hair had escaped her hat erratically. Something about her looked familiar but Louisa wasn’t sure if that was because she looked like a certain type of old-fashioned widow one often saw. She looked Louisa up and down and then gave her a small smile that showed no teeth. ‘How do you do. Will you forgive me? I must speak to the concierge about our arrangements for the visit to the Rialto Bridge tomorrow.’

  Luke watched her cross the lobby – she might as well have traversed an aeroplane hangar – and then turned back to Louisa. ‘It’s nice to see you,’ he said. ‘We got here three days ago, and none of the others arrived until last night. I think if I have to play one more round of gin rummy I might throw myself off the top of the Campanile.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were bringing her with you.’

  ‘She’s brought me, in a manner of speaking. The newspaper wouldn’t pay, though I’m sure they’ll love any stories I wire them, and I couldn’t have afforded it otherwise. Thus I suggested to dear old auntie that she deserved a small holiday after all her work over Christmas, and that we could enjoy the delights of the Venetian churches together.’

  Louisa was interested by this. ‘What work?’ She didn’t know many titled women who went out to earn money.

  ‘She gets brought in when a hostess wants an impressive menu for a party, though she doesn’t do any of the cooking as such. Oh, Diana’s beckoning, you’ll have to go. I think everyone is having dinner here tonight, in Kate’s rooms. She only arrived yesterday.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Louisa, though only to state the fact.

  ‘No. But I’ll try to find you later.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be able to ring up to a room in my name,’ said Louisa. ‘I don’t know exactly where I’m staying.’

  ‘Almost certainly near our rooms. We’ve taken the cheapest ones possible,’ said Luke with a wink and, waving briefly at the approaching Guinnesses, strode off to fetch his aunt.

  Louisa went to Diana, who was certainly anxious to talk to her. ‘There was a message for us,’ she said, her cheeks unusually flushed. ‘Nancy is here, too. She has broken up with Hamish and needs consolation.’

  ‘Is she alone?’

  ‘No, she’s brought Tom, thank heaven, and another friend with her, Clara Fischer. She sounds Jewish.’

  ‘She’s American,’ said Louisa. ‘An actress. She was at Pamela’s party a few years ago when … ’ She looked at Diana, willing her to understand.

  ‘When what?’

  ‘When Nancy’s friend was killed,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Diana, pulling a face. ‘I do hope she’s not a bad omen.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s not,’ said Louisa.

  But she was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Diana and Bryan had three rooms and a bathroom that overlooked the sea with what was, to Louisa’s eye, quite the most magnificent view she had ever seen. There were huge arched windows with a balcony, although it was too cold to sit outside. ‘It’s a very odd time of year for us to come here, isn’t it?’ Louisa heard Diana remark to Bryan.

  ‘Kate gets bored and dreams wild plans,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I believe our anniversary was the excuse, was it not, my darling wife?’ He went to kiss her but Diana motioned that they were not alone and he stopped. ‘I’m going to go down and see where some of the others are. We’ll find some luncheon I expect.’

  ‘I’m going to ring up Nancy, then we’ll join you,’ said Diana. But as Bryan left, Nancy and Tom came piling in, with Clara in tow. Tom was a delight to see; just turned twenty-one years old, he had the fine profile and good hair of his father. As the only boy with six sisters he was remarkably even-tempered, less inclined to drama than his siblings. As she’d mentioned to Diana, Louisa remembered Clara well; she had last met her at the end of 1925, when there had been a bad business – a young man, Adrian Curtis, had been pushed from the bell tower of the church close to the Mitford’s country house during Pamela Mitford’s eighteenth birthday party. It had been an uncomfortable few months as several of the guests had come under suspicion, but it had also been a revelatory time for Louisa, who had discovered the uninhibited pleasure of dancing for the first time, when she first accompanied Pamela to the infamous 43 nightclub. It had been there, in the semi-darkness, that the differences between Louisa and those that surrounded her had fallen away; but of course, it had not lasted. Clara, one of the group of friends, was an American actress and as strikingly pretty as any film star, if rather too timid for anyone to imagine her able to take centre stage.

  The cold light of January was harsh but Louisa thought Clara looked less glamorously attractive than she used to. She had always been fashionably thin but now looked gaunt, with ashen shadows beneath her cheekbones.

  There were flurries of kisses between them and Diana, and they each said hello to Louisa, though Nancy couldn’t help herself in remarking to her sister, ‘Has anyone else brought a lady’s maid?’

  ‘Only me, in my current state, you know.’ Diana sounded apologetic but Louisa knew she had grown quite used to having her around, pregnant or not. Nevertheless, she felt it would be better to excuse herself with the unpacking.

  Louisa went to the adjoining room with the various cases, removing the numerous dresses and shirts, each of which had been carefully ironed and wrapped in tissue paper, but as the door was left open she found she could hear their conversation quite easily.

  ‘Aren’t you simply enormous?’ she overheard Nancy say in a stagey voice that Louisa recognized as her teasing tone, one that no one was allowed to take offence from but often did.

  ‘The doctor says things are progressing nicely. I’m so sorry to hear about you and Hamish,’ Diana replied, the sting in the tail.

  There was a pause, and Louisa could picture Nancy drawing herself up with dignity. The very last thing Nancy would want from her younger (married, rich) sister was pity. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re going along in our usual jolly way.’

  ‘Then what did you mean in your note? You said you had broken up with him.’

  ‘Oh, I was in a fit. I suddenly minded about having a diamond ring but I’ve come to my senses now.’

  ‘Naunce, is it really going to happen? I mean, he won’t be able to make you happy in a way that a man should … ’ Diana’s voice had tapered off uncertainly. Louisa knew she had more confidence in the face of Nancy than she had had in her younger years but the status quo was ultimately unchanged.

  ‘You mean his pashes at school? Oh, I never pay any attention to that. All boys have their phase, don’t they?’

  ‘I think it’s rather more than a phase in Hamish’s case.’ This was Tom, sounding like the young man he was now. In spite of his tall, handsome figure, his deep voice startled her nonetheless. She’d only ever thought of him as a boy, one she hadn’t seen so much of, since he had, unlike his sisters, been sent away to school. When Louisa later recounted this conversation to Luke, he had interrupted with glee: ‘There are rumours that Tom and Hamish … you know, at Eton.’ Louisa had refused to believe it at first but Luke had been adamant, and she’d been forced to concede that he was more likely to know than she was. She knew by now that he preferred men to women but far from finding this disappointing, she revelled in the freedom it gave their friendship.

  Louisa was inserting the wooden shoe trees into Diana’s various shoes when she heard the murmur of conversation change to a more excitable tone. Luke had entered the room and it sounded as if Nancy were happy to see him, there were exclamations of greeting
and Luke was introduced to Clara and Tom. Louisa was sure Luke had told her that he had met Tom before but they seemed to be saying hello to each other as if this were the first introduction.

  ‘Lou-Lou?’ Diana rarely called her that. She was showing off in front of Nancy, who had come up with the pet name years ago.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Guinness?’ Louisa came back into the room.

  ‘We’re going on an outing to St Mark’s Square. Come along with us. If I get tired and need to sit out for a bit, I’d appreciate your company.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll fetch your things.’

  Coming out of her room half an hour later, having fetched her own coat and hat, Louisa bumped into Luke and Lady Boyd. They were, as he had predicted, close by, having not quite the Guinness or Mulloney funds to spend on their own accommodation.

  ‘Hi,’ said Luke, ‘walk down with us.’

  Louisa detected Lady Boyd give a fleeting look of disapproval at this suggestion but she said nothing to object.

  ‘Have you been to Venice before?’ asked Louisa. She was agog at the thought of the trip to St Mark’s Square.

  ‘Never,’ said Luke. ‘But Lady Boyd has, haven’t you, Aunt?’

  ‘Before the war,’ she confirmed in a tone that was wrapped in nostalgia for the good old days. ‘Sir William Boyd and I stayed at the Gritti Palace, in a suite that overlooked the Grand Canal.’

  ‘It’s all been rather a downhill slope since then,’ whispered Luke to Louisa, pulling a face. She started to titter but stopped when Lady Boyd looked at her sharply.

  ‘Luke, dear,’ said Lady Boyd. ‘I’m not at all sure that you will be warm enough. Shouldn’t you be wearing that nice muffler I bought you?’

  ‘I’ll be perfectly fine, no need to fuss,’ said Luke patiently, rolling his eyes at Louisa as his aunt walked ahead.

  In the lobby were gathered Diana, Bryan, Nancy, Tom, Clara – still looking wan – and Kate Mulloney, together with three or four others that Louisa did not recognize but who had presumably been rounded up in the last half-hour for the excursion. There were stilted introductions between the young people and Lady Boyd – Louisa stood to the side for this – and then they were all led by Kate out to the Excelsior pier, where a liveried boat was waiting to take them across to St Mark’s Square. The weather was fortunately dry, if bitterly cold, and the members of the party were almost all wrapped up in a variety of fur stoles, capes, hats and, in Kate’s case, a full-length mink that made her look more like a Hollywood film star than Clara could ever manage. The image of Kate’s small revolver in her vanity case flashed through Louisa’s mind but she decided to dismiss it; there must have been some reason she felt she needed the protection at the time. There was lively chatter between everyone and Luke in particular seemed boyishly happy to be amongst them. Louisa turned her face to the view of the passing islands and the approaching mouth of the Grand Canal, quietly lost in her own thoughts until their arrival at the pier by the Campanile, when all her senses were at once overwhelmed by the sights and sounds before them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Back in London, Guy was at his desk, tidying his papers at the end of what had been a long but successful day. With DI Stiles, the two of them had concluded a case that had seen the accused, a burglar who had been operating in the area for several months, sentenced to ten years with hard labour. Guy’s telephone rang and he picked it up with a smile, already anticipating another congratulatory message from one of his superiors. When he heard the operator ask if he would take a call from a Mr Albert Morgan he said yes and only a split-second later did he realize this was another sort of call altogether.

  ‘DS Sullivan speaking,’ said Guy.

  ‘It’s Mr Albert Morgan here,’ said the voice, distinctively Yorkshire and speaking quite slowly, as if uncertain as to whether the telephone could really pass the sound along so many miles.

  ‘Hello, Mr Morgan, it’s good to hear from you.’ Guy hoped it was. He hadn’t forgotten Rose, the missing maid. There had been no reason to suppose that she hadn’t gone on to find an amusing and interesting way of earning a living in Paris, that she had even been escaping from her family and had deliberately made sure that she wasn’t found. Yet he had never felt entirely settled, worrying that he had not done his duty by her worried parents.

  There was a rather long pause, and the line crackled. ‘Sorry, Mr Sullivan, I’m sure you’re a very busy man. But Rose’s mam and me, we wondered if you’d heard owt about our Rose. It’s been a year since you went to Paris and we know you said she’d been working there, and we know you said she’s a grown lass that’d let us know if she wanted to, that she were all right … ’ He tailed off and Guy, knowing he had nothing of comfort to say, stayed quiet. There was a cough. ‘It’s breaking her mam’s heart, that’s all. I thought there might be something to tell her.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Morgan. I’ve not heard anything. I take it she’s not been in touch with you or any of her brothers and sisters, then?’

  ‘No. Well, I suppose no news is good news.’

  Guy felt sorry for the poor man. ‘I know that’s a phrase we all use but it is true. There’ve been no police reports about Rose, nothing untoward. We have to assume she is alive and well but, I’m sad to say, choosing not to get in touch.’

  ‘Aye, well. She always was a one for doing things in her own way. All her brothers and sisters have stayed up here in Osmotherly, but Rose took off for London when she were but sixteen.’

  ‘She knows how to look after herself, then.’ Guy tried to sound as encouraging as possible. ‘I’ll put the word out again,’ he found himself saying. ‘You never know, someone might have seen something or remembered something in the meantime.’ He shouldn’t go promising anything but he couldn’t help himself.

  Mr Morgan’s voice sounded brighter. ‘Aye, good lad. That’ll cheer up her mam no end. I’ll tell her police are still on t’case. Thanks, lad. Have you still got the number? The Queen Victoria pub?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve still got it. I’ll call you the minute I hear anything. Goodbye, Mr Morgan.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Sullivan.’ He rang off sounding as if he’d heard good news, when of course nothing had changed at all. Optimism springs eternal when a parent longs for a child to return, thought Guy. Or perhaps it was simply the only way to survive.

  Remembering Rose put Guy in a contemplative mood and took him back to the low moment when he had left Paris the year before. He had returned to London determined to try harder with Sinéad. She was a good and kind girl, and proud of him. Hadn’t she told all her family – which seemed to be a fairly extensive list, judging by the number of cousins that wrote and even turned up in London requiring a bed and a job – that she was to marry a British police officer? He couldn’t deny it, her pride puffed him up. There were things they both did want, after all – a family of their own, a house and garden – and Guy’s mother had been so pleased to know that he was going to settle at last. The worry she had over Guy’s father had got no easier: there were increasingly days when he didn’t seem to recognize his wife. Mrs Sullivan and Sinéad had whiled away many pleasant hours discussing the merits of baking Irish soda bread and the myriad ways one could cook a potato. Guy’s mother had hinted more than once that she would appreciate the help of a daughter-in-law who understood the importance of family. Yet, they still hadn’t married and he wondered if it was time he confronted the truth about why. Perhaps it wasn’t only Rose he needed to find.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The gaggle of Britishers and the American were met off their boat by a guide that the hotel’s concierge had arranged for them. ‘So tiresome,’ Louisa heard Nancy say to Clara, ‘one just wants to go around at one’s own pace.’ But he turned out to be a delightfully informative Italian who looked rather like a professor, with white hair that stuck up in tufts when he removed his hat. Louisa, careful to stand at the back of the group, hung on to his every word as he took them around what they were taught to refer
to as la Piazza; first to admire the astonishing views from the top of the Campanile, then the art in the Museo Correr to see ‘only one or two jewels in la collezione, we cannot possibly see all the diamonds in the crown without walking all the way around and then you will be wrung out like the cloth that washes the dishes’. Finally, they went into the Basilica, with its wondrous gold dome and the professor – as they could not help but call him – had timed their arrival perfectly with the lighting of the candles, hundreds of them it seemed, so that each tiny gold mosaic reflected the soft light in undulating waves and shadows. Here they were left to walk around or sit and pray as they wished, arranging to meet at a café in the square at four o’clock. Louisa stayed close to Diana, who was walking around with Tom and did not seem in the least fatigued. They were talking to each other in an amiable way, having become closer in the last year than Diana was to any of her sisters. ‘What are you going to do after this?’ Diana asked him, as they stood before a frankly enormous nearly naked Christ bleeding on the cross.