[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal

by Jessica Fellowes

  However, with Diana’s distracted condition, where tasks were being taken up and dropped erratically, Louisa found it difficult to find the time to escape the main house and go up to find Luke. When at last she did, the following afternoon, Pamela found her first, dashing out of her brick-and-flint cottage and along the path Louisa was walking on.

  ‘Miss Pamela. Is everything all right? I’m so sorry again about imposing Mr Meyer. I wasn’t expecting you to put him up.’

  Pamela waved her off. ‘One must always do what one can for a fellow. The only thing is, Dora Carrington has been up here and talking to him.’

  ‘Do you think she realizes who he is?’

  ‘No. She’s in a pretty desperate way. It probably doesn’t matter but what with both of them being like that, I can’t think it’s good for either of them.’

  ‘Will she mention him to Mr and Mrs Guinness?’ This was enough to panic Louisa.

  ‘Who can say? But you might tell him to be more careful.’

  Louisa had to bear the brunt of the responsibility, in other words. ‘Yes, Miss Pamela, I will.’

  Louisa went round to the stables, cursing her lack of proper gumboots – she’d have to polish her own shoes as soon as she got back to the house – and walked up to the room above. An outside flight of wooden steps led up to the door, behind which was a single, large room, whitewashed with a bed and some empty shelves. She knocked and heard Luke’s voice call out, ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Louisa, her head through the door. She saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking still rather pale and nervous, though less tremulous than before. True to her word, Pamela had dug out some old trousers and a workman’s linen shirt, both big and loose on him. ‘Did you manage to sleep last night?’

  ‘Hardly. This bed is lumpy, the room is cold and I’m sure the hay is making me sneeze.’ He rubbed at his face as if to wake himself up. ‘But I know beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your aunt?’

  ‘I sent a note to let her know I was staying down here for a few days, on an unexpected invitation.’

  ‘Good. Have you seen anyone?’ This was a test.

  ‘Only Pamela, briefly. She brought me up some soup and bread.’

  He’d failed. Damn.

  ‘Miss Pam told me she saw you talking to Dora Carrington earlier.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Luke feigned suddenly remembering. At least, that’s what it looked like. ‘Not for long. She came up to look at the horses. She said she wanted to let the one that bolted know that she forgave it. She’s very sweet, if awfully sad. Like a daisy that’s closed up its petals and not realized the morning has come.’

  ‘Did she know who you were?’

  ‘No, I kept the cap on and my face bent down, told her I was a groom. I played the part rather well, if I say so myself. Spun a tale about a badger caught in a trap and how I’d shot it to put it out of its misery. Rather an authentic invention on the spot, don’t you think?’

  Louisa wasn’t at all sure this was the sort of story Dora Carrington would have appreciated. It seemed very insensitive of Luke.

  ‘Yes, well, I have to get back soon but I wanted to know if you had thought about what you’re going to do.’

  ‘What can I do? I have to go to court, I have to take whatever sentence they give me.’ He flopped backwards and lay on the bed, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.

  ‘You’re a grown man, Luke. You have a job, you’ll have to get your own place like many others do. Perhaps you should start over in a new city.’

  He propped himself up on his elbows and turned to face her then. ‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to try harder than that.’

  ‘Just – be careful, Luke.’ Louisa had to get out of there before she panicked.

  She walked back to the house quickly and let herself in through the boot room, where she heard voices just off to the side: Bryan and Dora Carrington. She could hear them though they couldn’t see her and something about the way they were talking made her press herself to the wall, so as not to disturb them.

  ‘Thank you so much, Bryan,’ Dora was saying. ‘Ralph’s old gun has completely disappeared and we have such trouble with the rabbits at Ham Spray House.’

  ‘It’s a Belgian 12-bore,’ said Bryan. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult for you to handle.’

  Louisa heard the sound of him locking the gun cupboard again and they walked off.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Three days later, after Luke had left, Diana and Bryan were telephoned by Dora’s husband. He had gone to London for the day and when he returned his wife was dead. Wearing Lytton Strachey’s yellow dressing gown she had gone to their bedroom and balanced the gun that Bryan had lent her on the floor, its muzzle at her side, before she pressed the trigger with her toe. She had been discovered by Virginia and Leonard Woolf, dropping by to see how she was, and it had taken her six hours to die.

  The house was shaken by this news. Dora had been a frequent and pleasant guest to the house and all the servants had liked her. Bryan was distraught that he had lent Dora the gun, though Diana told him over and over not to blame himself. She was desperately unhappy, she would have done it somehow.

  Louisa was less sure. She, herself, was racked with the guilt that she had known the conversation Dora had had with Luke, and that soon after Dora had borrowed the gun. Had Louisa become an accomplice to Luke’s casual, horrifying attitude to life? Having written to Guy to tell him that she felt pity for Luke, she wondered if she had done the right thing, after all. Guy had sent her a brief note in return, telling her he would abide by her instinct but asking her to be careful nonetheless. He also said he had finally heard from the French police with regard to Shaun Mulloney but there had been little to relay: Mrs Mulloney had denied an autopsy in France and the body had been repatriated quickly to Ireland. Guy had been in touch with the relevant authorities in Dublin but it appeared that as there had been a death certificate already signed by a doctor in Paris, there had been no further investigation by Shaun’s family and he had been buried. However, the French police still had not released the statements they had taken down at the time and he was going to push for these. He had to be circumspect, however, because he had not had his superior sign off this review of the case.

  Together with the news about Dora, Louisa wanted no more of this introspection into the darkness. She decided she was no longer going to delay on the things that had become important to her. Nor, it seemed, was Diana.

  After the news of Dora’s death had been received, Diana had announced that she was leaving for London as quickly as possible. She arranged for the boys to stay behind with Nanny Higgs before she, Bryan and Louisa were driven up by Turner. The journey was done in just under three hours but felt considerably longer with the oppressive silence in the back seat, the young couple not talking at all. Louisa felt no less heavy-hearted but she was comforted by the thought of her plans.

  Arriving at Buckingham Street, Diana disappeared into the morning room and was quickly on the telephone, talking in a low voice, making one call after another as if she felt the need to be connected to as many people as possible. Bryan went out to his club, which probably meant he would be gone for the rest of the day. Eventually Diana rang the bell for Louisa.

  ‘There are three different parties I’m going to this evening,’ she announced. ‘I’ll leave here at six o’clock and I don’t know what time I’ll be back. There’s no need for you to wait up. Please prepare my black silk, the one with the three-quarter length sleeves. I’ll wear it with the Molyneux evening coat, and you’ll need to get the Guinness necklace from the safe. The one Lady Evelyn gave me.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Louisa. A whole evening to herself. She knew what she was going to do.

  As soon as Diana had left the house – dressed in funereal black and rubies, unaccompanied by Bryan yet not looking sad, looking young and excited – Louisa followed
soon after. She was in the best dress she had, a hand-me-down from Nancy of navy silk with huge white flowers printed all over it, and with a flattering nip in the waist. Walking fast to Hyde Park Corner, she hopped on the bus for a quick ride to the stop by the Natural History Museum, and then walked to South Kensington, which took her less than ten minutes. It was cold and the sky was low and dark, a metallic tang to the air as if a storm might break, but she was feeling light on her feet. As she turned into Pelham Street, she saw the red awning of the restaurant she had chosen and standing underneath it, his hands in his coat pockets and looking nervously about without seeing her yet, was Guy.

  Louisa practically ran over to him. The sight of him, now that she had made her decision, made her feel as if she had burst herself open like a paper bag filled with confetti.

  ‘Guy.’ She touched his arm and he looked slightly startled as though he couldn’t quite believe that she had turned up as she had said she would.

  ‘This is all rather mysterious. Why wouldn’t you tell me what this is about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you inside,’ she said. Now, they had all the time in the world.

  ‘We’re going in there?’

  ‘Yes! We’re going in there, and we’re going to sit down and have supper together, and we’re going to talk.’

  He looked uncertain then.

  ‘About good things, we’re going to talk about good things, I promise you.’

  Relief bloomed on his face, and he pushed open the door to let her in first.

  Sitting opposite each other in the restaurant, there were a few minutes of awkwardness while the waiter fussed over their napkins and brought over the wine and menus, before finally leaving them alone. Guy started to read his menu but he looked at Louisa over the top of it. ‘I can’t eat until I know what this is about, Louisa,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she said, feeling an intoxicating blend of certainty of what she was about to do with nervous bubbles in her throat all at once. She took a sip of wine and worried she wouldn’t be able to swallow it but the warmth of the alcohol relaxed her. She put the menu down and looked at Guy. ‘It’s about us.’

  ‘Us?’ She could see him still afraid that this might not go the way he would like it to go.

  ‘Yes. I don’t know how you feel about Sinéad, and I know that was all very recent. No, please.’ Guy looked as if he was about to say something. ‘I need to get this all out. I mean to say, I understand if you need some time. But I’ve realized that, well … ’ Her prepared speech suddenly turned to ashes in her mind. It seemed both too trite and too serious. What if he didn’t feel the same? She had to keep going now she’d started. ‘Everything that’s happened recently, these terrible deaths, these unhappy people, and the things in the news – the world is such an unhappy place. And I don’t want to be unhappy, too. I don’t want to feel that life has passed me by and I haven’t taken the chance to do the things I really want. That’s not to say I know exactly what I want, but there is one thing.’ She was running out of oxygen and she didn’t think she’d made any sense, Guy was looking at her with kind bemusement, his eyes creasing at the corners with those dear lines. ‘I want to be with you, Guy. I don’t think we should be alone and apart any more, but it’s not fear that’s making me say this. It’s happiness.’ She blinked, afraid she might cry.

  Guy reached over the table and beckoned. She placed her hand in his, warm and strong, and felt safety wash over her as his fingers closed over hers. ‘You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that from you,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘I think I do,’ she said, half gulping the words.

  Guy leaned further over the table. ‘If we weren’t sitting in here, I’d kiss you now.’

  Louisa laughed, the tension she’d felt in her stomach gone completely. She looked around the room. There was one other couple in the window, and the waiter was busy pouring wine for another table, his back to them. ‘I’d say we could risk it anyway.’

  Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘I say, Miss Cannon. Will you always surprise me like this?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  And briefly, but for long enough to feel the softness of each other’s lips and the tremors pass through them, behind the menus held up as a screen, they kissed.

  For the next two hours, Guy and Louisa talked as they had never been able to talk before. There was so much of each other’s past they knew already but all at once they had a future that was both unknown and certain, stretching ahead of them, to be shared. They talked about holidays by the sea they wanted to take, that they would both like to stay in London but perhaps find a house with a small garden that Guy fancied he’d like to have a go at. They hedged around the idea of children – it seemed too soon to wish for everything to fall into their laps – but playfully teased the picture of them both as an old married couple in a cottage by the sea with heaps of grandchildren. When they left the restaurant, Louisa’s hand in Guy’s, they walked with the easy certainty of a couple that have loved each other for years and always would.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Guy and Louisa walked through South Kensington, not yet wanting the night – this fateful night – to come to an end. The rain had been and gone while they were inside the restaurant, leaving only faint traces behind with wet cars and slick reflections on the pavements of the street lamps. It still wasn’t late, there was yet the sense of London being alive, changing shifts from day workers to night workers and party people.

  Unable to say out loud anything of what they were feeling, the two of them continued silently, trying to calm their whirling thoughts into submission and failing, as they turned into Old Church Street. Just up ahead of them on the right was the Chelsea Arts Club and it looked as if a party of some sort had come to an end, as the men and women flowed out on to the pavement. They were of another time and place, Guy thought. Never would he see any one of their kind on the streets where he lived. The women wore long coats of rich textures and many colours, worn loose and open, showing flashes of the reds, yellows and oranges beneath as if their bodies were aflame. Their heels were high, their faces made up and they were shouting as if they hadn’t realized there was no longer any music above which they needed to make themselves heard. The men were perhaps more soberly dressed in dark coats and top hats, though there were enough flourishes for the occasional artist to make himself known. Were they afraid that without a paintbrush in their hand or an easel before them that they might be mistaken for a City pen-pusher? They announced their integrity instead with cravats, winding scarves and pipes. Guy was enjoying watching this strange species as they grouped and broke off, like peacocks in a mating dance, when he felt Louisa grab his arm to make him stop walking. She nudged him to the side of the pavement, into the shadows by the wall.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, half hoping and half shocked that she might be trying to kiss him in the street.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘Look. That couple there, on the right.’

  Guy looked but it took him a while to make his eyes focus. They weren’t too far away, in fact, only a few more steps and he and Louisa would have walked right past them. But it was unlikely that the couple would have even noticed. They were standing a way apart from the crowd outside the club and he saw that the small, slim, blonde woman was Diana Guinness. But the man she was standing with was not Bryan. He was tall, and he was holding his hat in his hand, showing his thick mass of slicked-back dark hair, a large face with high cheekbones and a strong nose that sheltered a black moustache. He looked vaguely familiar but Guy couldn’t quite place him. Diana was looking up at him intently, hanging on to his every word as the man was talking in what looked to be a serious, quiet way, meant only for her ears. Their heads were angled so near to each other that you could almost see the magnetic force between them and it looked as if they might kiss at any moment, like bath bubbles on your fingertips put too closely together.

  ‘That’s Sir Oswald Mosley,’ whispered Louisa. ‘I recognize him from the papers.’


  ‘The politician?’

  Louisa nodded. ‘Diana met him a few weeks ago. I knew there was something different about it and she’s been in a strange mood lately. Apart from everything else, I mean.’

  ‘Ah.’ Guy wasn’t entirely sure what Louisa meant but even he, with his terrible eyesight, could see that whatever was going on between Diana and Sir Oswald was not something her husband would have approved of.

  ‘I hope she isn’t going to be an idiot,’ sighed Louisa. Then she looked up at Guy and he thought – we’re in the shadows, aren’t we? And he pulled her into him, and they kissed again.

  Back at work the next day, Guy marvelled how a change in his happiness could have such an effect on even the most prosaic of minutiae. The tea at work tasted better, the people around him seemed gayer and kinder, and if they weren’t he cared not a jot. Even so, there was a task he had to complete. It was the very last thing he wanted to do but he knew that he had to, not only because it was right but because Louisa had asked it of him last night.

  Excusing himself from the station on an errand, he grabbed his hat and coat and headed over to Covent Garden station, taking the Piccadilly underground from Knightsbridge. A busker was playing saxophone at the entrance to the platform and Guy was feeling so jolly he dropped a half-crown in his hat. Out the other end on to Long Acre, packed with market stalls, Guy threaded his way to the police station, where he asked for PC Marshall at the front desk. ‘He’s on the beat today,’ said the constable. ‘But he’s only just started, you might catch him if you head out quick enough. He usually starts with a cup of tea at Joe’s caff. Out the door, second street on the left.’