‘Did you require her to seduce Edward or was that – what shall I call it? – one of the “perks” of the job?’
There was a pause but the expression which passed over Lord Weaver’s face was not quite what she had anticipated. If it was not shame, it was something close to it.
‘What Miss Dannhorn does in her spare time is nothing to do with me,’ he said, with an effort. ‘Now, we must prepare ourselves for Lady Hepple-Keen’s arrival. I’m going to have to ask her to step down from chairing this charity for the Spanish children. It won’t do to have the wife of an MP accused of murder taking a leading part. I thought I might let you explain it to her. I shall leave you alone with her in this office for ten minutes. That ought to be ample.’
He was clearly taking pleasure in making Verity do his dirty work for him. There would be no question of ‘standing by’ the Hepple-Keens. They were now just an embarrassment.
‘How do you know Hepple-Keen is suspected of murder?’
‘Edward was good enough to ring me earlier this morning. He thought I should know. He wanted to save me embarrassment, I think.’
Verity fumed inwardly. Why had Edward not told her what he intended to do? She ought to have given Mrs Simpson’s letters to the Daily Worker. She couldn’t think why she hadn’t.
‘And if Daphne refuses?’ she said.
‘Then, of course, we disband the charity.’
‘I see. And aren’t you interested to know what’s happened to Mrs Simpson’s letters?’
‘Edward told me that too. He has an appointment with the King at the Fort today. I must say, Verity I don’t understand why I had to hear this from Edward and not from you – my employee.’
This fairly took the wind out of Verity’s sails and made her feel a fool. ‘I would have . . . ’ she began. Damn Edward. It was not something she was going to forgive easily.
‘In any case,’ Weaver went on, ‘it’s of little account now. You may as well know, the King has decided to abdicate.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said weakly.
‘All the world will know tomorrow but, if word leaks out before then and it is traced back to this office, you understand you will never work for this newspaper again.’
There was something so vitriolic in the deadly calm with which he made this threat that Verity could scarcely believe this was the same man she had so recently been licensed to tease and whom she had treated almost as a father. She was about to protest when something stopped her. She had the imagination to see that Weaver himself had been humiliated by Dannie – the story of her defection would be round London society in no time – and also by the King, who had obviously refused his guidance and acted with his usual disregard for the feelings of his friends.
‘Of course. I won’t breathe a word of it – not even to Edward.’
‘He knows,’ Weaver said grimly.
‘Your Majesty.’ Edward made a small bow. Mrs Simpson smiled at him with the faint, distracted air of someone quite out of their depth. The King seemed to be smaller and less physically prepossessing than when he had last seen him but, as Edward realized, it was hardly surprising given the strain he must have been under. All at once he wanted nothing more than to be out of their presence. He was, as Molly had once labelled him, simply a messenger boy. There must be not the slightest hint that he was expecting praise for his efforts, let alone reward. He turned to Mrs Simpson.
‘You asked me to recover certain letters which the late Mrs Harkness took from you when you were staying with the Brownlows. Here they are.’
He handed them over and she took them so limply he thought she might drop them.
‘That’s so good of you, Lord Edward. I like to keep everything from David safe.’
She smiled at the King and he smiled back – a smile of total trust, almost of complicity. They were like two naughty schoolchildren playing at being kings and queens. There was something so unconvincing about their behaviour that Edward was tempted to laugh. The situation was all the more comic because, although the couple acted as if they were sitting on thrones, they were actually in armchairs in the rather poky little drawing-room which the King found so much more comforting than the great drawing-rooms of Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace. The stags’ heads on the walls, the photographs, the rather ghastly pictures, the overstuffed sofas – it was a parody of a drawing-room, reminding Edward of the ‘set’ from a West End comedy.
There was no further attempt at conversation. Edward clearly wasn’t going to be asked how he came by the letters. He had a sudden desire to puncture this dream of royalty, if only for an instant.
‘Oh, I almost forgot, sir. I found these in Mrs Harkness’s flat.’ He thrust the little packet of love letters at the King. For an instant, he thought he was going to refuse to take it. Then, gingerly, he put out his hand and, without once looking Edward in the eye, took the packet. Without glancing at it, he put it on the table beside him. He said nothing at all.
Five minutes later, Edward was back in the Lagonda. As he switched on the engine, he whistled and then said aloud, ‘That man’s no good. Hollow man, hollow crown.’
It was December 2nd 1936. The next day the newspapers broke their silence and the British people read that, unknown to them, their King had fallen in love with an American divorcee and intended to marry her.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Stumbling, awkward, Verity had told Daphne Hepple-Keen that she was no longer allowed to help the Spanish children because her husband was suspected of murder.
‘But it’s so unfair,’ she said at last.
‘I know it is,’ Verity agreed.
‘No, I mean it’s so unfair because he didn’t do the murder. Well, of course, he had to kill that horrible man Scannon because he was blackmailing us, but it was I who killed Mrs Harkness. She was an evil woman.’
‘What are you saying, Daphne?’ Verity said, horrified. ‘You didn’t kill Molly.’
‘Oh yes, I did,’ she said firmly. ‘You see, Geoffrey was sent to warn her not to make a nuisance of herself – teach her a lesson – but, somehow, she got round him. I don’t expect it was difficult,’ she added bitterly. ‘They became lovers. Geoffrey has had many lovers and I don’t mind that much so long as he remains faithful to the family.’
Verity found she could understand what she meant. It was what she herself had felt when she had learnt that Edward had slept with Dannie. It was nothing to do with the rules of being married or not married. Hepple-Keen had sinned against the very core of their relationship: the family.
Daphne was speaking again and Verity made herself pay attention. ‘Then it turns out she’s pregnant and she says it’s Geoffrey’s baby and she wants to marry him. Well, of course, I couldn’t allow that, could I?’
‘You couldn’t allow her to have your husband’s child?’
‘No. Anything but that.’
‘Do you know when they became lovers? I mean, it could have been someone else’s child. She was . . . seeing someone else, you know.’
‘Oh no. I always know when Geoffrey has a new woman. Anyway, she told me. It was in the summer . . . he had first met her in June. She told me they had sometimes made love outside. She said he liked it being dangerous.’
Verity wondered if Hepple-Keen had guessed how dangerous it was going to be for him. ‘So you went to her room that night you were at Haling . . . ?’
‘Yes. It was very late but Geoffrey hadn’t come to bed. I thought he might be with her. But when I listened at her door, I realized it wasn’t my husband but Lord Edward. I had to wait until he had left her. It was a long time. I don’t know what it is about that woman but she attracted men like moths to a flame.’
‘Lord Edward wasn’t . . . that way . . . I mean he was just talking to Molly.’
‘That’s what he told you, was it, dear? Never mind.’
For a moment she sounded almost motherly. Then her face crumpled, as if she suddenly realized what she had done. ‘I only meant to talk to her but she laughe
d at me. She said Geoffrey was bored with me. She said I was . . . ’ She hesitated, as if trying to recall Molly’s exact words. ’. . . a frumpish old boot that no man would ever want to make love to again. I called her a whore and then I went.’
‘So you didn’t . . . ?’
‘Oh yes, I did,’ she said again, and for a second Verity was reminded of some nightmare pantomime dame. ‘I knew she was waiting for my husband and I couldn’t allow her to see him and persuade him to do something stupid. I went back to my room to collect my evening gloves and then I waited in the corridor until I heard her go to the lavatory. While she was out of her room, I let myself in. I had noticed the bottle beside her bed. I use veronal myself so I knew what I was doing. I poured it all into the flask on her bedside table. Then I went back to my room but Geoffrey still wasn’t there, so I got into bed and went to sleep.’ She sounded satisfied – almost proud of her competence. ‘I thought no one had seen me but it turned out Mr Scannon had. He was so sly, that man. He told me later he hardly ever went to sleep before three in the morning and I don’t think he went to bed at all that night.’
‘But he didn’t know what you had done?’
‘No, but in the morning, when Lord Edward found her dead, he discovered one of my gloves on a table and guessed immediately. You see, I had worn gloves because I know all about fingerprints. I read quite a lot of detective stories. I get them from Boots,’ she added brightly. ‘But the doorknob was stiff to turn so I took off one of my gloves when I left the room and I must have left it behind.’
‘Yes, I remember, it was stiff.’ Verity had a vivid recollection of trying to open the door with one hand, while holding the rat in the other, when she had occupied Molly’s room. ‘And Leo Scannon tried to blackmail you?’
‘He tried to blackmail Geoffrey. He told him what I had done – not that I cared. He said he would tell the police I was a murderer.’
‘What did he say . . . your husband . . . when you admitted what you had done?’
‘He said he loved me. He said she wasn’t carrying his child and that she was a whore and a liar but, of course, I didn’t believe him.’
‘Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he does love you in his way.’
‘Oh no. He has never loved me. I asked him why he had married me, and he couldn’t answer.’
‘So Scannon wanted something from your husband, not you?’
‘Yes. He said Geoffrey’s career would be ruined if his wife was arrested for murder, and he was right. I knew that.’
‘But what did he want from your husband in return for his silence?’
‘I don’t know – something about Sir Oswald Mosley. Mr Scannon was a great friend of his and Geoffrey used to be as well. When Geoffrey decided he had gone too far and he wanted to leave the BUF, Mosley didn’t like it. He was too useful.’
‘But Scannon and your husband were Conservative MPs.’
‘They thought it was safer to remain in the Party but actually they were working for Mosley. They thought the Führer was wonderful – a god. They thought England should be on Germany’s side in the struggle. That’s what they called it: “the struggle”. I never quite understood who they were struggling against. The Jews, I suppose.’
‘But listen, I think you’re wrong. I think your husband did kill Mr Scannon to protect you.’
‘To protect me! Why on earth do you think he would do that?’ Daphne Hepple-Keen looked at Verity incredulously. ‘He hates me and I hate him.’ She spoke with such utter certainty that Verity found herself shivering. She knew for certain she was in the presence of a madwoman. ‘You’re looking ill,’ Daphne said, as though noticing Verity properly for the first time. ‘You must look after yourself. No one else will, you know. Not even that man you love.’
Verity blushed. ‘I don’t . . . ’ she began, but Daphne was talking again. She was like a drunkard who had been off the bottle for some time and was now indulging in a binge – a binge of talk.
‘The only thing I care about is the children. We all know they are going to have a horrible time of it when they are grown up, particularly the girls, so we must do everything we can for them. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help any longer with the children in Spain. You must promise me not to give it up. It is your duty.’
Not ten minutes but a full half-hour had passed since Lord Weaver had vacated his office to enable Verity to tell Daphne it was all over as far as the charity was concerned. Now he wanted to get back behind his desk and was curious to know what was taking Verity so long. He had imagined that Lady Hepple-Keen would come storming out in floods of tears after ten minutes, but that had not happened.
‘Ah,’ he said awkwardly as he opened the door, ‘Verity has probably told you about the charity. I’m so sorry about it but . . . ’
‘Oh yes, that’s all right, but you must continue with it, Lord Weaver.’
‘I will,’ he said, delighted to see that she was taking it so calmly.
‘I won’t have the time,’ she went on blithely. ‘I’ll be in prison.’
‘Whatever do you mean, Daphne?’ he asked.
‘I’ve just been telling Miss Browne how I murdered Mrs Harkness. It’s such a relief to tell someone. Will you be good enough to call the police? I think I ought to tell them now, don’t you? But, please, be quick, I want to get back to the children.’
17
They were having breakfast at Mersham – Connie, Edward and Verity. It was a peaceful sight. The newspapers were strewn over the table – a sloppiness the Duke could never abide so it was fortunate that he was in London attending the House of Lords. The munching on bacon and eggs (Edward), kippers (Verity) and porridge (Connie) was only interrupted by occasional cries of amazement.
‘It says in the News Chronicle that Wallis’s flat in Cumberland Terrace has been stoned,’ Verity said, ‘and the crowd chanted, “Hands off our King – abdication means revolution.”’
‘That’s too absurd!’ the Duchess expostulated.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Verity said, careful not to catch Edward’s eye. ‘Oh look! This is even better: Mosley and his mob paraded through Westminster shouting “Stand by the King” and “How would you like a cabinet of old busybodies to pick your girl for you?”’ She raised her head consideringly. ‘That must be wrong. How could you chant such a long sentence? It doesn’t have any rhythm.’
‘Oh, well, you would know,’ Edward said, unwisely, and Verity threatened to throw a slice of buttered toast at him.
‘Well, I don’t care to read any more. I think it is all too horrible,’ the Duchess said, folding up her copy of The Times. ‘I don’t blame Mrs Simpson – I feel sorry for her – but I do blame the King. He’s endangered the monarchy. He’ll never be forgiven for it.’
‘He’s a bad lot,’ Edward agreed. ‘He treated me as if he’d accidentally come face to face with the bootboy.’
‘Tut tut!’ Verity mocked. She was looking a different person from the thin, almost haggard girl Connie had collected from the Hassels’ three days earlier. When, in a terse telephone call from Edward, she had heard the state Verity was in – totally exhausted and unable to do anything but rail against Edward and Lord Weaver in particular and the male species in general – the Duchess had swept up to London in the Rolls. Disregarding her protestations that she couldn’t come because she had a book to write, Connie had in all but name kidnapped her.
‘Now listen to me, Verity,’ Connie had said sounding almost fierce. ‘You are dog-tired. You’ve not been eating. There are circles under your eyes which tell me you haven’t been sleeping either. Mr and Mrs Hassel are at their wits’ end to know what to do. If you want to avoid a total breakdown, you must come back with me to Mersham and rest for at least a week.’
‘But,’ Verity began feebly, ‘the Duke . . . ’
‘The Duke’s not a monster, you know, and anyway, with all this about the King, he’s staying in London until it’s all over.’
Edward hadn’t been able to get aw
ay from town immediately. He had things to tie up with Chief Inspector Pride and Lord Weaver. In any case, Connie said it was better if she had Verity to herself for a few days ‘before you come down and confuse the poor child’.
Pride had been surprisingly polite when Weaver had summoned him to his office to hear Lady Hepple-Keen’s confession. He had shot a look at Verity, which might have made her blanch had she not been too busy comforting Daphne to notice. Daphne was by now sobbing and asking how her children would manage if she went to prison. Fortunately, it had not occurred to her that she was in danger of being hanged. It was clear, even to Pride, that she was not entirely in her right mind and a doctor was called.
Verity asked if there was anyone she would like to be with her, praying that she would not ask for her husband who was in prison charged with one murder which – if Daphne was to be believed – he had not committed and one which he had. Verity’s prayer was answered. Daphne had a sister who, when she rang her and explained that Daphne had admitted to murder and needed succour, proved admirably calm and competent. She came round in a taxi and took her home to be with her children. Pride had hesitated before permitting this. He was aware that he ought to take her into custody but even he quailed at having a hysterical woman in his keep and, as there was no likelihood that she was going to abscond, he released her into her sister’s care. She was to be delivered to Scotland Yard the next morning, accompanied by her lawyer.
Verity had been deeply shocked by Daphne’s confession and subsequent arrest. When everyone had departed – Daphne touchingly unwilling to let go of her – she had to take refuge with Miss Barnstable on whose substantial bosom she had wept and been comforted. It was not the behaviour of a hardened war correspondent and she was ashamed of her weakness. She was not much cheered, when she returned to Weaver’s office, to be congratulated.
‘What a coup!’ he enthused. ‘To have had a murderer confess in our office . . . in my office, and not any old murderer but the wife of an MP who is also accused of murder. An old-fashioned scoop if ever there was one! I can just see the headline . . . No, I can’t . . . Miss Barnstable, get me Mr Godber right away, will you . . . ’
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