[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal

by Jessica Fellowes

  Louisa thought: is she telling me this?

  ‘No, ma’am,’ she said.

  ‘Cannon, you may leave now.’ Diana had taken charge again.

  *

  Louisa spent the rest of the day on various errands for Diana and Kate, who maintained a lucid stream of plans for her husband’s funeral while consuming an equally steady stream of vodka martinis and cigarettes. Other people came in and out of the house throughout the day, offering condolences or, more frequently it seemed to Louisa, barely concealing their desire to hear grisly details. Bryan, who was a quiet man at the best of times, said little to anyone but sat in the drawing room by the fire, staring at the flames, an open notebook and pencil by his side. Now and then he would scribble a line down before continuing his morose observation of the burning coals. It was Luke who had taken over the duties of host and he was soon in his element, mixing and pouring the drinks, offering to ring the bell for sandwiches and whispering the latest news on Mrs Mulloney’s grief to anyone who asked. Instead of finding this wearying, he looked better and better as the hours passed, the creases falling out of his suit, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of it all.

  Which was not to say he was callous, thought Louisa, only that he seemed to come alive in company. Or perhaps in the fantasy of being a host in a grand drawing room in Paris. Louisa couldn’t swear that she wouldn’t be the same. Nor could she mind too much because Luke never sidelined her: every time she came into the room with a message from Diana for her husband, or to fetch something for her mistress (Louisa was, in all honesty, finding excuses), Luke would sidle up to her and tell her something about the latest guest who had arrived, or update her on the gossip that was even now setting fire to telephone wires between Paris and London.

  The circulating guests were, it had to be admitted, alluring. Bryan had cultivated friendships with writers, artists, musicians and even the occasional actor, and there were plenty of them in Paris. Several of them were admitted to Kate’s blue bedroom, and Louisa couldn’t help but notice Diana’s delight at some of these exotic and original people coming through the house. Diana’s childhood at Asthall Manor had been charming in so many ways, set in the glory of the prettiest English countryside, with her and her sisters taught at home and given plenty of time to lie on a sofa reading in the library or out riding to hounds. But it had also meant long, dull weeks stretching out with few people other than cousins or uncles and aunts visiting the house. Diana particularly had always enjoyed meeting new people and hearing about another way of life than her own. Unlike Pamela and Unity, her older and younger sisters, she had an inner confidence – perhaps borne by her looks but also by her voracious reading – and there was no topic or person that she considered off-limits. The more outrageous, in fact, the more she wanted to hear about it. In this, Diana and Nancy were more closely aligned and Louisa knew they had become better friends as Diana had grown older; perhaps Nancy would hasten to Paris in the light of this news. While the death of Shaun Mulloney had been sudden and shocking, it also brought a heightened excitement that Louisa knew a young woman such as Diana could not help but be stimulated by, particularly when it was conducted in the company of such brilliant minds as Bryan’s friends.

  That first night after Shaun’s death, several friends gathered in Kate’s room. Kate held court even as she lay in the bed, wearing no more than a bed-jacket over her nightdress but with her hair perfectly brushed and diamonds in her ears, her lipstick in place as much as her grief. Louisa had come in with a silk scarf of Diana’s that she had asked for, though when she entered the room, Diana was sitting on the end of Kate’s bed next to a man Louisa didn’t recognize and Diana waved her away. She broke off from her conversation and gave Louisa a dismissive look: ‘I’ve changed my mind. Top up our glasses, would you. The bottle is over there.’ This wasn’t Louisa’s job and Diana knew that; the butler would be furious but it was better to do as she was asked. The man was leaning towards Diana – whatever he was talking about he was doing so with an urgent intensity; while she looked as if mere listening was not enough and she wished to absorb his words through her skin. Louisa had to look away, it was almost too intimate to witness. Yet when she overheard what he was saying it was, to her ears, disturbing. ‘Mussolini has sinister plans, mark my words,’ said the man. ‘He’s ordered every woman to bear double the number of children she’s willing to bear because he wants to increase the size of Italy’s population. You know, so they can withstand a major war. It’s all going to happen again if we’re not careful.’

  Louisa hoped he was misinformed. She moved to Kate’s bedside table to check her glass as she talked to Bryan, who was leaning across the corner of the bed, his eyes all the while fixed on his wife and the man she was in conversation with. His face was impassive as he muttered soothing responses to Kate.

  ‘I simply don’t see the need for an autopsy,’ she was saying, her hand fiddling with the pearls around her neck. ‘No one will agree whether it should happen here, England or Ireland, and I think the easiest thing is not to have one altogether. It’s quite clear what happened, and this will only delay the funeral.’ She had been talking almost to herself but now she turned to Bryan and asked sharply: ‘Don’t you agree?’

  He started and took his eyes off his wife. ‘Yes, yes, of course, quite right. I’m sure you know best.’

  Kate looked momentarily placated and took a large swallow of the wine Louisa had just poured. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It will be far better that way.’

  Her duties completed and with no further instruction from Diana, Louisa left the room with relief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Finally, at seven o’clock that evening, Louisa stepped out into rue de Poitiers. The cold air felt a relief after the stifled tension of inside. With the fire continually stoked and the drinks pouring like waterfalls from the shakers, the atmosphere had become rather close. Fortunately, Diana had realized that Louisa had not had any time off since their arrival in Paris and suggested that, since she and Bryan would not be going out to dinner that evening, Louisa could have a few hours to herself. Louisa had immediately telephoned Guy’s pension and left a message to say that she could meet him at La Coupole in Montparnasse. She reasoned that if he didn’t get the message, she could at least buy herself something to eat and drink, while taking a look at the surroundings. There was something about Shaun’s death that bothered her; she didn’t know if simply going to the place where he had last eaten would give her any answers, but she had no better ideas.

  Happily, she had only been there for twenty minutes, admiring the Art Deco ceiling and the painted pillars, trying to spot the one Picasso had done, when Guy, Harry and Mary walked in. On sight, they waved to her and came rushing to the table, and there were a few gay minutes of jostling and budging up tables and fetching a chair so that the four of them could sit together. In the bubble of their own foreignness they were able to brush off the French waiter’s clear annoyance. A bottle of wine was ordered, with some bread and onion soup for all.

  ‘So this is the famous La Coupole,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve been wanting to come here.’

  ‘Is it famous?’ asked Mary. ‘What for?’

  ‘All the artists come here, lots of Americans. Quite a few of the jazz players, I bet.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot of American voices in Paris,’ said Louisa. ‘I suppose they’re here to get a drink, what with Prohibition over there.’

  ‘That and the jazz,’ said Harry. ‘It all starts here – Hutch, Josephine Baker. That Gershwin fellow wrote An American in Paris here last year. That’s why I’m here. It’s gonna make me a star, baby.’ He winked and leaned across the table to kiss Mary. Louisa enjoyed seeing the two of them together; she was fond of Harry, having known him exactly as long as she had known Guy, ever since they had both rescued her from the train tracks. And though she had harboured a natural suspicion of Mary when she had first worked with Guy – she was very pretty, with her sharp bob and pert nose – Louisa was pa
st that now, and could see her for the alert, quick friend she was. She was, all in all, very glad to have the three of them back in her life again.

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ said Harry. ‘Have you taken up the trumpet or paintbrush?’

  Louisa wished she could say that. ‘No, I’m back working for the Mitfords. Diana has married, and she’s here on her honeymoon. I’m accompanying her as her lady’s maid.’

  ‘Yes, Guy told us. I meant, why did you choose this restaurant? It’s quite avant-garde of you.’

  ‘Who’s to say I can’t be avant-garde?’ said Louisa, in mock indignation. ‘Diana and her friends dined here last night, so I thought I’d like to see it. Don’t think it ghoulish of me, but they came here and one of them died in the early hours of this morning. Everyone thinks it was bad luck, just something he ate or drank, but I don’t know … ’

  ‘You thought you might see something here?’ asked Mary.

  Louisa twisted her mouth. ‘I know it’s silly. He was allergic to sesame and I thought I might see if it was in any of the dishes on the menu but of course it’s all in French.’ She felt foolish. Everything else in the restaurant looked completely normal, she couldn’t think what she’d hoped to see. An evil-looking waiter? She had better watch out or she was going to become the type of person that created trouble where none existed.

  ‘Well, I won’t order any seafood or drink the tap water,’ said Mary. ‘And besides, you’ve got me and Guy here, we can be on the lookout too. We’ve already got our policemen’s hats on, as it were.’

  Now it was Louisa’s turn to be interested. ‘Have you? I did wonder what you were doing in Paris.’

  Guy gave a small cough. He was sitting opposite Louisa but hadn’t said much so far. ‘There’s a missing girl, Rose Morgan, and it’s possible she’s in Paris.’

  ‘Is this one of your cases?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. Not officially, though she has been reported. My boss isn’t interested but her parents are still worried. I had the idea of talking to you about her.’

  The waiter came and put down their onion soups. ‘Why?’ said Louisa.

  Guy shifted slightly in his seat. ‘It’s just that she was a maid and I thought you might have heard something.’

  ‘Servants’ hall gossip, you mean.’ She couldn’t blame him; he didn’t know she’d tried to do better than that, and here she was, a lady’s maid. An upper servant but a servant nonetheless. She mentally admonished herself and told herself to concentrate instead on the fact that he’d asked for her help in a case. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  ‘You’d better tell me everything you know about Rose Morgan.’

  Guy covered the details as he knew them and then took out the photograph. Louisa peered at it. ‘There is something about her that … ’ She broke off and picked it up, holding it in a better light. ‘I think she’s changed her hair colour since that picture but yes, I think she’s been working at one of the shops that Mrs Guinness has been at. I can’t remember which one exactly but either Louise Boulanger, or maybe Molyneux. Actually, definitely Molyneux.’

  That was a real breakthrough. Guy looked at Louisa. ‘Thank you, you’re a genius.’ She thought for a moment he might kiss her. But of course, he didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘I take it you haven’t told Louisa about Sinéad, then?’

  Louisa and Mary had excused themselves to go to the powder room, while Guy and Harry asked for the bill.

  ‘I haven’t not told her deliberately,’ said Guy, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. ‘There’s a lot we haven’t talked about yet.’ Much of supper had been taken up with the discussion about Rose and other desperate maids they had heard about and what they had done. When Louisa had asked how he knew where she was in Paris, he had been forced to admit that he had called up Mrs Windsor at Swinbrook to find out where Louisa was, though he hadn’t liked to acknowledge he had needed to do so because they had lost touch so completely. In short, Guy did not want to know why Louisa hadn’t wanted to talk to him, for fear of ruining the pleasure he was now experiencing at their meeting again.

  Harry made no response but Guy was clear on what he thought nonetheless. Harry’s old-fashioned loyalty was one of the reasons they were such firm friends.

  Even so, he had to ask himself what he was doing, haring all the way to Paris on nothing but a hunch and a few words from a little girl.

  Merely thinking this made Guy feel very nervous. He gulped down the last of the wine and had to thud himself on the chest to stop himself from coughing it back up. Harry watched him with amused detachment. ‘Looks to me as if you’d better start talking, and soon,’ was all he said.

  Louisa and Mary returned to the table, Louisa now wearing some lipstick that Mary had obviously encouraged her to put on. Guy also noticed for the first time that Louisa was wearing a pretty blue dress, quite short, almost above her knees, even when she was standing up. She had good legs.

  ‘I had probably better get back quite soon,’ Louisa said as they sat down.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Harry. ‘It’s not even half past nine. Come along to a club with us. You can’t be in Paris and not hear some jazz. There’s one or two places I still want to check out.’

  ‘Yes, go on, Lou,’ said Mary. ‘Come with us. Spare me being the only woman out with these two.’

  ‘Fine, just one bar, then I’ll have to go. Half past ten is my absolute limit.’

  Only a few streets away was a club that Harry had heard about, and it wasn’t long before they were settled around a table with four cocktails, a few rows back from a dance floor in front of a band. Guy had been to a few places like this in London to watch Harry, though it wasn’t generally his first choice for an evening out. He preferred to go to the pictures with Sinéad, or even just to sit by the fire with his mother, reading a good book. But sitting here, amongst the chic Parisians with the smooth notes of jazz in the background, and in the company of his friends, he felt himself relax. Louisa was sitting beside him, and he could feel the warmth of her body radiating from her. It was all he could do not to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close. A new song started and Harry and Mary got up to dance. ‘What are you waiting for?’ said Mary. ‘Let’s dance!’

  Guy looked at Louisa and there was no doubt about it: she wanted to get up. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to her a little huskily. Dancing was something he did even more rarely than drinking cocktails and he could never quite shake off the feeling that a man was judged on more than his footwork when he stepped out with a girl. Luckily, the song had a beat he recognized and with a surge of confidence, he took Louisa by the hand and led her up. Pressed together, his arm around her back and their hands held up high, they stepped in symmetry and moved around the floor in tight proximity with the other couples. The lights were low, the music soft and Louisa’s mouth was daringly close. For the first few minutes, they danced without speaking, hardly even daring to meet each other’s eyes. For all the years they had known each other, for all that he had felt, they had never been so near to each other’s bodies. It threw Guy momentarily into confusion: he had spent so many years wanting this moment, now that it was here, he wasn’t sure how he felt. When he dared to steal a look at Louisa, he thought she might be thinking the same; though she was serene in expression, there was a flicker in her eyelids that made him think an electricity might be running through her. Thinking this made him spring apart from Louisa, startling her.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought I saw Rose.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t her.’ He had lied but he hadn’t known what else to say.

  She looked at him apprehensively. ‘I had no sleep last night, I think I’d better get back. I’m sorry, Guy. I was so enjoying the dance.’ She stopped and looked at him properly then, and his mouth went dry. ‘I really was. But I think I’d better go back.’

  ‘I’ll walk you back,’ said Guy.


  ‘There’s no need. I don’t want to spoil your evening.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly. And I don’t want you walking alone around here.’ Guy was firm, and after they had said goodbye to Harry and Mary, they fetched their coats and were outside in the cold night air together. The streets were slick – there had been a short downpour in the time they had been in the club – and the yellow street lamps reflected blearily on the pavement. Along the road there were knots of women in twos and threes, heavily made-up and wearing short dresses with seamed stockings. The occasional car pulled up well out of the way of the lights and a woman would lean in through the window before getting in on the other side. Guy knew Louisa was worldly but he still felt uncomfortable at what was going on. With her arm looped through his, they walked quickly through the streets. Once out of Montparnasse and on to the wide avenue of boulevard Raspail – Louisa said they weren’t too far now – he slowed them down a little and they started to talk.

  ‘How long are you in Paris for?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. They were supposed to be here for a few weeks before going on to Sicily, though I was never joining them on that part of their honeymoon. But what with Mr Mulloney … ’ She tailed off. ‘It might change things. What about you?’

  ‘I have to go back tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Back to work. But when you get back to London, can we meet again?’ He stopped walking then. Louisa was bathed in the light of a shop window, with two narrow mannequins in some sort of fashionable confection. He wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at her. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Louisa put her face up towards his. ‘I’ve missed you too, Guy. I’m sorry I didn’t write back to you.’

  She had received his letters after all.

  ‘The truth is, I didn’t know what to say. I went to London and it all went wrong. I thought I’d failed. I couldn’t bear to tell you. It seemed better somehow to get on with it by myself.’