[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘You didn’t talk to anyone that night, didn’t see anything unusual?’

  ‘Luke Meyer was with them. He came down to see me in the kitchen, after Diana had gone to bed. We’d arranged to meet.’

  ‘Why?’

  Louisa couldn’t help but be pleased at detecting a tiny note of jealousy. ‘We’d had a rather strange afternoon. Luke had taken me and Diana to a bar where—’ She broke off and smiled apologetically. ‘It’s shaming to say but there was a woman who danced to music, she took off her clothes and she turned out to be a man.’

  Guy blinked. ‘I see.’ It was clear that he didn’t fully comprehend.

  ‘I think Luke felt badly. Diana didn’t react well, and I think coming down to see me was a way of apologising almost. Though I did wonder …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was writing a column at the time, a diary for the Daily Sketch. I was wary, in case he was trying to get information out of me for it. We had a drink – he had brought some gin down to the kitchen. But we didn’t talk for very long as he wanted to get back to the others. I went to bed and I was horribly sick that night.’

  ‘I remember. We thought it was the water.’

  ‘In the bar that Luke had taken us to, I’d eaten fishpaste sandwiches. They’d tasted horrible so I assumed it was those. Neither Luke nor Diana had had any.’

  ‘You definitely didn’t eat anything that Shaun Mulloney could have eaten?’ Guy was leaning on the table now, their voices had lowered so that only they could hear each other and their whole bodies were angling towards each other.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then we have to talk to Mr and Mrs Guinness.’

  Louisa’s heart sank. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose so.’

  Louisa and Guy parted having arranged that she would break it to Diana and Bryan that Guy would like to interview them about what had happened in Paris. Meanwhile, Guy was going to look up the reports on the death of Shaun Mulloney; he suspected he would have to ask for help from the French police, which was not going to be very easy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  When Guy returned, he found a message on his desk: ‘Miss Rose Morgan came to the station asking after you. She says you’ll know what it’s about. You can find her in the Regency on the King’s Road until her shift ends at six.’

  Rose Morgan? Guy had to think twice. There was only one Rose Morgan he knew, the maid who had been missing since 1928. He’d stopped looking for her when it seemed that she was alive but didn’t want to be found. Now she was back in London and working, it seemed. He hoped she’d told her parents; he’d liked what he knew of Albert Morgan and had felt pity for his bewildered grief. Without even unbuttoning his coat, Guy hastened back out of the station and walked to the Regency restaurant, an establishment he knew of for its reputation of good but inexpensive food, popular with the artists who lived in Chelsea. When he arrived, he took a table and asked the waitress to let Miss Morgan know that he was there. She came so quickly, Guy was still reading the menu when she spoke.

  ‘DS Sullivan?’

  Guy looked up and saw the girl from the photo he had kept in his desk for all this time. She was a little older, of course, and her hair was now blonde and short but her smile was as shy and pretty as he remembered.

  ‘That’s me. And I take it you’re Rose Morgan, no longer a missing person,’ said Guy.

  Rose looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m glad you’re here. It’s good news for your family.’ He regarded her carefully. ‘You have let them know, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Would you mind if it looked as if I was taking an order? The boss might have a word otherwise.’

  Guy propped up the menu in front of him and pretended to study it carefully, while Rose pulled out a notebook and pencil from her apron.

  ‘Can you let me know where you’ve been for all these years?’

  Still looking at the menu, there was silence and Guy wondered if she’d heard him but then she started to reply.

  ‘I was in Paris for a long time. I had to leave London, I got caught up in bad things.’

  ‘Bad things or bad people?’

  ‘Both. I was working for the Delaneys, and they were nice, I liked the daughter but they didn’t pay much. I wanted to send money back home, prove that I had done well moving up to London. Mam hadn’t wanted me to leave, you see.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I started doing a bit of extra maid work on my nights off, at other houses. Lady Delaney knew someone who worked at grand parties and she would hire me. The money really helped, I had enough to send some home and even keep a bit back for myself. Then I met this man, he stopped me one night going into a house, and said I could make a lot more, if I just helped him out a bit.’

  Guy knew he had to tread carefully here. If he did it right, she might lead him to something significant. ‘What did he ask you to do?’

  ‘He sold drugs. He’d do the deal with some regulars, he said they were all posh people, nothing dangerous. They’d telephone him or get a message to him, tell him where they were going to be. All I had to do was hand over the package he gave me. It were only small, no one’d ever notice. That’s what he said. And he were right for a while.’

  ‘I see,’ said Guy. A clever scheme, and perfect for an innocent maid. ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘I told him I didn’t want to do it any more. I got seen by a footman once and he threatened to grass on me if I didn’t give him some of the money. But when I told Ronan he got nasty.’

  Ronan. Guy repeated the name to himself so as not to forget it.

  ‘And then, there was that party. I saw Dot collapse, that’s why she fell, it were horrible. I panicked. I was frightened of what I’d seen, that I’d get the blame. It seemed easier to leave. I’d been paid for that night’s work, I had enough to get to Paris and Muriel had told me about Mr Molyneux. We’d planned to go away together so I had a passport too.’ There was a sob, the sound of someone finally telling the truth. ‘I knew it were wrong, I knew my family’d worry but I thought if they knew what I’d been doing they’d cut me off. Somehow, once I was in Paris I felt far away from it all, safe. As if it weren’t real. Then, the longer I were away, the harder it became to get in touch.’

  ‘Why now? Why have you come back, why are you telling me this?

  ‘I missed me mam. Truth be told, I was engaged to be married and he broke it off. I couldn’t stand another minute in Paris then. It was Dad who said I was to let you know I wasn’t missing any more. Dad told me you were good to him, always telling him if you’d made any progress trying to find me. It were only fair.’ She wrote something on her notebook and put it back in her pocket. ‘That’s it. I’d better go now.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Guy. ‘Who took the drugs from you at the parties? Did you know their names?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  Guy took a deep breath. ‘Please, Rose. This could be important. You won’t get into any trouble for it but it might help with something else I’m working on. Anything you can remember about them at all? What they looked like even?’

  She hesitated but then she told him. ‘The most regular was an American woman, pretty, I think she said she was an actress. There were two or three men I always seemed to see but I can’t remember much about them. And there was a married couple, posh. He had blue eyes and she had black hair. I think their name was Milliney, or Mollony or something like that.’

  ‘Mulloney? Kate and Shaun Mulloney?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘That was it.’

  ‘And Clara Fischer, was that the actress?’

  ‘Aye, it was.’

  Guy thought quickly.

  ‘Rose, did you come back to London from Paris at any point since you left in 1928?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Listen carefully, I don’t want to alarm you with these questions. I
only need to eliminate you from another inquiry. But can you prove you stayed in Paris for all that time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I shared an apartment there with several other girls, and I worked at Les Chats. Besides, I didn’t want to come back then. I was safer in Paris.’

  ‘Did you meet Mrs Mulloney in Paris or London after 1928?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did you ever go to Venice?’

  ‘No, sir. Sorry. I’ve got to go now. Thank you for coming here to meet me. Thank you for what you’ve done for me and my mam and dad.’

  She walked off through the doors to the kitchen and Guy picked his hat up and left too.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  After that meeting, Guy was in a state of bewildered excitement. He dug out the file he had kept on Rose, and pulled out her photograph again, putting it in his pocket. Then he stamped the buff folder ‘Case Closed’ and put it away. DI Stiles was still out for the afternoon and the case they were officially working on was quiet until a new lead came in. He knew he should be making further investigations but he needed – wanted – to talk to Louisa first. It only took a quick telephone call to the Guinness house and he was in the kitchen at Buckingham Street, with her sitting opposite him at the table. She looked pleased to see him, he thought; he hoped he wasn’t imagining it. Even so, he made sure he got down to business quickly.

  ‘I met Rose Morgan,’ he said.

  ‘The missing maid?’

  ‘Good memory. I know you saw this before but I wondered if you might look at her photograph again. Do you think you saw her at any time other than in Paris, at the Molyneux salon? She told me that she earned money on the side by getting extra work at balls and dances as a maid—’

  ‘I did that, too.’ She had blushed slightly. ‘I needed the money, same as she did. I didn’t like to tell you before. I know it was silly of me.’

  Guy said nothing but gave her smile. ‘She told me that the real money she earned, however, came from a drug dealer. He would pass her packages to deliver inside a party.’

  ‘I didn’t do that!’

  ‘No, I know you wouldn’t have. But I wondered if you might have seen her because she mentioned that three of her regular clients were Mr and Mrs Mulloney and Clara Fischer.’

  ‘Let me look.’ Louisa held it in her hands and stared at it for a while. ‘Yes, she’s the one I saw.’ She closed her eyes as if reliving the moment. ‘I didn’t think about it again. What with the maid’s death that night, I must have forgotten it. But it explains why she recognized me when I saw her at Molyneux – she left the room as soon as she came in and I couldn’t think why.’ She looked at Guy. ‘I was working at Grosvenor Place the night the maid died and she was there, too. When I was in the kitchens, I opened the back door to a man and she intercepted, told me that it was for her. I saw him pass her something but I couldn’t think what it would be. Then, later, I saw her talking to Miss Fischer and Mr Mulloney.’ She put the photograph down and folded her arms on the table. She looked absolutely calm and almost beautiful, thought Guy. ‘It’s definitely her. Was it opium in the package?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Oh my God. She was in Paris when the Mulloneys were there. Might she have supplied them? Could it have been Rose? Mrs Mulloney didn’t want the autopsy because she said the family would discover that Shaun took opium.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that,’ said Guy. ‘I feel somehow it’s not her. She was a middleman, not the dealer. Without him, she probably didn’t know how to get hold of any drugs.’

  ‘That might be what she wants you to think. Could she have been in Venice? There was a maid who delivered Clara her tea. I never saw who it was. The man on the reception desk told me not to say anything, that the maid was worried she’d be blamed. I knew it was the opium withdrawal that had killed Clara, or so I thought at the time, which meant I never did say anything. And – oh!’ Her hands flew to her face. ‘The “R” in the appointment book – Rose.’

  Guy thought about this. He was less inclined to hasty solutions, as seductive as they were. He’d been in the police long enough to know you needed more. ‘I don’t know, Louisa. She says she never left Paris and she can prove it. Besides, there’s no motivation. And if she was guilty, she’d hardly have telephoned me to let me know she was back in England.’

  Louisa had to admit there was something in that.

  ‘But I am concerned about the man she was involved with. He’s a dealer, and he supplied all three. And she says she’s frightened of him.’

  ‘I know how that feels.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Guy longed to reach out and take her hand but he didn’t dare. Not yet. ‘His name was Ronan.’

  ‘You mean, “R” for Ronan?’

  Guy shrugged, trying to downplay it but he felt, at last, that they were getting somewhere. ‘Now all we need to do is find him.’

  *

  Louisa saw Guy out to the back door and they said goodbye, but just as she was about to close the door he blurted out: ‘I’m not married, you know.’

  Louisa stopped. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I never married Sinéad. She’s gone back to Ireland. I just thought you should know. I’m not saying that it’s anything that would bother you. Or not. I don’t know why I said it really.’ He felt miserable suddenly. ‘I had to tell you.’

  Only, when he looked at her, she was smiling at him. She didn’t say anything but her eyes were wet. ‘Thank you, Guy,’ she whispered.

  If things had changed between them, he couldn’t be certain yet. He only knew for sure that if he could love anyone wholly and completely, it could only be Louisa Cannon.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  It took two days of leaving messages at the restaurant where Rose was working before she finally telephoned him back.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ she said, sounding afraid.

  ‘I need to know how to get hold of Ronan—’ began Guy before she interrupted him, close to hysterical.

  ‘I can’t have him know I’m back, he’ll come after me, I know he will—’

  Guy was forceful this time. ‘He’s not going to know anything about you. Miss Morgan, there’s a murder investigation and I need to eliminate Ronan from my inquiries.’

  In the distance, Guy could hear two men talking in the café behind her.

  ‘When I needed to get hold of him I would leave a message for him at a tailor’s in Jermyn Street. There was a Mr Wilkins, he’d let Ronan know the address of where I’d be working that night, and what time. Then he’d come and meet me if he had any clients who were going to be at the same dance.’

  ‘What was the name of the tailor’s?’ Rose gave it to him and Guy thanked her. He hoped he wouldn’t have to bring her into court as a witness but he knew he couldn’t promise it, so he didn’t.

  Mary Moon was only too pleased to assist Guy in the next stage of the inquiry. ‘I’ll ask Harry’s sister to lend me a hat,’ she said. ‘She’ll have something stylish, I’m not sure I’ve got anything quite right.’

  ‘Please, Mary,’ said Guy, doing his best to keep his patience in check. ‘It doesn’t matter all that much.’

  ‘Yes, it does. All these posh people ask Mr Wilkins to pass a message along to Ronan, for their drugs. It won’t do for him to suspect I’m not quite the right sort.’

  ‘Fine, do what you need to do,’ muttered Guy. ‘Just be there, 121 Jermyn Street, at four o’clock. I’ll wait further along down the road.’

  ‘I won’t let you down,’ said Mary, practically running out of the door to get home and change.

  Later that afternoon, Guy waited on Jermyn Street for Mary, who came out of the shop after a mercifully short ten minutes to let him know how it went. ‘I had to wait until there was no one else in there, but I asked for Mr Wilkins and at first I pretended to enquire after some buttons for a shirt.’

  ‘Good. Then what?’

  ‘I said, “Could you be so kind as to let Ronan know that the dance tonig
ht is at eight o’clock, at the Aurora restaurant on Dover Street,” and I added that I would be able to meet him outside. Mr Wilkins noted it all down and didn’t seem in the least concerned.’

  ‘Did you leave a name?’

  ‘Miss Margoyles.’

  ‘Well done, Mary. Let’s hope it works.’

  Rather to Guy’s surprise, it all went very smoothly. At eight o’clock that evening, he stood with Mary outside the Aurora restaurant on Dover Street. The nerves he felt in the pit of his stomach were due to the fact he hadn’t disclosed anything of this investigation to DI Stiles. He wanted to prove he could do it alone; this would turn out to be either foolish or a stroke of genius and right now he couldn’t say which it was.

  Only a few minutes after eight, a scruffy man in a pork pie hat approached them. ‘Miss Margoyles?’ he enquired.

  ‘You must be divine Ronan,’ said Mary in a voice Guy hadn’t heard from her before; she sounded as if she had been born in Buckingham Palace.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said throatily and nodded at Guy. ‘Who’s this?’

  Before Guy could say anything, Mary had continued with the charade. ‘This is divine Paul, my friend.’

  Ronan eyed him shiftily. ‘Right, well, I haven’t done business with you before, so let me lay out the terms. I assume you’re after the Midnight Oil?’

  Mary nodded. Guy could detect a faint nervous look around her smile but otherwise he was impressed.

  ‘That’s five pounds, upfront but not here. We’ll go for a little walk around the corner, shall we?’

  ‘How perfectly divine,’ said Mary and Guy gave her a look. Any more divine and he’d expire in an ungodly puff of smoke.

  As soon as they were around the corner, Guy stepped close to Ronan and quickly slapped handcuffs on him. ‘What the f—’