‘What if she sent those chocolates to Paris? That could have been Lady Boyd targeting Bryan again. We thought those chocolates were from Luke but what if they were bought by her to give to the Guinnesses – she could have tampered with them.’
‘What with?’ said Mary. ‘Didn’t you say Shaun Mulloney died of an allergic reaction to sesame? There can’t have been sesame in the chocolates.’
‘Perhaps he died from poison, not his allergy. We don’t know because there was no autopsy. His wife was afraid his family would discover that he took opium, so she blocked it,’ Louisa explained. At once she stopped walking and grabbed Guy’s arm. ‘Oh my God. Luke.’
‘What?’
‘Rachel – that’s her name. R for Rachel. She must have been the one that Kate Mulloney met.’
‘Did they know each other?’
Louisa thought hard, calling as much as she knew to the surface, trying to piece it all together. ‘They might have had Rose in common. Rose and Lady Boyd both lived on Wilton Crescent. Rose said she was employed by a cook who worked at smart parties: Lady Boyd. And Rose supplied Kate with her opium.’ She stopped and closed her eyes. ‘Luke. I thought it was him, and it wasn’t. Last time I saw him he looked terribly ill, thin and grey. I thought he looked like Clara Fischer did, and wondered if drugs had got hold of him. But what if I was wrong? What if his aunt is poisoning him?’
Guy grimaced. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’
Louisa felt beads of sweat break out under her hatband. ‘Then I must hurry. I’ve got to go back to Cheyne Walk quickly in case Diana has left any sort of message for me there about when she’ll be home later to change for the evening. I can go straight over to his house then.’
‘I’ll stay at the station,’ said Guy. ‘If you need me, you can reach me there.’
They parted, and Louisa hurried back to Cheyne Walk. But the message she found there was not from Diana, it was from Luke. And it meant she was too late.
Dear Diana,
Forgive me writing to you like this but I did not want to go without saying goodbye. I hope you can find it in your heart to understand why I have done this. You have been a good friend to me and I loathe the thought that I will cause you sadness and trouble. But I have been left with no choice. My aunt has discovered the truth about me and who I really am. You know what this means for me. If I cannot live as I truly am, I do not want to live at all. Where I have been trapped, I wish only for you to do as you must with the Leader. I have filed a final article for the newspaper about your affair: if the world knows, you will be free!
With love,
Luke
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The note had not been put in an envelope but folded in half. It could only mean that Luke meant for others to read it. She certainly wasn’t going to show it to Diana. Was the threat about the article real or empty? Kate Mulloney had written a suicide note, too: could it be more than a coincidence? Trembling, Louisa read the note over and again then realized she was wasting precious time. Stuffing the paper into her coat pocket she ran out of the house and had a moment’s blind panic while she couldn’t think how to get to Luke’s house. Wilton Crescent. It wasn’t far but what was the quickest way to get there? Taxi, surely. Cursing, she ran back to the house, in through the side entrance and up the stairs to her room to fetch some money. Every month, after she was paid, she drew cash from the bank, in order to send some to her mother as well as to have five pounds to keep in her room, for no more reason than she liked the feeling of riches it gave her to know it was there and could be spent at any time. In fact, her habits of frugality and her childhood poverty meant she rarely splashed out on any kind of extravagance beyond rose-scented soap, so she knew there would be enough at the bottom of the vase that she never put flowers in. Grabbing the money, the adrenalin coursing through her, she felt as if the blood had rushed too quickly to her head and a wave of nausea passed over. Quick, she had to be quick.
In the kitchen, on her way out, she saw the tweeny. ‘Tess, did you take this note for me?’
Tess, only seventeen and nervy, said yes, she had.
‘Who delivered it? It’s got no stamp.’
‘A boy on a bicycle. He knocked and said he’d been told to be sure the mistress got it quick.’
‘When was this?’
‘Not quite half an hour, miss.’
Louisa had to think on her feet. If Luke had messengered the note over, there was just a chance that he wouldn’t have succeeded yet. She gave the note back to Tess. ‘I need you to walk as fast as you can to the police station in Pavilion Road, and ask for DS Sullivan.’
‘I’m supposed to be here, miss.’ Tess looked worried. ‘Supposing Mrs Dudley comes and asks for me?’
‘Don’t worry about that, this is much more important. I’ll explain to Mrs Dudley later if I have to. Please, Tess. Give this to DS Sullivan and tell him to go to 31 Wilton Crescent and I’ll be there.’
‘DS Sullivan, 31 Wilton Crescent,’ repeated Tess.
‘Get your coat and go, soon as you can. There’s no time to lose,’ said Louisa as she ran out of the door.
Just beyond the Embankment, the River Thames flowed cold and grey. She couldn’t look at the Albert Bridge, one man walking slowly over it, another peering over the side, without wondering how Luke had chosen to do it. There was a flash when she wondered if she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion – perhaps he was just on a train somewhere! But she only needed to touch the paper in her pocket to know she’d guessed correctly first time. With relief, she saw a hackney carriage drive by and waved frantically to hail it. ‘Where too, miss?’ asked the driver.
‘Thirty-one Wilton Crescent.’
She got in the taxi but he didn’t drive off. ‘Why aren’t you moving?’ She had to stop herself from shouting.
The driver looked startled. ‘Sorry, miss. I assumed you were holding me until your guv’nor came out.’
Now was not the time to be furious about being seen as a servant, incapable of so much as hiring her own cab. ‘No, it’s for me and I’m in a hurry.’
The drive seemed to take as long as an expedition by Captain Scott, but what was in reality only thirty minutes later, the taxi pulled up outside Lady Boyd’s house. The church next door stood as large and placid as before, its eyes and ears closed to the street. Thrusting the money into the driver’s hand, not waiting for change, Louisa ran up the steps of number 31 and pushed at the front door. It was locked. She did not want to knock and alert Luke: either he would not yet have succeeded and be hurried along, or he’d deliberately ignore her anyway. Then she noticed there was a window below pavement level that had a small gap at the top. She ran down the short iron staircase that led to the basement entrance and pushed on the window: it gave immediately and, checking that no one was watching from the street, she dived in.
Inside there was a musty smell, the common problem of damp, though the room itself was tidy. It was presumably once the servants’ domain and would have been filled with the tools of their trades, but now it housed only a butler’s sink with a box of soap flakes standing beside it. Some dark clothing soaked in the sink, and a shirt of Luke’s, bone dry but unironed, hung from a drying rack on the ceiling. There was a plain wooden table and two chairs that didn’t match in height or colour, and the floor was brick tiles, smooth from a century of shoes and washing. On the shelves were uneaten tins of cat food and a packet of rat poison amongst the various bottles of household bleach and scrubbing brushes. Louisa removed her boots and felt the coolness of the floor through her woollen stockings. The door was shut but she pushed it open easily, quietly, and walked up the dark, narrow staircase, fear pushing at her throat like a damp hand. The door at the top of the stairs was backed in worn green baize and before she turned the handle she pressed her ear to it briefly but the silence was as thick as fog.
Slowly, she inched it open and looked into the hall. It was dark, a shaft of light coming only from the arched glass above the front doo
r. The rooms that led off it were closed, stifling sound and light still further. With one hand on the banister, she moved step by step, not too slowly, not too quick, dreading what waited for her, hoping she’d got it terribly wrong.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Shoeless, Louisa moved silently but not slowly up the stairs. With each step she remembered things she had seen as if turning the pages of a photograph album, each image taunting her: how could she not have seen what was right before her eyes? The maid eating the devils-on-horseback meant only for Bryan Guinness, cooked by Lady Boyd. Dot falling to her death. The chocolates brought to Paris by Luke. The sudden death of Shaun Mulloney. Her own night of sickness. Lady Boyd’s watchful expression in Venice.
The frail, pale, dead body of Clara Fischer.
The blood that trickled from the heart of Kate Mulloney.
Step by step, the censure did not relent.
Louisa passed the dark stillness of the drawing room with its vast portrait of the unsmiling Sir William. Running now, Louisa went up another flight of stairs and saw a door firmly closed. She turned the handle and pushed it open, not even knowing if this was Luke’s bedroom, making the best guess she could. This room, too, was dark, the curtains had been drawn but hurriedly perhaps, for they didn’t meet completely in the middle and the shaft of sunshine that came through was enough for Louisa to take in the unhappy scene. A single bed was pushed up against the wall furthest from the window, a table beside it had books piled high and a lamp that was switched off. On the bed lay Luke, fully clothed and on top of the sheets. His shirt collar was undone, one arm lay on his chest, the other hung limply by his side, dangling over the side of the bed. In this glance, Louisa took in the scene but could not see yet if he was breathing. He made no sound. On the bed, strewn around his body, were a number of assorted medicine bottles. Several of them had their lids off.
In the furthest corner from the door, her face hidden by shadow, her hands calmly in her lap, sat Lady Boyd. As Louisa came in, she looked up but otherwise did not stir.
‘Luke!’ cried out Louisa and ran over to him, catching only a shocking glimpse of his ashen pallor. But before she could reach the bed she felt a strong hand on her arm, pulling her back.
‘There is nothing to be done,’ said his aunt. ‘Leave him be.’
Louisa tried to wrestle herself free but Lady Boyd’s grip was tight. She could feel the tips of the fingers that would leave bruises tomorrow.
‘He’s at peace now,’ she intoned flatly, the phrase sounding like a rosary bead prayer that has been repeated forty times.
‘What have you done?’ gasped Louisa, feeling as if she would suffocate from this monstrous, heartless presence.
‘I?’ said Lady Boyd. ‘I have done nothing.’
‘Those pills—’
Lady Boyd released her hold on Louisa and smoothed out her skirt. ‘Luke found them in the medicine cupboard. They are from when I was a nurse. It is unfortunate that he put them to this use.’
Louisa looked at her and realized she was talking to a madwoman. She had to be, none of this made any sense.
‘We have to call an ambulance. He needs help. We might be able to save him.’
‘There is no saving him.’ Ice edged her words, like the first frost of the year. ‘My nephew is beyond redemption.’
‘Why?’ Perhaps she could rationalise this insane situation, make his aunt see reason, if there was any reason to be had.
‘To take one’s own life is the ultimate crime against God.’
‘But he hasn’t taken his own life, has he?’ said Louisa. She couldn’t risk accusing her just yet. She had to get out first and call an ambulance, pray it wasn’t too late. If Guy got here soon he could help.
Her breath ragged but her will determined, Louisa left the room and started to run down the stairs, holding the banister firmly, afraid her stockinged feet would slip easily on the stairs. Her boots were still in the basement but she could not go and get them. She ran down as she heard Lady Boyd coming behind her, a light but firm tread, step by step by step. At the bottom stair, Louisa jumped and ran to the front door, almost throwing herself against it as she turned the handle but it rattled uselessly in her hand. She pulled at it but there was no give. The door was bolted at the top and the bottom, Louisa reached up and undid the top but as she reached down, almost choking from the lack of oxygen she had failed to breathe in, Lady Boyd was standing behind her.
Her stance was calm, too calm.
Louisa’s skin prickled. If she were a cat her hair and tail would be standing on end. She thought of the rat poison in the basement.
Guy, he had to be here soon. Where was he?
‘It was all you, wasn’t it?’ said Louisa. If she couldn’t turn around to undo the bolt, she would keep her talking, stall her until Guy arrived.
‘All what, dear?’ Lady Boyd stood in the shadows, her face unreadable.
‘You tried to poison Bryan Guinness at the ball but failed, so you tried again with the chocolates sent to Paris with Luke that killed Shaun Mulloney by mistake. You gave Clara the opium. And Kate Mulloney was sacrificed to stop the police from looking for you.’ She tried again for a confession. ‘What have you done to Luke?’ Louisa reached behind her and gripped the door handle. It centred her, gave her reassurance that Guy would be here, that it would open. She would be safe soon. But she had to do this first.
‘What have you done?’ she accused again.
That was before she saw the hypodermic needle that Lady Boyd held in her right hand.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Louisa kept holding the door handle. Please come, Guy, please come soon. Had he even been at the station when Tess delivered the note? She couldn’t be certain, she could only hope. It was all she had.
Lady Boyd looked almost restful as she held the needle at her side, filled with a dark liquid. There was a small smile on her lips, though her eyes told Louisa nothing.
‘They were all godless people. Heathens, sinning against Him, time and again with their bodies, their drugs.’ She spat the words. ‘I had to carry out His will.’
‘Even Luke?’
‘Luke broke my heart. He betrayed me when he revealed himself to be—’ She stopped and revulsion covered her face. ‘I saw that letter from the police. Luke tried to hide from me but nobody can hide from Him.’
‘What did you do to Luke?’ Keep her talking, thought Louisa, don’t let her have time to act. ‘Have you been giving him poison?’
For a split-second Lady Boyd looked stricken but it passed. ‘Slowly but surely. If he had shown remorse, if he had given himself up to God, I could have stopped. But he wouldn’t.’
‘You mean you couldn’t stop. You sent the note, I see it. Why did you bring Mrs Guinness into it?’
Lady Boyd stood completely still. ‘That hag. Spoiled and rotten. She has everything but it’s not enough for her, is it? No, she has to dishonour the vows she took before God by committing the deadly sin of adultery. It should have been her here, not you. But you will do instead. God tells me what to do, you see.’ Louisa was pressed against the door as Lady Boyd stepped forward. ‘He is telling me now, dear.’
Louisa stiffened her whole body, as if she could create a physical resistance to the needle, prevent it somehow from piercing her by hardening her skin. Her grip on the door handle tightened and then, as if she had willed it, she felt the knob resist her slightly. It was being held on the other side. Guy. In that tiny moment as Louisa was distracted, Lady Boyd saw her chance and took her final step but as she did so there was the sound of movement on the stairs. In her confusion Louisa thought she saw Luke and tried to shout out for him – could it really be him? – but a sudden pain stopped her, she gasped and her hands moved down to her stomach, quickly pulling the needle out.
‘I did it for Him,’ cried out Lady Boyd and then fell back, pulled by her nephew, who was shouting, telling her to stop, telling her this was all over now.
There was so much no
ise, thought Louisa, her mind clouding, feeling weaker, the sounds both more insistent and distant. She almost sensed more than heard the pummelling on the door and muffled shouts calling her name, calling Luke. Staggering, she turned around and undid the final bolt, opened the door. She let him in. Guy, here at last to save her.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
After that, everything had happened quickly, if hazily. Guy had not come alone but with Mary in a police car, followed by an ambulance. Both Louisa and Luke were taken to hospital, accompanied by a constable. After Luke had been given emetics, he had almost recovered and once awake, begged to be allowed to see Louisa. He found her lying in bed, in discomfort but no great pain. Lady Boyd had not managed to plunge the needle far and it had not caused any serious internal damage; so long as she rested, she would recover well. For the moment, she was grateful to lie in a clean bed, attended to by a nurse, and to look out of the window at the blue sky of spring. It made everything seem lighter and more hopeful once more.
Luke had approached her bed cautiously but she was pleased to see him. They embraced and Luke had sobbed with the relief: it was over. At least, this part of it had ended for him but there was much to explain.
‘How did you know to come and find me?’ he asked.
‘Your aunt sent a note to Diana, as if it was from you, saying you were going to take your own life.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Luke.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be, I’m so grateful you came. I should have seen it coming. I knew she wasn’t well in some way but I chose not to see it. She was all I had.’
‘We don’t see the things we don’t want to see. I do understand.’
Luke blinked away the tears. ‘Perhaps. But I think I knew more than I could ever admit to myself.’
[Mitford Murders 03] - The Mitford Scandal Page 27
