Hollow Crown (12 page)

‘Let go my arm,’ she said icily and stepped into the hall to be greeted by Leo Scannon.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Dannie, you’re soaking. Edward, how could you let Dannie get so wet?’

The next day Edward picked up the Inspector from Marlborough police station. Lampfrey seemed a little embarrassed as he stowed himself in the passenger seat and no doubt,
Edward imagined, he had had to endure some ribbing from his colleagues. When Edward asked him if he were comfortable he just grunted but as soon as they were on the main road, he began to cheer up.
The rain had ceased so they had the hood down which made conversation difficult.

‘Grand car, this, my lord. I’ve never been in a Lagonda before.’

‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it,’ Edward said, overtaking a farm wagon at speed and narrowly missing a dog which chose that precise moment to chase a rabbit into the road.
‘It has a 4467cc six-cylinder Meadows engine and is said to do a hundred, not that I’ve ever tried to do anything like that. However, I’m thinking of taking her over to Germany to
try her on one of the new autobahns. I suppose one has to give Herr Hitler credit for building some real roads. Even our
main
roads are quite inadequate for the modern automobile. But
I’m sorry, I’m being a bore. Are you interested in motor cars, Inspector?’

‘In theory, my lord. On my salary I can’t afford one but the missis is wanting me to get one of those Austin Sevens. Nothing like this, of course.’

‘No, but it’s a sturdy little car. You could do worse.’

‘We’ve got four Wolseleys in the force,’ Lampfrey added as an afterthought, ‘but we need more. The criminals all seem to have cars nowadays. Careful, my lord!’

‘I say, I hope I ain’t scaring you, Inspector,’ Edward said as he wrestled the car back on to an even keel. ‘That damn fellow oughtn’t to be allowed a bike. Do you
think we should arrest him for riding without due care and attention, or something? No? Oh well, you’re probably right.’

They stopped at the Fox and Goose in Reading for refreshment. As they swung by the Huntley and Palmers biscuit factory, well over the speed limit, the Inspector was compelled to remonstrate with
his chauffeur. ‘My lord, I must beg you to slow down and observe the speed limit. It would be highly embarrassing if we were stopped by an officer of a neighbouring force.’

‘Of course! How insensitive of me, but was I really going so fast? It’s the only problem with a car like this. It just refuses to travel at twenty miles an hour.’

Over a pint and a plate of ham and eggs the Inspector looked less formidable than he had done at Haling. Edward liked the look of him and decided on the spur of the moment to trust him. ‘I
have a confession to make, Inspector.’ The policeman looked up from his food. ‘No, I don’t mean that sort of a confession but I have been less than candid with you.’

‘Indeed, my lord,’ said the policeman equably, resuming his attack on the ham.

‘I was not alone in my room last night. I can’t mention the lady’s name but . . . ’

‘Not to worry, sir,’ said the Inspector comfortably, ‘Miss Dannhorn informed me that she had spent the night in your bed and that during the night she had entered Mrs
Harkness’s room with a view to finding the letters we’ve just been talking about. She said she didn’t find them.’

Edward was taken aback. Here he was indulging in a bit of conscience clearing and he’d been made to look a fool. ‘I . . . I didn’t know she had told you . . . ’ he said
weakly.

‘You were trying to protect the lady’s honour?’ the policeman suggested helpfully.

‘Yes, I mean . . . well dash it! I suppose I must now be your main suspect. I had a motive for wanting Mrs Harkness out of the way. I have lied and obstructed you. Why don’t you
arrest me now?’

‘So you think there has to be a suspect, do you?’

‘You mean, do I think her death was a tragic accident? No, of course I don’t. Nor do you, I imagine, unless you are stupider than you look and that’s meant to be a
compliment.’

‘Thank you, my lord – taken as a compliment I’m sure. I want to wait for the medical evidence but, yes, it’s too convenient for too many people that the poor lady should
have died when she did.’

‘And I’m the chief suspect?’

‘Have one for the road?’ the Inspector said, getting up to go to the bar.

They reached Molly’s flat in Trevor Square just after one and Inspector Lampfrey got out of the Lagonda with relief. He was exhilarated, never having travelled so fast
before, but a little giddy as if he had just alighted from a carousel. Edward drove with élan and at a speed which, despite the Lagonda’s excellent suspension, had rattled every bone in
his body. He wondered if he could survive a return journey, possibly in the dark, and began contemplating excuses for taking the train.

The flat was on the first floor in one of the larger buildings on the north side of the square. Most of the houses in the square were still family houses but a few – like this one –
had been converted into flats. Lampfrey rang the electric bell and then knocked but there was no answer. There was either no one in the building or there was no one prepared to answer his
stentorian summons so the Inspector let himself in with the dead woman’s keys. The flat was pleasant and airy. The drawing-room looked over the quiet square and there was a balcony upon which
several flower pots stood containing nothing but some leggy geraniums. Everything was neat and tidy as though it was regularly cleaned. The other big room in the flat was the dining-room and that
too was almost sterile in its cleanliness. There was a tiny kitchen, a bathroom and lavatory and, at the back, a bedroom.

There was a bureau in the drawing-room and it was to this that the Inspector went first. It was unlocked and seemed to invite inspection. Lampfrey went through it with great care but found
little of interest. There were no letters, diaries – just a few bills including several from a local chemist which he pocketed. Edward had better luck. He had wandered into Molly’s
bedroom. He had a pet theory that when women wished to conceal something they found a hiding place in their bedroom and, whatever its general validity, on this occasion he was proved right. Under
the bed he discovered a small, black tin box. It was padlocked. He asked Lampfrey whether he should open it and, after thinking about it, the Inspector shrugged his shoulders and said he might as
well. Edward found a screwdriver in a cupboard in the kitchen and with its help levered off the lock. Grunting with pleasure, Edward removed half a dozen letters tied in pink ribbon. They had to be
love letters and he untied the knot in the ribbon with trembling hands. The first letter began ‘Dearest Molly’ and was signed ‘your loving David’.

‘Here,’ he said passing it to the Inspector, ‘it’s from the King.’

Rather guiltily he looked at the other letters. They were all from the King and made it absolutely clear that, for at least three or four months the previous winter, he and Molly had been
lovers. Edward and the Inspector looked at each other.

‘I can hardly believe he could have been so unwise as to have written letters like these,’ the Inspector said slowly.

A decent man and a loyal subject, he was profoundly shocked to discover his sovereign was, if not an adulterer, then a fornicator. He told himself he was being foolish, expecting his king to
behave better than his subjects, but he
was
shocked. He shook his head. He was aware the rich lived by different rules from ‘normal’ people but he had been particularly put out
to discover Lord Edward had slept with that strange-looking but undeniably handsome woman – Miss Dannhorn – though he had tried to conceal it. His first impression of Edward was that
here was a thoroughly decent man. He knew he was old-fashioned but he did not hold with what Betty – his wife – called ‘loose living’ and it upset him that Edward was an
immoralist. In his thirty years in the police he had seen depravity and corruption enough but – and he knew he was naive – he expected the upper classes and the aristocracy in
particular to set a good example. He supposed he would be labelled a Victorian by his younger colleagues but this woman they called Dannie was, in his eyes, little better than a whore. He snorted.
A mannequin! Wasn’t that what she called herself? As for his king, well, Inspector Lampfrey read biographies and enjoyed history. Intellectually, he appreciated that throughout history kings
had had their mistresses. Why, he had only just finished Hume’s
History of Great Britain
but this was the twentieth century. What might have been acceptable behaviour for a king in the
seventeenth century was surely not acceptable today.

Edward had confined his speculation to the practical and would have been amazed if he had been able to read the Inspector’s mind. ‘And having been so foolish as to have taken Mrs
Harkness to bed,’ he said, meaning the King, ‘imagine treating her the way he did. He not only gave her the dynamite, he provided the fuse and the match to go with it.’

‘Well, I suppose these ought to be handed back to . . . to the Palace. Would you like to attend to that? I think it’s better that there should be no official record of them being
found here.’

Edward nodded. ‘I’ll see to it, Inspector. There’s nothing else?’

‘Nothing as far as I can see, except this blotting paper.’ He held it out to Edward, who looked at it closely. ‘Can you make this out, my lord?’

‘Um, let me see. What’s this? “Dear . . . ” Is it “Dear G” or is it a C?’ He went over to the mirror in the hall and held the blotting paper up to it.
‘Yes, I think it’s “Dear G”. Then what’s this further down? “ . . . blame me”. Probably, “don’t blame me”. Hmm, interesting but damnably
little to go on. Inspector, you’re absolutely sure there’s no drawer or anything you’ve overlooked?’

‘Look for yourself.’

Edward did so but the bureau contained no secret drawers. Edward went back to the bedroom. He looked round, scratching his head. He had an instinct that Molly was the kind of woman for whom her
bedroom was her holy of holies and that it had not yet given up all its secrets. Whereas the drawing-room and dining-room were so neutral as to be featureless, the bedroom did have personality.
There were some photographs on the chest of drawers: one of them of an army officer. Edward remembered that Molly had said her father had been killed in France in 1918. There was another photograph
of the man he supposed to be her father taken on his wedding day. Molly’s mother was something of a beauty and it was obviously from her that Molly had got her looks. There was no photograph
of her husband, hardly surprising perhaps, but there was one of a group of young people in tennis clothes. Edward could not be sure but it looked as though the picture had been taken at Muthaiga
Club and he recognized one or two faces from when he had been in Kenya. When he looked closer, he thought he recognized Boy Carstairs in the back row just behind Molly.

He looked round the room again. There was a little horseshoe-shaped dressing table with a mirror above it. On the table there were the cosmetics which Molly had not needed to take with her to
Haling. There was a bottle marked Milk of Gardenias, lipsticks and a powder puff in a china dish. Around the kneehole were little curtains and, when he drew them back, he saw several small drawers.
It was distasteful to pry into so intimate a place but he reminded himself that, if it turned out Molly had been murdered, he owed it to their friendship to discover why and, most importantly, who
had taken her life. The top two drawers held costume jewellery – nothing of any value. If Molly had any valuable jewels, they were either at Haling or in the bank. The bottom drawer contained
knick-knacks and mementoes – a sea shell, a paperknife with a curiously decorated bone handle, several beads and a brooch. He took out the brooch and looked at it closely. Then, glancing
towards the door to check that he was unobserved, he slipped it in his pocket.

Leaving the Inspector to make his telephone calls, Edward went out into Trevor Square to smoke a cigarette and think things through. He had found letters – letters which the King would
hardly want to fall into unfriendly hands – but they were not the letters for which he was looking. And what of Molly? She had thought she had met her Prince Charming when, instead, she had
been a few weeks’ entertainment, nothing more, for a bored and foolish man who, like himself, he told himself ruefully, ought to have known better. Molly had been dispatched as casually as
one might put down a troublesome dog and it made him angry. She wasn’t the most admirable of human beings but she was more a victim than a villain. The men in her life had used her even when
she imagined she was using them. Her only power – her only way of making a space for herself – was through sex and it was sex which had led to her murder, Edward was sure of it. Her
theft of Mrs Simpson’s letters was an absurd and futile attempt to win back the King’s affections. Politically, she was an innocent but there were people in her circle who were highly
political. One of these had killed her to get them off her. But to do what with them? Did the man – or woman – want to destroy them or use them for blackmail or did they have some other
use for them?

It all came back to Dannie. Edward sighed and rubbed his forehead. What a fool he had been! It was easy to see now, after the event, that he should never have slept with her. He had desired her
so much and he had been scared of losing her. He had thought she would think him a dull beast, a stick-in-the-mud, a prude, if he had said, ‘Not yet, we must get to know each other better
before we go to bed together.’ He had had affairs before now with women he had liked but not loved and never regretted them but this was different. He had been a rabbit and the snake had
swallowed him whole. It was humiliating. Whether she had found what she was looking for – whether she had murdered Molly – he could not say for certain but he was determined to find
out. A phrase he had once heard his father use of a woman he despised came back to him – ‘a brazen hussy’. Dannie was a brazen hussy or, if she were something more complicated,
then he needed to know what.