Hollow Crown (18 page)

‘But could she not have taken too much by mistake?’ Verity persisted. ‘Perhaps she woke in the night and reached for the bottle forgetting she had already dosed herself and
then . . . ’

‘It might be just possible but the overdose was very substantial. If she had taken a normal dose, she would have been most unlikely to wake or, if she had, would have had difficulty taking
so large a second dose. But there’s another point we should consider, there’s no sign of the bottle of veronal. Veronal wasn’t in her flask when Lord Edward drank from it, so she
must have added it some time after he left – she or someone else. Then that someone removed the bottle.’

‘You’ve searched the ground outside her window, of course,’ Edward broke in, ‘but are you sure the bottle’s not lodged in the Virginia creeper? It might have been
thrown out . . . I don’t believe it, mind you, but . . . ’

‘We have searched but, you’re right, it might be a good idea to have it looked at again. We interviewed the chemist round the corner from where she lived who supplied her sleeping
draughts. He is adamant she did not have as much as ten grams. We are making inquiries of other chemists in the neighbourhood but . . . ’

‘We found some invoices in her house,’ Edward explained to Verity, ‘so we knew who was her chemist and her doctor. Her doctor didn’t know she was pregnant?’

‘No, and he also said he did not consider her suicidal.’

‘So she was killed by someone staying in the house?’ Verity said flatly.

‘Maybe,’ Lampfrey said, ‘but the situation is complicated by the existence of the Virginia creeper just outside her bedroom window. Someone might have used it to gain entrance
to her room.’

‘No footprints?’

‘No, Lord Edward, nothing. The ground was quite hard at the foot of the creeper and there were no obvious signs of someone climbing up it, but that doesn’t mean they
didn’t.’

‘So what now, Inspector?’ Verity asked. ‘Lord Edward said you hadn’t been able to trace any family?’

‘No, the poor lady seems to have been quite alone in the world. She had a solicitor – to buy the flat and so on – but he hardly seemed to know her. He had no knowledge of any
will.’

‘That’s why I want so much to see her killer caught,’ Edward said fiercely. ‘Someone thought no one would care if she lived or died, but I care.’

The Inspector looked at him gravely. ‘And I care,’ he said. ‘I have arranged to come up to the house after breakfast tomorrow and I’m going to go through the statements
everyone made to me.’

‘You think someone will remember something, or are you hoping one of us will contradict ourselves?’ Edward asked ironically

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. ‘I know a good deal more than I did about what happened that night but there’s plenty I don’t know.’

‘Do you think Mrs Harkness was killed to keep her quiet – to keep her from embarrassing the monarchy?’ Verity asked in her straightforward way.

‘It looks like that, but she may have had other enemies with quite different motives for wanting her dead. That’s what I intend to find out.’

Leo Scannon met them at the front door. ‘Miss Browne, how very nice to meet you,’ he said blandly.

Verity looked at him suspiciously but managed a smile. ‘It’s very good of you to have me. I hope you won’t blame Lord Edward for inflicting me on you.’

‘Please Verity – may I call you Verity? Although we see things from a different political perspective, I hope you will feel welcome here. Lord Weaver speaks so highly of you and any
friend of Lord Edward’s is a friend of mine.’

It all sounded gracious enough and given that Verity had all but invited herself – or at least that was what Scannon had every right to believe – she could do little but smile and
thank him and admire the house.

It occurred to Verity as she was dressing for dinner that, though the aristocracy – men like Edward and his brother, the Duke of Mersham – were opposed to Communism and everything it
stood for, the Party’s most diehard enemies were people like Scannon whose social position was less assured; men who had, as it were, ‘risen through the ranks’ or their fathers
had. It was, after all, perfectly natural that, having fought to ‘better himself’, a man might resent any movement which seemed to threaten his achievement. It was sad, though, that
what she and the Party saw as social justice, so many saw as institutionalized burglary.

Verity was, of course, particularly curious to meet Catherine Dannhorn and, though she did not admit it to herself, she was also a little frightened of her. She dressed with particular care and
wore a Schiaparelli dress her father had insisted on buying her during one of his fits of guilt at not providing her with a settled home life. Verity’s father was the well-known barrister, D.
F. Browne, who had devoted his life to defending left-wing causes. When trade union leaders made legal challenges against employers or radical newspapers were sued for libel, they turned first to
Verity’s father. He was a fine advocate and well enough off to run a green Rolls-Royce of which he was very proud. He was on a host of committees and the boards of several socialist
organizations and businesses such as the
Manchester Guardian
as well as more or less bankrolling the
Daily Worker
, the official organ of the Communist Party, though he was not a CP
member himself. Had he been, he would effectively have been prevented from practising law. His responsibilities and stern sense of duty meant he had very little time for his daughter, left
motherless while still a child. So on her birthday and at Christmas he tended to try to compensate for his absence in her life by embarrassingly lavish gifts.

She had only worn the dress once before at a dinner at the German Embassy in Carlton House Terrace where she had been – dangerously – spying on the enemy. She knew she looked
stunning in it and, without admitting as much, was determined that Edward’s ‘Dannie’ was not going to have a walkover that evening. For over a year now, she had been so sure of
Edward’s – well, why not say it? – love, she was inclined to take it for granted. It had scared her a little and she had deliberately resisted it but now, when she seemed on the
point of losing it, she discovered she would mind that very much indeed.

It was a disaster. As Verity was shown by the butler into the drawing-room, she was met by stares of frank amazement. She had thought that everyone would dress for dinner
– wasn’t it that sort of house? – but the men were in dinner jackets and the women in short dresses.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘Edward, you didn’t tell me.’

‘My dear, you look absolutely divine,’ Scannon said, coming to take her by the hand and lead her into the group round the fire. ‘We’ve got so lazy but you are quite right
to show us up for it. Dannie, doesn’t Verity look simply charming?’

‘Charming,’ Dannie said, taking the cigarette holder out of her mouth and offering Verity her hand. ‘I have so much wanted to meet you, Miss Browne. I do admire your
writing.’

‘Oh, thank you, but Edward, you’ve made me feel a fool. Why didn’t you tell me not to dress up?’

‘Verity, I do apologize. Leo asked me to tell you not to be smart but it quite went out of my head.’

She gave him a look which made him blench, before she turned once more to Dannie. ‘He talks so much about you, Miss Dannhorn.’

‘Please do call me Dannie, everyone does. I hope he
doesn’t
talk about me. It’s not likely to be complimentary.’

‘He said you were beautiful and you are,’ Verity said simply.

Dannie looked a little taken aback. She was indeed looking beautiful and sophisticated, as though she had stepped out of a play by Noel Coward. Her black lace dress worn over peach silk-crepe
was set off with a pearl choker and pearl earrings. She wore very little make-up and her hair, though not as short as Verity’s, gave her a clean-cut, almost boyish look. Verity loathed her on
sight. She couldn’t bring herself to call her Dannie so called her nothing at all but she found it difficult to take her eyes off her.

‘Where’s Miss Conway, Leo?’ Edward asked.

‘My mother’s not well and she is looking after her,’ Scannon replied rather tersely.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Edward said, wondering how it was possible to know when the comatose old woman they had viewed on their previous visit was having a worse day than
usual.

When they went into dinner, Verity found herself sitting between Lord Benyon and Sir Geoffrey Hepple-Keen. Benyon she liked immediately and, since he began by praising her father, whom he knew
quite well, she soon forgot her embarrassment and began to enjoy herself. When, out of politeness, she turned to her other neighbour, things did not go so smoothly. Edward had, of course, told her
he had seen Hepple-Keen at the barricades in Cable Street, on Mosley’s side, but she hardly thought it was the time or place to bring this up. She had no wish to get embroiled that night in a
political confrontation with anybody – that would have been too easy and quite disastrous – so she looked for something else to talk about. She tried a variety of subjects from the
weather to London restaurants but Hepple-Keen either did not reply or answered in monosyllables. Feeling that she had done what she could and as Benyon was deep in conversation with the American,
Larry Harbin, she relapsed into silence and drank her wine.

Scannon, at the head of the table, saw her plight and leant across to ask her about Spain. ‘We were so interested to read your account of the raising of the siege of Toledo,’ he
began. ‘Do you really think anyone can stop Generalissimo Franco from entering Madrid?’

To do Scannon justice, he had not meant to needle her and was merely trying to make conversation but Verity thought she was being taunted and, her tongue loosened by the wine and her bad temper,
she embarked on an impassioned defence of the Republic. Gradually, conversation round the table faded and then stopped altogether as everyone turned to listen to Verity. Benyon looked at her with
sympathy, enjoying this passionate outburst which brought the blood into the girl’s cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. He liked young people and found this child a delightful antidote to
reptilian politicians such as Scannon and Hepple-Keen. Harbin, too, was much taken with Verity but he shook his head in mournful disagreement when she insisted the Republic could still win the war
against Fascism. Dannie’s smile was that of a leopard who sees its prey become entangled in the undergrowth and her beautiful eyes became almost feline.

Edward, consumed with embarrassment, was wondering what on earth had made him invite Verity to Haling but, in the end, his embarrassment faded and he watched her with all the tenderness of a
father. She was, he thought, the most adorable girl and grinned to himself as he considered how much she would resent being so described. Dannie was more beautiful. He flashed a glance at her and
met her eye. She raised a glass to her lips and made a little
moue
– a moment of conspiracy which made him feel he was betraying Verity.

Benyon diplomatically guided Verity out of the hole she had dug for herself and talked of a new exhibition of Italian art, of his battle with the Chancellor over finding money for the Opera
House and of a recent visit to New York. During dinner, no one mentioned Molly but her presence hung over the table like an aura. Edward was probably the only person present who had liked her and
even he had to admit she had been tiresome and foolish, like a spoiled child. Someone, he thought, had wanted her out of the way and had dispatched her with the callous competence of a technician.
It was possible – it was likely – that one of the people round this table had been responsible for Molly’s murder. He brooded on what possible motive any of them might have had
and came to the uncomfortable conclusion that, to an objective investigator such as Inspector Lampfrey, he had the most obvious reason for wanting Molly dead and he certainly had the opportunity.
He had been commissioned by Mrs Simpson to retrieve her letters. It now appeared Molly had been pregnant with what was almost certainly a royal by-blow. Wasn’t the unspoken command: silence
the wretched woman?

He knew, and Lord Weaver must have known, that he would never have harmed her. He wondered if it were too cynical to believe that another person in the house party had been there to make sure he
did not fail and, if he did, to tidy up the mess. But he had not been given time to succeed or fail, so why had the murderer struck that first night? Why not wait until Edward had got back the
letters?

Two reasons presented themselves. First, the murderer might have had no knowledge of Edward’s mission and acted independently. Second, Edward might have been marked out as what Americans
called the ‘fall guy’. He had been instructed not to approach Molly in private. He was told he had to make his attempt to talk her out of her foolishness at Haling, and for no very good
reason as far as he could see. The police would have been bound to discover why he was in the house, even if he had not admitted it to Lampfrey immediately. He had been given the room next to
Molly’s and the communicating door had been unlocked. Two people were obvious candidates for the role of murderer in this case: Dannie and his host, Leo Scannon. Scannon was a much more
ruthless man than his rather foppish exterior might lead one to believe. Edward knew about his vicious tongue from personal experience but Weaver had told him how he liked to conspire and
manipulate. He was never happier than when playing
éminence grise
.

But did that make him a murderer? Would he have chosen to murder a guest in his own house? Even Lady Macbeth had fainted at the idea. For what it was worth, Edward was convinced that
Scannon’s shock, when they found Molly dead, had been genuine. Dannie, on the other hand, was tough enough, he guessed, to use him to gain entrance to Molly’s bedroom. If she had been
frightened of Molly waking while she was searching her things, might she not have made her drink the veronal? Perhaps Scannon or Weaver had asked
her
to retrieve Mrs Simpson’s letters.
Edward strongly suspected she was, or had been, the newspaper proprietor’s mistress. Lady Weaver’s attitude to her had more or less confirmed that. The hostility had been so marked, she
had not even been able to introduce her to him. He pursed his lips. It was possible but, if seducing him had provided her with access to Molly’s bedroom, it was not something she could hide.
If she had a key to Molly’s room, wouldn’t it have been easier to have gone in through the passage door?