Hollow Crown (40 page)

‘But he didn’t know what you had done?’

‘No, but in the morning, when Lord Edward found her dead, he discovered one of my gloves on a table and guessed immediately. You see, I had worn gloves because I know all about
fingerprints. I read quite a lot of detective stories. I get them from Boots,’ she added brightly. ‘But the doorknob was stiff to turn so I took off one of my gloves when I left the
room and I must have left it behind.’

‘Yes, I remember, it was stiff.’ Verity had a vivid recollection of trying to open the door with one hand, while holding the rat in the other, when she had occupied Molly’s
room. ‘And Leo Scannon tried to blackmail you?’

‘He tried to blackmail Geoffrey. He told him what I had done – not that I cared. He said he would tell the police I was a murderer.’

‘What did he say . . . your husband . . . when you admitted what you had done?’

‘He said he loved me. He said she wasn’t carrying his child and that she was a whore and a liar but, of course, I didn’t believe him.’

‘Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he does love you in his way.’

‘Oh no. He has never loved me. I asked him why he had married me, and he couldn’t answer.’

‘So Scannon wanted something from your husband, not you?’

‘Yes. He said Geoffrey’s career would be ruined if his wife was arrested for murder, and he was right. I knew that.’

‘But what did he want from your husband in return for his silence?’

‘I don’t know – something about Sir Oswald Mosley. Mr Scannon was a great friend of his and Geoffrey used to be as well. When Geoffrey decided he had gone too far and he wanted
to leave the BUF, Mosley didn’t like it. He was too useful.’

‘But Scannon and your husband were Conservative MPs.’

‘They thought it was safer to remain in the Party but actually they were working for Mosley. They thought the Führer was wonderful – a god. They thought England should be on
Germany’s side in the struggle. That’s what they called it: “the struggle”. I never quite understood who they were struggling against. The Jews, I suppose.’

‘But listen, I think you’re wrong. I think your husband did kill Mr Scannon to protect you.’

‘To protect me! Why on earth do you think he would do that?’ Daphne Hepple-Keen looked at Verity incredulously. ‘He hates me and I hate him.’ She spoke with such utter
certainty that Verity found herself shivering. She knew for certain she was in the presence of a madwoman. ‘You’re looking ill,’ Daphne said, as though noticing Verity properly
for the first time. ‘You must look after yourself. No one else will, you know. Not even that man you love.’

Verity blushed. ‘I don’t . . . ’ she began, but Daphne was talking again. She was like a drunkard who had been off the bottle for some time and was now indulging in a binge
– a binge of talk.

‘The only thing I care about is the children. We all know they are going to have a horrible time of it when they are grown up, particularly the girls, so we must do everything we can for
them. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help any longer with the children in Spain. You must promise me not to give it up. It is your duty.’

Not ten minutes but a full half-hour had passed since Lord Weaver had vacated his office to enable Verity to tell Daphne it was all over as far as the charity was concerned. Now he wanted to get
back behind his desk and was curious to know what was taking Verity so long. He had imagined that Lady Hepple-Keen would come storming out in floods of tears after ten minutes, but that had not
happened.

‘Ah,’ he said awkwardly as he opened the door, ‘Verity has probably told you about the charity. I’m so sorry about it but . . . ’

‘Oh yes, that’s all right, but you must continue with it, Lord Weaver.’

‘I will,’ he said, delighted to see that she was taking it so calmly.

‘I won’t have the time,’ she went on blithely. ‘I’ll be in prison.’

‘Whatever do you mean, Daphne?’ he asked.

‘I’ve just been telling Miss Browne how I murdered Mrs Harkness. It’s such a relief to tell someone. Will you be good enough to call the police? I think I ought to tell them
now, don’t you? But, please, be quick, I want to get back to the children.’

They were having breakfast at Mersham – Connie, Edward and Verity. It was a peaceful sight. The newspapers were strewn over the table – a sloppiness the Duke could
never abide so it was fortunate that he was in London attending the House of Lords. The munching on bacon and eggs (Edward), kippers (Verity) and porridge (Connie) was only interrupted by
occasional cries of amazement.

‘It says in the
News Chronicle
that Wallis’s flat in Cumberland Terrace has been stoned,’ Verity said, ‘and the crowd chanted, “Hands off our King –
abdication means revolution.”’

‘That’s too absurd!’ the Duchess expostulated.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Verity said, careful not to catch Edward’s eye. ‘Oh look! This is even better: Mosley and his mob paraded through Westminster shouting
“Stand by the King” and “How would you like a cabinet of old busybodies to pick your girl for you?”’ She raised her head consideringly. ‘That must be wrong. How
could you chant such a long sentence? It doesn’t have any rhythm.’

‘Oh, well, you would know,’ Edward said, unwisely, and Verity threatened to throw a slice of buttered toast at him.

‘Well, I don’t care to read any more. I think it is all too horrible,’ the Duchess said, folding up her copy of
The Times
. ‘I don’t blame Mrs Simpson –
I feel sorry for her – but I do blame the King. He’s endangered the monarchy. He’ll never be forgiven for it.’

‘He’s a bad lot,’ Edward agreed. ‘He treated me as if he’d accidentally come face to face with the bootboy.’

‘Tut tut!’ Verity mocked. She was looking a different person from the thin, almost haggard girl Connie had collected from the Hassels’ three days earlier. When, in a terse
telephone call from Edward, she had heard the state Verity was in – totally exhausted and unable to do anything but rail against Edward and Lord Weaver in particular and the male species in
general – the Duchess had swept up to London in the Rolls. Disregarding her protestations that she couldn’t come because she had a book to write, Connie had in all but name kidnapped
her.

‘Now listen to me, Verity,’ Connie had said sounding almost fierce. ‘You are dog-tired. You’ve not been eating. There are circles under your eyes which tell me you
haven’t been sleeping either. Mr and Mrs Hassel are at their wits’ end to know what to do. If you want to avoid a total breakdown, you must come back with me to Mersham and rest for at
least a week.’

‘But,’ Verity began feebly, ‘the Duke . . . ’

‘The Duke’s not a monster, you know, and anyway, with all this about the King, he’s staying in London until it’s all over.’

Edward hadn’t been able to get away from town immediately. He had things to tie up with Chief Inspector Pride and Lord Weaver. In any case, Connie said it was better if
she had Verity to herself for a few days ‘before you come down and confuse the poor child’.

Pride had been surprisingly polite when Weaver had summoned him to his office to hear Lady Hepple-Keen’s confession. He had shot a look at Verity, which might have made her blanch had she
not been too busy comforting Daphne to notice. Daphne was by now sobbing and asking how her children would manage if she went to prison. Fortunately, it had not occurred to her that she was in
danger of being hanged. It was clear, even to Pride, that she was not entirely in her right mind and a doctor was called.

Verity asked if there was anyone she would like to be with her, praying that she would not ask for her husband who was in prison charged with one murder which – if Daphne was to be
believed – he had not committed and one which he had. Verity’s prayer was answered. Daphne had a sister who, when she rang her and explained that Daphne had admitted to murder and
needed succour, proved admirably calm and competent. She came round in a taxi and took her home to be with her children. Pride had hesitated before permitting this. He was aware that he ought to
take her into custody but even he quailed at having a hysterical woman in his keep and, as there was no likelihood that she was going to abscond, he released her into her sister’s care. She
was to be delivered to Scotland Yard the next morning, accompanied by her lawyer.

Verity had been deeply shocked by Daphne’s confession and subsequent arrest. When everyone had departed – Daphne touchingly unwilling to let go of her – she had to take refuge
with Miss Barnstable on whose substantial bosom she had wept and been comforted. It was not the behaviour of a hardened war correspondent and she was ashamed of her weakness. She was not much
cheered, when she returned to Weaver’s office, to be congratulated.

‘What a coup!’ he enthused. ‘To have had a murderer confess in our office . . . in
my
office, and not any old murderer but the wife of an MP who is also accused of
murder. An old-fashioned scoop if ever there was one! I can just see the headline . . . No, I can’t . . . Miss Barnstable, get me Mr Godber right away, will you . . . ’

The
New Gazette
had its scoop and Verity was hailed as its originator, much to Godber’s fury. The press interest was intense but to her relief, short-lived. When news of the
King’s decision to abdicate came through, the whole of Fleet Street cleared its pages to concentrate on what all the papers recognized as an historic event. Nothing would ever be the same
again, was the general feeling. The unthinkable had happened and now anything became possible.

On his way down to Mersham two days later, Edward called in at Marlborough police station. Lampfrey suggested going to the pub as it was almost lunch-time and neither of them
had eaten. Each with a pint in his hand and a white-foam moustache, they found a corner where they could not be overheard. Lampfrey found it hard to know what to talk about first – the arrest
of the Hepple-Keens or the King’s abdication. Edward settled the matter by giving him a brief account of his audience with the King and how disgusted he had been.

‘The man’s as weak as water with a strain of obstinacy like a spoilt child’s. He never said a word about Molly – well, I suppose I knew he wouldn’t do that –
but, I don’t know, he wasn’t even ashamed of himself, and the lady wasn’t much better.’

When they had finished discussing the abdication, the policeman said, ‘I still don’t quite understand what happened to Mrs Harkness or rather,
why
it happened. I can see that
Lady Hepple-Keen – poor woman – hated and feared her husband. I could understand her killing
him
but why kill Mrs Harkness?’

‘You have to understand the strength of a mother’s love,’ Edward said in his lecturing voice. ‘She hated her husband as a man but he fulfilled a vital function for her.
He completed the family. He was a father and, for her, that was a crucial role which no one else could take on. Her children were the only thing she cared about – she was a sheep except where
they were concerned, and then she was a tiger. Verity noticed it at dinner at Haling – so did I,’ he added modestly. ‘She could not bear the idea of children being ill treated.
That was why she felt so strongly about the refugee children in Spain.’

‘That was genuine?’

‘Oh yes, I’m convinced of it. She cared all right. She cared most, of course, about her own brood. They had to be protected at all costs. When she went to speak to Mrs Harkness that
night, it was to beg her to leave her husband alone. Somehow, she had discovered she had become his mistress. I don’t suppose he made much effort to conceal it. He was cruel to her in that
sort of way, I believe. However, she had no thought of killing her until Mrs Harkness was stupid and cruel enough to tell her she was pregnant with Geoffrey Hepple-Keen’s child. That was the
breaking point and it really sent her mad. She went out of the room in a state of total despair. If her husband wanted to divorce her she wouldn’t know how to go on. She wasn’t one of
those modern women you read about who would have said “good riddance” and gone on to live the life she wanted. She needed her husband – however inadequate he was – and she
was prepared to kill to keep him. She went back to her room briefly and then returned, hoping to gain entry to Mrs Harkness’s bedroom. She paced about in the corridor until she heard her go
to the bathroom and then, seizing the moment, slipped into her room, poured the veronal into the flask and left. It shows she wasn’t thinking straight, taking the empty veronal bottle with
her. However, Molly can’t have noticed. Maybe she had already taken Maalox. She must have taken a swig from her flask – probably more than a swig – and then sunk into her last
sleep.’

‘But the door was locked in the morning and we couldn’t find the key.’

‘Miss Dannhorn went into Mrs Harkness’s room through the door which connected with my bedroom but she left through the other door – the one leading on to the corridor. She
locked it and took the key.’

‘But why, for goodness’ sake?’

‘Out of devilry . . . to confuse the issue? I never got the chance of asking her. She must have been shocked to find Mrs Harkness dead, but she’s a cool customer. She made her
search, found the letters under the pillow and then decided to mystify the whole thing by locking the door – thereby hinting that the murder and the theft of the letters must have been
carried out by the same person, who had got in through the window using the creeper as a ladder.’

‘But the white glove Scannon found . . . that was Lady Hepple-Keen’s, not Miss Dannhorn’s?’

‘Yes, the doorknob was stiff – I noticed that myself when Verity had the room. It took her ages to open the door after she found the rat in her bed. So Lady Hepple-Keen took off one
glove to open it. She had the veronal bottle in her hand. She wasn’t thinking straight. She would have done better to have left the veronal bottle behind and kept her gloves on. But there we
are. It shows the murder was unpremeditated and the result of panic. All the evidence confirms that and I’m hoping it will weigh with the judge.’

Lampfrey looked dubious. ‘I don’t know about that. The fact that she went back to her room to fetch her gloves, with the express intention of not leaving fingerprints, suggests
premeditation to me.’