Guy led Louisa into another room, with two chairs on either side of an identical table to the one they had just left Luke sitting by. ‘For obvious reasons, I cannot interview you,’ said Guy. ‘Someone else will be along in a moment.’
‘Fine,’ said Louisa. She so desperately wanted to talk to him about everything that was happening, to ask him if he had married, if he had thought of her at all in the last year. But she would not.
They sat awkwardly in silence with Guy shuffling through the papers he had in his hand and Louisa fiddling with a button on her coat until a man in a beautifully tailored pin-striped suit with a lemon-coloured tie came in. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you must be Miss Cannon.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Guy. He left the room but not before he’d cast a backward glance at Louisa. She did not return it, but not because she was still trying to punish Guy: she was afraid. She knew, of course, that she was blameless, at least of Clara’s murder. However, she also knew that her sort were often suspects. She had to assume she’d be treated as guilty until proven innocent.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Stiles and I’ll be conducting this interview.’ He sat down and pulled out a notebook and fountain pen, and as he did so he flashed Louisa a brief smile as if to say she had nothing to worry about. But would this be true?
‘Can you please confirm for me your name and place of residence.’
‘Louisa Cannon, 10 Buckingham Street, London.’
‘Occupation?’
‘Lady’s maid to Mrs Guinness.’
‘Hmm.’ Stiles scratched these details down, as well as making a note of the date and time of the interview. ‘Can you confirm for me where you were at five o’clock in the morning on the twenty-seventh of January this year.’
‘Yes, I was in my room, number 236, at the Hotel Excelsior on the Lido, Venice.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘No, sir.’ Louisa’s head started to swim. She hadn’t eaten anything since her mother had given her bread and butter and sweet tea that morning shortly before her train journey back to London. ‘I was with the late Miss Clara Fischer.’
‘Why was Miss Fischer in the room with you?’
Louisa knew there was nothing she must hide. ‘The day before, she’d had her bag stolen while near St Mark’s Square. Mrs Guinness suggested that I go with her when she left the group to try and find it. As we walked together, she admitted to me that her bag had contained opium.’ Louisa paused as Stiles wrote quickly in his notepad. ‘She said she had left the Basilica earlier, which the group had been visiting, in order to go and have a smoke. She thought that while she was, well, unaware, sir, that someone must have taken the bag from her. She was desperate to find it, or get some more opium. I persuaded her to return to the hotel and said she could rest in my room.’
‘Did you tell anyone else?’
‘Yes, I told Luke Meyer. Mr Meyer asked me what had happened and although Miss Fischer had asked me not to tell anyone I was very worried about her. Quite soon after we had arrived back at the hotel, she seemed to suffer badly from opium withdrawal.’
‘That seems very quick.’ Stiles was watching Louisa’s face carefully but not, she thought, unsympathetically.
‘Yes, sir. I thought perhaps there was a psychological effect, as well as a physical one. Knowing that she was somewhere she could not get hold of any more opium.’
‘Hmmm. You looked after Miss Fischer, you say. How did you do this?’
‘She was quite delirious and very sick. I tried to help her drink water, although that mostly made her vomit again. I kept pressing a cool cloth on her forehead, and I tried to say soothing things to her.’
Stiles smiled at that. ‘Was anyone else left alone with Miss Fischer at any point?’
‘At around midnight I had to go and attend to Mrs Guinness, to prepare her for bed. I was away for an hour or so. I understood that Miss Nancy Mitford was going to visit her at that point, too.’
‘How did you understand that?’
‘I had seen Miss Nancy when I left Miss Fischer to attend to Mrs Guinness. I told her something of what had happened and she was concerned for her friend. She said she would look in on her while I was away.’ She paused and thought about the man in reception and what he had asked of her. ‘There was one other person, sir.’
‘Who was that?’
‘A maid at the hotel delivered a pot of tea at my request. I think Clara drank some of it.’
Stiles put his pen down and pushed his chair back from the table. He crossed his arms and looked at Louisa. At once, she saw his demeanour had changed completely.
‘You have a history of law-breaking, Miss Cannon.’
She felt as if he had slapped her across the cheek. She tried to regulate her breathing and not be made to feel scared. Yes, she had a history of law-breaking but this had nothing to do with the crime that had happened. ‘It was a long time ago, sir. I was a child.’
‘Nevertheless. It makes your character somewhat questionable, shall we say?’
Louisa said nothing to this.
‘Was this the first time you had met Miss Fischer?’
‘No, sir. I met her some years ago, when I was working for Lady Redesdale, as chaperone for her daughter Miss Pamela Mitford. Miss Fischer was in the group of friends that my charge knew.’
‘Did you become friendly with Miss Fischer?’
‘No, sir. That is, we were not unfriendly, but I was a servant, sir.’
‘Yes, yes. I do see that. But I’m intrigued, why should she have confided in you when her bag was stolen?’
‘I think she was desperate.’
‘Did you steal her bag?’
‘What, sir? No, I did not!’
Stiles stood up and started to pace around the room. ‘I think you saw the perfect opportunity. You have the means, you know how to steal. We know that from your past. You saw her smoke opium, you knew that she would be desperate – that she would do anything to get it back.’
‘No!’ Where was Guy? Louisa felt panic rise in her chest. Would no one else witness this? Would no one else vouch for her character?
‘When she realized it was you, you had to kill her. And you had once more, the perfect opportunity. She was alone in your room, delirious. Desperate. Offered a smoke, she’d have taken it greedily.’
‘No, no, no. It wasn’t me. Where is Mr Sullivan?’
‘Detective Sergeant Sullivan to you. He can’t help you.’
‘He can, he – he can vouch for my good character.’
‘What good character? You have broken the law before, you’ll do it again. I know your type well enough.’
Rage now overcame the panic. Her type?
‘DI Stiles. I did not commit this crime.’ Her voice was amazingly calm.
‘Perhaps you didn’t steal the bag.’ Louisa’s heart rate slowed down but then he started again. ‘In which case, tell me where you bought the opium. Was it in England, or was it in Venice? It’s not hard to buy, after all.’
‘I have never bought opium.’
‘You’d know how to though, wouldn’t you?’ Stiles sat back down in his chair, pulled it in and leaned forward so his face, now hard and set, was only inches from her own. ‘I think it’s something you keep in your bag. Just in case. We could have a look in your bag now, or in your room. Would we find some there?’
Louisa said nothing; she tried to remove herself somehow and concentrated on breathing as regularly as she could.
‘I think we would. You supply some to the people you work for? What could be a better cover than you? No one would notice, no one would know. And your job is safe.’
‘No,’ she said simply. ‘None of that is true.’
Stiles sat back and looked at her. He smiled.
‘No,’ he said. ‘None of that is true.’
If there had been a signal, Louisa didn’t see it but at that moment Guy came in without knocking. Stiles stood up.
‘She didn’t do it,’ he said and left the room.