Murder, Scandal and Royals: The Curious Life of Marguerite Alibert, Princess Fahmy
It’s not often that a woman with a past as a Parisian courtesan finds herself rubbing shoulders with royalty, marrying into Egyptian aristocracy, and then standing in the dock at the Old Bailey accused of murder. But that is precisely the story of Marguerite Marie Alibert—later known by many names, including Maggie Meller, Marguerite Laurent, and most famously, Princess Fahmy. Her tale is one of reinvention, survival, and controversy, told against the backdrop of early 20th-century high society and colonial-era attitudes. If there ever was a life that read like a novel, it was hers.
Early Life: From Parisian Coachman’s Daughter to Courtesan
Marguerite Alibert was born on 9 December 1890 in Paris to Firmin Alibert, a coachman, and Marie Aurand, a housekeeper. Her beginnings were modest. At just sixteen, Marguerite gave birth to a daughter, Raymonde, and for the next decade lived a transient existence, navigating the precarious social landscape of early 20th-century France as a single mother with few prospects.
Her fortunes changed when she came under the wing of Mme Denant, a well-connected madam who ran a high-class brothel known euphemistically as a Maison de Rendezvous. There, Alibert transformed from a vulnerable young woman into a polished and skilled courtesan. This was not mere sex work but a calculated ascent into the world of elite companionship, where charm and discretion were often as valuable as beauty.
Royal Intrigue: The Affair with the Prince of Wales
In April 1917, Marguerite Alibert’s life took another dramatic turn. At the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, she met Edward, the Prince of Wales—heir to the British throne and future Edward VIII. Edward was then serving in France during the First World War, nominally attached to the Western Front. The prince became quickly besotted.
Their affair, which lasted from 1917 to 1918, was intense if brief. The prince is said to have written Marguerite a series of deeply personal letters—unusual for a royal—and certainly compromising for someone in line to rule an empire. While the liaison eventually fizzled out, it would later have enormous significance during her murder trial, albeit in ways that were deliberately hidden from public scrutiny.
The Marriage to Ali Fahmy Bey
In the early 1920s, while in Egypt escorting a wealthy businessman, Marguerite caught the eye of Ali Kamel Fahmy Bey, a flamboyant and exceedingly wealthy Egyptian aristocrat. Fahmy, infatuated from their first encounter, pursued her ardently. Their relationship blossomed over extravagant trips to Deauville, Biarritz, and Paris’s finest establishments.
By December 1922, Marguerite agreed to marry Fahmy. The couple had both a civil and Islamic ceremony, the latter conducted in January 1923. From this point on, Marguerite was frequently referred to by the press as “Princess Fahmy”, an honorary title that, while not formally accurate, symbolised her new status and the public’s fascination with her transcontinental romance.
Murder at the Savoy: The Death of Ali Fahmy
The relationship between Marguerite Alibert and Ali Kamel Fahmy Bey was tempestuous from the outset. Though initially enamoured, their marriage quickly descended into jealousy, cultural misunderstanding, and verbal abuse. Alibert would later claim she had become frightened of her husband’s volatile behaviour and controlling nature, painting a picture of emotional and physical torment. The truth, as is often the case, was likely more complex.
On 1 July 1923, the couple arrived in London and checked into the luxurious Savoy Hotel. The pair travelled in high style, accompanied by a full entourage, including a valet, maid, and secretary. Despite the opulence of their surroundings, their arguments continued, often in public and to the discomfort of staff and guests.
On the evening of 9 July, they attended a performance of The Merry Widow at Daly’s Theatre. By all accounts, the outing was uneventful. But back at the hotel, tensions once again erupted. The couple had a late supper in their suite and began quarrelling—yet another in a pattern of increasingly aggressive confrontations.
At approximately 2:30 a.m. on 10 July 1923, the argument reached its fatal conclusion. In a sudden and brutal act, Marguerite shot her husband three times using a .32 calibre semi-automatic Browning pistol. The shots struck him from behind—in the neck, back, and head—as he tried to walk away. Hotel staff and the valet were roused by the sound and summoned a doctor, but the injuries proved fatal. Ali Fahmy was taken to Charing Cross Hospital, where he died within the hour.
The presence of the gun, kept in her handbag, suggested premeditation. But as the case unfolded, it was the narrative crafted in court—not just the physical evidence—that would determine her fate.
The Trial: Orientalism in the Old Bailey
The trial began on 10 September 1923 and quickly became a sensation. London society and press were enthralled by the drama—a wealthy Egyptian aristocrat gunned down in one of the capital's finest hotels by a French courtesan-turned-"princess". Reporters jostled for entry into the Old Bailey, and members of the public queued from before dawn to witness the courtroom spectacle.
Marguerite Alibert stood trial for murder, but her legal defence would hinge not on denying the act, but on framing her as a victim. Her barrister was the renowned Edward Marshall Hall, known for his skilful oratory and ability to sway juries with pathos. He painted Marguerite as a woman driven to desperate measures by a husband he described as tyrannical, sexually perverse, and culturally alien.
Ali Fahmy Bey, in this courtroom narrative, became a caricature of “oriental cruelty”—a product of the deep-seated orientalist attitudes of the time. According to her defence, he beat her, forced her into degrading acts, and held her under a sort of psychological imprisonment. Whether these accusations held any truth is difficult to verify; what is clear is that they resonated with a jury unaccustomed to questioning colonial prejudices.
The prosecution attempted to argue that the murder was deliberate and premeditated, highlighting her access to the firearm and the angle of the shots. But the facts were overshadowed by the rhetoric and the racialised narrative crafted by the defence.
Importantly, the judge ruled that Marguerite’s past—as a courtesan and the former lover of Edward, Prince of Wales—was inadmissible. This shielded the British royal family from embarrassment. Had those letters been introduced as evidence, they would have connected the woman in the dock to the very heart of the British monarchy. They were kept carefully out of the public eye.
In his closing speech, his oratory soared to even greater heights as he invited the jury ‘to open the gates where the Western woman can go out, not into the dark night of the desert, but back to her friends, who love her in spite of her weaknesses.
‘Open the gate and let this Western woman go back into the light of God’s great Western sun.’
The judge’s summing-up took up the same theme. ‘We in this country put our women on a pedestal: in Egypt they have not the same views,’ he told the jury.
He declared Ali’s alleged sexual tastes ‘shocking, sickening and disgusting’. And he steered them towards a conclusion of justifiable homicide. ‘If her husband tried to do what she says, in spite of her protests, it was a cruel and abominable act.’ Fahmy was described as "a monster of Eastern depravity and decadence, whose sexual tastes were indicative of an amoral sadism towards his helpless European wife"
On 15 September 1923, after a trial lasting six days, the jury returned a verdict: not guilty. Marguerite Alibert walked free, to the astonishment of some and the approval of many who had been swept up in the narrative of a refined European woman escaping the clutches of a cruel foreign husband.
Marguerite Alibert's Life After the Old Bailey
Though she had been acquitted in London, Marguerite faced a less sympathetic reception in Egypt. She attempted to claim her late husband’s estate, but the Egyptian courts were quick to dismiss her claim, openly rejecting the British court’s verdict. She returned to Paris without the fortune she had hoped to inherit.
Marguerite spent the remainder of her life in relative seclusion. She lived in a comfortable flat overlooking the Ritz Hotel and rarely engaged in public life. The letters from the Prince of Wales—once a potential scandal of monumental proportions—were discovered after her death in 1971 and reportedly destroyed, possibly by her daughter or an executor who wished to close the final chapter on a life marked by controversy.
A Woman of Her Time
Marguerite Alibert was many things—a working-class Parisian, a mother, a courtesan, a royal mistress, a murder suspect, and finally a figure caught in the crosscurrents of race, gender, and imperial politics. Her acquittal may have hinged on racial prejudice and her connection to the British royal family, but it also highlighted how powerful a narrative could be in shaping justice.
Her story serves as an example of how women in the early 20th century navigated a world stacked against them—sometimes by manipulating it, sometimes surviving it. She remains a figure of historical curiosity, often overshadowed by the royals and aristocrats in her orbit but never without her own agency.
In a world that prefers its histories neat and morally unambiguous, Marguerite Alibert’s life resists easy categorisation. And that, perhaps, is why it continues to fascinate.