A Fatal Freedom (28 page)

Thomas nodded and waited.

Daniel dropped his cigarette stub, ground it out with his foot, lit another one and offered the case again to Thomas, without success.

‘You’re a dashed careful sort of cove, aren’t you?’

Thomas contemplated the glowing end of the man’s cigarette and said nothing.

‘Look, I reckon Alice, Mrs Peters, would want me to be square with you. She might, in fact, I suppose, already have said something when she was arrested. Though if she did, I can’t work out why she was hauled off to gaol like that.’

‘Yet you didn’t say anything at that meeting when you came to my place.’

Daniel shifted his feet uncomfortably. ‘Thing is, she made me promise I wouldn’t. But that was before …’

‘Before what?’

‘Before it looked as though the police were happy to accept the evidence of her diary as sufficient proof she … she dosed that rotter with prussic acid.’

‘Now you think she would want you to be “square with me”?’ Thomas felt exasperated. This young man didn’t seem able to put two thoughts together logically. He was reverting to his first impression of Daniel Rokeby. When he had been following Alice Peters, he had been unable to understand what she found attractive in him. All right, he was tall and handsome. He seemed to be fathoms deep in love with her; he would stroke her cheek, take her hand, buy her a rose, hold animated conversations, but was that enough for such a lovely girl?

Thomas had finally come to the conclusion that life with Joshua Peters was so difficult and unpleasant, it made spending time with Daniel Rokeby like being offered a glass of clear spring water after having to drink the muddied remains at the bottom of a well.

‘So, what did Mrs Peters tell you about her husband?’

Daniel drank deep of his beer then lit another cigarette.

Thomas waited.

‘It was nothing definite,’ he said at last.

Thomas gave an inward sigh. He had been mad to think anything concrete would come of this conversation.

‘There must have been something that suggested … what? Illegal activities? Abuse of some sort?’

‘Good heavens, no!’ Daniel seemed truly shocked.

‘Perhaps if you told me what, exactly, Mrs Peters said about her husband?’

‘Of course, you are quite right. So, let’s see now.’ For a long moment Daniel seemed lost in thought. ‘What she said was,’ he broke off then said, ‘I hope I get it right.’

Thomas gave a long sigh.

‘She said that if she had known what sort of man Joshua Peters was before they became engaged, she would never have promised to marry him.’

‘And what sort of man was he?’

‘I asked her that and she said she couldn’t tell me, it was too dreadful. But she promised that if ever she decided to leave him and he made trouble, she would act.’

‘How?’

‘She didn’t say, only that it would mean we could be free to live our lives together.’

‘Why do you think that means she didn’t poison her husband?’

‘You can’t think that is what she did!’

‘The evidence is beginning to mount against her.’

‘What evidence?’

‘Her diary and now what she said to you.’ Thomas felt he was being brutal but Daniel’s lack of understanding made him feel he was hewing at a coal face that refused to yield usable fuel.

‘But she must have meant something else!’

‘What?’

‘Well, that she would tell Peters she knew something about him that was to his detriment.’

‘We come back to the same question. What did she know?’

Daniel was merely holding the cigarette he’d lighted.

‘Surely you have to see that that evidence against Joshua Peters is the only thing that could save Mrs Peters from the hangman’s rope?’

Daniel stared at him aghast. ‘You can’t mean that.’

‘I’m afraid I do. Apparently the evidence given in the diary is damning. Mrs Peters wrote that she hated her husband and wished he could vanish from the earth. I have witnessed his treatment of her and it was not pleasant. I can well understand that she would want him removed from her life. Now you tell me that if she left him and he made trouble, she would act. We know she did leave him and we know that she returned to him because, she says, she was with child by him. Now the only way she could give that child a respectable life and fund its upkeep and education was if her husband died. Or,’ Thomas deliberately paused. ‘Or, if she decided that maybe life with him was not so insupportable after all.’

‘Don’t say that! I can’t believe it!’ Daniel walked agitatedly around the little courtyard.

‘Did you believe it when she told you she was returning to him?’

‘No!’ Another agitated walk. He stopped and turned to face Thomas. ‘I truly believed that once she’d returned she’d find she couldn’t after all stand life with him. I waited for her to contact me. I hung around outside the house and gave notes to Millie to give to her. Even when days stretched into weeks, I still believed it was only a matter of time.’

‘And when you heard Joshua Peters had been poisoned, you didn’t suspect for one moment that Alice Peters might have been responsible?’

‘No! No! No!’ Daniel sank on to one of the benches and put his head in his hands. ‘It was the last thing I could think.’

‘And even after he had died, she didn’t tell you why she so despised and hated him?’

He shook his head. ‘She only ever said what I have told you. Why can’t you believe that?’

‘It seems I have to.’ Thomas felt extreme frustration. Here he was so near to the heart of the mystery and, like an eel, it slipped away from him.

‘You should speak to Rachel, she might know. After all, she worked for him.’

Jackman looked at him in consternation. ‘Rachel Fentiman worked for Joshua Peters?’

‘Not for long. It was after she came down from Manchester.’

* * *

Daniel left the public house with every appearance of having realised, at last, just how perilous was Alice Peters’ situation.

For Thomas the question was, could he believe Daniel’s fervent conviction that she was incapable of poisoning her husband?

He had hoped that Daniel would manage to produce some sort of lead that he could follow. Instead all he was left with was the upsetting news that Albert had disappeared from Montagu Place. He decided to set out immediately for the docks again. He was unlikely to be lucky enough to run into the valet but at least he could ascertain if Albert had informed Peters’ company of his new address.

And he must talk to Rachel Fentiman.

Two days after visiting Alice, Ursula walked into chaos at Wilton Crescent. Paint-splashed drugget lined the hall and stairs. Dungareed workmen carried canvas tool holdalls up to the first floor. Already, hammering could be heard from the bathroom. As Ursula emerged from the basement, Mrs Bruton was drawing on a pair of grey kid gloves; two leather cases had been placed by the front door and her maid, Huckle, stood stolidly beside them, while Enid watched the road through the front door’s glass side panel.

‘Ah, Miss Grandison. Thank you, my dear, for being so punctual. Dick is fetching me a hansom and I’m expecting it to arrive any minute. I cannot stand the mess and the noise here a moment longer. I am removing to Brown’s Hotel. Call on me there tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. You will need to bring my post so I can go through it.’ Mrs Bruton checked her appearance in the mirror above the hall side table, adjusted two of the curls that artfully emerged from below the brim of a wide felt hat festooned with feathers, and gave a little nod of satisfaction.

‘Cab’s here, Madam.’ Enid opened the door and Huckle and she each carried out a suitcase.

‘There are a few letters with notes on them that I’ve put on your desk, Miss Grandison. Please be good enough to deal with them. Then you can perhaps go through the cupboards and see if they need tidying. Here are the keys.’ Mrs Bruton handed over a small, inlaid wooden box that rattled as Ursula took it. ‘And, Miss Grandison, please to keep an eye on the workmen.’

Mrs Bruton picked up a slim leather enveloped-shaped handbag that matched her grey suit, tucked it under her arm and followed Enid and the second suitcase out to the cab.

One of the workmen came down the stairs. Ursula caught his attention. ‘How long before you finish the work you are undertaking for Mrs Bruton?’

‘Better ask the guv, miss. He’s the one what knows.’

‘Is he here?’

‘No, miss, not now.’

‘When your boss arrives, please ask him to let me know the timetable for these works.’ Ursula went off to the room she thought of as her office, found the letters, looked at them, then decided to investigate what was going on upstairs.

It had been a little while ago that Mrs Bruton had mentioned that her bathroom needed bringing up to date.

‘I was shown such a handsome bath when I visited a friend a little time ago. And the room was lined with marble; Cleopatra would have felt so at home there. I asked for the details of all the suppliers. ’

Orders had been placed, Ursula’s opinion sought over the choice of taps, tiles and floor covering. The fittings were to be exactly the same as the ones Mrs Bruton’s friend had had installed.

A thunderous noise came down the stairs as Ursula climbed up to the first floor. It sounded as though a major work of demolition was taking place. As she approached the bathroom, dust filled the air. Coughing, she stood in the open doorway. Two sturdy men wielded heavy hammers; huge pieces of the existing porcelain bath already lay on the floor and total destruction was well on the way.

‘This door surely should be kept shut,’ Ursula said firmly, retreating and closing it as she left.

Back in her office, sneezing from the dust and envying Mrs Bruton’s ability to remove herself from chaos, the letters were attended to. Enid, complaining about the dust, brought her the usual mid-morning coffee together with the latest delivery of mail.

‘It’ll take I don’t know what to get rid of it when those dratted men have finished. Any idea how long it’s going to take, miss?’

‘I’ve asked the foreman to tell me the timetable, Enid. If I’m not here when he comes, please ask him to return early tomorrow morning, will you?’

‘Yes, miss.’ The girl sounded doubtful.

‘Tell him Mrs Bruton has requested his presence.’

‘But she won’t be here.’

‘He won’t know that, Enid.’ Ursula gave her an encouraging smile.

There was little to engage her in the letters that had been brought in. Ursula set them in a small pile ready for her to pick up with the early morning mail the next day to take over to Brown’s Hotel, making a mental note that she would have to call in at the library on her way home to see if they had a gazetteer that would reveal the location of Mrs Bruton’s new habitation. Then she opened the little wooden box that she’d been entrusted with and found the key for the first of the cupboards that ran beneath the built-in shelves along one side of the room. It contained the files that held all the details of Mrs Bruton’s properties.

Ursula placed these on the floor. It seemed to her that how she had organised them the day that Mrs Bruton’s stepson had visited, was not necessarily the best method.

Soon she was immersed in her task, until the chiming of the clock on the mantelpiece warned that it was lunchtime and Mrs Evercreech would be expecting her downstairs. Ursula looked at the papers on the floor. With workmen upstairs it would be reprehensible to leave them on view. Carefully she placed them back in the cupboard and locked it again.

There was a knock at the door and a flustered-looking Enid entered.

‘Oh, miss, Mr Bruton has called. He wants to see the mistress.’

‘Have you explained that she is not at home?’

‘Yes, miss, and now he wants to come in here.’

‘Here?’

‘He says he needs to consult some of the mistress’s records. I don’t think Mrs Bruton would like that, miss, do you?’

Wanted to see his stepmother’s accounts again, did he? Ursula looked at the maid’s worried face. ‘I will see him. Have you put him in the drawing room?’

‘Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.’ Enid almost gasped her relief.

Arthur Bruton was standing by the mantelpiece, drumming his fingers on one of his heavy thighs as he waited. He came forward as she entered.

‘Ah, Miss … ?’

‘Ursula Grandison, Mr Bruton.’ She held out her hand.

‘Ah, yes, of course.’ His small eyes narrowed and he ignored the hand. ‘Well, Miss Grandison, I understand my step-mama is not at home.’

‘No, sir. Can I take a message?’

‘I wish to consult again the account books I was shown the other day when I lunched here. You can bring them to me.’

At their brief previous meeting, Ursula had already decided that Mr Bruton was a man used to getting his own way but the peremptory nature of his request took her by surprise.

‘I’m sorry, sir, that is not possible.’

‘Not possible? What do you mean?’

Ursula considered telling him that the cupboards were locked and Mrs Bruton had the key, then decided not to. Why should she lie?

‘Mrs Bruton trusts me with her confidential papers. Without her consent, I cannot make them available to others.’

‘But I was here the other day. She asked you to bring them for my perusal.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Ursula said steadily. ‘But she was present then. She is not here now.’

The cold brown eyes narrowed. Then the thin lips widened into a semblance of a smile. ‘I can see that my stepmother chose wisely when she hired you, Miss Grandison. You see,’ his tone lightened, became conciliatory, ‘I am about to return to Manchester. There is a small matter I need to check, it is in Mrs Bruton’s interest, I assure you. So if you could lead me to the books, I will be able to check it and leave. It is a considerable nuisance my stepmother is not here herself.’

If anything, the man’s change of attitude increased Ursula’s distrust of him. She was certain Mrs Bruton would not want him anywhere near her accounts while she was absent. And she herself considered the man capable of walking off with them should she be foolish enough to give him the opportunity. Had he, she wondered suddenly, known that his stepmother was not at home and considered it would be easy to get her nonentity of a secretary to show him the books? She remembered his overheard comment, ‘Americans need keeping in their place.’