A Fatal Freedom (30 page)

‘Good morning,’ said Ursula, trying not to let her curiosity over the exact nature of the relationship between her two employers show. She was, though, very interested. Was Mrs Bruton seriously contemplating giving up her independence for marriage, however charming the count was? But perhaps it was a liaison she was considering. Was she a woman who missed the physical closeness that could be offered by a member of the opposite sex? For a fleeting moment Ursula remembered when she had had the comfort of a man she believed loved her.

Mrs Bruton, a small, self-satisfied smile on her lips, fluttered the hand the count had bent over. ‘What do you have for me this morning?’

‘As you requested, I have brought the mail.’ Ursula handed over a little stack of envelopes. ‘There are some personal letters and one from your property agent, which I opened. He suggests some renovations are necessary at the Earl’s Court property.’ She retrieved a notebook and pencil from her bag and waited.

Mrs Bruton flipped through the personally addressed envelopes and laid them down without interest. She read the agent’s letter, her expression inscrutable. ‘I think, Miss Grandison, you had better inspect the property and assess the truth of what he claims,’ she said at last.

‘You would like me to do that today?’

Mrs Bruton gave a slight adjustment to the set of her lace jabot, then smoothed down her cream linen skirt. ‘It would be best. There is little else for you to do at the moment for I can make no arrangements for entertaining at Wilton Crescent until the builders have finished my bathroom. You will draw up a report on the situation. Bring it here tomorrow morning.’

‘It is one of my days for working at
Maison Rose
, Mrs Bruton.’

A hand selected one of the unopened envelopes. ‘So it is! Well, it would not be difficult for you to deposit the report at reception for me on your way there. You can use the hotel door that leads into Davies Street, it will take but a moment.’

‘Of course.’ Ursula returned notepad and pencil to her capacious bag. ‘I hope you enjoy your lunch with the count,’ she added smoothly, pulling on her gloves.

‘Ah, the dear count.’ Mrs Bruton hesitated, then waved her towards a chair. ‘Perhaps you will sit down for a moment.’

* * *

Ursula left Brown’s Hotel some thirty minutes later and, after obtaining directions from the hall porter, proceeded to walk to the agent’s offices in the Cromwell Road.

‘Hmm, Mrs Bruton and the house in Nevern Square,’ said the agent, a small, sallow man with a rushed way of speaking and a large, spotted handkerchief with which he kept wiping his brow. It appeared to be a nervous gesture, as the day was not particularly warm. ‘The last tenants left a few days ago.’ He looked up from a desk covered with papers and files. ‘You work for Mrs Bruton, I understand?’

Ursula nodded.

‘I inspected the house and, really, such people should be ashamed of themselves. Respectable, I made sure of that, but, well, all the paintwork is in a terrible state. Can’t imagine how they reduced it … well, no use speculating I suppose. It was, of course, let unfurnished, and departing pictures have left the walls marked, that’s no fault of theirs, I suppose. But the damage to the plaster! Young boys in the household – could have been playing darts, or worse. Rents in the area are right down. Know Mrs Bruton bought the lease at a bargain but even so. Want to suggest she turns it into a boarding or apartment house, or does it up before trying to let at a decent sum. Could be difficult. Getting you to make a report, is she? You’ll need the key; it’s here somewhere.’

He rattled around the contents of a couple of drawers, inspected the labels of a couple of keys then handed one over. ‘Bring it back when you’ve completed your inspection. Not an easy decision Mrs Bruton’s got but she’s got a sharp head on her for a woman.’ Another wipe of his forehead with the spotted handkerchief. ‘Anything else you need to know – Miss Grandson, was it?’

Ursula gently corrected her name, took the key and left. She decided to leave any consideration of what might be done with the property until after her inspection, and instead turned her mind to the matter Mrs Bruton had discussed with her before she’d left her hotel suite. Her employer had wanted her advice and it was not easy for Ursula to know what to say.

‘The count has paid me the compliment of asking if I would like to invest in
Maison Rose
,’ Mrs Bruton had told her. ‘He says that the business is expanding most successfully; Madame Rose’s preparations are being used by some very distinguished women of society, and there are now possibilities for just one or two investors to take shares in the company. He …’ Mrs Bruton coloured just a little and fiddled with her gold bracelet, ‘he considers me a woman of discernment and says he has approached me first, ahead of other of his friends. The thing is, Miss Grandison, I wonder how safe an investment
Maison Rose
would be. You are working there, you must know something of the business and I would value your opinion.’

Ursula felt caught between her two employers. Her loyalty was owed to each.

‘The count is quite right,’ she said slowly. ‘The business is expanding. Madame Rose’s clientele appear very happy with her products and also happy to recommend them to their friends and acquaintances. But I have little knowledge of its financial background. Do you not have a man of affairs who could look at the company for you?’

Mrs Bruton looked at her intently, her light eyes very steady. ‘Thank you,’ she said at last. ‘Please ring for my maid.’

Ursula wanted to apologise for her lack of information; she didn’t want to think she had said anything that could have been of help but words slipped uneasily around in her mind and silence seemed the best option. She rose. ‘I will visit your agent and then your property. You shall have a report tomorrow morning,’ she said and left.

Nevern Square was attractive, a central garden surrounded by iron railings (the householders paid two pounds a year for its maintenance, the agent had told her), the houses built of contrasting yellow and red bricks, quite different from the stucco façades of the London terraces Ursula had grown used to seeing.

The house was exactly as the agent had described. Ursula returned to Wilton Crescent, composed a report and delivered it to Brown’s Hotel the next morning on her way to
Maison Rose
.

She had now been working there for several weeks. Mrs Bruton’s request for information the previous day had been unsettling as Ursula had begun to be uneasy about the finances of the beauty company. At first there had been a great many cheques to enter and take to the bank, and there seemed a healthy balance to cope with the payment of a sizeable number of bills. The bills covered not only the direct costs of the beauty business but also household matters and even what to Ursula’s eyes appeared to be personal expenses. She had, however, been instructed to enter all in the company’s accounts.

Having brought the paperwork up to date, it seemed to Ursula that, though a satisfying number of accounts were being sent to clients, very few payments were being made. That day she found awaiting her details for a number of accounts to be sent out but no cheques to be entered. There was, though, a brand new typewriter sitting on the desk, together with an invoice for its cost.

Ursula found Miss Ferguson and asked if the count was available.

‘I don’t know where he is, Miss Grandison.’

‘You may address your query to me.’ Madame Rose had come up behind them. ‘Be quick, please; Lady Constance is due for her second consultation. You have the creams ready, Miss Ferguson?’

‘I am in the process of assembling them, Madame.’ Miss Ferguson disappeared.

Madame remained, an eyebrow raised imperiously.

‘It will wait,’ Ursula said.

‘No, you have query; I will answer.’

Ursula took a deep breath. ‘Is it usual that clients do not settle their accounts?’

Madame Rose gave her a sharp glance. ‘We do not question our client’s standing. They will pay.’

‘Yes, Madame, but when?’

‘Boh! I do not concern myself with such details.’

The count joined them. ‘Perhaps you should. I would like to see the accounts,’ he said to Ursula, holding out his hand for the books she held. ‘Madame,’ he said curtly as his partner moved to leave the room. ‘You should see these.’

Ursula explained her double-entry system. ‘As you can see, at present outgoings exceed income by some degree.’

‘But the accounts sent to clients, they add up to large amounts. And yet you complain!’ Madame sounded exasperated.

‘Miss Grandison is right,’ the count said curtly. ‘We must think about sending, what would you call it? A second request for payment?’

‘A statement, I think, requesting settlement of the invoice,’ Ursula said.

‘I will not have my clients insulted in such a way!’ Madame Rose was indignant.

‘It would only be sent if four weeks have elapsed since the despatch of the invoice, Madame.’

‘Count, tell Miss Grandison, she goes too far. My clients are high society. This would be, what is the word? Dunning? They must not be dunned like common folk.’

‘Rose, they owe you … they owe us, money.’

Madame Rose glared at him.

Ursula hurriedly picked up the account books and went back to her office.

Later the count came in. ‘You are not using the machine I ordered. Does it not please you?’

‘It is excellent, exactly the one I suggested, Count. Only, I wondered if …’

‘If perhaps
Maison Rose
cannot afford such articles?’

She nodded.

‘Such decisions are mine.’

Ursula said nothing.

‘You will send out the proposed statements four weeks after invoices,
hein
?’ He hesitated for a moment. Then, ‘These matters, they are confidential, no?’

‘Of course, Count Meyerhoff. I do not discuss my employer’s business with anyone.’

‘That is good, your employers are fortunate to have your services.’ He lingered for another moment then left.

* * *

Walking home across the park, Ursula, for the first time since she had started work in London, felt out of sympathy with both her employers but she knew she had to be grateful for the work. She had been able to afford a winter coat. It hung now in her room, dark brown in good quality wool and a style that seemed to flatter her tall figure. A couple of leaves floated down from one of the trees in the park; the slight crispness in the air was attractive. She looked forward to the leaves turning colour. Ursula remembered with nostalgia the wonderful October richness of the New England trees.

With an effort she dismissed any wayward thoughts of dissatisfaction with her life. Instead she thought about poor Alice Peters, awaiting trial for her life, and wondered whether Thomas Jackman had received the letter she had written him after her meeting with Rachel Fentiman.

It had seemed at first difficult and then impossible to give an intelligent account of her conversation with Rachel. In the end she wrote that she had learned details that would interest him in his investigation into Joshua Peters’ death and would he please contact her as soon as he could. His note had given no address in the north, so she had sent it to his home.

That was a week ago. Ursula wondered how long it would be until he returned.

As she entered Mrs Maples’ boarding house, Meg met her. ‘Mr Jackman’s here, miss. Come to visit you. He’s with the mistress, she says to go to her parlour.’ Her eyes were wide with interest.

Ursula gave a quick knock at the door of Mrs Maples’ sanctum and entered.

‘Ah, Miss Grandison, here you are! Mr Jackman has been all impatience waiting for your return.’ The landlady gave a sly smile as the investigator leaped to his feet with a look of relief. To Ursula’s astonishment, he was wearing a policeman’s uniform.

‘I understand you are working with him on a case,’ Mrs Maple continued. A tray of tea had been supplied though Thomas Jackman had left his cup untouched. ‘No doubt with matters to discuss.’ Another sly smile. ‘There won’t be anyone in the boarders’ lounge at the moment, if you need a confidential chat, you must take him there.’

‘Mrs Maple, you have been, as always, the most delightful of companions. I thank you for your hospitality.’ Thomas Jackman bowed quickly over her hand and she simpered at him.

Another time Ursula would have been entranced to see this side of her normally practical and down-to-earth landlady but now the sight of the investigator in such an unfamiliar outfit and with every appearance of barely controlled impatience made her realise this was not in any sense a social visit.

The moment they were out of Mrs Maples’ parlour, Jackman took hold of Ursula’s arm. ‘Miss Grandison, I have come for your help. Do you have another engagement this evening?’

She turned to face him. ‘Are you back in the police force?’

He shook his head and ran a finger round a jacket collar that looked uncommonly tight. ‘Dug it out. Thought it would do but it seems to have shrunk a bit.’

‘What has happened? Is it something concerned with Alice Peters?’

‘Yes, something has happened. Whether it’s concerning Mrs Peters or not, I cannot say. Forgive me for asking, but do you have something dark you could wear?’

Ursula looked down at her tan jacket and cream cambric skirt. ‘Mr Jackman, Thomas, you need to explain.’

He drew a watch from a pocket. ‘I’ll explain as we go. But I ask again, can you change? I have no time for manners, Ursula. I would not ask if it was not important. Black would be best.’

‘Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘And bring a coat or cloak with you,’ he called after her.

Ursula went swiftly up the stairs. She knew the investigator well enough to know he was exceedingly worried. Why and where he wanted her to go with him was obviously going to remain a mystery until she had changed. At least the mourning garments she had had to wear during her last days at Mountstanton should serve his purpose. Changed into her black outfit, she looked at her new coat. It was not cold enough for wear now but he had asked her to bring one. She folded it over her arm and left the room.