It was easy enough, thought Ursula, to say she had a theory but would it convince Jackman? She watched him use strong arms to pull the unconscious Mrs Bruton up from the slats and arrange her body in a sitting position.
They were high above the rest of the audience. Attention had been so fixed on what was happening in the lion cage with Arturo the Magnificent, even those people sitting directly across the ring from herself and Mrs Bruton did not seem to have noticed their struggle. Instead, everyone’s eyes were on the battle Arturo was having to bring his lions back under control.
Jackman gave a series of small slaps to Mrs Bruton’s face. Her head lolled backwards and sideways. He lifted one of her eyelids and checked her pupils.
‘Will she be OK?’ Ursula asked. The woman had tried to kill her but she did not want Jackman to have taken her life. She was glad the woman’s eyes were closed; the look of hate Mrs Bruton had given her as she tried to insert her syringe into Ursula’s flesh had been shocking.
‘She’s just out for the count. Help me take her outside, then we can send for the police.’ He picked up the handbag that contained the syringe.
With one of Mrs Bruton’s arms across each of their shoulders, Ursula and Jackman manhandled her unconscious body down the steps and out of the circus tent, her head lolling from side to side, their progress noted by no more than a few of the audience. Ursula caught a ‘Disgraceful, she’s drunk,’ comment as they went.
Outside, Jackman steered them round the circus tent towards the encampment area. One of the menagerie workers came up and asked if they needed a hand.
‘I’ve got this woman under arrest,’ said Jackman. ‘She tried to kill Miss Grandison.’ He indicated Ursula. ‘Had to knock her out.’
The worker, a small man with a droopy moustache and lank black hair, dressed in brown dungarees with a large white and red checked handkerchief round his neck, whistled. ‘You don’t say! I better get Ma.’ He ran off towards the caravan site.
Jackman and Ursula dragged Mrs Bruton in the same direction.
Then Ma appeared and took control.
‘Those lions! They was gone crazy! You know why?’
‘I think she used a dog whistle,’ said Ursula. ‘That’s what it looked like and I know she has one. It’s in her handbag.’
‘Along with the syringe she tried to kill Miss Grandison with.’ Jackman tucked the bag more securely beneath his arm.’
Ma stood with her hands on her hips. ‘What we do with ’er, eh?’
Mrs Bruton, showing no signs of regaining consciousness, was still suspended between Jackman and Ursula.
‘Over other side is empty van,’ said Ma. ‘You take her there, yes? Willie help.’
‘Sure,’ said the droopy moustached worker.
‘Better if he went for the police,’ said Jackman. ‘You all right?’ he asked Ursula, still helping to support the unconscious woman.
She nodded but her legs didn’t feel as though they could keep her upright much longer. Shock was beginning to turn her muscles to water.
‘You look about collapse,’ said Ma. She put two fingers in her mouth and gave a long, high-pitched whistle.
Two more workers dressed in brown overalls appeared.
‘This woman ’ere needs go that van there.’ Ma pointed to a somewhat dilapidated vehicle at the back of the little circle of caravans. ‘Store animal feed,’ she added. ‘Feed low now, lots of room for ’er. Fetch rope, tie her,’ she said to one of the workers. ‘Willie, you go police station, fetch constable.’
‘I think I’d better write a note to Inspector Drummond of the Marylebone Station,’ said Jackman. ‘They can send it on.’
Ursula admired the skill with which Ma organised them all. In no time it seemed Mrs Bruton was incarcerated in the old van, her wrists and ankles tied and the door fastened with a padlock; Jackman had been provided with pen and paper; Willie had been sent off with his note to the police station; and Ursula had been made to stretch out in Ma and Pa’s luxurious caravan with her feet up and a glass of Ma’s ‘special tonic’ to revive her.
‘Is old, old recipe I always ’ave. Would bring life to Egyptian mummy.’
The drink was slightly bitter, with a complex mixture of flavours that really did seem to make Ursula feel she was no longer going to keel over.
‘What did you say in your note to Inspector Drummond?’ she asked Jackman, sitting up, swinging her legs down to the ground and trying to neaten her hair into its usual knot. It had come loose in her fight with Mrs Bruton and her hat was still somewhere up where they’d been sitting. Beside everything else that had happened, it didn’t seem to matter. Only Jackman was there to see what a mess she was in. Ma had gone, she said, to check on Pa and the lions and tell him about the dog whistle. ‘Beasts never act so before,’ she said as she left.
Jackman gave Ursula a smug look, sat opposite her and put his bowler beside him. How, Ursula wondered, had he managed to keep hold of his hat through everything that had happened?
‘I told Drummond that we had the murderer of Joshua Peters and Albert Pond under lock and key, and suggested he get over here pronto and take her into custody. And that he could release Miss Fentiman and arrange the same for Mrs Peters.’
‘It seems that Rachel has already been released. While we were waiting for tickets into the menagerie, I saw her. She was with Lord John. And it’s no use looking at me like that, I have no idea why she was allowed to go.’
Jackman ran a hand through his hair. ‘Lord John, isn’t his father some high-up aristocrat?’
‘A duke, I believe.’
‘Bet he’s used him to pull rank. Gone to the Commissioner of Police, probably. Those toffs all stick together. My, Drummond will be mad as anything. And now I’m presenting him with the real killer.’ His smug look suddenly disappeared. ‘What is Rachel Fentiman doing here? Is she in league with your Mrs Bruton?’ He got up and went to look out of the door as though she might pass by.
‘Honestly, Thomas, can’t you give up on the idea that Rachel Fentiman murdered her brother-in-law?’
‘It seems a good deal more likely than that Mrs Bruton should.’
‘And Alfred Pond?’
He shrugged, came and sat down again. ‘Drummond said he had a witness that saw the Fentiman woman calling on Pond’s house just before he was killed.’
‘Ah, now that’s what put me on to Mrs Bruton. I was packing up her clothes this morning,’ Ursula paused for a moment. It seemed so much longer ago she had been with her employer in Brown’s Hotel, acting as her maid. ‘And I found a cream beret, identical to the one Rachel Fentiman has. Rachel was wearing it when she came to Mrs Bruton’s tea party. She removed it from my hand. It set me to thinking. If someone saw a woman wearing a cream beret over dark hair hanging loose, in the vicinity of Albert Pond’s building on Friday afternoon, it could very well be taken as a description of Rachel Fentiman. She always wore that beret. It was like an epiphany. That’s why I wrote that note.
‘What clinched it for me was that, while we were having lunch, I mistook a woman for Mrs Trenchard because she wore a hat almost identical to the one she wore at that same tea party. And I said something about how one had to be careful to look at the face rather than the hat. Stupid of me, it must have convinced Mrs Bruton I was on to her.’
‘Why did she have a cyanide-loaded syringe in her handbag?’
Ursula had been giving some thought to just this question. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted me to find the syringe or the cyanide while I was doing her packing, or Enid doing the unpacking. Much safer to place both in her handbag. She probably had them carefully wrapped or in some sort of case. Then, having seen me with the beret, she decided she had to be prepared to deal with me if I really did suspect her. She could have made sure the syringe was to hand after she sent me off to arrange with the concierge for her baggage to be taken to Wilton Crescent.’
‘She kept the syringe loaded?’
‘Isn’t your revolver?’
‘But that has a safety catch.’
‘It’s a large syringe, probably needs a firm hand to inject its contents. After I’d made my remark about thinking I saw Mrs Trenchard because of a similar hat, Mrs Bruton called over the waiter and made a fuss about needing water. I think that was a deliberate attempt to divert my attention away from hats. And I think that was when my death warrant was signed.’
Jackman didn’t seem convinced. ‘Is she that quick a thinker?’
Ursula nodded and stretched her legs, thinking how much stronger they now felt. ‘Oh, I think so. All along she has behaved as though all it needed was one action to solve her problem. Sending Joshua Peters the poisoned chocolates would remove her blackmailer. It would have seemed the perfect crime. She had no connection with him that anyone knew about, so why should she know of his love for cherry liqueur chocolates?’
‘Just as she thinks she’s in the clear, Albert contacts her?’
‘Exactly. Another problem to be removed and so she sets another plan in motion.’
‘Surely he can’t have told her where he lived!’
‘No, I’m sure he was far too canny. I reckon he arranged initially for them to meet in some public place and I think it was sheer luck, or Albert’s bad luck, that one morning she saw him enter Maison Rose. Her rooms at Brown’s Hotel overlook their building. She is then all ready to follow him when he emerges.’
Jackman looked sceptical. ‘Blackmailers very seldom reveal themselves to their victims. All along the fact that Peters met his death because of his fondness for cherry liqueurs meant that his killer knew him.’ He thought for a moment. ‘If, therefore, Mrs Bruton knew who her blackmailer was, it wouldn’t have been a big step to identify Albert as the one carrying on the blackmail after Peters’ death.’
‘As I said, she is a very quick-witted woman. Far cleverer than she looks. She has built herself a valuable portfolio of properties she rents out. They are yielding her a sizeable income on top of whatever her husband provided for her.’
‘So, however she does it, she identifies where Albert is living and immediately decides to murder him?’
‘Yes, I think that is exactly what happened. The poisoned chocolates wouldn’t work with him, nor would any other comestible, Albert would be far too suspicious of anything he hadn’t acquired himself. Mrs Bruton, a long time ago, worked with Mrs Maple in a hospital. She would have known all about syringes and injections. I think she also planned to incriminate Rachel Fentiman by acquiring a beret identical to hers. She would have remembered her from the tea party. She is very friendly with Rachel’s aunt, Mrs Trenchard, and after Joshua Peters’ appearance in her drawing room, the Fentiman sisters will have been a subject of conversation. Rachel and Mrs Bruton are about the same height and have the same coloured hair. Wearing her very plainest outfit and with the beret worn over her hair loose, from the back she could easily have been mistaken for her. And as far as the police were concerned, Rachel might easily have been being blackmailed by Albert Pond.’
Ursula gave Jackman a severe look. ‘After all, you were convinced that Rachel could have killed her brother-in-law, and, even if she hadn’t, was capable of killing Pond to save her sister.’
He made a graceful gesture that said she had a point, then gave her a sharp look. ‘But what could Peters and Pond, what a devilish pair they made, what could they have been blackmailing Mrs Bruton over?’
Ursula laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out, knowing she had come to the hardest part of her theory. ‘This is where I have no evidence, at least, not yet. Remember that tea party where Joshua Peters turned up?’
Jackman nodded. ‘He had me with him, waiting outside. He left that party looking as though he’d been mauled by a wild animal.’
Ursula smiled. ‘At the time I thought Peters was acting strangely because he was so angry about the disappearance of his wife, and that Mrs Bruton was upset because he had ruined her party. But this morning she mentioned what a terrible fellow he was and I thought it was a little strange of her to bring that up then. But I remembered how shocked each of them had seemed, with Mrs Bruton going quite pale. What if they had recognised each other?’
‘You mean, perhaps they had known each other a long time ago?’
Ursula nodded. ‘And hadn’t expected to meet again.’
‘But why not say something? In such circumstances, wouldn’t you comment, “Why, Joshua, how amazing that you should visit my tea party”, and I would respond, perhaps, with: “How many years is it since we last met? And where was it?” Wouldn’t that be how it would go?’
‘Well, yes, except there could be a very good reason for not wanting their relationship to be known to any of the people at that tea party. Think of who was there: his sister-in-law, Rachel, and aunt-in-law. Mrs Trenchard, who has a wide circle of friends and moves in society.’
‘And that is a good reason not to let them know you have met an old friend?’
Ursula took a deep breath. When this theory had first occurred to her, she had dismissed it as too nonsensical. Trying to respond naturally to Mrs Bruton’s light chatter over lunch, though, she had found it coming back to her, and gradually it began to make sense. So much so that by the time the two of them were in the cab going to the menagerie, she could hardly behave in her normal manner. No doubt Mrs Bruton had noticed that as well.
‘Suppose,’ said Ursula slowly, ‘Joshua Peters and Mrs Bruton had once been married to each other and they had never been divorced. That would have made both their subsequent marriages bigamous and invalid.’
‘That’s your theory?’ Jackman sounded completely disbelieving.
Ursula hurried on: ‘When Mrs Maple first suggested that Mrs Bruton might like me to work for her, she told me how she had had a tragic early life. Her husband had gone abroad almost immediately after they married, leaving her with child. Then the baby had died in childbirth and shortly afterwards she had heard that her husband had died. Well, when Mr Bruton came along and offered her a second chance of happiness, she might well have thought that she was free to marry again.’
‘But didn’t have a death certificate to prove it?’
‘If the death had occurred abroad, perhaps one was too difficult to obtain, or perhaps she just didn’t think she needed one.’
‘And what about Peters? Didn’t he even think to enquire whether the wife he’d abandoned was still alive?’
‘Maybe he did and couldn’t find any trace of her, so assumed she was dead.’
‘But, wait a minute. How could Peters blackmail her? They were both in the same situation. Revealing hers would mean he had to reveal his.’
‘At the time of the tea party, he had nothing to lose. Alice had walked out on him, and they had no issue. Revealing that their marriage had been illegal was not going to do him any harm. Whereas Mrs Bruton …’
‘Was not entitled to any of the comforts her second marriage had brought her! Her wealth could save his company.’
‘Exactly!’ Ursula said with a touch of triumph. ‘There was a situation Peters could make money out of! If her stepson learned that her marriage with his father had not been legal, he would have stripped her of everything. I’ve met him and I have no doubt he’d do that.’
‘What about the property portfolio?’
‘Bought with money from sums her husband gave her to run the household on and provide her wardrobe. Wouldn’t they be held to belong rightly to her husband?’
Jackman gave a slow nod. ‘Leaving her with …?’
‘As far as I know – nothing.’
Ursula did not expect Jackman to accept her theory straight away. Not without testing it from every angle, which was what he now proceeded to do, probing all its different aspects.
‘You say Mrs Bruton from her hotel bedroom window could have seen Pond being ejected from Maison Rose and followed him. Had she ever met him before?’
‘I don’t know. But she would know it was Peters who was blackmailing her. After that tea party she would have got all his details out of Mrs Trenchard; with her inconsequential way of talking, Mrs Trenchard would not have noticed all she was giving away. I wouldn’t then put it past her to go down to Peters’ office in the docks to catch him unawares.’
‘In his offices?’ Jackman sounded disbelieving.
‘I don’t think so. With all the traffic, both human and vehicular, it would have been easy for her to wait in a hansom until he approached or left his office and encountered him that way. Albert could have come up while she was talking with him and she would have made sure she knew who he was. And she would never have forgotten that waistcoat.’
‘And you really think that all this time she has been enjoying a bigamous marriage? Do you have any proof?’
‘Thomas,’ she cried. ‘The only marriage certificate I’ve seen is the one for her union to Mr Bruton. It describes her state as ‘spinster’. She has never mentioned she had a husband before Mr Bruton, dead or alive. Nor has she mentioned an offspring that died in childbirth. She has never talked of cyanide or of working in a hospital. What I know about her background comes from Mrs Maple. Please, you either have to accept or reject this theory as I’ve presented it.’
He looked slightly amused. ‘Surely it is possible to question and look for further evidence? It’s certainly going to be needed if we are to pursue a case against her.’
Exhausted, Ursula threw up her hands. ‘At least admit that if my theory is right, Mrs Bruton would have known how fond Joshua Peters was of cherry liqueur chocolates!’
‘Yes, I’ll give you that. As far as Drummond is concerned, though, much will depend on how far Mrs Bruton is prepared to confess.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ The inspector appeared at the top of the caravan steps. ‘I have been told this is where to find Ursula Grandison and Thomas Jackman.’
‘You have it right. Good to see you, Drummond.’ Jackman rose and offered his hand. The inspector, curly bowler tilted back on his head, a paisley silk kerchief carelessly tied around his neck, his yellow waistcoat almost a match for his hair, ignored the hand and instead removed his hat and tucked it underneath his arm.
‘Now what’s this I hear about apprehending the killer of Peters and Pond? I warn you, I am in no mood to hear airy-fairy theories without hard, cold evidence.’
Ursula left it to Jackman to present the case against Mrs Bruton. He was concise and lucid. Drummond heard him in silence, looking searchingly at Ursula as the battle with the cyanide-loaded syringe was described. She had a distinct impression that he gave little credence to what he was being told.
‘Were there any witnesses to this encounter?’
‘As Mr Jackman said, the top rows of the auditorium were empty apart from us and there was too much going on in the ring with the lions for anyone to pay any attention to two women having a fight.’
‘Hmm. You have this syringe?
Jackman handed over Mrs Bruton’s bag.
‘And this woman is being held under lock and key? Then let’s see what she has to say for herself.’
‘She may not have recovered consciousness yet,’ said Ursula.
‘Let us find out.’
Jackman, Drummond and Ursula, followed by two large, uniformed policemen, went over to the van in which Mrs Bruton was being held.
Jackman unlocked the door and opened it. Mrs Bruton was revealed sitting neatly on a pile of hay. Nobody looking less like a murderer than this calm, well-dressed figure could be imagined.
‘Oh,’ she said, looking up. ‘I am so pleased to see you. I have been wondering what I am doing here. Why, there are policemen! has something happened?’ So innocent she sounded!
‘Madam,’ said Inspector Drummond. ‘You are being accused of assaulting Miss Grandison here, indeed of attempting to murder her with a syringe of cyanide.’
Mrs Bruton looked astonished. ‘Murder? Cyanide? Ursula, dearest, you cannot imagine I would want to do you any harm?’
‘We have the syringe here in your handbag, together with the dog whistle you used to upset the lions,’ Jackman said.
‘Upset lions? Oh, dear, I would never want to do that. I do have a dog whistle, I kept it by me to remember my rascally Charlie, who I adored. I do sometimes carry it in my handbag.’ Her face wore a sad, contemplative look; the look of a woman who had deeply loved her dog. ‘As for a syringe, I know nothing about that. If there is such an item in my bag, it must have been put there without my knowledge.’
‘I can show you my bruises,’ Ursula said hopelessly. She could see that the inspector was very taken with this quietly spoken, well-behaved woman. Then she remembered a detail that might support her version of events.
‘Inspector, I think you can see that Mrs Bruton’s jacket is torn. That happened while she was trying to inject me with cyanide. The material caught on a nail.’
Mrs Bruton looked at the rip. ‘Oh, dear, it’s one of my favourites. Do you know, I don’t remember how it happened! In fact, I don’t remember anything from the moment I bought our tickets. Did you give me a draught of something, Ursula? Why, no, I think you, or someone, hit me with something very hard. There is an awful lump on my skull.’ She felt the side of her head with a graceful gesture.
‘Do you need medical attention?’ asked Drummond.
‘I think it would be as well. I might be suffering concussion. I know that can be serious. But what are you trying to accuse me of?’
‘Murder,’ said Jackman grimly.
Mrs Bruton gave a little screech, ‘Murder? You can’t be serious? Do you have witnesses?’
Inspector Drummond looked from Jackman to Ursula. Neither said anything.
‘You see!’ Mrs Bruton said simply. ‘Can you really arrest me on the word of two persons who seem to have very little credibility? I am so disappointed in Miss Grandison. I shall have to check all my records most carefully now in case she has interfered with them.’
Ursula felt a slow burning anger gather in her. Surely the woman could not get away with this attitude? Surely the inspector would not believe that Jackman could have conjured up a syringe full of cyanide and deliberately put it in Mrs Bruton’s handbag?
‘I saw what happened.’
Ursula turned; Millie was standing behind them.
‘I was on duty in the circus and I caught sight of these two women sitting right at the top, in the empty seating. Well, it seemed strange, so I looked more closely and saw this woman,’ she gestured towards Mrs Bruton, ‘get something out of her bag and put it to her mouth. Then the lions began to behave funny so I looked back at her and that’s when I saw her take what looked like a syringe out of her handbag, big bag it was, and a big syringe as well, and she tried to stick it into Miss Grandison, here. I knew it was Miss Grandison because I recognised her coat.’
Ursula gave silent thanks that she had lent the garment to the girl.
‘I was going to get someone to stop her,’ continued Millie, ‘only the audience was in such an uproar and we were all being told to help calm them because they were exciting the lions even more than what they already was.’ She looked apologetically at Ursula. ‘I reckoned you were able to take care of yourself. I did come looking for you after everything had quietened down, only you had both disappeared. I picked up your hat, though.’ She handed it over to Ursula, who took it and found herself speechless.
‘So, now you’ve got your witness,’ said Jackman to the inspector.
‘Surely you are not going to trust the word of a bitch like that?’ For the first time Mrs Bruton’s performance cracked.
‘You’ll all need to make statements,’ said Inspector Drummond. ‘And I’m taking you into custody, Mrs Burton, or whatever your name is. Officer, cuff her, take her to Marylebone station and put her in a cell.’
Mrs Bruton’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll regret this, inspector. I know people. Your career will be finished.’
‘We’ll see about that. I’ll be along shortly to question you. And, Jackman, you hand over that bag, together with its syringe, whistle and all. You and Miss Grandison can come with us to make your statements.’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to do that in the morning rather than on Sunday evening?’ said Jackman.
‘Sunday? What’s a Sunday when you’re in His Majesty’s Metropolitan Police?’
Glad as she was to see Mrs Bruton being taken off to a police cell, Ursula was full of aches and pains. She needed rest, and for the first time since arriving in England six months earlier, she longed for a cup of a tea.