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.’
She stiffened her shoulders. ‘I am sorry, sir, I cannot abuse Mrs Bruton’s trust in me.’
His lips drew back in a snarl. ‘This is insufferable behaviour. I suppose you imagine being a foreigner gives you licence. You have no licence. You are insolent.’
‘And you, sir, are a bully.’
For a moment he was taken aback.
Before he could recover, Ursula said smoothly, ‘As soon as I see her, I will let Mrs Bruton know that you were here this morning and require another look at her accounts.’ She held his gaze with hers and watched his face redden. Then she moved to the side of the fireplace and rang the bell.
Enid must have been in the hall for she appeared immediately.
‘Mr Bruton is leaving, Enid. Please show him out.’
‘I shall be sure to tell my stepmother of your behaviour.’ His face almost puce, his voice low and threatening, Arthur Bruton stalked out of the drawing room.
Ursula heard the front door close and sank into a chair.
‘Oh, miss, you were so brave!’ Enid came into the room. ‘If looks could kill, I reckon you would have had it.’
‘Nonsense, he was like a small boy denied a treat, nothing dangerous about him at all. And definitely not a gentleman.’
* * *
At lunch with Cook and Enid, Ursula heard just how difficult Arthur Bruton could be. ‘Looks at the food as though he’s paying for it, and it’s cost too much,’ said Enid. Ursula wondered exactly what the man had wanted. Just a look at the accounts without Mrs Bruton fluttering beside him, she decided was most likely.
Arthur Bruton vanished from her thoughts, though, as she returned to her office and the property details. As she studied the address of each, Ursula realised how little she knew about London. ‘East London’ and ‘West London’ were all very well, but exactly how much area was covered and exactly where was a road called ‘Clerkenwell’? After a little, she took a piece of paper and started writing down the various addresses. It would be a good exercise for her to discover exactly where each was. She could offer the suggestion to Mrs Bruton and propose that she checked on the condition of each property. One road, though, she did recognise. It was where Thomas Jackman lived. Checking on the date of purchase, it looked as though it was one of the first houses that Mrs Bruton had acquired.
Ursula gathered together the various files and stacked them in the cupboard. She would need to tell Mrs Bruton what she had done. Would her employer approve? It seemed unlikely there would be any objection, Mrs Bruton always seemed to welcome any suggestion Ursula produced for organising her records. ‘You must think me such a noddle-head,’ she had said once.
One of the properties was in Islington, which made Ursula think of Alice Peters. How, she wondered, was Jackman proceeding with his investigation? It was vital that he discovered evidence that would free her from that prison and the threat of the hangman’s noose.
In the way that thoughts sometimes presage events, Ursula found a letter waiting for her at her lodgings and recognised Jackman’s handwriting. The postmark was for a place called Leeds, not a town Ursula was familiar with. What could have taken him there? She tore the envelope open and scanned the letter. It was quite short:
Dear Miss Grandison,
An old case has called me away to the north. It should not take long to complete the enquiries I have to carry out but until then, I cannot continue to pursue the Peters case. I wonder if I can call upon your good offices. Daniel Rokeby has told me that Rachel Fentiman once worked for Joshua Peters. He could not tell me more than that. It would be very useful to learn what she can tell of his business practices. Could I ask that you broach the matter with her? The more we know about the man, the more leads we will have to follow in the matter of his murder.
I am, Miss Grandison, your humble servant,
Thomas Jackman
Ursula was shocked. She read the letter twice. Then tucked it in a pocket and set off.
Martha showed Ursula into Rachel’s living room. ‘She’s packing, I’ll fetch her.’
Rachel appeared with a skirt over her arm looking harassed. ‘Did I hear the bell?’ Her expression lightened as she saw her visitor.
‘Ursula, how good to see you.’ She held out the skirt to Martha. ‘Be a love and finish my packing, will you? You’ll do it so much better than I. But first, please, some tea for Miss Grandison and myself?’
The maid gave a small snort, took the garment and disappeared.
‘Take a seat.’ Rachel flung herself into a chair, stretched out legs and arms and gave a big sigh. ‘Mrs Pankhurst has summoned me to Manchester. She wants to discuss where the Movement is going.’
‘The Movement for Women’s Suffrage?’ Ursula sat opposite Rachel and took off her gloves, smoothing them on her lap, wondering what the best way was to bring up the reason for her presence.
Rachel gave a big grin. ‘Is there another Movement? I think we are about to get militant.’
‘Militant?’
‘The Movement has been working for decades on the lines that if we are persuasive enough, point out the logic of our arguments, our parliamentary representatives will pass a bill that will give women the vote. As they nearly have on a couple of occasions.’
‘What happened to prevent it?’
‘Politics! And they will continue to prevent it until we make them realise there is no alternative.’
‘And Mrs Pankhurst has ideas as to how that can be achieved?’
Rachel nodded vigorously. ‘We’re going to get right up the noses of those who consider themselves our lords and masters. Chaining ourselves to the railings outside the Houses of Parliament is one suggestion. Bricks through windows is another. Disruption of normal life in all kinds of ways. Until the powers that be realise they have to give us the vote.’
‘Is there no alternative? Has terrorism ever won through?’
‘It’s action, don’t you see, Ursula? Oh, how I have longed for action!’ Rachel leaned forward, her expression alive. ‘Something more than handing out leaflets. This is a war! And it’s a fight we must win. To think that we women in this modern age can travel underground, can speak across miles by telephone, can capture images with a camera, and yet have no power to control our lives! It is not to be borne.’
Ursula saw once again the girl who had leaped up on to the table at the menagerie. Then she had felt an instant comradeship with her. Now, though, she was doubtful if the path it seemed the Movement was going to follow was one that she could endorse. Then she remembered why she had come.
‘Rachel, have you heard anything from Alice?’
The excitement drained away from Rachel. She shook her head.
Ursula took out the letter from her pocket. ‘Mr Jackman has had to go north on other business but he has heard that you worked for your brother-in-law at one time and he’s anxious you tell me as much as you can about that time.’
All expression left Rachel’s face. It was as though a shutter had come down. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said curtly.
‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’
The girl sprang up and walked across the room and then back again. ‘Why should I? It had nothing to do with Joshua’s death.’
‘You cannot tell that.’
‘Has your Mr Jackman told you to interrogate me?’
‘Not interrogate! Merely to ask what information you can give on Mr Peters and his activities.’
Rachel stood poised as though she might suddenly take flight.
‘Surely you can see there could be a detail that might be the saving of Alice?’
‘You know how to cut to the quick!’
Ursula said nothing.
‘Well, then, I’ll tell you about my few months working for Mr Joshua Peters. But not in here. Let’s go out, walk by the Embankment.’
‘Here’s your tea, dear.’ Martha set a tray down. ‘Will you pour?’
‘I’m sorry, Martha. You’ll have to drink it yourself. Miss Grandison and I are going out.’
Rachel laid a hand on her maid’s shoulder, gave a quick peck to her lined cheek and led the way on to the street.
A few minutes later they were walking beside the Thames. The tide was out and birds were feasting on worms that popped up from the mud. It was early September, but the day was warm and the air pleasant. Rachel wore a long, fitted cardigan, belted round the waist, and walked with her gloveless hands sunk into the front pockets. Ursula, wearing her old linen jacket, envied the ease of the knitted garment.
For a little they walked in silence towards the ornate Albert Bridge. Office workers occasionally passed the girls, hurrying home to their evening meals.
‘If it might help Alice, I suppose I have to tell you about that time,’ Rachel said at last. She turned up on to the bridge, laid her arms along the parapet, and looked down at the water. Ursula stood by her side, trying to discern her expression, she could tell little from her tone of voice.
‘I had just finished my degree. As far as I was concerned, I was a fully qualified lawyer but unable to practice because I was the wrong gender.’ The bitterness was palpable. ‘Alice had married Joshua, bullied into it by our father. However, she did seem reasonably contented. I think she enjoyed running a household. And then she discovered she was with child. Once I had come down from Manchester, I visited her often. Joshua was usually at his office but occasionally I would dine with them and after a time I was willing to believe that I had misjudged him and perhaps the marriage would be successful.’
For a while Rachel studied the swiftly flowing water, racing out to the far distant sea, and said nothing. Ursula waited.
‘I was getting more and more depressed. My degree seemed to be for nothing. Then one Sunday when we were all, my parents as well as myself, eating at the Peters’, Joshua suggested that I work for him. “I need someone who understands contract law,” he said. “We are expanding; lawyers’ fees are high, you are unable to charge what a properly practicing solicitor would so it would benefit us both. What do you think?” He sat there at the head of the table, exuding bonhommie.
‘Part of me wanted to throw my glass of wine in his face; how dare he offer me fees less than an equally well-qualified man would receive, but part of me was thrilled – yes, that is the word – thrilled to be offered a job, any job. And I had the idea that perhaps it would lead somewhere.’ Ursula heard the derision in Rachel’s voice and saw her hands, resting on the parapet, clench. A passenger boat passed beneath the bridge, hooting hoarsely. A child looked up as it emerged and waved at the two girls. Ursula found herself waving back. Rachel didn’t seem to notice.
‘So how was it, working for your brother-in-law?’
For the first time Rachel turned to look at Ursula. ‘I quickly lost the good opinion I’d been forming of him. Joshua Peters was a mean, scheming, cut-everything-to-the-margin operator.’
‘What in California we’d call a son of a bitch, if you’ll forgive the phrase.’
Rachel laughed scornfully. ‘Fits exactly.’
Ursula paused for a moment, then said, ‘Did he operate illegally?’
Another scornful laugh. ‘He was far too clever for that. He’d milk every last legal detail out of me, then find a way round that met the law but would protect him while exposing the client to outrageous charges.’
‘How long did you work for him?’
‘No more than a few months. It took that long to realise exactly what he was doing; no, making me do! I was the one checking the contracts. When I complained that what he was doing was not fair, he’d ask if it was illegal. Because, if it was, then that was my fault. When I had to say that in my opinion the contracts were legal, then he said that as far as the client was concerned, it was caveat emptor. If they couldn’t go to the expense of a bright lawyer, then it wasn’t his fault. Ursula, these were small firms he was presenting with the contracts. Firms trusting the Peters’ company to arrange their shipping on a fair basis.’
‘What wasn’t fair about it?’
‘I didn’t work with him long enough to see if my fears were realised but I could see that if anything went wrong: ships sinking, theft or damage of goods, loss of sales through delays, and a host of other possibilities, well, it wasn’t going to be the Peters’ company that suffered; the small print would see to that.’
‘So you left.’
Rachel nodded and went back to studying the river.
‘What did you tell your sister?’
A shrug of the shoulders. ‘That the matters Joshua wanted me to work on were too complicated; I didn’t have enough experience, I said.’ Rachel’s bleak expression softened. ‘Dear Alice, she accepted everything I told her; all her thoughts were on the coming happy event. And it was happy. Both she and Joshua were ecstatic about little Harry. We all were. Until it all ended so tragically.’
‘You didn’t think that you should tell Mr Jackman all this?’
‘How could it help him?’
Ursula found it difficult to believe that such an intelligent girl couldn’t see what seemed blindingly obvious to her. ‘Don’t you think it possible that a client who lost possibly large sums of money through signing one of these clever contracts and unable to obtain restitution through the law might not want to extract vengeance another way?’
Rachel stared at her. ‘You mean, kill him?’
Ursula nodded.
Rachel put her head in her hands. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘What an idiot I’ve been. I only saw the manipulation of the law, and then I tried to forget what I’d been party to. I never, ever considered it could lead to Joshua’s death!’