A Fatal Freedom (37 page)

In a corner was a basin supplying water. A cupboard to one side held shaving equipment, a small bar of soap and a bottle of pills. A pharmacy label announced that they were aspirin. Ursula picked up the thin rug that lay on the boarded floor but could see nothing that required closer attention. She stripped the bed and examined the pillow, establishing that it contained nothing more than a meagre supply of feathers. The horsehair mattress had a stained ticking cover that looked undisturbed. Only bare springs were underneath.

She dropped the mattress back into place and went over to the dormer window. Instead of a bird’s eye view of Dorset Square, she saw Albert’s furious figure shaking his fist at the
Maison Rose
’s front door. Why had he been there? Was her theory that Count Meyerhoff was a German spy any more than the result of reading an ultra-persuasive work of fiction? When she had been outlining her theory to Jackman, it had sounded thin, a romantic girl’s fantasy. She was not, though, normally the sort of person who got carried away by novels. And, whatever Mrs Bruton’s opinion, Ursula felt there was something slippery about the count. Her father, at one time a top financier, had a saying about men he didn’t trust: ‘I wouldn’t leave a kitten in his care.’ Ursula had laughed when he used it but found that it became a rule of thumb for her when dealing with men.

A pigeon swooped down on to the narrow windowsill and sat cooing. Ursula hardly noticed. What, exactly, was Count Meyerhoff’s motive for being involved in
Maison Rose
? Purely financial? So far the income didn’t cover the expenses. Did he really believe the clinic and Madame’s preparations were going to make a great deal of money? How much had outside patrons invested? Ursula had seen no capital sums deposited in the company bank account. And what was the relationship between the Count and Madame? Hilda Ferguson, the assistant who worked closely with the beautician, didn’t like Count Meyerhoff, that had become clear during the session she and Ursula had spent filling the beauty preparation jars. Her loyalties and affiliation were to Madame, for whom she seemed to have a passionate regard.

Ursula sighed and gave the bedroom a final survey. Then, satisfied no possible hiding place had been left unexplored, she picked up the bottle of aspirin and went back to the other room.

The investigator was standing beside the fireplace and Albert’s shrouded body was now lying a little way away from the fender.

‘Look here,’ Thomas said.

A short floorboard by the side of the grate had been raised to reveal a space large enough to hold a box of some sort, or perhaps an attaché case.

‘Nothing there now,’ he said. ‘But I would lay a monkey that it has held someone’s secrets.’ He replaced the board. ‘The doctor may well be here any time now, the place should not seem to have been searched.’

Ursula hurriedly replaced the items he had taken out of the cupboard. ‘Do we give him the same story as Mrs Duggan?’

Thomas checked the replacement of the floorboard then gave a satisfied nod. Nothing suggested now that it might have been raised. ‘Exactly the same. Albert Pond was a friend. He had invited us to see his new accommodation, after which we were to repair to some local hostelry for a drink and something to eat. We are very shocked by the discovery of our friend’s body. And, yes, we can say that he had been worried about the state of his heart.’

‘Let the doctor diagnose a suspicious reason for his death, rather than suggest it?’

Thomas nodded. ‘That would be much the best. He will have to inform the authorities in any case.’

Ursula pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her new coat. ‘I’ve just thought – if it can be proved that Albert has been poisoned by the same way as Joshua Peters, wouldn’t that mean Alice could be released from prison?’

Thomas looked doubtful.

‘Surely the same person must have committed both murders?’

‘You and I might believe that, but whether Dandy Drummond will be as easy to convince is questionable.’

‘“
Might
believe that”?’ Ursula looked at him and her eyes narrowed. ‘You believe she’s guilty, don’t you? And yet you accepted a commission to prove her innocent!’ Ursula could not bring herself to consider for a moment that the girl was capable of killing her husband. Yet, nagging at the back of her mind was the bit of paper that the maid, Meg, had rescued from the fire. Why hadn’t she shown it to Thomas, and why did she feel so guilty about that? Because it was difficult to read into the fragmented words Alice had written anything that wasn’t incriminating, that was why.

‘Look, I said I would investigate the circumstances of Joshua Peters’ death. I approached the matter as I would if I’d still been in the force and officially on the case. I had no idea whether Alice was guilty or not; in fact, I still haven’t.’

‘Because you went away!’ Ursula hadn’t forgiven him for disappearing from London.

Thomas sighed. ‘That was most unfortunate but there was little I could do. It was connected with a previous case and I couldn’t refuse. I’d expected it wouldn’t take more than a day or so. Once back I gave my full attention to the matter of Peters’ death.’

Ursula found that she believed him and that, yes, she would leave a kitten in Thomas’s care.

‘The more I looked into things, the more it became apparent that Peters and his servant, that is Albert, were up to something.’

‘You mean blackmail?’ When Thomas didn’t immediately respond she said, ‘Surely that’s the most obvious conclusion. You said that the business is in trouble. Rachel told me that Felix Trenchard, the man who is trying to sort out the legal situation, has said there’s no money for the upkeep of the house and that it’s heavily mortgaged. It will have to be sold. Joshua Peters must have been desperate for money.’

‘So Alice Peters will have nothing?’ This seemed to be news to Thomas.

‘She apparently has a small income left to her by her mother; Rachel has the same. What I’m getting at is that Alice is not a rich widow.’

‘She may have believed that she would be. And with or without money, she is now free to marry the man she is in love with, who may or may not be the father of the child she is carrying.’

‘I believe her when she says her husband is the father and that she did not kill him.’ Ursula spoke steadily but she felt so frustrated she could scream. She had not thought that Thomas Jackman could be so obtuse. ‘And now, if Albert has been poisoned, surely it has to be by the same person who despatched Joshua Peters. Alice is in prison, ergo she could not have done this.’

‘But how about her sister?’ Thomas asked quietly.

Ursula stared at him.

‘You yourself have told me that she believes in women turning militant to achieve their aims. Isn’t she prepared to break the law to persuade the government to give women the vote?’

‘Chucking a brick through someone’s window is not the same as killing someone! And she brought you in to prove Alice innocent.’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Maybe she thought she was. Maybe Albert showed her evidence that her sister did poison her husband. Evidence that she was desperate to get hold of. If she didn’t have money to pay Albert off, killing him and seizing the evidence would solve the whole situation.’

Ursula’s mind felt like a rat caught in a maze. He made it all sound horribly plausible. Yet could Rachel or Alice actually be a killer? Once again she thought about that bit of half-burned paper.

‘But what about the count and
Maison Rose
?’

‘Blackmailers usually attack more than one victim. Your theory that Count Meyerhoff is a spy for the Kaiser could have foundation. Or maybe there is something fishy about the beauty clinic. I am convinced Albert removed papers and maybe other items from his master’s desk. There was that pot of
Maison Rose
cream I found there. Maybe he missed that or thought it wasn’t important. If we could find what he did take, we’d know a great deal more.’

Ursula cast a look around the room. ‘If they were here to find, we would have discovered them, surely.’

‘I fear they will have vanished with his killer and have probably been destroyed.’

‘Leaving us with nothing,’ Ursula said helplessly.

‘We can try and find a witness.’

‘You mean someone might have seen Albert’s visitor?’

There came a knock at the door and Mrs Duggan entered without waiting for permission.

‘I’ve brought doctor. It’s not our usual. He tells me he’s sitting in. Well, here is Mr Pond, sir, as I told you. Ah, covered him up, have you? Quite right.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Duggan. You have been very helpful. We’ll say goodbye when everything has been taken care of.’ Thomas took firm hold of her upper arm and guided her out on to the landing.

The doctor had entered in haste, then had seen the body beneath the coverlet. ‘Doctor Barton,’ he said. ‘This is the heart victim, I take it?’

‘It seemed the decent thing to do,’ Ursula murmured. ‘We were sure he had breathed his last.’ She forced herself to remove the bedcover.

The physician was very tall, thin and probably in his early thirties. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Medical professionals, are you?’ His tone managed to sound non-judgemental.

‘As an ex-police inspector, I have some training in the assessment of comatose individuals,’ Thomas said, closing the door behind Mrs Duggan. ‘Thomas Jackman, and this is Miss Grandison,’ he added.

‘Ex-policeman?’ said Doctor Barton, giving each of them a keen look. He placed his medical bag on the table, removed a well-worn three-quarter-length grey overcoat, slightly hitched his shabby trousers and knelt beside the body. Ursula could see a hole in the sole of one of his well-polished shoes.

She received an impression of easy competence as Dr Barton checked for a pulse, lifted up the eyelids, then inspected his bony chest.

He looked up. ‘I take it this man was not lying on his back when you entered the room?’

‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘He was on his front with his head on the fender.’

‘Why did you move him?’

‘To see if he was alive and in need of assistance.’

‘And you found …?’

‘That he was dead.’

‘And you sent for me because …?’

‘A death certificate will need signing.’

Dr Barton sighed as though disappointed in the answer but not surprised. ‘Help me remove his jacket and shirt, will you – Jackman, was it?’

Thomas nodded.

As the two men stripped the upper garments off the body, Ursula saw that the livid stains she’d noted on Albert’s chest were all over his skin. And there was a dark patch of what looked like bruising running down his front into the lower part of his body. She hoped that the trousers would not have to be removed as well.

Instead the doctor rose, looked down at the dead man and sighed again. ‘The note that you sent – via Mr Duggan? – mentioned a friend suffering a heart attack, not that the man was dead. Yet this man died some time ago.’ His tone suggested that he was only commenting on the situation; there was no sense of outrage.

‘You can tell that?’ asked Ursula curiously. Somehow the removal of Albert’s brown jacket and striped waistcoat had robbed him of his identity. She could look at the body now without thinking about the man.

‘How long has he been dead?’ asked Thomas.

Another sigh from Dr Barton. ‘Ex-inspector of police, I think you said. So you will understand why I find difficulty in accepting this story of a friend with heart trouble. Who, if Mrs Duggan is to be believed, had invited you over?’ He glanced around the room. ‘Sociable fellow, was he? Hadn’t been here long, said Mrs Duggan, so I suppose you are about to tell me he wanted to show off his new home?’ He waited politely for one of them to say something.

Ursula decided it was better she said nothing.

‘You’re a bright lad,’ said Thomas with the air of handing over some sort of award. ‘I dare say you may have been called in by some of my former colleagues from time to time.’

The doctor nodded. ‘I’ve had dealings with several officers. At the moment I have no practice of my own, I act as a locum for general practitioners who go on holiday or have other reason for not being able to fulfil their duties to their patients. Several of these practices are in areas less salubrious than Marylebone. Areas where it is difficult to make a living,’ he added, giving the bare walls of Albert’s room another cursory glance.

‘Your account for today’s visit will be settled, you have my word on that,’ Thomas said.

Dr Barton gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. ‘It is not, perhaps, my business why you are here. And I suggest that you do not need me to tell you that this man,’ he gave a slight wave of his hand towards Albert’s body, ‘did not die of a heart attack.’

He seemed very sure of himself, this Dr Barton, thought Ursula. But if he was having to deal with a vast variety of patients he had little opportunity to get to know, perhaps he had to be.

Thomas went over to Albert’s cupboard. ‘It’s good to meet a doc who knows his way around. We’ll tell you the full story but, first, since Mr Pond will not be needing this quite respectable bottle of cognac, can I offer you a glass?’

The doctor consulted a watch then returned it to his waistcoat pocket. ‘I seem to have time in hand. Why not?’ He received a charged glass. Thomas sent an enquiring glance at Ursula.

She gave him a smile and shook her head then sat down on one of the upright chairs.

‘Please,’ said Thomas, ‘can you start by giving me some idea of when Albert Pond died and what you think was the cause of death.’

Dr Barton carefully sniffed his glass then drank some of the brandy thoughtfully, looking at Thomas as though he needed to assess how far he could trust him. Then, still holding his brandy, he went and stood over the body, produced a thermometer, stuck it in one of Albert’s ears, then manipulated his arms and finally checked the thermometer reading. ‘First, time of death. Probably yesterday afternoon. I would say that rigor mortis has only just passed. The way the blood has settled down the front of his body,’ he waved towards the dark bruising Ursula had already noticed. ‘That tells me he fell face forward, not on his back, and was undisturbed until you moved him.’ He crouched down beside the body and used his brandy glass to indicate the livid spots. ‘Those look to me like cyanide poisoning. I shall have to report my conclusions to the authorities. I am unable to sign a death certificate as an autopsy will be required to ascertain cause of death. However, I shall be very surprised if tests prove anything other than death by cyanide.’ He rose, brushed off the knees of his trousers, finished his brandy and looked at both of them. ‘Do you have any idea who it could have been administered by?’