A Fatal Freedom (42 page)

Martha harrumphed, ‘Mrs Trenchard doesn’t forget and she doesn’t often forgive. But she’ll be that beside herself to hear of Miss Rachel’s arrest, I reckon she’ll be grateful for any help.’

Ursula looked at the indomitable figure sitting between her and the investigator, cotton-gloved hands clasped tightly together. Here was someone who gave her loyalty wholeheartedly to the family she had served for so long. What was it Rachel had said? Martha had been her mother’s personal maid.

‘You must have known Miss Rachel since she was small,’ Ursula said to her.

‘Since she was born. And a right fighter she was from the start. Nanny had such a time with her. “Miss Imperious” she called her.’ Martha gave a tight smile. ‘It wasn’t for herself she wanted anything, though. Miss Alice was the older but from the moment Miss Rachel could haul herself upright and stagger around clutching on to the furniture, she was her sister’s protector.’

Ursula could sense Jackman listening intently. She wanted to say that Rachel being Alice’s protector didn’t mean she would murder for her. ‘Did you say you weren’t at home yesterday afternoon, Martha? I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘I don’t know your surname.’

‘I’m Battle, Miss. But Mrs Fentiman said she couldn’t have me called that so I’ve always been Martha. And, yes, I wasn’t there yesterday. Mrs Trenchard had garments to sort out for one of her charities.’ She looked down at her gloved hands. ‘Supposed to be clean them clothes were but if that’s what’s called clean, I’m a dustman.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘Wanted a hanging in the fresh air but Mrs Trenchard said there wasn’t a point. Better to sort and get them over to the Reverend who’d know who needed them, that’s what we had to do.’

‘So you don’t know where Miss Rachel was yesterday afternoon?’ Jackman said, his tone carefully neutral.

‘That young man says she was with him!’ Martha gave a snort. ‘Well, if Lord John says that, that’s what we have to accept.’

‘You don’t sound as though you approve of him,’ Ursula slipped in.

Another snort. ‘Someone who tinkers about with machinery all day! A salesman! I don’t care if he does call himself a lord; I wouldn’t trust him further than that auto thing he drives can go.’

Ursula quashed the temptation to say that would mean a long way. ‘I think we’re here,’ she exclaimed as the cab drew up outside a solid-looking semi-detached house in a road that had every appearance of respectability and comfortable living.

Jackman reached up the fare through the little door in the cab’s roof then helped out his fellow passengers.

‘You’d best let me do the talking,’ said Martha. She advanced up well-whitened steps and banged the gleaming knocker hard. ‘We need to see Mrs Trenchard, Polly,’ she said to the neat maid who opened the door.

‘She’s not receiving,’ Polly said, not looking impressed with the trio on her doorstep.

Martha shouldered her way in. ‘You should know better than that, my girl. Tell the mistress I’m here and it’s important.’

The maid’s face set in a sulky expression.

‘Look lively,’ said Martha.

‘It’s that the master isn’t well,’ Polly said in a voice that mixed triumph with resentment.

A door opened and Mrs Trenchard appeared, ‘Who was it, Polly?’ She sounded exhausted.

‘Miss Battle, Madam. Says it’s important.’

Mrs Trenchard’s face was pale and drawn. ‘Why, Martha, what brings you here?’ Then she saw her other visitors. ‘Mr Jackman!’ She did not sound welcoming. ‘And Miss Grandison.’ Still disapproving. Then her expression changed, became almost hopeful. ‘Is it something to do with Alice, that is, Mrs Peters? Is she being released?’

Martha’s control vanished. ‘Oh, ma’am, it’s Miss Rachel. She’s been arrested!’

Mrs Trenchard’s hand went to her throat. ‘No!’ She staggered for a moment and Ursula slipped a hand underneath an elbow.

‘Let’s sit you down.’ She led the woman back into the drawing room and settled her into a comfortable chair.

‘A glass of water, Polly,’ said Martha sharply.

Mrs Trenchard put a hand to her forehead. ‘I knew Rachel would take matters too far. All that talk of militancy. Emmeline Pankhurst will have a lot to answer for; I will never forgive her for leading my niece so badly astray.’

‘I’m afraid Rachel’s arrest has nothing to do with the fight for women’s suffrage,’ Ursula assured her.

‘She is being charged with the murder of Albert Pond,’ said Jackman quietly.

Mrs Trenchard looked at him, her expression blank. ‘Albert Pond? Joshua’s valet?’

Jackman nodded. ‘His body was found this morning. He was almost certainly poisoned in the same fashion as Mr Peters.’

‘And my poor Rachel is being accused of causing his death?’

‘I am afraid so.’

Mrs Trenchard looked wildly around the room, her fingers digging into the padded arms of her chair. ‘Oh, it’s dreadful, too dreadful. But will Alice now be set free? I cannot allow that Rachel could have been responsible for so terrible an act but at least the accusation should release her sister.’

‘I am afraid not. Inspector Drummond is convinced that Mrs Peters poisoned her husband and Miss Fentiman copied her in killing the valet.’

‘But why?’

‘My investigation into the death of Mr Peters has led me to believe that he and Pond have been blackmailing various persons.’

Mrs Trenchard stared at him. ‘Blackmail! Surely not!’

Polly entered with a glass of water; Martha insisted on taking and handing it to Mrs Trenchard.

Jackman watched in silence as she drank a little, then said, ‘Miss Grandison is assisting me in my investigation and we are here because there is a possibility Joshua Peters has left some evidence that could prove this assertion in a safe at his home. We would like to visit Montagu Place and see if we can open it. In order to do so, we require authority. Miss Fentiman was about to accompany us there when Inspector Drummond arrested her.’

‘And now you would like me to go with you instead?’

Jackman nodded.

‘I am afraid that will not be possible. Mr Trenchard is not at all well and I have sent for the doctor. When you arrived, I thought it might be him.’

‘Madam, if you wrote a letter,’ said Martha, ‘and I went with the lady and gentleman, then I think Mrs Firestone would be willing to allow us access.’

Mrs Trenchard closed her eyes. After a long moment she looked up at Ursula. ‘I cannot bring myself to believe such a dreadful thing. Oh, that my sister had never allowed that benighted match between Joshua Peters and poor, dear Alice. Martha, give me your arm as far as my desk and I will write a note to Mrs Firestone.’

Some five minutes later, an envelope was handed over. ‘One thing: Martha, you are to remain with Miss Grandison and Mr Jackman at all times. You will report to me tomorrow on exactly what has transpired. You understand?’

Before Martha could respond, the doorbell rang. ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Trenchard. ‘That will be the doctor. At last!’

Instead, in rushed Daniel Rokeby, Polly just managing to snatch his broad-brimmed hat from his head. ‘Sorry, Madam,’ she blurted, ‘I couldn’t stop him.’

‘Where is Rachel? She’s not at home and nor is Martha. I’m so worried about Alice.’ The words poured out of him. Then he realised that Mrs Trenchard was not alone. He stood for a moment, taking in the scene he’d disturbed, his long hair tousled, brown cord trousers badly worn, dark red velvet jacket creased and with the corner of one of the pockets torn, cream silk cravat crumpled. ‘Oh my God, something’s happened, hasn’t it? Tell me where Rachel is.’

Mrs Trenchard reached a beseeching hand towards Jackman. ‘You’re the investigator,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Please tell Mr Rokeby.’

As Jackman gave brief details, Daniel dipped his head and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. When the investigator had finished, he looked at him. ‘I’ll come with you to Montagu Place. I came here because Alice has sent me a letter and it reads as though she has realised she has little hope of liberty. We must do something.’

‘Do you have the letter with you?’ asked Mrs Trenchard.

Reluctantly he produced a piece of paper and handed it to her.

Mrs Trenchard read it carefully, then closed her eyes and allowed it to drop on her desk as she rested her face on her hand. ‘It would seem that Alice anticipates the worst. At least she is safe until her child is born.’

Ursula felt frozen by this development. ‘When I was with her in Holloway,’ she said, ‘Alice seemed to believe that because she was innocent, justice meant that eventually she would be freed.’

‘Justice! Justice! When has justice ever done the right thing?’ Daniel ran a hand desperately through his hair, leaving it even more dishevelled. ‘We have to find whoever it is who has done these foul deeds. Jackman, you said you would discover the perpetrator.’

‘We are hoping this visit to Montagu Place will yield some vital evidence.’

Mrs Trenchard folded Alice’s letter and returned it to Daniel. ‘Yes, Mr Rokeby, go there with the others. The more witnesses the better.’

Ursula caught sight of Jackman’s face. Like her, he obviously felt the addition of the poet to their party was more likely to be a hindrance than a help but there was nothing that could be done. She said goodbye and led the way out of the drawing room with an indelible picture of Mrs Trenchard’s white and agonised face in her mind. Surely there had to be some evidence that would at the very least identify other suspects for the deaths of Joshua Peters and Albert Pond? The Fentiman sisters must not have to stand trial for murder.

* * *

A four-wheeler cab was found without much delay. Throughout the mercifully short journey, Daniel bombarded Jackman with questions: How was his investigation going; what was the evidence against Rachel; how had Pond’s whereabouts been discovered; why couldn’t Jackman make Inspector Drummond see that neither sister was responsible for murder? Ursula leaned her head against the seat back and tried to ignore the throbbing that was threatening to turn into a serious headache.

All the time she fought to keep her mind clear, Ursula felt a terrible fear that this expedition to investigate Joshua Peters’ safe was not going to produce any evidence that could persuade Drummond to release the sisters. She was certain that all Rachel’s protestations of innocence would be useless. Until she and Jackman could identify at least one blackmail victim who had sufficient to lose from exposure to make murder the only option, Rachel and Alice seemed doomed. The uncertain motion of the cab racked up the headache to the point where it seemed hammers were beating at the inside of her skull.

At Montagu Place, Daniel immediately jumped out, ran up to the front door and banged the knocker. There was a long delay before it was finally opened. Emily’s eyes widened as she took in the group. Martha explained matters and they were all taken down to the kitchen where she and Mrs Firestone, apparently the only two members of staff left in the house, were eating supper.

At any other time, Ursula would have found the aroma of macaroni cheese appetising. Now it induced nausea and she quietly left the kitchen and waited on the hall stairs for Mrs Trenchard’s letter of authority to be produced. The quiet was blissful and she began to hope that the hammering in her head would soon go away.

Instead, stray thoughts intruded. Why had Daniel insisted on coming with them? Had he perhaps already known about Albert Pond’s death? But how? Ursula felt a tingle along the nape of her neck, a sure sign something was asking her to concentrate. Had Millie, she wondered, been in touch with Daniel? Told him where Pond was living? After all, Millie had been Alice and Daniel’s go-between; she would know him quite well. Was he afraid there would be something in the safe that could incriminate him?

‘Are you all right?’ asked Jackman quietly. She had not been aware of his approach. She nodded. ‘It is only a slight headache.’ Then she summoned a smile, ‘I would not like you to lose your assistant as soon as she started her duties.’

Martha and Daniel joined them, together with Emily. ‘I’ll show you Mr Peters’ bedroom. That’s where his safe is.’ She led the way upstairs.

Joshua Peters’ bedroom was dark. Emily switched on the electric light then drew back heavy brown velvet curtains trimmed with gold fringing to reveal a window overlooking the rear of the house.

It was a very masculine room, with red and black striped wall paper, a mahogany tallboy, a large bed with carved walnut head and foot boards, and a heavy quilted bedcover in a dark red paisley pattern. On one side of the bed stood a night cabinet very similar to the one in Albert Pond’s rooms. A carpet with swirls of dark caramel on a darker brown covered the floor.

Opposite the bed was a fireplace with a nicely blackened grate, slate hearth and Delft tiling. To one side stood a heavy wardrobe, on the other was a free-standing cheval mirror, with behind it a large oil painting of a stag at bay.

Emily moved the mirror and fiddled with the frame of the painting, then swung one side of it away from the wall. Jackman gave a sigh of relief as they saw a large, iron safe. ‘Quite a simple lock, no codes required, just a key.’ He ran his fingers over it. ‘I wouldn’t reckon much, though, to the possibility of cracking it open without one.’

‘As I said downstairs, sir,’ said Emily, ‘ we haven’t been able to find a key.’

‘Right, team,’ said Jackman. ‘Any ideas as to a devilish clever hiding place?’

Daniel lifted the bedcover, swung himself under the bed and ran his hands over the exposed springs. Martha tried to move the headboard to check behind it – and failed. Ursula started to take out drawers from the tallboy, searching their contents, checking underneath each drawer, then piling them up on the floor. Martha came to help. Emily stood by the door, watching the activities with a slightly scornful look on her face. ‘We’ve done all that,’ she said.

Jackman checked underneath the window sill and behind the curtains, then cleared out the contents of the wardrobe and the long drawer at its bottom. ‘Rokeby, you check the underside and back of this piece. I’m going downstairs to the study. The desk has at least one hiding place.’ He left the room.

Ursula carried on checking the tallboy’s multitude of drawers.