A Fatal Freedom (46 page)

She straightened up. ‘You must join the fight for women’s suffrage. Once we have that, doors will open, we will have equality with men. Then you will have any number of choices laid before you.’

Millie looked astonished. ‘Women’s what?’

‘Suffrage. The vote! It will empower us.’ Rachel yanked out a notebook and pencil from her bag. ‘You say the circus is going up north. I will give you Emmeline Pankhurst’s address in Manchester. She will find you a job and you can make uniforms for all us suffrage fighters. I will write and tell her you will be getting in touch. She will inspire you, Millie. She inspires all women.’ She tore the page out of the notebook and handed it over.

Millie looked at it suspiciously.

At that moment two uniformed attendants rushed by saying, ‘Come on, time to get the show under way. You’re on Aisle C today, Millie.’

The piece of paper was scrunched into a pocket. ‘Got to go now. But, thanks, Miss Fentiman. And you’ll let me know when Mrs Peters comes out of prison? She’ll need a maid.’

Then she was gone.

Rachel went over to where John was inspecting an item of machinery. ‘It’s a generator,’ he said, wiping oil off his hand with a handkerchief. ‘Haven’t seen one like this for years. I suppose they can’t afford anything more up to date.’

Rachel slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Come on, we’re finished here.’

‘Did you get what you wanted out of the girl?’

Rachel thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure there was anything to get. But I may have enlisted a new worker for Emmeline’s Women’s Army.’

Brown’s doorman whistled up a hansom cab for Mrs Bruton and Ursula.

‘You see,’ said Mrs Bruton, placing hand on Ursula’s knee as they pulled away from the hotel’s main door, ‘I could not, really could not, bear anyone around me who was in contact with, with …’ her voice trailed away for a moment or two; then she seemed to recover herself. ‘I realise, my dear Ursula, that the loss of the additional pay you have been earning at
Maison Rose
may cause you embarrassment …’

Ursula could not prevent herself shifting a little in the confined space.

‘… I shall be happy,’ Mrs Bruton continued smoothly, ‘to see if I can find amongst my acquaintances someone who requires the services of a person so highly qualified as yourself. And perhaps,’ she gave a short, judicious pause before adding, ‘perhaps I myself may be able to raise your wages a modicum. My stepson is due to visit again shortly, I shall ask him if my finances could stand the additional outlay.’

‘That would be very good of you,’ murmured Ursula, wondering a little at Mrs Bruton’s sudden wish to discuss her financial situation with the stepson she had previously shown herself to dislike, even to be slightly afraid of. ‘And I can apply to the employment agencies I contacted on my arrival in London; they may well have details of a part-time post for which I could be suitable. After all, I think
Maison Rose
will give me a good reference.’

Or would the count feel he was within his rights to withhold such a document since she would be giving him so little notice?

‘But let us forget such matters for this afternoon,’ Mrs Bruton went on. ‘I hope you enjoyed your lunch?’ she added pleasantly. Then, taking Ursula’s agreement for granted, said, ‘I have been wishing to visit the menagerie for some little time. Being able to see all those fierce animals at such close quarters, what a thrill!’ She gave a little shiver.

The brightness of the morning had given way to an overcast, chilly afternoon. Ursula appreciated the warmth of her coat and wondered whether visiting the menagerie would mean that they would see Millie. Now there was someone whose financial position was much worse than hers.

For once traffic was not slowing their progress and sooner than Ursula would have thought possible, the cab had reached their destination. She climbed down, then offered her hand to aid Mrs Bruton’s descent. The flash of a suede bootee suggested that her employer had not perhaps considered what the conditions underfoot might be like.

Ursula once again found herself transfixed by the sight of the mighty carved screen.

‘Oh, my,’ said Mrs Bruton, similarly overawed by the variety of wild animals it carried. There came the roar of several lions and the breeze suddenly brought a strong whiff of the beasts themselves.

‘There is a marvellously dressed lion-tamer who gives performances from time to time,’ said Ursula.

Mrs Bruton looked expectant. ‘Will we see him with the lions this afternoon? That would be wonderful.’

‘Would you like me to get the tickets?’ It was a small service Ursula had performed when she had been out with Mrs Bruton. She had grown used to her employer producing a well-filled purse from whichever handbag she carried that day. The one she had chosen to accompany her cashmere outfit was of a matching blonde suede and large enough to hold several bulging purses.

Mrs Bruton smiled. ‘I think I would enjoy performing that small task myself this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Look, there is a man selling sweeties. Do go and buy us some.’ She took out her purse and gave Ursula a sixpenny piece. The morning’s upsetting event when Madame Rose’s true nature was revealed seemed to have been forgotten. Once again Mrs Bruton was her quietly assertive self.

Ursula went over to the sweet seller and joined a small queue. Soon she was supplied with a paper cone stuffed with striped, mint-flavoured humbugs.

There were not nearly as many people queuing up for the menagerie as there had been at Ursula’s first visit. She couldn’t help remembering Jackman and her reaction to the realisation that he was actually involved in following a couple: how cross she had been; she had seen Jackman as using her as camouflage for his main purpose.

That afternoon, though, had been the first time she had seen Alice and Rachel. How tremendous Rachel had been in saving Alice from being photographed with Daniel, leaping on to the little table and addressing the crowd with her message of freedom for the animals and for women, and what a delight it had been to find her on Mrs Bruton’s doorstep for the tea party.

At that precise moment, Ursula saw disappearing round the corner of the menagerie the back view of a girl that looked exactly like Rachel, wearing a beret on long dark hair. Except it could not be her because Rachel had been arrested by Inspector Drummond and was now in prison – as was Alice.

The afternoon seemed to darken further. So much had happened since that first visit and somewhere there was a murderer handing out doses of cyanide poisoning. Ursula shivered. For an instant she wished Jackman was with her.

She joined Mrs Bruton, who had reached the top of the ticket office queue and asked whether there would be a show in the menagerie that afternoon.

‘I’m sorry, Madam, not today. But Arturo the Magnificent is just about to perform in the Big Top. Would you like to buy tickets for that?’

‘Shall we see the other animals there?’

‘Bareback riding and jugglers and trapeze artists will all be on display. And you could buy a combined ticket that would admit you to the menagerie after the circus performance.’

‘Why, that would be perfect,’ said Mrs Bruton, handing over money. ‘There,’ she said to Ursula, slipping a hand into her secretary’s arm. ‘We should be beautifully entertained. I have long wanted to see a show with lions.’

As they entered the big tent, the bareback rider Ursula had seen practising when she’d visited Millie was riding round the ring, standing on the broad back of her grey pony, the light coat shining like a polished pearl, the girl’s bright red and gold leotard jewel-like.

An attendant indicated a pair of seats half way up the ramp but Mrs Bruton headed for the top rows, all empty, and took two at one end, from where they had a clear view of the ring. As they settled themselves, the rider performed a series of somersaults as her horse continued to circle the ring.

Loud applause greeted the girl as she slipped on to her mount and waved; a final circuit of the ring and she rode out of the arena.

Two clowns chased each other around the ring. A rattle of metal heralded the erection of a run between the menagerie and the circus arena. It looked as though the next act would be the lions.

Mrs Bruton sat very erect, clutching her handbag and looking a little awkward. ‘Shall I look after that for you?’ Ursula asked.

‘Why, no, thank you, I am quite happy.’ She gave a little sneeze. ‘I hope I am not coming down with a cold.’ She opened the bag, took out a handkerchief and delicately applied it to her nose. ‘We have an excellent view from here, have we not?’

Indeed they could see right across the ring and there, standing in an entrance dressed in the same uniform as the other attendants, was Millie. She was directing some late-comers to seats. Ursula opened the cone of humbugs, offered one to Mrs Bruton and took one herself. They sat contentedly sucking on the sweets.

From the direction of the menagerie came the growl of a lion.

Working rapidly in the centre of the ring while the clowns kept the audience entertained, circus workers finished erecting a metal cage and into it strode Arturo the Magnificent, his outfit every bit as colourful and stylish as when Ursula had first seen him. He cracked his whip and along the caged runway loped the first lion, his large head bearing a wonderful mane of thick hair. Another crack of the whip and the lion leaped on to a circular stand decorated with streaks of jagged red. In came another one, his hair not quite so exuberant. The whip cracked and he, too, mounted a stand. A lioness followed, sleeker and younger-looking. A third crack of the whip and she mounted the last of the stands.

Arturo circled the beautifully balanced trio, raised his whip with a flourish and the three lions lifted their front legs, waving their paws to maintain their balance. For a moment there was silence. Ursula was mesmerised.

Suddenly the lions turned their heads, as though seeking something beyond the cage. As applause broke out, the first lion jumped down and stalked round. Arturo cracked his whip, ordering him back, but now the other two followed. The applause died down and the audience held its collective breath as the trainer tried to shoo his animals back into place, cracking the whip so it zinged right beside each without touching them.

In the silence all could hear the lions growling fiercely, then they advanced on the trainer. He backed towards the metal frame of the cage.

Ursula, appalled at the tragedy that seemed about to happen, glanced at Mrs Bruton, and saw her snatch something from her mouth, secreting it in her hand.

It wasn’t a humbug. Ursula gasped and tried to wrench it from Mrs Bruton. ‘That’s your dog’s whistle! It’s you who’ve upset the lions. Why?’

Mrs Bruton said nothing, her mouth a hard line. She pushed at Ursula’s shoulder. With the unexpectedness of the move, she found herself thrown down along the bench.

Astonished, she tried to right herself. Then she saw Mrs Bruton open her large handbag and remove a wicked-looking syringe. Horror surged through Ursula.

It was no use calling for help. The audience was screaming as the lions advanced on their trainer, their growls increasing in volume and aggression. Attendants were shouting; Arturo was cracking his whip. And the smell of fear pervaded everywhere.

Mrs Bruton lunged forward but her jacket caught on a protruding nail and for a moment it held her back. Ursula rolled off the bench and landed on her back along the slats supporting the seating. Mrs Bruton pulled away from the nail, ripping her jacket, and lunged forward again, aiming the syringe at the base of Ursula’s throat.

This was how Arthur Pond had died, Ursula knew it without any doubt. Somehow she managed to jerk up her own handbag as a shield and caught the syringe needle in its stout leather.

Mrs Bruton gave a determined grunt, pulled the needle clear and drew back her arm for another assault.

Ursula kicked out, trying to thrust the woman away, but the confining material of her skirt destroyed the power of her legs. Her situation seemed hopeless. There was the bitter taste of fear in her mouth, and her mind was paralysed. A picture of Albert Pond’s contorted face and body flashed before her. With a despairing effort she managed to roll herself down to the next level of the seating.

From the menagerie squawks of parakeets and excited monkey shrieks joined with the lions’ roars. Mrs Bruton produced a series of rapid grunts that could hardly be heard above the general clamour and managed to crawl down to the bench immediately above Ursula. Another attempt to inject the syringe into any part of her victim that she could reach was being launched.

Recklessly, with both hands, Ursula grabbed Mrs Bruton’s wrist and tried to force her to drop the lethal weapon. Then cried out as the woman bent her head and bit her wrist, drawing blood.

The teeth were sharp, the pain was intense but Ursula held on, pulling herself up from the slats, amazed at Mrs Bruton’s strength. She dared not let go of the woman’s wrist and at any moment that needle could connect with some part of her body and inject the deadly cyanide into her bloodstream.

Mrs Bruton’s free hand fumbled for her handbag. If she managed to hit Ursula’s head then the battle would be over.

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ said a male voice and the woman suddenly slumped down, unconscious.

Ursula couldn’t understand that death was no longer poised above her. Her hands had to be prised away from her assailant’s wrist. Then she started shaking.

‘It seems I was just in time,’ said Jackman cheerily. He picked up the cyanide-loaded syringe with great care and returned it to Mrs Bruton’s handbag then felt for her pulse. ‘She’ll live,’ he said after a moment. Then he turned his attention to Ursula. ‘Are you all right?’

She looked up at him, still trying to take in the way he’d appeared from nowhere. ‘I’m … I’m fine …’ she stuttered, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to realise that the danger was over and she was safe. Jackman slid down beside her and gently bent her head on to her knees.

‘Deep breaths,’ he said calmly and massaged her shoulders.