A Fatal Freedom (9 page)

‘I don’t think …’ Alice said in the faintest of voices. She swayed and Ursula dropped the bag in time to catch hold of the girl as she lost consciousness.

Mrs Bruton surveyed the plate of deliciously dainty cakes, brushed a few crumbs from the front of her chiffon afternoon gown, and selected a pink iced one; it was her third.

‘Please have one yourself, dear Miss Grandison, and will you attend to our empty cups?’

One of the most pleasant aspects of working for Mrs Bruton was her insistence that Ursula should take afternoon tea with her.

As Ursula handed Mrs Bruton her refilled teacup, Enid brought in the afternoon post.

‘Do look through it, Miss Grandison,’ said Mrs Bruton. ‘But do not show me any with brown envelopes, they always contain unpleasant bills. Is there anything that looks more interesting?’

Ursula flipped through the half dozen or so letters and handed over the envelopes that bore educated handwriting. ‘Two look to be invitations and surely that one is in a continental hand?’

Mrs Bruton gave an excited little cry and eagerly ripped open the envelope. ‘Please, Miss Grandison, while I read this, perhaps you will attend to the other letters?’

Ursula helped herself to another cup of tea and looked longingly at a chocolate éclair, but she could not afford to have her clothes remodelled. She resolutely started opening envelopes.

Mrs Bruton lowered the letter, her eyes sparkling. ‘This is delightful, Miss Grandison. Edward and I met Count Julius Meyerhoff in Vienna on one of our last visits before Edward passed over. What a good-looking man, and always in such demand,’ she gave a faint sigh. ‘I wondered, indeed I once discussed the matter with my Edward. “How,” I asked him one day. “How does that delightful man remain single when so many beautiful women pursue him so relentlessly?” Do you know, Miss Grandison, Edward laughed and said that the count obviously preferred to sample a variety of feminine charms than to anchor himself to one! So then I had to ask my dear Edward if he felt “anchored” as he put it, rather coarsely I told him, to me! I was only teasing him and he soon made amends by buying me my lovely sapphire bracelet. Don’t you think sapphires are the most beautiful of all gems?’

‘If you have blue eyes, certainly,’ said Ursula, smiling. ‘With grey eyes, like mine, I think diamonds might be the best choice.’

‘Ah, diamonds! They do, I agree, enhance any woman. I hope, Miss Grandison, you have a set of them?’

Ursula could not help laughing at the idea. ‘Alas, I have very few items of jewellery and certainly no diamonds. But one can dream! Is Count Meyerhoff in England? I noticed that the envelope bore a London postmark.’

‘That is why he has written to me.’ Mrs Bruton picked up the letter again. ‘He says he has launched a new venture and is inviting me to visit his showroom.’

‘Showroom? What sort of venture is it?’

Mrs Bruton frowned slightly and looked at the letter again as though there might be some information she had missed. ‘He does not say.’

‘What business did he carry on in Vienna?’

The letter was waved in a vague way. ‘I think it was banking. So many bankers in Vienna. Not that he kept office hours, you understand. He always seemed available for social activity.’

Mrs Bruton looked again at her letter. ‘The address is
Maison Rose
in Mayfair. It sounds like a couture house. We will plan a visit together, Miss Grandison. I shall value your opinion.’

Ursula laughed. ‘Mrs Bruton, you must know by now that my acquaintance with fashion is of the slightest.’

‘Granted you have very few clothes, my dear, but you wear what you have with style. One can tell so much about a person, particularly a woman, by how much they care about such matters, can one not?’

Ursula nodded, intrigued. This Count Meyerhoff seemed to have made a great impression on her employer. And even without money to spend on couture clothes, the proposed visit promised to be most interesting.

Mrs Bruton toyed negligently with one of her softly frilled cuffs. ‘It is time I made an addition or two to my wardrobe. So delightful I no longer have to wear black. You will make notes on what we see. I am quite excited about our little expedition. Now, is there anything else interesting in my mail?’

‘There is a note from Mrs Trenchard.’ Ursula handed over the opened letters with that one on top.

‘Indeed!’ Mrs Bruton held the missive a little way away from her. ‘I wish her writing was as clear as yours, Miss Grandison. I think “scrawl” is the only word for it. I must ask you to read this to me.’

Ursula did indeed have to scrutinise the letter carefully before she could announce, ‘Mrs Trenchard is asking if you would care to attend a meeting of members of her Women’s Suffrage Movement on Thursday of next week. She believes Mrs Pankhurst will be speaking and that you will find the event most interesting.’

‘Oh, dear. I don’t know that I care to associate myself with that Movement. I found my tea party last week quite upsetting.’

Ursula said nothing.

‘I cannot help thinking about the vanished wife of the man who gatecrashed our little assembly, and wondering where she is and what she is doing.’

Thinking about Mrs Trenchard’s reaction to Alice’s rejection of her marriage, Ursula said, ‘You seem to be sympathetic to her predicament.’

‘Who could not feel for her? Chained to that odious fellow.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps I should go to that meeting. As a woman, and as a widow, one values the aim the Movement is working towards. To be able to cast one’s vote for a Member of Parliament must be advantageous. We need a voice to represent us, to give us some power to right our wrongs.’ She gave a little deprecating laugh. ‘Did I not hear the phrase “to take control of one’s destiny” spoken somewhere?’

‘Never mind the vote, Mrs Bruton, you will be standing for Parliament yourself,’ said Ursula mischievously.

Mrs Bruton raised her hands. ‘Miss Grandison, I think that is going a little too far! One would never want to make speeches in public!’

* * *

A little later, as Ursula walked briskly back to her lodgings, she thought about Mrs Trenchard. As far as she was aware, Alice’s aunt had not seen her since the afternoon of the tea party, six days previously. It seemed as though the woman had damned the girl for fleeing from her marriage.

She had, though, seemed as concerned as any of them when Alice had fainted.

Ursula had asked everyone to stand back so that the girl could have some air. The young man who had been working on the motor vehicle came up, wiping his hands on a clean rag.

‘Shall I lift her up into my carriage?’

‘Oh, what a good idea, John,’ Rachel said.

‘Do be careful,’ Mrs Trenchard warned and she felt in the sizeable bag she carried. By the time Alice was placed on the motor’s generously upholstered passenger seat, she had found some smelling salts and waved them beneath the girl’s nose.

Alice sneezed, opened her eyes and looked in a puzzled way at the little party gathered around her.

‘You fainted, darling,’ said Rachel, taking her hand. ‘You should come back inside and eat something; why did you leave that piece of cake? And you need your clothes loosened.’

The girl raised herself in the motor’s seat. ‘I am sorry. What a nuisance for you all, but I am fine now.’ Her voice gained in strength as she spoke. ‘There is no need for me to return to your rooms.’

‘Where are you going?’ the young man asked. ‘I am John Pitney, a friend of Miss Fentiman’s. I would be honoured if you would let me drive you there.’ His voice was unexpectedly cultured; it matched the educated tones Ursula had grown used to hearing when staying with the Earl and Countess of Mountstanton.

‘Oh, John, that would be famous, said Rachel. ‘This is my sister, Mrs Peters. Miss Grandison, what is your address?’

‘Who is this young man?’ Mrs Trenchard demanded.

Rachel sighed impatiently but said, ‘May I introduce Lord John Pitney? You may know his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Walberton, their London house is not far from yours.’

Obviously taken aback, Mrs Trenchard took a moment to say, in a stilted voice, ‘We have met.’ She held out her hand to the young man. ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Lord John. I take it you have not known my niece long?’ She was obviously finding it difficult to understand why Rachel had not told her about such a highly suitable young man before.

‘May I introduce my aunt, Mrs Felix Trenchard?’

‘Delighted,’ said Lord John, stuffing the rag into a back pocket and shaking Mrs Trenchard’s hand.

‘And this is Miss Ursula Grandison.’

‘Delighted,’ said Lord John again. Ursula liked the feel of his hand, it was steady and firm, did not crush hers, and his skin was warm and dry.

‘And now that we have fulfilled society’s requirements, perhaps Alice and Ursula can be driven home?’ Rachel said impatiently.

Ursula, too, was anxious they should be on their way. She was worried about giving Jackman any opportunity to pick up on the girl’s whereabouts. Any moment he might decide to investigate if the building had a back entrance. ‘I shall take good care of her,’ she said to Mrs Trenchard and gave Lord John the address.

‘Alice will be in good hands, Aunt,’ said Rachel firmly. She kissed her sister. ‘I would come with you, see you settled, but there’s the possibility that investigator could be watching the building. He must think Miss Grandison and I are still in there.’

‘We do not want him coming round to check on a back entrance,’ said Ursula firmly, once again impressed by Rachel’s quick wits.

Mrs Trenchard looked horrified. ‘Well, in that case …’

Alice shrank back and looked on the point of fainting again.

Ursula was guided into the little seat at the back of the motor and given Alice’s Gladstone bag. Lord John swung the starting handle and climbed into the driver’s seat, then they bumped over the cobblestones and out into the main road.

Alice seemed to revive in the open vehicle and on their arrival was able to thank their driver prettily.

‘Will she be all right?’ Lord John asked Ursula in a quiet voice as she alighted and slipped her hand beneath Alice’s elbow. His ruddy, open face looked as worried as Ursula felt.

‘Once she’s inside. I’ll make sure she eats something.’ She turned to Alice. ‘Let’s go and find Mrs Maple,’ she said, steering her towards the front door. ‘Thank you, Lord John, that was very kind.’

‘I’ll keep in touch with Rachel,’ he said and started his motor.

Guiding Alice up the steps and into the house, Ursula could not help wondering about the exact nature of Rachel’s relationship with him. The ease they showed in each other’s company said they knew each other very well. Yet Mrs Trenchard had been told nothing about the young aristocrat.

Mrs Maple was in the hall and only too happy to show Alice one of her rooms. ‘It’s at the back and so very quiet, Mrs Peters. It’s a nice size, only just become vacant, and it’s almost next door to Miss Grandison’s.’

It was much the same as Ursula’s, spartan but bright and clean. Alice only gave it a cursory look. She sat down on the bed, a sad, drooping figure. ‘I think I have a headache. I’ll just lie down for a little while.’

Ursula turned to Mrs Maple. ‘Mrs Peters would like to take the room for a few days. I’ll see her settled then come down and sort out any details you need. If she could have a little something to eat, that could help.’

‘Of course. I’ll get Meg to bring up some buttered eggs.’

During the days that followed, Mrs Maple had seemed as worried about her new lodger as Ursula was.

Alice was charming to everyone and spoke if spoken to at the communal dining table each evening. The other women who lodged at Mrs Maples’ greeted her courteously but respected her reluctance to maintain a conversation. At first, after the meal she would disappear to her room, rejecting Ursula’s offer of an evening walk or a game of cards, saying sweetly that she needed her sleep.

‘I have been so tired recently, I think it has been the strain of deceiving Joshua. Now I am enjoying solitude; I think it is the first time in my life I have not had to answer to someone for their comfort. First it was dear Mama and Rachel, then … then Joshua.

‘Please, do call me Alice, and may I call you Ursula? I find your company very restful, so I hope you will forgive me for wanting to be selfish. I am enjoying reading the book you lent me, Mr Trollope’s
Barchester Towers
.’

It was a volume Ursula had picked up from a second-hand bookseller. She had loved its ironic picture of life in a bishopric and thought it one Alice might appreciate.

After a few days, Alice seemed to recover a little and was willing to sit with Ursula and discuss books or play some card games.

Rachel had not dared to visit in case Mr Jackman was keeping a watch on her, but she wrote daily letters.

Alice Peters may have seemed to recover a little but she remained pale and languid and Ursula thought that, whatever she said, the girl was not happy. But, then, how could she be? A wife who had abandoned her husband; a woman in love who had lost sight of her lover.

* * *

Reaching the lodging house at the end of her working day, Ursula went down to the kitchen to say hello. ‘How is Mrs Peters today?’ she asked.

‘Much better.’

Mrs Crumble, the middle-aged but seemingly tireless cook who was always willing to exchange a word or two, bent to roll out a sheet of pastry obviously destined for a large pie dish standing at the back of the table. ‘But she went out this morning and looked ever so determined when she came back. And she told Mrs Maple she would be leaving tomorrow. Meg saw her post a letter.’

Meg was the maid-of-all-work.

‘Leaving? Tomorrow? Where is she going, did she say?’ Had Daniel’s mother returned from the Lake District?

Mrs Crumble fetched a large bowl of meat from the larder. ‘No, but she didn’t sound too happy about it. She said being here had saved her life!’ A china bird was fitted into the centre of the dish. ‘Just now, though, she had a visitor.’

‘A young man,’ said Meg, peeling potatoes. She looked dreamily at Ursula. ‘You should have seen her run down the stairs to him. Her face – like something out of a fairy tale it was: Cinderella and the prince!’ She sat rapt for a moment, knife held motionless. ‘Ever so handsome he is.’