A Fatal Freedom Read online

  ‘Yes, I have been in England only a few months,’ she said in an amiable voice, then glanced across at her employer, who seemed to be totally absorbed in what Madame Rose was saying. ‘Mrs Bruton thought that the Maison Rose was a couture house but I think this is a Salon de Beauté, is it not?’

  He smiled back at her, all harmless charm. ‘Ah, I see you are a woman of intelligence, Fraulein.’ He gave a wave towards the laden shelves in the vitrine behind her. ‘These are some of Madame’s formulations for the care of the skin. She is having a great success with London society.’

  Despite herself, Ursula was intrigued. ‘Madame Rose is an expert?’

  ‘Indeed; she has studied in Paris and Vienna with leading dermatological specialists and creates her own creams and lotions for the individual skin.’

  He leant forward, peering at her face, and Ursula had to force herself not to take a step backwards. ‘You have a most excellent complexion, Fraulein. However, may I ask if you have been used to spending time outdoors in the winter and the summer? I would not normally ask such a personal question but Madame Rose has taught me to see the damage that weather can do to the skin’s tender fabric.’ There sounded such concern in his voice, Ursula could not take exception to his words; no one was more aware than herself of the damage done to her complexion by several years spent living in a Californian silver mine.

  ‘But Madame is a genius with her formulations. She will find the perfect cream for you.’ His voice caressed the words.

  Ursula smiled weakly. She wanted to say she had no faith in such formulations. Instead she asked, ‘Where is Madame Rose from?’

  ‘Ah, you can tell she is not Austrian?’

  ‘I attended a school in Paris; it was international and there was a girl there, Olympia Estouffa, who was Egyptian. When she spoke English, her accent was very similar to Madame Rose’s.’

  Something flickered in the count’s eyes. ‘Madame Rose left Cairo when she was quite young,’ he said smoothly. ‘Already she could speak several languages and had her great interest in dermatology. But, please, tell me what an American girl is doing in England, working with the charming Mrs Bruton? I have visited New York and its vibrancy and life were, as I believe the English have it, meat and drink to me.’

  At last the count had found a subject Ursula could be enthusiastic about. ‘I think New York has excitement in its very air. Even when life is perfectly ordinary, you feel it could be turned into champagne at any minute.’

  He laughed, ‘That is it exactly!’

  It was as though a layer of calculated charm had been abandoned and she was meeting the real man. For a moment Ursula felt a sizzling excitement.

  Then Mrs Bruton was brought over to the vitrine. ‘Now, dear Madame,’ said the beautician, opening one of the doors and taking out a jar. ‘This is my crème de printemps.’ The assistant produced a chic carrier bag made in glossy, heavy duty paper decorated with a flamboyant signature; the jar that was placed inside carried a label similarly decorated. Madame Rose now took a bottle from the shelf. ‘And here is the astringent lotion that will correct your slight tendency to oiliness, it is this which can bring on the occasional eruption. The lotion will tone your skin. But first you must cleanse.’ Another bottle went into the carrier. ‘Every day follow the routine I have explained: cleanse, tone and nourish. Come back to me in three weeks’ time so I can see the improvement in your complexion.’

  ‘I am so excited, Madame Rose. I shall faithfully follow all your directions.’ Mrs Bruton took the carrier bag as though the potions it contained were magic.

  ‘Perhaps, Madame Rose, you could examine Miss Grandison’s complexion while I renew my friendship with her employer.’ The count placed a possessive hand on Mrs Bruton’s arm and she gave him an excited glance as he led her from the room.

  Without the count’s powerful presence Ursula could breathe easily again. However, ‘I am afraid, Madame, I have only accompanied Mrs Bruton to your salon. I am not a potential client.’ How could she be? The whole atmosphere of Maison Rose oozed expense.

  ‘But, Miss Grandison, an assessment of your skin does not entail an obligation. Come, sit.’ She led her to the table.

  Ursula could see no alternative. Who knew how long Mrs Bruton would be closeted with the count?

  Her skin was subjected to a searching examination, the magnetic, golden eyes carefully assessing every aspect of her face, a firm hand gently turning her head so that the light would fall on every side. Thorough though the beautician seemed to be, Ursula thankfully realised that her care was impersonal.

  Finally Madame Rose sat back with a little sigh. ‘My dear Miss Grandison, you have been blessed by the Almighty with a beautiful complexion, with colouring most attractive. I can see, though, that it has suffered extremes of weather. The natural oils have been lost; if they are not soon replaced, you will develop wrinkles. These add years to a face that does not deserve them.’ For the briefest of moments, the beautician seemed to be genuinely caring. ‘I shall give you my Crème de l’Eté.’

  ‘But …’ Ursula started.

  Madame Rose held up her hand. ‘I cannot see a fine complexion such as yours remaining ravaged by weather when I, Madame Rose, can aid its recovery. You will not pay, but maybe you find it does what I say – I can see that you do not believe this – but if it does then maybe you tell Madame Bruton’s friends, yes?’

  ‘In San Francisco,’ Ursula was determined to take control of the situation. ‘In San Francisco some cheapskate pharmacist sold me a cream he said would do the same. It brought out a rash that itched to drive me mad. I’ll not go through that again, not for all the dollars in Fort Knox.’

  Madame Rose stood up, stately and unmoved, went to the vitrine, took out one of her jars, unscrewed the lid and gently applied a little of the cream to the inside of Ursula’s wrist. ‘You wait until tomorrow, yes? Then, if no rash, you apply to face. Use upward motions of the hands.’ She demonstrated with her hands on her own face, carefully smoothing the skin up towards her temples. ‘Gentle massage, like this. So, now you have confidence in Madame Rose, yes?’

  Strangely enough, Ursula found she did. The pot of cream and another two products were placed in a carrier bag.

  ‘You follow the routine I explain to Madame Bruton. So now I see if Count Meyerhoff and Madame are finished their talk.’

  A relaxed and delighted Mrs Bruton emerged with Count Meyerhoff, who bade her goodbye with his special, continental charm.

  Then he bowed over Ursula’s hand as well. ‘A most unexpected pleasure to meet such a stimulating American.’ The olive green eyes gave her an intense and unsettling look.

  ‘It has been a most interesting morning,’ Ursula said steadily.

  A minion had been despatched to find a hansom and by the time they reached the mansion’s front door, the cab awaited them.

  ‘Is the count not the most charming man, Miss Grandison? You can see, can you not, how he had all of Vienna at his feet?’

  ‘Continental men do have a certain something,’ Ursula managed to say as they set off for Wilton Crescent. ‘But, Mrs Bruton, Madame Rose has given me some of her preparations.’ She raised the chic little carrier bag. ‘I hope she does not think I have rich friends.’

  Mrs Bruton patted her hand. ‘Do not worry, my dear. The creams and lotions I was supplied with were another gift. The dear count is always so generous.’ She paused for a moment then added, ‘Of course, the hope is that we shall be so delighted with the effects of these formulations, that we shall send a stream of friends to Maison Rose.’ The idea did not seem to worry her.

  ‘It will be interesting to see if we notice any difference in our complexions,’ Ursula said thoughtfully. ‘But Madame Rose is rather splendid, isn’t she? She seems to have so much knowledge and confidence. To be running her own business must be quite a thing.’ She wondered if she could ever manage to achieve anything similar.

  ‘Of course she has to rely on the dear count,’ said Mrs Br
uton. ‘It will be he who organises all the business details. Madame is very fortunate to have him at her side.’ She peeked inside her carrier bag. ‘I wonder … can Madame Rose’s creams really benefit our complexions?’

  ‘The count said she had studied with dermatologists in Paris and Vienna. Our mirrors will show us whether her products can fulfil her promises.’

  Mrs Bruton raised the glossy little carrier bag. ‘I shall commence my treatment the moment we return.’

  * * *

  A pile of letters awaited Ursula’s attention when they arrived back at Wilton Crescent and the morning’s encounter with Count Meyerhoff and Madame Rose was pushed to the back of her mind. However, at the end of the day she carried the little bag carefully back to Mrs Maples’.

  There another letter awaited her.

  Dear Ursula,

  Please come immediately. Alice has been arrested.

  Your friend,

  Rachel

  Chapter Nine

  Ursula read and re-read the message, turning the piece of paper over as though there might be something more on the back. It seemed to make no sense. Why on earth should Alice have been arrested? Surely this could not be Joshua Peters’ way to make her pay for leaving him? Not after she had returned, surely!

  The note had been sent from Rachel’s address. Ursula slipped out of the blue shantung costume, flung on a linen shirt and skirt, jammed her ordinary straw hat on her head and set out for St George’s Square.

  She had to struggle to make quick passage though home-going Londoners. The streets, though, lacked the buzz, the shouts and badinage, of New York. Her brief exchange with the count that morning had brought back the excitement of that vibrant city.

  The question as to why Alice had been arrested would not go away. If it had been Rachel, she would have assumed it to be in connection with the Movement for Women’s Suffrage. Hadn’t there been talk about the need for more militancy? More militancy surely meant breaking the law in one way or another.

  But Alice! Surely she could not have done anything illegal. That shy exterior, though, undoubtedly hid passionate depths and once the girl had decided on a course of action, it was unlikely a little matter of breaking the law would stop her.

  Useless to speculate. Better to wait and hear from Rachel herself.

  The front door was opened by Martha.

  ‘Miss Fentiman is not receiving visitors,’ she said, her face tight with controlled emotion.

  Ursula produced the note. ‘Miss Fentiman has asked me to call.’

  ‘Then you’d better come in.’ Martha stepped back and showed her into Rachel’s rooms. There she found Daniel.

  ‘Prison! Alice is in prison!’ he was shouting as she entered.

  He stood, arms waving, his red hair as wild as his expression.

  Rachel stood opposite him, an aggressive figure with her head held back, her hands on hips, feet slightly apart and a face full of anger.

  ‘Yes, she’s in prison and, yes, it’s an outrage.’ She saw Ursula, came over and grasped her hands. ‘Thank heavens you’ve come. It’s a terrible situation.’

  ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Did Alice write to you? She wrote to me!’ Daniel said, slightly calmer but sounding petulant.

  ‘Of course she wrote to you,’ Rachel said with a touch of exasperation. ‘But it was I who sent a note to Miss Grandison. Alice needs all the help she can get.’

  ‘Why has Alice been arrested?’ Ursula sounded sharper than she’d intended. She felt bewildered. Whatever the situation, how could she, an American without money or influence, be of any assistance?

  ‘Joshua Peters is dead,’ Daniel threw himself into a chair. ‘And Alice is in prison. She’ll be hanged.’ His Irish accent was suddenly more noticeable.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Rachel rounded on him. ‘We’ll get her out of there.’

  ‘How?’ he cried despairingly.

  Joshua Peters dead! So Alice was free of him. But at what price? Everything Ursula had heard and seen of the man had revealed someone ugly and brutish. No doubt the world was a better place for his passing but it would be churlish to celebrate the fact.

  Ursula took off her hat – she always thought better bare-headed – placed it on a table and sat down. ‘Tell me the whole story,’ she said calmly. ‘How did Mr Peters die and when?’

  ‘Three days ago,’ said Daniel.

  ‘In the late evening,’ added Rachel. ‘He wasn’t discovered until the next morning. Alice sent me a message as soon as the doctor had been.’

  ‘And to me,’ said Daniel stubbornly.

  Rachel walked jerkily around the room. ‘I found her in a terrible state. Kept saying she didn’t understand, that Joshua had been perfectly well when she went to bed. Then, in the morning, Sarah, the under-housemaid, discovered him dead in his chair – in the drawing room.’

  Rachel looked very tired and her summer gown was badly creased. She sat down next to Ursula. ‘Alice sent me a scrawled note that I could make no sense of, so I went round immediately. I found the doctor there. He had given her some laudanum and she was asleep on her feet. There was no getting any sense out of her in that state, so I put her to bed. Then I went and found Millie, her maid.’

  ‘And why wasn’t she at Alice’s side?’ Daniel demanded. ‘I’ve never trusted that girl. She doesn’t look you in the eye.’

  Hadn’t Thomas Jackman said he’d got close to Alice’s maid? Ursula thought. And that she had been very forthcoming with details on her mistress’s movements?

  ‘The girl seemed as shattered as Alice,’ said Rachel. ‘And the cook wasn’t any help. The only servant who was in any state of control was Emily, the senior housemaid. She told me she’d asked Millie to inform her mistress of the master’s death but the girl had collapsed.’ Rachel smiled grimly. ‘Emily did not seem at all sympathetic; she said she’d hauled her up, slapped her face and made her go to her room. Then she went herself to tell Alice what had happened.’

  Daniel roamed restlessly around the room, his hands plunged into the pockets of his trousers. ‘My poor, darling girl,’ he muttered. ‘I should have been there.’

  ‘How could you have been?’ Rachel said sharply, then caught herself. ‘I wish you had been. I didn’t know what to do. I asked if the doctor had signed a death certificate. Emily didn’t know, nor did the cook, though she said she could recommend a local undertaker’s.’

  ‘Undertakers!’ Daniel muttered.

  ‘I thought Joshua’s business partner might want to take care of that matter so I sent Albert, Joshua’s man, to him with a note. He needed to be advised what had happened in any case,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Which is more than you did to me,’ Daniel complained. ‘It took two days for Alice to send me a note. Shouldn’t I have been informed immediately?’

  ‘It was a matter for Alice,’ Rachel said, finality in her voice.

  ‘I suppose Albert was as upset as Millie at his master’s unfortunate end,’ Ursula intervened. She had a vivid mental picture of the turmoil there must have been in the Peters household.

  ‘Albert does not display his emotions,’ Rachel said wryly.

  They were getting nowhere. ‘But on what grounds has Alice been arrested?’ pressed Ursula.

  ‘That damned doctor …’ started Daniel.

  ‘He informed the police,’ cut in Rachel. ‘He thinks Joshua was poisoned.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘The police arrived and took away Joshua’s body. This morning, three days later, they came to question Alice and then arrested her for Joshua’s murder. Now she’s being held in prison.’

  Ursula was stunned. The idea that gentle Alice was in prison for murder was too awful to contemplate. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘I cannot bear to think of that fragile flower in prison’s deadly grasp.’ Daniel threw the words out with a dramatic flourish.

  ‘Have you contacted a lawyer?’

  Rachel drew a bitter breath. ‘I am a quali
fied solicitor but I cannot practice because I am a woman! I am no use to my own sister.’

  ‘I’ll go in there and force them to give her up.’ Daniel waved his arms in wild and futile gestures.

  Rachel sighed wearily.

  ‘Why do the police think Alice killed Peters?’ Ursula thought it impossible she could have done so, however beastly he had been to her. The very idea, indeed, that the man had been murdered was incredible.

  ‘It was the chocolates.’

  ‘Please, Daniel, let me tell the story.’ Rachel turned to Ursula. ‘There was a half-full box of cherry liqueur chocolates by Joshua’s chair. He is particularly partial to them. So partial in fact that he forbids any one else to share his. He shouted at me once when I sneaked one out of a large box he’d been presented with.’

  ‘So the police think he was poisoned by the chocolates?’ said Ursula. ‘Had Alice given him them?’

  ‘Of course not. No one knows where they came from. But the investigating officer in charge of the case is convinced that Alice has the most to gain from his death since she will inherit his estate and that is enough for him to make the arrest.’ She rose, walked rapidly to the window and stood looking out. ‘He wouldn’t listen to any of arguments I put forward. In his eyes my words are useless because I’m a woman.’

  ‘Does he know that your sister is with child?’

  The lines on Rachel’s broad forehead deepened. She looked as though she had aged ten years. She folded her arms across her chest as though trying to contain her feelings. ‘I told him her condition but he refused to believe me.’

  ‘But has not Alice told them?’

  ‘She seems incapable of thinking straight.’