A Fatal Freedom

by Janet Laurence

  Filled with bitterness, Millie started to search for the diary she had so often seen her mistress writing in. If she could find that and show it to Joshua Peters, then surely he would have to accept what had been going on.

  Then had come the dreadful morning when she had been faced with the sight of her master in a death agony. She had been so upset, Emily had had to take on the task of waking Mrs Peters and giving her the awful news that her husband had died of what looked like a heart attack.

  * * *

  Chaos had ensued. It had taken the arrival of Mrs Peters’ sister, Miss Fentiman, and her aunt, Mrs Trenchard, for some sort of order to emerge. Mrs Peters had been given a hefty dose of laudanum by the doctor and slept the day away.

  Late that afternoon, still numb with the events of the morning, Millie had tried to tidy up Mrs Peters’ boudoir but found she was too clumsy to do much good. So clumsy that she knocked over the chair that stood by the desk. Righting it, Millie noticed that the seat was loose. Underneath she found Mrs Peters’ diary resting on a false bottom.

  Restoring the seat to its rightful place, Millie sat on it and opened the diary. She went back to the weeks when her mistress had abandoned the habit of taking her maid when going around London. She read carefully, following the words with her forefinger. It was full of descriptions of the handsome young man who was a friend of her sister’s and had declared he was wildly in love with her. She had never, Alice declared to her diary, felt anything like this before.

  Suddenly a phrase leaped out at Millie: If only I could be free of this terrible marriage.

  In the pages that followed there was more.

  Millie felt as though a volcano was erupting in her stomach and she started to shake. Once again she saw the look of agony in Joshua Peters’ staring eyes that morning.

  Then Sarah came upstairs. ‘The police are here, Millie. They’re taking away the master, they think he’s been poisoned.’ The girl seemed torn between excitement and terror. ‘They want to see us all in the kitchen.’

  Poisoned! Millie picked up the diary. ‘I’ll see she gets what’s coming to her,’ she said to no one in particular since Sarah had gone already. She went downstairs and asked to see the inspector in charge in private.

  * * *

  With the arrest of Alice Peters, the Montagu Place household threatened to disintegrate. None of the staff could believe what was happening.

  Millie spent most of her time in her room practising dressing in her mistress’s clothes. For she had received an invitation, one she intended to accept. She wished, though, she wasn’t waking every morning thinking she heard Sarah’s scream again.

  ‘It’s a ship what’s lost its pilot,’ said Mrs Firestone. It was midday. Few of the daily routine tasks had been accomplished. As usual, though, everyone had gathered in the kitchen for dinner. The end bits of a leg of ham had been served with boiled potatoes. They’d finished with a dried piece of cheddar cheese and oatcakes. Millie could not make herself eat more than a mouthful or two. The volcano inside her churned, a deadly mixture of anger laced with bitterness.

  ‘Hardly up to your usual standard, Cook,’ said Albert.

  ‘You’re unlikely to have to eat Mrs Firestone’s cooking for much longer,’ Millie said spitefully.

  He turned his unemotional fish eyes on her. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Why, with no master to attend to and run errands for, you won’t have a place. That’s all.’ She reached into her sewing bag and removed a crepe de chine bodice trimmed with Venetian lace and turned her attention to repairing a minute tear.

  ‘With no mistress to attend, you won’t have a place either,’ Albert said smoothly.

  ‘Don’t know why you’re bothering to mend that,’ Sam the young ‘Odd Man’ said quietly.

  Millie, who had designs on the bodice and its matching skirt for herself, said nothing.

  Cook interrupted her pouring out of cups of tea and rapped the table with a knife. ‘Now, I won’t hear this sort of talk in my kitchen. Mrs Peters will be set free any day now. The very idea of her doing away with the master is nonsense.’

  ‘Only way she’ll find freedom,’ said Albert unemotionally, ‘is via the hangman’s rope. There’s a place in hell being prepared for her now.’

  ‘Oooh, you can’t say that,’ Sarah protested. ‘Mrs Peters couldn’t … well, couldn’t do what they said she did.’

  Millie could bear it no longer. ‘How do you know? She ran away, didn’t she? Left a husband who showered her with everything.’

  ‘As you should know,’ put in Albert, sotto voce. ‘A jealous bitch, that’s what you are.’

  Millie rounded on him. ‘Yes, I know everything he gave her. All the dresses and the jewels. I saw them, didn’t I? Took care of them. And then, when she realises the stupid mistake she’s made, she comes back.’

  ‘And a right blow that was to some,’ muttered Albert again.

  ‘We knows why she did,’ put in Mrs Firestone. ‘Because she’s a decent soul. Thought a father should bring up his child.’

  ‘His child?’ screamed Millie, throwing down her sewing. ‘How could he know that? He was a fool and he signed his own death warrant.’

  ‘Whoever did it,’ put in Emily peaceably, ‘did us all a favour. He was a nasty man.’

  Albert rose. ‘I can’t listen to such vile things. I have errands to run. I’ll be back for supper and shall expect better than the muck we’ve just had.’

  ‘I does my best with what I has,’ said Mrs Firestone. ‘Larder’s nearly empty, I’m not being given any more money and our credit’s exhausted. I’m at my wit’s end what to feed us on tonight.’

  Through the turmoil of her anger, Millie heard a low gasp from the others. She found it as difficult as they obviously did to accept what she’d heard. Food in a household like this, even under the present circumstances, was taken for granted. Albert, though, appeared unmoved as he left the kitchen.

  High up on the wall, the front doorbell jangled. Everyone looked at it for a moment without moving.

  ‘Just as I’ve settled to my tea,’ said Emily. She put the saucer on top of her cup.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Sarah. She rose, adjusting her cap.

  A few minutes later she was back with Mrs Peters’ aunt, Mrs Trenchard, a familiar figure, and an unknown gentleman.

  The servants all rose to their feet.

  ‘Sit, please,’ said Mrs Trenchard. ‘I have something to say.’

  ‘I hope it is something that will replenish my larder,’ Mrs Firestone muttered.

  Millie hardly heard her, she was staring at the man who had accompanied her. Give him a moustache and brush his hair down across his forehead …

  ‘I know how concerned you all are for your mistress,’ Mrs Trenchard was saying. ‘And I am sure you will be as pleased as I am that Thomas Jackman, the renowned ex-Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard’s Metropolitan Police, has agreed to investigate my brother-in-law’s tragic demise.’ She turned to the man standing at her side. ‘Mr Jackman, will you please tell the staff how your investigation will be conducted.’

  ‘I shall interview each of you in turn,’ he said.

  ‘I, of course, will be present,’ said Mrs Trenchard.

  Millie struggled to her feet. The man’s accent was different but there was something about the voice that removed any doubt. ‘That’s no detective,’ she screamed. ‘That’s Joe Banks.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thomas Jackman sat himself behind Joshua Peters’ desk and arranged his notebook and a set of pencils on the green leather. He was not happy.

  When Mrs Trenchard had announced that she would sit in on the interviews, he had murmured that that would not be necessary.

  Then Millie Rudge had made her hysterical accusation and, Emily, the senior housemaid, had slapped her across the face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she’d said to Millie, rigid with shock. ‘Only it had to be done.’

  ‘Take her somewhere and calm her,’ Mrs Trenchard had instr
ucted.

  It had not been Jackman’s idea that Mrs Trenchard should introduce him to the household. He had imagined that Miss Fentiman would do that. On arrival at her home to announce that he would take on the investigation, though, Mrs Trenchard had been visiting and had taken charge.

  Miss Fentiman had tried her best. ‘Aunt, I really think I should accompany Mr Jackman to Montagu Place. You are far too busy.’

  ‘Nonsense, Rachel. You are too young to have the authority that is needed for such action.’

  And that had been that. Now Sarah, the younger of the two housemaids, had scuttled up the stairs ahead of him into the main part of the house, opened the study door, stood back as he entered, then scuttled away again, looking terrified. Mrs Trenchard was now sorting out the order in which the servants would be interviewed. That again was something Jackman had wanted to arrange. Now he was forced to wait and see who she would bring in. Well, he would just have to make the best of it.

  He sat in Joshua Peters’ chair and took in the study’s atmosphere. Normally an investigator who relied on evidence, he felt vibrating on the room’s gloomy air the anger of the man who had died. Had it all been directed towards the wife he believed was betraying him? Or were there others who had suffered from his animosity?

  And what about the wife? Was Alice Peters as innocent as her sister seemed to believe?

  Thomas sat back and ran his hands over the green leather surface of the desk. It was an imposing piece of furniture: polished mahogany with a set of drawers each side and one in the middle. Nicely turned brass handles together with a keyhole were affixed to each.He opened the middle drawer. He would not have been surprised to find it empty, cleared by Detective Inspector Everard Drummond. Instead it held a manilla folder. Inside was a collection of yacht brochures. Which was something of a surprise; Jackman had not thought of Joshua Peters as a sailing type. There was a scribble on the top of one, something like: ‘Meyer …’ but the rest was impossible to read.

  He started opening the pedestal sets of drawers. Most of them were empty. Thomas wondered if they had contained documents or letters that the police investigation had removed. The bottom drawers, deeper than the ones above, had thin lateral dividers, presumably for the purpose of aiding a logical storage of files and papers.

  In the interest of speed, Jackman had used both hands to draw out matching sets of drawers, pushing them back into place once he had seen they were empty. They moved in and out of the desk quite easily. Except for the large bottom drawer on the left that seemed heavy and difficult to pull out.

  Jackman tugged harder. Something was preventing it moving beyond a certain point. He knelt down to inspect what it was.

  At that moment, the study door opened. Through the well of the desk he saw Mrs Trenchard’s green linen skirt and the dark grey cotton skirt and white apron of one of the maids.

  ‘Mr Jackman?’ asked a puzzled Mrs Trenchard.

  Cursing that he had allowed himself to be found in this position, he stood up.

  The young maid gave a squawk of fright.

  ‘Now, now, Sarah,’ said Mrs Trenchard. ‘Sit there, girl, in front of the desk. Mr Jackman, I will sit here, beside you.’

  It was time to take control.

  Jackman picked up the chair Mrs Trenchard intended sitting on and placed it in a corner on the other side of the room. ‘From here you can keep a perfect eye on all the proceedings,’ he said firmly. ‘I find it is best in these circumstances if those being questioned have only one person in their line of sight.’

  He held her gaze with his.

  After a moment, she gave a graceful nod.

  ‘Thank you, Madam. Now, miss, if you could please sit here, as suggested.’

  She gave a nervous glance at Mrs Trenchard, now sitting in the corner, then perched herself on the edge of the chair.

  Jackman sat again behind the desk, opened his notebook and picked up a pencil. He consulted the list of staff he’d made. Her age made it quite clear who she was.

  ‘Now, you are Sarah Taylor, the under-housemaid, is that correct?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And you have been working here how long?’

  She considered for a little, then said, ‘One year, sir, and two months.’

  He judged he’d given her enough time to feel a little settled and looked straight at her. Sarah Taylor was a slight girl with wispy hair, a cap that wasn’t on straight and a soiled and creased apron. ‘Now, you understand that I am here to see if I can discover how your master, Mr Peters, died?’

  She still looked scared. ‘Oh, sir, when you rose up like that, I thought you was he, come back to shout at me again.’

  ‘Again?’

  Sarah sat up a little straighter. ‘I came in one time without knocking when I thought the room was empty …’ she paused.

  Thomas smiled encouragingly at her.

  ‘And he was on the floor, just as you was now, and rose up – just as you did – and shouted at me something terrible. Said I had to go without a reference.’ She took a deep breath then seemed to gather confidence. ‘Only the mistress came in and said what on earth was the matter? And when he said it was none of her business she said that housemaids was her business.’ Sarah paused, seemingly lost in awe of how her mistress had faced up to her furious husband.

  ‘And when he said I’d not knocked at the door before entering, the mistress said that was wrong and she’d speak to me but that it was not a hanging offence. Them’s were the very words she used, sir: “Not a hanging offence.”’ Sarah burst into tears. ‘Oh, sir, they’re not going to hang her, are they? Only Albert said they were.’

  Mrs Trenchard rose. Jackman shook his head at her and after a moment she sat down again.

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ he said, making a note. ‘Am I right in thinking that you do not believe Mrs Peters poisoned her husband?’

  Sarah found a handkerchief from somewhere and wiped her eyes. She twisted the linen in her hands and nodded vigorously. ‘She couldn’t, sir, not her!’

  ‘Can you think why anybody would?’

  ‘He was an awful man, sir.’ She spoke with simple conviction.

  ‘Awful because he shouted and threatened you with dismissal?’

  She appeared to have forgotten about Mrs Trenchard. ‘He was always telling us we hadn’t done things right. Everyone that is, except Albert. He’d say it in such a way – as though there was something really nasty inside him and he had to let it out. I left a brush in the drawing room hearth once and he threw it at me.’

  ‘Very upsetting,’ Thomas commented. ‘Did he threaten to dismiss you then as well?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The girl twisted the handkerchief again then gave Jackman an injured look. ‘He never thanked you, never thanked anyone. Mrs Peters always thanks you, whatever you’ve done.’

  Jackman thought for a moment. ‘Tell me, Sarah, do you know if the drawers in this desk are usually kept locked?’

  She looked scared again. ‘I wouldn’t know, sir. I only passes the duster over the front of them. More than my life’s worth to see if they’d open.’

  ‘Of course, silly question.’

  ‘Albert would know.’

  ‘Albert?’

  ‘The master’s man, sir. He’s called the valet but he does all sorts of things; runs errands, orders wine and spirits. He’s always in here. Keeps the master’s papers straight.’

  ‘Sounds like more of a secretary than a valet.’

  ‘He’s called a valet.’

  ‘And you say that Mr Peters didn’t shout at him the way he did at everyone else?’

  Sarah nodded, silent, her eyes wide.

  ‘The only male in the kitchen when I arrived was a very young man, was that Albert?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. That’s Sam, the Odd Man.’

  ‘Odd Man?’

  ‘Sam does all the odd things, you see. Bringing in coal and wood, keeping the kitchen stove stoked up, shining the shoes, running errands for Cook, that s
ort of thing.’

  Jackman leaned back in his seat. ‘Please, Sarah, take me through what happened the morning your master’s body was found. It was you who discovered him, wasn’t it?’

  She gave a little, shuddering gasp. ‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered. ‘I went into the drawing room with the coal bucket to lay the fire; now the nights are drawing in, it’s lit most evenings. I didn’t notice him at first and when I did it was, ooh, such a shock. I couldn’t help screaming. And then Millie runs down and she’s hysterical. Then Emily comes in and she wakes the mistress and sends Sam for the doctor. Not that there was any chance he was anything but dead.’

  ‘Was Albert there?’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘Where was he? As valet to Mr Peters, would he not have discovered his master wasn’t in his bed?’

  ‘Dunno, sir. He came in later, after the doctor ’ad been an’ all.’

  ‘Were you there when he heard the news?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘We was all in the kitchen. All except Sam ’cos he’d been sent with a note from the mistress to ’er sister, Miss Fentiman. Cook was making us a cup of tea. There’d been such comings and goings and it was ten o’clock, when we usually had a cuppa, and Cook said we needed it. And she was right,’ the maid added with quaint emphasis.

  ‘So, there you were in the kitchen and Albert comes in? From the basement entrance?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. We all uses that one. We’re not allowed in or out of the front door.’

  ‘And what happens then?’

  Sarah looked puzzled. ‘Nothing ’appens, sir.’

  Jackman took a deep breath. He spoke slowly. ‘I mean, who told Albert about Mr Peters?’

  ‘Oh, that was Cook. Comes right out with it, she does. Did ’e know that the master was dead? she says.’