The Shadow Conspiracy II

by Phyllis Irene Radford

  “She is charged with helping women prevent conception,” Mrs. Somerville said.

  This was received with shocked silence. Mrs. Marcet finally broke it by asking, “And were there other charges?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Somerville. “But it appears that the authorities are also investigating her experiments. I have here a letter from one of her American supporters. This was sent to me in Italy via airship.”

  This evoked excited commentary, since the cost of airship mail rivalled that of actual travel and made clear the urgency of the situation.

  The letter read:

  My dear Mrs. Somerville:

  I write with sad news. Miss Abigail Hancock, the well-known authoress of several popular books on natural history, has been arrested and charged with indecency for helping young women prevent childbirth.

  Those of us active in the Baltimore Society for the Physical and Natural Sciences have established a fund for her defence and hired an attorney, but some of us despair that the legal process will be successful. A significant prison sentence is possible. It appears that the authorities think Miss Hancock is involved in a circle — indeed, for all that it is 1842 and the shameful history of witch trials is behind us, one might even say coven, given the official attitude — of women working to prevent the birth of children. They hint at more serious offenses related to that subject.

  Further, we fear that the indecency charge may be only a ruse, and that the real intention of the authorities is to investigate and bring a halt to her biological experiments. This fear is not unfounded, as the police inspector in charge of the case has been interviewing many Society members and asking questions that go far afield of maternal issues. Since others in the Society are conducting related research, or investigating other areas that might not be approved by an over-orthodox civil establishment, some have expressed concern that the investigation may not stop with Miss Hancock. Indeed, some suspect that she was taken up as the most vulnerable among us, being a spinster without other family.

  I am aware that Miss Hancock has many friends and correspondents in England and indeed in much of Europe as well, for all that she has never been able to travel across the ocean. It would be greatly appreciated if you would inform others of her circumstances, particularly Miss Herschel, Mrs. Marcet, and the Countess.

  I do not know if there is any way that you may be of aid to her — unfortunately, the relations between our two countries remain somewhat strained, so I fear diplomatic efforts by some among your Royal Society would not be welcomed. But I thought it best to inform you regardless.

  I remain your humble servant,

  Mabel (Mrs. Henry) Johns.

  The letter was met first with silence, and then with a murmur of discussion. Several of the women looked rather grim; Jane wondered if they disapproved of preventing childbirth, or if they knew more about Miss Hancock’s research. She, herself, knew nothing of it; her correspondence with Miss Hancock had been limited to mathematical matters.

  And so she asked, “Could someone tell us about Miss Hancock’s experiments? I am not familiar with them.” Several heads nodded at this; clearly, she was not the only one in ignorance.

  “I understand,” said Mrs. Somerville, “that she was working on the creation of life.”

  Several of the assembly gasped. Jane did not do so, but the expression on her face must have expressed a similar emotion, because several people looked from her to Mrs. Somerville. Her involvement with the downfall of the Prometheus was well known in this group.

  “Oh, my dear Miss Freemantle, her work is not at all like that with the Prometheus,” Mrs. Somerville said. “She was solely working with the biological processes, not the transfer of life from one body to another. Her goal, as I understood it, was to find a way to create human life without women being forced to carry a child for nine months.”

  Mrs. Marcet spoke over the murmurs of both approval and disapproval that accompanied this announcement, “Her own mother died in childbirth when Miss Hancock was twelve. That tragedy has shaped her life.”

  The room grew quiet again. Jane suspected everyone there had lost a friend, a sister, a mother to childbirth.

  “Her work builds on Von Baer’s theories,” a younger woman said. “It is pure biology; none of this move toward life by mechanical means. And of course, she is only working with mice at this point.” The objection of Jane and her guardian to metalmen as well as to the Prometheus was well known.

  “But even so, it is the sort of work frowned on by authorities, particularly when done by a woman,” said Mrs. Somerville. “There are those who believe that matters of childbirth should not concern women.”

  This statement was met with the laughter that the speaker surely intended, though there was a bitter tone to it.

  “It is my understanding,” said Mrs. Marcet, “that any investigations into creation of life have been made illegal in the area where Miss Hancock resides.”

  “The state of Maryland,” someone else said. “Founded by papists.”

  “The question before us,” Mrs. Somerville said, “is what can we do to assist Miss Hancock. That her innocent researches into biology may be considered a crime as well makes the whole situation more urgent.”

  This engendered a lively debate, beginning with discussion of the still-uncomfortable relations between the British Empire and its former colonies before moving on to outlining several schemes for raising money from gentlemen who might disapprove of Miss Hancock’s efforts to prevent childbearing. The conversation was interspersed with several vigorous defences of biological research into reproductive matters.

  By the end of the meeting, each woman there had contributed a modest amount and promised to provide additional funds from close friends in the next few days. Several had taken responsibility for obtaining funds from some of Miss Hancock’s male correspondents and other scientists. It appeared likely that a substantial sum of money in aid of the defence would be raised forthwith.

  As the women were leaving, Mrs. Somerville called Jane aside. “Miss Freemantle, I need to discuss something else with you. Can you remain for a few more minutes?”

  She acquiesced, and stood aside as the others were shown out. When they were alone, Mrs. Somerville said, “Let us sit in my office. We will have something more fortifying than tea.”

  Mrs. Somerville’s office was on an upper floor, and included a telescope mounted at the window. She noticed Jane looking at it. “That was my first one, and lacks the power of the one I keep in Italy. But I am sentimental about it, because I learned so much with it. I keep it here more to signify my work than to use, since it is virtually impossible to see the skies from London these days; if the fog is not too heavy, the gas streetlights are too bright.”

  The maid brought in a decanter of sherry and after each of them had taken a glass, Mrs. Somerville said, “Miss Freemantle, I am hoping that you will be willing to take the funds we raise to America.”

  Jane had been expecting something of the sort ever since Mrs. Somerville’s mention of the need for her “other skills.” In her life before she had become Jane Freemantle, she had been learning the path of the warrior, and she now at times taught defensive skills to other women. “I assume you want me to guard the money, and to keep it hidden from the authorities.”

  “I thought you would appreciate that point. But it is more than that. I believe that Mrs. Johns is correct when she despairs of a good outcome from the legal process. Though we make progress, for women such as you and I, the world is still arrayed against us. Miss Hancock, by offering up her medical knowledge to those of less education, has made herself vulnerable. It is unthinkable that she could go to prison, and yet it appears to be a very likely result.”

  “Are you asking me to help her escape from gaol?” Jane asked.

  “Well, not precisely from gaol. I feel certain that, with the funds we raise and those raised in Baltimore and other places in the Americas, Miss Hancock will be released pending trial. What
I want you to do is to get her out of the country, to bring her here where she can continue her work without persecution.”

  “Is not the offense she is charged with also a crime in England?”

  “Yes, but I do not think our authorities will return her to the Americas, not with our patronage, not with the current relationship of the two countries. If she does not engage in such behaviour here, she should be safe from any legal action. Her researches are not forbidden here.

  “To this end, we must have someone help her leave the country without notice. And you are the appropriate person. You have been in America; in fact you are an American by birth.”

  “I do not think the authorities regard me as an American,” Jane said. “And I know nothing of Baltimore. I have never been to any part of the country except Louisiana.”

  “I suppose that is true. But you do have other skills that might prove quite useful. Even if Miss Hancock is released, I am certain she will be watched. The woman who was able to destroy the Prometheus surely has the skills to help another leave the country by stealth.”

  Jane felt a pang at the mention of the Prometheus. If Mrs. Somerville had known the truth! But though she questioned whether she in fact had the necessary skills, Jane knew that none of the other women would be capable of such a feat. And, truth be told, much as she loved her researches into the physical sciences, she had developed a taste for adventure as well. She nodded in response.

  “Are you willing to cross the Atlantic in an airship? I fear regular travel will be too slow.”

  Jane smiled. She had always wanted to do that.

  “I have a pilot in mind,” Mrs. Somerville went on. “She is something of a daredevil herself — a Danish girl. I believe she will be willing to fly Miss Hancock out as well, regardless of the legalities, assuming we pay her enough.” The older woman wrinkled her nose. “She is unfortunately quite mercenary.”

  On her way home, Jane decided that she would not tell Elizabeth about the rescue effort, but only that she was being sent with the money. She sighed. She was becoming far too accomplished at lying to Elizabeth.

  The policemen had tramped through Abby’s house, taking private papers from her desk, disturbing the work in the laboratory, even removing some of the mice. Then they had escorted her off to the police headquarters, where she had been questioned by three different detectives, each of them asking the same questions in slightly different form.

  It was only after an hour of questioning that she finally discovered the source of the indecency charge against her. It arose from her volunteer work at the charity clinic for women. Although Abby was not a doctor — no woman had yet been able to qualify for a medical license, though several had applied — she knew a great deal about medical matters. The clinic relied on her and on others with some experience of nursing, for few doctors would give them any assistance. It seemed that the husband of one woman she had counselled — a woman who had four children under the age of six — had discovered the sheep’s gut barrier device Abby had given the woman to reduce the chances of another child. It was he who had complained to the police, after first beating his wife until she told him where she obtained it.

  Abby found herself hard pressed to understand why a man who could not support the four children he already had would object to preventing the conception of more, but she did not say that to the policemen. What made the situation most frightening, though, was that it had never occurred to her that she might be arrested for such a thing. She did not even know it was illegal. Certainly she would have been much more careful had she realized she was transgressing; she had never intended to put her freedom at risk.

  After some hours of questioning, the policemen had finally locked her up. The women’s detention facility at the Baltimore City Gaol had ten bunks, but there were only six other women incarcerated there with Abby. Of these, two were Polish and spoke little English. One of the others was a recent Irish immigrant, by her accent; she was also about six months pregnant, Abby thought. Another was white of no obvious ancestry, and the remaining two were coloured. It surprised her a little that Baltimore did not keep a separate cell for coloured women, given the official city attitude toward race mixing, but perhaps they never had enough women in custody to justify the expense.

  All of them were considerably younger than Abby, who had recently reached the age of forty. The oldest might be just past twenty-five, and she doubted the Irish girl was even eighteen. All were in gaol for prostitution, except for one of the coloured women, who was charged with robbery.

  Being in an all-female environment after hours of dealing with men was something of a relief, even if being locked up was itself quite terrifying. The only woman she had seen during the entire time she had been in custody was the matron who searched her — rather too thoroughly — before she was put in the cell.

  The young women had been surprised to see someone of her age — and social class — put in with them. But they had been kind. And when they learned that she had been arrested for giving “marital advice” — as one policeman had delicately expressed it — they were outraged on her behalf. Of course, given the profession of most of them, they were very familiar with both effective and ineffective means of preventing childbirth.

  All of the women had curled up in their bunks after the lights had been put out, but Abby was too worried to go to sleep. She was grateful they had not arrested Richard as well. They had looked at him, seen a young coloured man in a household headed by a middle-aged spinster, and assumed him to be a servant. Or property. But if she were convicted of this supposed crime, what would happen to him? The household relied on her income from her books, and Richard would have no way of earning enough to keep things together on his own. While he had, in fact, done a great deal of work on the books, and was perfectly capable of writing others on his own, it was impossible that anyone would publish them. Had not the American publishers discovered that it was the fashion in England for ladies to write scientific books for children, Abby might not have been able to secure a publisher herself.

  From one of the other bunks she heard someone crying. She wasn’t the only person awake and worried. I won’t cry, she told herself. But she felt tears well up in her eyes nonetheless.

  With the next morning came inedible gruel and yet another session of interviews. Toward the end of the morning, one detective asked, “Miss Hancock, we found a number of vermin” — he wrinkled his nose —”in your basement, apparently being kept for the purpose of observation.” His voice lilted up at that last word, making it almost a question.

  “I am studying mice, yes.”

  “For what purpose, Miss Hancock?”

  She thought furiously. Telling him that she was trying to understand reproduction clearly would not do. Perhaps if she told him that she was looking for ways to block the reproduction of “vermin” — no, that was uncomfortably close to the charge against her, for all that it was in mice. He might be intelligent enough to make the connection.

  “For the sake of knowledge, sir,” she said. “I study for the sake of knowledge.”

  “A fine activity for a woman,” he said, his tone making it clear that he meant the exact opposite of his words.

  Astrid Skytte was more than a daredevil, Jane decided; she was an Amazon, or, at least, what the Amazons would have looked like had they been fair-skinned Vikings rather than small dark Greeks. Miss Skytte was large, with a great mane of blond hair braided carelessly down her back. She laughed loudly, was frequently profane, and had demanded quite a lot money for this expedition. Jane concluded the best word for her was pirate.

  Most interestingly, though, Miss Skytte — or Astrid, as she insisted on being called — did not react in the usual way of Europeans to Jane’s appearance. “Good, someone who knows how to fight,” was all she had said when they were introduced, shaking Jane’s hand heartily.

  Her airship reflected her personality. The gondola resembled a Viking ship, with a gilded image of the Goddess Fre
ya as a figurehead. The huge air sack that allowed it to take to the skies was painted with ancient runes —”charms against bad weather,” Astrid said. The inside of the gondola was furnished sparely, with bolted down cots for sleeping and a simple table with benches for eating or writing. But the pilot’s compartment included the latest in instrumentation, including a mercury barometer, a liquid compass (an improvement on Crow’s invention), and one of William Herschel’s smaller telescopes. Astrid could also control the amount of lifting gas pumped in or out of the air sack from her seat at the controls.

  During the three-day flight, the two women had come to know each other rather well. Astrid had grown up in Greenland in a family of shippers, and, as the oldest child, had helped her mother run the business after her father had been murdered by pirates on one of his trips back to Denmark. Eventually one of her younger brothers had taken over the company, and Astrid had taken her share of the profits and purchased the airship.

  She was fascinated by Jane’s tales of her warrior training as a child and particularly thrilled with the tale of Jane’s rescue of Elizabeth and their escape from the metalmen who had destroyed her village. But she thought it strange that Jane would have had to live as a man had she been able to remain in her native land. “Among my people, strong women have always had a place in society,” she said. “You must come visit us in Greenland and see it for yourself.”

  The trip itself was uneventful, except for one four-hour period over the middle of the ocean, when they encountered a storm. Jane spent the duration sitting on the floor of the gondola, her head in her hands, trying not to be sick, but Astrid gloried in it, even as she cursed the weather forecasters. “Those damned bastards claim to be scientists, but they’re not as good at predicting storms as a shaman up in some no name village around the Arctic Circle. ‘No storms on the Atlantic for five days,’ they said. Hah! Idiots. Sons of whores.”

  She steered the airship competently through the weather, even taking advantage of the high winds to subtract a few hours from the trip. Her understanding of the practical science of flying was substantial. But, alas, Jane found that Astrid was bored by more theoretical discussions; try as she might, she could not interest the Danish woman in a discussion of the workings of gravity or the implications of the speed of light.