Mary laughed heartily at that. ‘Sadly, I fear only another woman would agree with me.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I can think of more than one man of my acquaintance who would agree with you.’21 I took the plunge and changed the subject. ‘Who are our other two companions?’
‘The middle-aged lady I believe is an actual Lady. She has given her name as Martha Lake, but I suspect that was to spare her husband. The other woman, perhaps in her thirties, with the long black hair trailing down her back – I suspect she lost her hat in the fray, has given her name to the sergeant as Angela Blackwood. I have not yet had a chance to converse with her. She is terribly thin and frowns a great deal, which I believe has put the others off approaching her. She certainly alarms me. Anyway, perhaps you might like to tell me about yourself, Euphemia, now I have answered all the questions I can.’
I felt myself blush again. ‘I am the daughter of a Vicar,’ I said truthfully. I felt I had enough duplicity playing my role for Fitzroy without adding further lies. ‘My father believed women should be educated. He did not go as far as sending me away for education,’ I gave a little shrug, ‘though in all honesty I doubt our finances would have stood the expense. However, he taught me to how think analytically, a very little mathematics, allowed me to read great literature, and introduced me to the classics, including some of the ancient languages.’ I blushed again, aware that I was attempting to prove to this woman I was as intelligent as she.
‘Allowed you to read,’ said Mary and broke off sighing. ‘That any woman should have to be given permission to read!’
‘I did not mean it like that,’ I protested hotly. ‘My father was a good man! The very best.’
‘Ahh, he has passed,’ said the all-too-acute Mary. ‘I’m sorry, Euphemia. I meant no offence. For a man of his generation to educate you so he must have been exceptional.’
‘I am now companion to Richenda Muller,’ I said quickly, before my background could be further explored. ‘Her husband is in banking and the owner of a neat little country estate that is a marvel of prosperity and efficiency.’
‘And how does he feel about his wife’s actions?’
‘I don’t believe he had any idea of the strength of her feelings. Even I had no idea that she was bringing us to this march. I thought we were coming on a shopping expedition!’
‘But your clothes …’ began Mary. Then she added, ‘Ah, she bought these for you.’
‘She said she wanted me to have a signature style. It never occurred to me that these colours were also those of the Sisterhood. You see, she has never had much in the way of style or colour co-ordination. I feel bad saying so but it is quite true –’ I broke off. ‘I feel so foolish.’
‘It sounds to me as if your employer dressed you in the campaign colours because she either felt too afraid or too embarrassed to wear them herself.’
I winced at this. ‘She is the most generous of employers. We have been through so much together.’
Mary raised an eyebrow. I lifted my chin. ‘We were on the Carpathia. Such an experience changes and bonds people.’
‘Indeed, I imagine it could, but essentially I believe character is set when one is quite young and that people cannot change who they fundamentally are whatever their experiences in later life.’
‘What a very dark perspective!’
A shadow crossed Mary’s face. ‘I fear unpalatable though these thoughts may be, they are the truth. I have found them borne out as truth time and time again in my life.’
I sensed a story behind Mary’s words, but before I could press her further, they was another ringing of the bars.
‘That will be the guard bringing us our evening gruel,’ said Mary. ‘I do hope they have not spat in it, as they are wont to do!’
I looked at her aghast. I felt sincerely grateful towards Fitzroy for the first time since my incarceration. At least he had seen I was fed properly, but whether he would continue to do I had no idea.
Three guards, two bearing trays of bowls, opened the door enough to shove the trays through. Then another appeared and lobbed bread into the cell. Most of the crusts fell upon the filthy floor, but one hit Abigail Stokes above the eye. ‘Oi! That hurt!’ she yelled. ‘It’s bloody stale.’
I tried hard not to smile.
21 Actually, I could only think of one: Fitzroy. Both Bertram and Rory still needed my continued input to convince them of the durability of my sex. Though under my tutelage, if it is not too immodest to say, I do feel they have come a very long way.
Chapter Eleven
Issues of trust and cake
The women sipped unhappily at the gruel, but wary of dark mentions of force-feeding, it seemed that no one wanted to leave a full bowl. The bread proved more of a challenge. Eunice Pettigrew opined sourly that ‘it was a surprise they should gift us with something more useful for digging an escape tunnel than eating.’ A small ripple of amusement ran through the room. Her sister Jasmine followed her quip by suggested it might be more useful as a weapon, but unlike her sister’s strong if sour voice, Jasmine’s was weak and whispery. No one paid her much attention with the exception of Abigail Stokes. A lump already blossomed above one eye where the crust had caught her. With anyone else I might have offered sympathy, but my head ached and I longed for sleep. I felt I could not bear any more of her sharp-tongued hostility. I smiled at little Maisie, who had awoken for the food, but remained curled tightly into her chosen corner.
I observed Mary sighing and crumbling her bread into gruel. I tried to do the same, but found my fingers were not strong enough. A lassitude had fallen upon the cell. Abigail and perhaps Mary had expected us to held overnight, but in the rest of our small group I espied a weary astonishment. I suspected Eunice and Jasmine had thought their age would protect them. Constance Woodley frowned into her gruel and I thought I detected the glint of tears on her cheeks. I assumed she missed her children. I knew very little about motherhood. My mother had not been the doting kind. And Richenda’s adopted daughter, Amy, remained a mixed bundle of joys and difficulties. I found myself wondering if Hans or Merry would be reading her a bedtime story tonight. An indulgence my mother would have decried as spoiling and ridiculous, but I had more than once read that Amy her story and seen her fieriness fade under the weariness of the day as she slipped into sleep. I had discovered that a sleeping child could easily burrow into one’s heart. How much worse must it be for Constance who had left her own little ones behind?
Martha Lake suddenly stood up and began to pace back and forth. In our overcrowded state this action disturbed us all. When she stood on my foot for the fourth time, I rose from my seat on the bench and inquired if I could be of assistance.
Martha lowered her face close to mine. Close to, her skin contained more lines than I realised and I mentally readjusted my estimate of age upwards. ‘Do you know,’ she asked me in strangled, but refined accents, ‘how one summons the man to use the necessities?’
Unfortunately Abigail Stokes overheard us and gave a crack of coarse laughter. ‘That’ll be the bucket in the corner, milady!’
Martha paled. ‘She cannot be serious?’ she asked me.
At this point Constance came across to us. ‘I believe with the help of some other ladies we can arrange some privacy, but I fear that is indeed the basic commode we must use.’
‘Never,’ said Martha.
Constance gave her a gentle smile. ‘Sadly, it is not within our gift to control the tides of nature.’
‘Oh, dear God,’ said Martha. ‘This is unbearable.’
Under Constance’s guidance, we managed to surround the bucket, so that each woman could use it in a semblance of privacy. We were all more than aware that only bars separated us from the view of any passing guard.
Even Abigail was not exempt from the natural happenings of the human form and also had to take advantage of our makeshift water closet. I was extremely glad the bucket provided was on the larger side.
It was a humbling exp
erience for us all. I imagined that if Rory or Bertram had been forced to endure such an experience they would have retreated to their individual areas and turned their backs, but with us women the hardship had bonded us. We exchanged friendly ‘good nights’ and jocular hopes that we might sleep well, as we laid down in the darkness and prepared for rest.
To my surprise I did sleep well. I woke as dawn crept through the bars of the window. The light was weak, so I surmised the day was newly broken. I blinked to bring the cell into focus. I appeared to be the only one awake. Around me the women lay in various attitudes of reclining. Some had lain fully on the floor, like Abigail and Maisie. The Pettigrew sisters had slept sitting on the bench, leaning against the wall and each other. Their chins were sunk deep on their chests and as I watched Eunice uttered a snorting sound. Martha Lake had fallen onto one side and took up more than her fair share of the bench. Two other dark shapes on the floor I took to be Angela and Mary.
My headache had fled, but my back felt as stiff as a board. I wiggled my toes experimentally. They worked. I sat up carefully. Pain shot through my lower back and I almost cried out. I would not have been surprised if I had actually creaked as I pushed myself up to a sitting position.
‘Euphemia St John,’ came a male voice behind me. ‘You’re wanted.’
Close to the bars was a man’s face, illuminated in a most unflattering manner by the small lantern he held.
‘For goodness’ sake, be quiet!’ I commanded. ‘You’ll wake them.’ The man snorted and unlocked the door. ‘And send a man to change the bucket. It will be needed again when they awaken.’
The man banged the door shut as I stepped through. He locked the door and then caught me in a painful armlock. Taken by surprise I could only gasp. ‘I don’t know who you think you are,’ he spat in my ear, ‘but I don’t take my orders from whores like you!’ He did not allow me to walk myself, but frogmarched me down the corridor. I twisted my neck to look back at him. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I began, and I intended to finish you can drop the act now they can no longer see us, when I saw the maniacal glint in his eye. This was not, as I had supposed, one of Fitzroy’s men. Then I recalled Mark had said he was the one here. I felt a wave as fear. Where was I being taken and why, if not to the spy? Mary’s and Abigail’s warnings wormed their way into my treacherous heart, which began to beat most alarmingly fast.
‘Frightened now, are you?’ asked the hateful voice at my ear. ‘So you should be. This place is being soft on you women. At my last station we knew how to treat you. With chains. With whips. It’s all your kind are good for. The good Lord gave you a place and you should keep it. Those that won’t deserve all they get as far as I’m concerned. Women like you are fit for only one thing!’
At this end of this charming speech he thrust me through a door. ‘Ten minutes. That’s your lot,’ he growled, and slammed the door behind me. The small room had no windows and was lit only by a candle lantern on the table. Sat on a small hard chair was the last person I had expected to see: Richenda Muller. In front of her was a box.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Euphemia,’ she cried, ‘what on earth have you got yourself into now?’
I collapsed into the chair. ‘Richenda, this was all your idea!’
Richenda pushed the box towards me. ‘Cake. It has been examined.’ I opened the lid to find an extravagant, rich, and frankly over-decorated monstrosity that even in the best of times would have made my stomach lurch. I recognised it as one of Richenda’s favourites. It had been cut into sliver-thin slices, which I presumed was the examination. I recognised it for the peace offering it was.
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I would so much like to have known where we were going.’
‘You really did not guess? Even when I made you wear that dress. I thought you were meant to be unfashionably intelligent?’
I hung my head. ‘Perhaps I should have guessed.’
‘But what on earth made you get in with a terrorism cell?’
My head jerked up at that. ‘I am not and never have been involved with anyone who advocates violence!’
‘The chief inspector I spoke to said you pulled a policeman off his horse.’
‘Have you been here all night?’ I asked, astonished.
‘It took me a while to convince them to let me see you. Hans called the station, but it did not have much effect. Bertram is on his way.’
I blinked. ‘Why? What?’
‘Well, obviously I cannot leave you here, and I cannot ask Hans to leave Amy. She needs one of us there and Bertram has helped you solve those little puzzles of yours before, so …’
‘What? How?’
‘I don’t believe for a moment that you would be involved in a firebombing, but both Hans and I have failed to convince the police, so the only option left is for Bertram and I to solve the case.’
Chapter Twelve
Richenda plots and I despair
I could think of nothing worse than Richenda blundering around in what might prove to be a highly dangerous situation. Where on earth was Fitzroy when I needed him? I took a deep breath. ‘But Richenda, Hans is a wonderful man, but Amy needs you.’
Richenda sniffed valiantly. ‘So the quicker we get this over with the better. The early morning newspapers have named the man that died as Sir Aubrey Wilks. When I telephoned Hans he said he had never heard of him. I suppose I could ask Richard, but I don’t trust him not to meddle to your disadvantage.’
‘Indeed,’ I said dryly. Richenda’s brother was something of a nemesis to me.
‘But what no-one has said so far is who was the women.’
‘Aggie Phelps.’
‘Oh, did one of the women in your cell know her?’ asked Richenda.
I cursed myself. Usually I am very good at keeping secrets. Fitzroy’s threats of what happens to those who breaks the Official Secrets Act are vividly inspirational. If I hadn’t been so tired and worn out I would never have let anything slip. I had to cover this up. ‘It was what someone said when we were held in the first group. I haven’t seen her since. It might just have been gossip.’
Richenda leant forward, endangering the cake, ‘Euphemia, this is vital. You must try and recall this woman. At the time you were swept up the chief inspector did not even know of the attack. I had almost convinced him to release you when news of the deaths reached the station. Whoever knew the identity of this woman must have known about the attack!’
In desperation I tried a different tack. ‘I am sure this is all going to be dangerous. Hans would disapprove of you involving yourself.’
Richenda bridled. ‘The whole reasoning behind our Movement is that women are equal to men. Hans would not dare tell me what to do. Besides, he believes I am already on my way home.’
‘In all seriousness, Richenda, what could you do?’
‘I don’t know,’ snapped Richenda. ‘What would you do if you were free?’
I looked into Richenda’s tired face. Her hair was coming down and in the unflattering light of the early dawn she looked grey, haggard, and ten years older than her actual age. It occurred to me, much as I imagine lightning strikes a rod, that for the first time in her life she was feeling guilty in her actions towards me. Perhaps this was even the first time she had ever felt guilt. Richenda had mellowed magnificently since she had married Hans, and even more since adopting Amy. Who was I to deny her the opportunity of further emotional growth?22
‘I would,’ I said slowly, a plan forming in my mind, ‘contact any of the other sisters I knew and attempt to find out what I could about Aggie Phelps. It may be she was the firebomber and was accidentally caught up in her plans. If she was I am sure there will be rumours of her involvement in the more militant side of the movement.’
‘Wait,’ said Richenda, ‘are you suggesting she might have been murdered too?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. The key is finding out what Aggie was like. If we can find out about her maybe we can work out why she was in a First Cla
ss carriage at the railway station rather than on the march.’
‘I take it she wasn’t a woman of substance?’
‘I haven’t heard anything about her to suggest she was other than a working woman,’ I said. I was warming to this plan, but I felt divulging the information Fitzroy had given me about her place of work would be crossing a line too far in the spy’s eyes. I had no idea how many women in the movement Richenda knew. She certainly had not been inviting them to dinner at the Muller Estate, but maybe she could root out some rumours. Fitzroy was good with rumours. ‘You’ve never heard of a Martha Lake, have you?’ I asked.
Richenda shook her head. ‘Why?’
‘She’s in the cell with me and I don’t think that’s her real name. She has …’ I sought for a generous phrase, ‘breeding.’
‘Snotty cow, you mean?’
I gave a slight smile. ‘That may be one way of describing her. All of us are finding the situation difficult, but she seems totally unprepared for the unpleasantness of prison.’
Richenda lowered her eyes. ‘I had read the accounts of women imprisoned, but if I am honest I thought it exaggerated. And goodness knows, we have suffered very little of what I have read, and yet it was – awful. The attitudes of the men. The treatment.’ She reached out a hand to me. ‘I am so sorry I got you involved, Euphemia. I should have told you where we were going.’ Then her gaze turned steely. ‘But I will tell you this: after what I have seen and experienced this day I am more committed to the cause than ever before. I only joined the Sisterhood to annoy Richard and our father, but now I see how very much needed it is. How this is a war that must be won. How far the patriarchy will go to discredit us, to humiliate and belittle us, is incredible. I would go so far as to suggest that a man might even have planned that firebombing to discredit the movement!’
I blinked slightly at that. It was a thought that had not occurred to me, and it was without doubt worth passing on to Fitzroy.
There came a loud bang on the door and it was flung wide open. The hateful sergeant who had brought me down stood in the doorway. ‘Time’s up!’ I got up before he could manhandle me. Richenda passed me the box. ‘What’s that?’ shouted the man in blue. His hand went to his whistle.
A Death for a Cause Page 6
