‘It’s a cake,’ said Richenda quickly. ‘It’s already been examined.’
The sergeant came over and peered into the box. ‘And very nice it looks too. Go down nice with a cup of tea that will. The boys will appreciate it.’
‘But I brought it for Euphemia. The chief constable …’
‘The chief is tucked up nice and snug in his bed. So in his absence I am in charge and I say that this is the kind of cake that cannot be allowed. It will excite the women and make them even more difficult. It is the kind of cake that causes hysteria.’
Richenda opened her mouth to object.
‘Of course any objection she raises you will decry as her being hysterical, I suppose,’ I interjected.
The sergeant gave me an unpleasant grin. ‘Ah, now, see. You’re beginning to understand the system. If you behave proper than you’ll be treated right. Meek and mild. That’s what I tell my daughters. That’s what any man wants to see in a woman.’
I stepped towards the door, trying with all my might to send a warning glance to Richenda. ‘Remember to give my love to Aggie,’ I said. I could see Richenda struggling with herself. Her natural reaction was to hit this obnoxious man with anything to hand, in this case most likely a chair, but that would only end up with her back inside.23 She took a deep breath, inflating her person to magnificent proportions, and nodded to me. The sergeant, taking the nod as capitulation, swept up the box under his arm and prodded me in the back with his truncheon. ‘Get along now. You know the way.’
It was with a sense of weary familiarity that I re-entered the cell. The three brick walls and the front of bars had taken on a different aspect now I feared I might need to remain her for some time.
The light coming into the room had grown stronger, and more of the women were waking. From the wake they stretched and grimaced I knew they had found the accommodation no more comfortable than I. Eunice and Jasmine, looking like a pair of animate bookends, stood face to face as they tidied each other’s hair. Constance was crying quietly with Mary trying to comfort her. Then my gaze alighted on Maisie. She was still curled on the floor. Something about the way she lay struck me as amiss, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. A sense of deep unease crept over me. ‘Goodness,’ said the woman Mary had pointed out as Angela Blackwood, ‘to be so young you can sleep anyway. I don’t feel as if my back will ever be straight again.’
I pushed Angela aside and strode quickly across, but even before I laid my hand on her icy forehead I knew Maisie Dawson was dead.
22 When she had been under the sway of her twin she had been a truly disagreeable and self-centred individual.
23 Criminal terminology was coming to me with alarming ease.
Chapter Thirteen
Fitzroy fumes
‘How the hell did this happen?’ yelled Fitzroy.
‘I don’t know,’ I said quietly. ‘I wasn’t there.’
We were back in the small room where we had such a pleasant dinner previously. This time there wasn’t so much as a sniff of a salt cellar. Fitzroy fixed me with a blazing gaze, ‘And you were where exactly?’
‘In an interview room with Richenda Stapleford. She’d brought me cake.’ I could have bitten out my tongue the moment I said it. If I had thought Fitzroy was in a temper previously, he was now raging. He span away from me, and picking up a chair, threw it against the wall with such force that it splintered. I almost managed to suppress my scream.24
My involuntary sound drew his attention and he turned to face me. I did my best not to shake in my shoes.
‘Of course, I will have to remove you from the situation now,’ he said, his voice flat and cold.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked with trepidation. ‘Remove’ could mean many things where Fitzroy was concerned.
He took several paces towards me, so I was forced to look up into his face. My instinct was to turn and run, but I knew the door was locked. I was also sure that turning my back on the spy in a bad mood could be ruinous to one’s health.
‘Do you think I would hurt you?’ he asked, his tone now even, but so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.
I swallowed. ‘If you thought it necessary.’ I said in as quiet and dignified a manner as I could, and I was relieved my voice hadn’t come out like a mouse’s squeak. I certainly felt like a tiny rodent being hovered over by a hawk.
He stepped back a pace and laughed. ‘Ever the realist, Euphemia.’
‘Is it necessary?’ I persisted, hopeful now his mood had lightened.
‘No. And believe me that even if it were I would always exhaust all other options first.’ He gave me a flash of his most charming smile. ‘Not something I would do for everyone.’
‘So what did you mean by remove me?’
Fitzroy sighed. ‘Even I am not so callous as to put you back in a cell where a woman has already murdered.’
‘You think …?’
‘If a guard had entered, one of you would have awoken. None of the women when interviewed recall anything untoward.’
‘No one woke when I was taken out,’ I said.
‘But he did not enter, did he? He did not have to make his way amongst you. Besides, we cannot even be sure she was not already dead. Did you notice her?
‘No,’ I said. ‘I am deeply sorry to say I did not.’ A thought struck me. ‘Could they all be involved?’
‘It’s not a bad thought,’ answered Fitzroy. ‘But if they were I suspect you would also be dead. No, this murder was committed by someone desperate enough to kill when locked in a cell with eight other sleeping women, any of whom might have awoken at any time.’
‘They must be very desperate indeed,’ I agreed. ‘But why Maisie? She was the quietest thing.’
‘The obvious conclusion is that she knew something that the murderer could not allow the police to discover. Did she strike you as bright?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Then it must have been something she saw.’ He sighed. ‘She may not even have realised that she saw something of importance.’
‘But it was something so serious that she had to die.’
Fitzroy nodded. ‘It only goes to confirm my suspicions that one of the women in that cell was involved in the firebombing that killed Wilks. Perhaps even arranged it.’
‘Could one of them have done it? I don’t know London at all well, but did the march go near enough the station for it to happen.’
‘Yes, but we have no eyewitnesses that saw anything untoward.’
‘It’s another reckless act,’ I said. ‘I assume a London station is very busy at all times?’
Fitzroy nodded again, pursing his lips together. ‘I don’t like it. A nice, cruel, calculating murder I can manage, but this is more …’
‘If you say hysterical I shall pick up what is left of that chair and hit you with it.’
Fitzroy gave a smile of genuine amusement. ‘No, I am well aware that both men and women can feel themselves so driven into a corner that they will take desperate action. Desperation is unpredictable, and depending on the resources at one’s disposal, when panic sets in real disaster can strike.’
‘There have already been three deaths,’ I said drily.
‘Civil unrest could cause many more,’ said Fitzroy grimly. ‘If the individual behind this has a bigger plan, something they are desperate to protect, then I am greatly troubled.’
‘I see,’ I said quietly. ‘Then there is only one course of action to be taken.’
I was again shown into a little interview room. There, not sitting at the small table but pacing backwards and forwards, his hat twisting between his hands, was Bertram. On sight of me he dropped his hat and rushed forward to take my hands in his. I trembled slightly at this enthusiasm. Bertram has a habit of wanting to rescue me from situations to the point that he has even offered to marry me. However since his last proposal he has fallen in love again at least once, so I was hopeful I would not have to refuse him again today. My events of the mor
ning had taken their toll on me and I doubted I would have the energy to handle such a situation with the delicacy Bertram required. We are friends, but we do argue a lot.25
‘My dear Euphemia,’ he said with a look of such sympathy you would think I had suffered a family bereavement. ‘I feel I must apologise endlessly for what my wretched sister has embroiled you in.’
‘Please don’t,’ I said with feeling. ‘It was extremely foolish of me not to realise what Richenda was up to. The dress. The sudden desire to visit London. I should have been more suspicious.’
‘At least after this dreadful incident they will have to release you all. No suffragette has ever died in custody before. The newspapers are going to go wild.’
‘Is that what they are saying?’ I asked. ‘That she suffered police brutality and died?’
‘Well, there’s nothing in the papers yet. One of the policemen – someone of rank by his strange uniform I should think – told me while I was waiting for you that one of your cellmates had died. He asked me not to repeat it. Said something about my understanding and you would explain?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘You haven’t killed anyone, have you, Euphemia?’
‘Shall we sit down?’ He pulled out a chair for me and I continued. ‘No, Bertram, I haven’t killed anyone. In fact I am a little offended that you would ask that of me.’
‘I knew it would have been in self-defence anyway,’ offered Bertram. I tried very hard not to be proud that he thought I was capable of such a thing.
‘No, it’s both worse and more complicated than that. You see, I do have to go back into the cell with the murderess. Or rather, I want to. It’s become necessary.’
24 My cry came out as the sort of noise a parrot might make while being strangled. There were words in it, but they were largely incoherent.
25 I still do not fit correctly into his well-ordered world, and for all I believe he has some affection for me, this irks him remarkably. Or rather, I irk him often.
Chapter Fourteen
Bertram blusters
It took me quite some time to calm Bertram down, but as he has also signed this new-fangled thing called The Official Secrets Act26 it meant I could reveal everything that had happened so far.
‘Fitzroy,’ said Bertram, as if the word were poison in his mouth. ‘Hasn’t that man caused us enough trouble?’
‘But if I hadn’t gone out to see Richenda I might have been able to prevent Maisie’s death. You must understand I feel culpable.’
‘Oh, I know that dratted man is more than capable of making you feel like that.’
‘No, he wanted to remove me from the situation. I had to beg to stay.’
‘Good God, woman, do you want to be murdered?’
‘I was talking with Richenda about cake when it happened.’ Bertram looked baffled. ‘She came to see me. I wasn’t in the cell when the murder occurred. I am almost certain I would have awoken otherwise.’
‘I suppose that does make it less likely the murderer will be concerned with you,’ interrupted Bertram. ‘It’s not like you could have seen anything.’
‘But that’s just it,’ I said, feeling tears prickle my eyes, ‘if I had been there maybe I would have been able to do something …’
‘Like getting killed?’ snapped Bertram.
‘If I had kept my eyes open. Paid more attention. She was so young, Bertram!’
Bertram reached out a hand to me across the table and patted mine. ‘You can’t think like that, Euphemia,’ he said gruffly. ‘We both know better than most there is evil in this world and there are ones intent on it whether we will or no.’
‘But…’
‘Enough,’ said Bertram, tapping my hand lightly and withdrawing his own. (Note: This appeared to be closest he dared to slapping my hand. In some ways Bertram is surprisingly wise.) ‘I see that nothing I say will deter you from your course and frankly, if Fitzroy wants to keep you in that cell I’m not entirely sure what I can do about that without striking the cad. Not that I wouldn’t, if I needed to,’ he added.
I gave a faint smile. ‘That will not be necessary. Although I was technically absent when the murder was likely committed until a doctor has been able to determine, by which I mean guess, the time of death, I must still be a suspect and it would be awkward for all concerned if I was removed from the scene.’ I put my head on one side, musing. ‘I imagine that Fitzroy is currently engaged in checking whether or not I had any connection with Maisie.’
‘Good God! You think he would suspect you?’
‘He is thorough. Besides, even you asked me.’
Bertram made a number of gruffling sounds like a bear hunting for honey, which I took to be an apology.27
Finally he said, ‘What can I do?’
A glimmer of an idea formed at the back of my mind. I already had Richenda out in the field, as it were, researching matters I could not attend to inside my cell, so why not use Bertram as well? But I knew the task I would set for Bertram would be far less to his taste. ‘The man who died in the fire, Wilks, was a member of some elite – er – clubs. If I can get from Fitzroy the name of his favourite haunts perhaps you could be so good as to check them out and see how he is remembered?’
Bertram brightened at that. ‘That certainly sounds like something I could do. I would be happy to help.’
I felt certain that Bertram’s mood would change when he learnt the true nature of clubs I wished him to investigate.
We parted on good terms and I returned to the cell, feeling both weary and so nervy I was wide awake. Again I was escorted by the sergeant, who was overly keen on restraint. As he passed a fellow guard I heard him hailed as ‘Givens’. It was a name I intended to mention to Fitzroy should he show any sign of wanting someone to expend his ire upon. The man was a beast. Not only for the names he called me, but he left bruises on my upper arms that were quite unnecessary as I was not resisting.
The mood in the cell was sombre. Sergeant Givens thrust me forward, but did not then leave. ‘Right, ladies, your stockings. Let’s be having them.’ As one the women in the cell turned towards him. I imagine each of us looking as astonished as the other. I could not see for I too was staring open mouthed at the sergeant. His lips curved into a sneering smile. ‘Or do you need any help?’ he asked.
‘Outrageous’, came the clear, sharp tones of the woman, I now knew to be Martha Lake.
I heard the sound of skirts rustling and turned to see that Mary Hill, her back now turned towards the sergeant, was obeying his orders.
‘You can’t ask us for ’em!’ growled Abigail Stokes, as vicious as any tiger in an Indian jungle.28
‘Yes, I bleedin’ can,’ retorted the Sergeant. ‘Should have been taken off you when you were taken in, but what with you lot murdering each other it got forgot.’
‘Murder!’ said Constance. ‘I thought that poor young woman had died of natural causes.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. One goes blue in the face from nat-u-ral causes,’ said the hateful sergeant, mimicking her. ‘Choked, she was, and our doc reckons a stocking would just about do it.’
‘It really is better just to give him what he asks,’ said Mary, holding her now removed stockings out to the sergeant. I saw they were badly torn. ‘He will only fetch reinforcements to carry out his orders if we refuse.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Martha. ‘The man is a pervert.’
The sergeant raised his truncheon menacingly.
‘That is as may be,’ said Mary calmly, ‘but he is right. A murder has been committed and we must do what we can to find the fiend who did this to our poor fallen sister.’
With varying degrees of awkwardness, and many muttered comments, finally all the women had divested themselves of their stockings and handed them over. The sergeant bundled them all together in one big pile. Then he clanged the door shut and locked.
‘Wait a minute,’ I called out. ‘How will you know whose is whose?’
‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’ he replied with a lee
r. ‘I reckons how you was all in it together, so you’ll all hang.’ The he stomped off.
‘What does he mean all hang?’ asked Jasmine Pettigrew in a wavering voice.
‘Now, now, dear, don’t let the nasty man upset you,’ answered her sister.
‘I reckon the stupid man is only trying to frighten us,’ said Martha haughtily. ‘As Miss …’ she looked at me.
‘St John,’ I supplied.
‘As Miss St John remarked, the man has no way of telling one stocking from another.’
‘I reckon he was doin’ it for a bet with the lads,’ broke in Abigail. ‘Who can get the underthings off a suffragette! You know the kind of thing.’
‘Well, really,’ said Martha, turning away in disgust.
‘Was she strangled?’ asked Constance, the doctor’s wife. ‘I would have thought …’ she tailed off.
‘It was still dark and the body was removed quickly,’ said Mary. ‘I think all of us were too shocked to take notice of the details.’
‘I mean, if she had been hanged,’ continued Constance, ‘I mean, hanged herself, then it would have been obvious by the colouring, but strangled, I am unsure …’
Jasmine Pettigrew sat down heavily on the bench all the colour draining from her face. ‘Have some thought for others,’ snapped her sister, Eunice. ‘My poor sister is prone to fainting fits.’
‘Undo her stays, then,’ said Abigail, not too unkindly. ‘They are an unnatural harness for any woman and you too seem to have right pulled yours in.’
‘Eunice,’ moaned Jasmine, ‘is that gal mentioning underthings?’
‘Too right I am,’ said Abigail. ‘Next thing you know that copper’ll be checking to see all our laces are intact.’
Jasmine gave a low moan at this and slid onto the floor, her eyes fluttering. Her sister fussed over her. ‘Now see what you have done, you unnatural creature,’ she cried.
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