A Death for a Cause

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘I have not asked you to keep pestering me with the same question,’ I responded, snappily, for my head still ached.

  A spark flashed in Fitzroy’s eyes. He took a moment before he responded. ‘You are fortunate you are not officially on our staff. I do not suffer insolence from subordinates.’

  ‘I am most definitely not a member of your staff,’ I said flatly. ‘I am …’ I trailed off. I did not have any idea of what I was. A smile played across Fitzroy’s lips as he followed my train of thought. ‘You are an amateur,’ he said.

  I was tempted to enquire as to more precisely I was an ‘amateur’ at, but he had annoyed me. ‘I am indeed an amateur,’ I said coldly. ‘How very galling it must be to owe your last rescue to an amateur.’ I stressed the last two words.

  But instead of rising to my bait, he nodded briefly. ‘You had a little help blowing that wall up. Although if you had looked at it as you are looking at me now, I would not have been surprised if it had crumbled under your gaze.’

  I sighed. ‘True.’

  ‘Come, Euphemia, let us cease this quarrelling. Neither of us are in the best of health. I will forbear asking you again if you wish to leave.’ He took a sip of his coffee and said with a casualness that I did not believe for a moment, ‘Did you mention my presence to Bertram?’’

  ‘Yes. He has signed the Official Secrets Act, after all.’

  ‘Hmm. Did you have a reason other than mere friendliness?’

  ‘I thought if you gave me the name of the clubs Wilks used to frequent he might be able to discover something of help.’

  Fortunately30 Fitzroy had swallowed just before my comment. However, his eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline. ‘You want to send Bertram into a bordello?’

  ‘You did say it was a higher class of establishment.’

  Fitzroy threw back his head and laughed. ‘Do you think Bertram is in the habit of frequenting such places?’ he asked.

  I felt myself begin to blush. I knew that gentleman did – well, that they saw certain women for entertainment, but I had never considered Bertram in that light. I found that even edging close to the thought made me most uncomfortable. So I snapped back at him, ‘Doubtless you would be more at home in such establishments, but, as you say, you are not currently in the best of health.’

  Fitzroy put down his coffee cup and leaned across the table. ‘I assure you I am well enough.’

  I flinched backwards. He gave a slight smile and also sat back. ‘It is not a bad idea if he doesn’t make a hash of it. He will have to be willing to play his part to the – shall we say – hilt. You may tell him that Wilks’s favoured establishment was The Gilded Lily.’

  ‘Which is where?’ I asked coldly.

  ‘I have no intention of telling you. I do not trust you not to visit there yourself – either to think to “save” the inhabitants or from idle curiosity.’ I bridled angrily, but he continued, ‘Any of the porters at the gentleman’s clubs in the city will be able to direct him.’

  I took a breath. It was better to have it all out in the open. ‘I have also asked Richenda to help.’

  ‘What?’ He made the single word as sharp as an arrow.

  ‘I have of course told her nothing of your involvement …’

  ‘You do still have a modicum of self-preservation then.’

  ‘But I thought she could use her contacts to attempt to discover more about the woman who died in the carriage.’

  Fitzroy shrugged. ‘I doubt her husband will let her investigate, but it isn’t that bad an idea.’ He gave me one of his most mocking smiles. ‘Quite the little team you are gathering around you. You will be after my position next.’

  ‘Oh, I could never be like you,’ I said sweetly.

  Fitzroy frowned. ‘Much as I am enjoying this tete-a-tete, do you have anything of significance to tell me.’

  ‘Martha Lake is in all likelihood using an alias.’

  ‘We had worked that out,’ said Fitzroy with a sigh. ‘Even my staff have some level of competence. We have checked the backgrounds of all the women with you, and Martha Lake does not exist. However, that does not make her a murderess, rather a woman likely attempting to shield her name. I had set in motion discreet enquires to see if a woman of her age and quality is known to be missing. Your observations should be of the more detailed kind as only a close proximity can produce.’

  ‘Eunice and Jasmine Pettigrew did their best to persuade a guard to allow them their knitting.’

  ‘I suppose if two were involved it would make things much easier, but if they were that clever would they draw attention to themselves by asking for a weapon?’

  ‘Killing someone by strangulation is, as you pointed out, very risky,’ I answered. ‘And it would be easy to claim that someone else had stolen the needle from them.’

  ‘But why would they want to kill again?’

  ‘I did think of hinting I had seen something last night.’

  ‘A very last resort, I would suggest,’ said Fitzroy, ‘and only when I have my men to hand. Your murder would be very inconvenient.’

  ‘I would not enjoy it much myself,’ I said. ‘It was a foolish idea. Although Abigail Stokes is of the opinion that I am some kind of “coppers’ nark” – I think that was it – and it didn’t sound good for my health.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Constance Woodley is a deeply motivated suffragette and as a doctor’s wife may have knowledge of the human anatomy. However, Angela Blackwood is an extreme oddity. Some kind of amateur scientist. She was the one who told us how Maisie must have been killed. She is extremely anti-social.’

  ‘You think her the strongest possibility?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. Why would she draw such attention to herself if she was guilty? I do not believe her to be mad, though, but simply eccentric. Mary Hill, on the other hand, is a woman with secrets, but so far her nature has not seemed to me consistent with one who could kill without at least showing remorse.’

  ‘That may be what we have to wait for,’ said Fitzroy slowly.

  I nodded. ‘You mean that will all of us locked up together with no immediate chance of release the murderess will grow desperate. How long can you keep us locked away?’

  Fitzroy shrugged. ‘Not very much longer, I should think. The story is now in the newspapers. Although we have managed to ensure most of the details are inaccurate.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  Fitzroy eyed me with obvious misgiving. ‘What are you planning to do, Euphemia?’

  I looked him square in the face and said, ‘Nothing you would not do, Eric.’

  I had the pleasure of seeing the spy pale ever so slightly.

  As I was escorted back to my cell for the night, I ran back over the conversation in my mind. I was certain there were questions I had forgotten to ask and things I had forgotten to say, but I did relish the experience that I had unsettled Fitzroy, even if only a little. If nothing else such self-satisfaction was a useful distraction from the worry of the long night ahead. During which I would be sleeping no more than six feet from a cold-blooded murderess.

  30 Or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fights and weaponry

  I have never been more grateful to open my eyes to sunlight. I sat up at once and mentally did a head count of the women in the cell. It was bright enough for me to assure myself that all of them were either awake or breathing as they slept. Certainly no one was lying in a crumpled heap in any of the corners. I encountered an unfriendly gaze from Abigail Stokes and my back spasmed alarmingly, causing me to utter an ‘oof’ rather like my mother’s old spaniel in its declining years.31

  ‘Awake are you, coppers’ nark?’

  ‘Your insult would have more effect if I understood what a nark was,’ I said coolly. My sleeping accommodation had not placed me in a social mood. My head itched and my hair was in dire need of a wash.32 I felt at a loss to deal with the situation and frankly both bored
and terrified by the situation. In short I was not brimming with Christian kindness.

  ‘I mean you’re a spy for the coppers.’

  ‘And by coppers I assume you mean the policemen who have thrown me in and out of this cell with such tender care?’

  ‘Are you daft or what?’

  ‘So I am a daft spy? That would seem to be a most unlikely combination.’

  ‘Ladies, please,’ said Mary in her quiet voice. ‘We are all in this together.’

  A spark of indignation arose in my breast. Mary was continually calm and acquiescent. She advocated harmony at all times, and I for one, was being to find it all rather galling. I blushed, wondering if it was because I normally found myself being the voice of reason and did not like to have my position usurped. Then it occurred to me that if we all continued being calm and harmonious, how on earth was I to discover anything? It might only be when harsh words were spoken and emotions roused that the truth might slip out. I took a deep breath and prepared to be as difficult as my mother had ever thought me.

  ‘There is a saying, though I doubt you would know it, Miss Stokes, about protesting too much. You seem most vocal about the possibility of a spy among us. I am forced to ask myself if you are intent on drawing attention away from yourself.’

  ‘Why, you bleedin’ …’ began Abigail, but I raised my voice above hers, employing the perfect vowels my mother had bestowed on me and which I had been at such pains to conceal from my employers. ‘I’d have thought that anyone with any sense at all would think that discovering who was the murderess among us was far more important than whether someone was a spy? Unless you believe the spy is trying to uncover the murderess and that is something you do not wish to come to pass.’

  Abigail Stokes opened and closed her mouth a few times. Her face turned beetroot. ‘Are you calling me a bleedin’ killer now?’ she fairly screamed at me.

  ‘The only person I am certain is not the killer is myself,’ I said calmly, in the full knowledge that not rising to her ire would incense her further.

  ‘Why you …’ Her face contorted fury and she leapt for me. As she did so I saw her shake something from her sleeve. I had a momentary glimpse of a flash of silver. I dove to one side not caring that I must throw myself full force on the ground, and rolled to one side immediately as I was sure she would throw herself on me. However, the attack did not come. Instead I looked up to see Eunice and Jasmine very effectively holding Abigail mid-flight in a most secure armlock.

  ‘Sadly, the village children we taught were not always raised by their parents as one might hope,’ said Eunice.

  ‘Indeed,’ echoed her sister in her fainter voice, ‘at times one was forced to be most unladylike with the older boys.’

  Mary walked over to Abigail who was spitting furious obscenities and twisted the fingers of one of her hands in an expert manner. ‘A difficult male cousin,’ she said shortly. ‘Always trying to put unpleasant things down my back. One learns to intercept.’

  From my position on the floor it struck me that these three women were far more physically capable than I had assumed. The unwelcome thought exploded in my brain that perhaps Maisie had been killed by more than one person. As I got shakily to my feet, and saw the intense interest of the women who had not so far been involved in this situation, I had the horrendous thought that perhaps they were all involved.

  Angela Blackwood came across to Mary and they bent their heads over whatever Mary had wrested from Abigail. ‘Why,’ said Angela,’ she’s made herself a shank.’

  Constance stood up from her seat on the bench. ‘What is that?’

  Mary turned the glinting thing over in her hands. ‘A crude knife,’ she said.

  Constance’s hands flew to her face in alarm. ‘Wherever did she get such a thing?’

  ‘Looks like a spoon she’s been sharpening on the wall,’ said Angela. ‘I’ve heard of such things. It’s an old prisoner’s trick.’ She brought her face close to the restrained Abigail. ‘I’m thinking that this woman hasn’t been that open about her past. I’m thinking she’s not a stranger to being in a cell, and I doubt she was incarcerated for being a suffragette.’

  ‘If that were the case,’ said Mary slowly, ‘then perhaps Euphemia’s accusation has merit.’

  ‘You mean she could have done a deal to spy on the Sisterhood,’ said Constance, her voice shaking. ‘Surely no sister could do that to another?’

  Martha Lake, who had edged as far away as she could into the corner when the action had begun, now spoke in her well-bred voice, ‘Whether or not that is the case, it appears we have uncovered a woman with a tendency towards violence. I think, ladies, I should call the guard, we appear to have discovered our murderess.’

  ‘Though so far they have shown themselves to be very uncouth young men,’ said Eunice, tightening her grip on Abigail, ‘I think that might be a very good idea.’

  ‘But, sister,’ said Jasmine, ‘Miss Dawson was strangled, not stabbed.’

  ‘No, the stabbing was for whoever she had next in mind,’ said Angela. ‘It would take a while to sharpen a spoon against the wall. Stupid of the constabulary not to give us wooden ones.’

  ‘And not to count them when they were removed from the cell,’ added Martha. ‘It must have been that very young man.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one asking for bleedin’ knitting needles,’ said Abigail. She was no longer struggling against the Pettigrew sisters. I detected a note of fear in her voice. ‘That little girl was killed by someone strong. And these two biddies are fair twisting my arms out of their sockets.’

  ‘Why did you fashion a knife for yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘Self-protection,’ snapped Abigail. ‘As you all keep saying, one of us is a bleedin’ killer. And she knows a thing or two herself,’ she nodded at Mary. ‘Fair broke my fingers.’

  An image came immediately of Mary crumbling the almost stone-hard bread into her soup. Whoever killed Maisie would have had to have more than average womanly strength.

  ‘It does not matter what skills are being displayed,’ cut in Martha. ‘Only one of us has shown violence towards the others.’

  ‘Two!’ protested Abigail. ‘Besides, she provoked me. Can’t you see she was trying to start a quarrel?’

  ‘I find that most unlikely,’ said Martha. ‘Miss St John speaks and acts with the manners of the well-bred.’

  I felt a twinge of guilt. I looked more closely at Abigail. She was certainly afraid, but then if everyone in the room had decided to turn on me, I too would be ill at ease. At this moment I found myself only able to rule Constance and Martha out as ones who had not shown any physical prowess. Then again, I would never have suspected that the Pettigrew sisters could have hold such a termagant as Abigail at bay so easily.

  ‘I would be most grateful if we could decide what to do,’ said Jasmine suddenly. ‘This is all very tiring. I am not as young as I was when I had to deal with playground situations.’

  ‘Glad I didn’t go to her school,’ muttered Angela as she passed me and returned to her seat. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she continued. ‘I have a bit of a gift. I can conduct a séance and we can ask little Maisie who killed her. Victims of violent death do tend to linger.’

  ‘What an unpleasant thought,’ said Jasmine faintly.

  ‘I am summoning the guard,’ announced Martha. ‘If nothing else this woman must be removed from the cell. They will surely do so when we hand over the – er – shank’

  ‘No,’ cried Abigail. ‘If you do that they’ll beat me. Some of them coppers keep chains for use on the suffragettes!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Martha.

  ‘I’m afraid it is true,’ I said. ‘One of the guards boasted of the fact to me. Although he said those methods were yet to be employed at this station.’

  ‘I should not like anyone to be beaten,’ said Constance. ‘Least of all a sister.’

  ‘But she is in all likelihood the killer,’ said Martha. ‘I can assure you a potential beating w
ill be the least of her worries. She will face the noose.’

  ‘And I am sure the constabulary will be very pleased to have the situation cleared up so easily,’ said Angela. ‘After all, it seems to me that Miss Stokes is unlikely to have anyone to protest her case. Working class girl. No better than she should be. That, I imagine, is what the papers will say.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Constance. ‘I cannot condone violence of any sort, but I do fear Miss Blackwood has the right of it. The police will most likely take the easiest path out of this situation.’

  ‘Do you not believe in Justice?’ I said angrily.

  ‘I most certainly do,’ said Constance. ‘But I fear the situation will soon become political. The newspaper men will be making a great deal of this story and the fear for Mr Asquith’s government must be that any sympathy towards the Sisterhood may be aroused. Far better to name, shame, and hang one of us for the hysterical murder of another.’

  ‘But one of us was killed,’ answered Martha, a level of exasperation creeping into her voice.

  ‘I reckon my séance is the best way forward,’ said Angela.

  ‘Nonsense,’ snapped Martha.

  ‘We have often sensed dear Father’s spirit watching over us,’ said Jasmine unexpectedly.

  ‘That’s hardly the same thing,’ answered her sister. ‘This woman is talking of raising the dead.’

  Jasmine paled. ‘How very unpleasant.’

  ‘Complete nonsense,’ said Martha emphatically.

  ‘Just summon the ruddy guard,’ said Abigail. ‘My arms are fair popping out of their sockets.’

  ‘Perhaps if we removed the shank,’ said Constance.

  ‘Are you for trying a séance too?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I have no fixed opinion on spiritualism,’ answered Constance, ‘but my husband, who has seen people pass away as any doctor in village practice will, is adamant that there is an absence when death encroaches and he is most decidedly a man of science.’

  ‘I too have heard some interesting discussion on the subject during my time at the university,’ said Mary. ‘What do you think, Euphemia?’