A Case of Conspiracy in Clerkenwell

by Clara Benson

  ‘Oh, she’s terribly brainy, but I don’t mind that. I want a woman I can talk to.’

  ‘But won’t your mother disapprove of her?’

  ‘Yes, I dare say she will. But Iris is marrying well, so I’m pretty certain I can talk her into the idea. One good marriage in the family ought to be enough, surely?’

  ‘Iris? Is that still on? When is it to be?’

  ‘This spring. I expect you’ll get an invitation. Oh—I forgot, you and she had a thing for a while last year, didn’t you?’

  ‘It wasn’t at all serious,’ said Freddy carelessly.

  ‘I don’t know what she sees in that chap of hers. He’s the most awful stiff. I’d much rather have you for a brother-in-law, although I dare say you’re not interested in marriage either. But I don’t see what’s so terrible about it. I mean to say, that’s how things have been done for centuries, and if it’s good enough for everyone else it ought to be good enough for her.’

  He was evidently talking about Ruth again. Freddy shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ he said. ‘If she doesn’t want you then there’s not much you can do about it except keep pegging away at her until she either says yes or takes a fives bat to you out of sheer exasperation.’

  ‘Will you talk to her for me?’ said St. John suddenly.

  ‘Talk to her about what? Propose on your behalf, do you mean?’

  ‘No, of course not. I meant try and convince her that I’m a good prospect.’

  ‘My dear old ass, if she doesn’t believe in marriage then what makes you think I can convince her to betray her principles and stray from the path of righteousness? Or do I mean to the path of righteousness? I expect I do.’

  ‘But you’re good at that sort of thing. Talking drivel until people do what you want, I mean.’

  ‘Is that meant to be a compliment?’

  ‘I suppose it is. You will have a word with her, won’t you?’

  ‘Er—’ said Freddy, but had no time to finish before there was a bustle and it was announced that the meeting was about to recommence. St. John threw him a meaningful look and returned to his seat by Ruth. Freddy glanced around, and decided not to return to his own seat. Instead he stood at the side of the room, in order to get a better view of the proceedings. The first person to stand up on the stage was the man who had written the tragic novel. He was evidently unused to public speaking, and read out the first chapter of his book very fast in a monotone, without once looking at his audience, then stopped abruptly and walked off before anyone had the chance to gather their thoughts and clap. Fortunately, Ivor Trevett rose to the occasion and called for an enthusiastic round of applause. The author, who had just arrived back at his seat, went crimson in the face and sat down hurriedly. Then one or two women stood up and read poems and extracts. After that it was Trevett’s turn. He took to the stage and spoke with great eloquence about last week’s demonstration outside the Tradesmen’s Hall. Those who had not been able to attend had missed a shining example of what effective protest could achieve, he said. Why, the number of police alone demonstrated clearly that those in power were unnerved by the determination of their opponents. Now, more than ever, said Trevett, was the time to press their advantage. The sound of the working man’s voice should not be drowned out. He continued in this vein for some little time, his audience rapt and silent. Even Freddy had to admit he spoke very well, and felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment when the speech ended—surprise, too, for he had judged Trevett to be a man who was very fond of the sound of his own voice, and had assumed he would continue for longer. But he soon understood why the speech had been cut short when Anton Schuster was announced. Schuster was obviously considered an important person, and the star turn of the evening, but his speech was something of a let-down, for he was dry and quiet, and his humour went above the heads of many of those present. Moreover, his ideas were abstract and difficult to grasp, unlike those of Trevett, who constantly advocated practical action. The audience sat politely, but the applause at the end was much more muted than it had been for Trevett. Schuster seemed by no means disconcerted at this, and merely left the stage with a little bow.

  The meeting was now drawing to a close, and everybody rose for the Red Flag. Freddy did not sing, for he was too busy watching Trevett, who had taken Anton Schuster to one side and was talking to him in a low voice. Schuster gave a little smile of satisfaction and nodded. Someone else was watching them too, Freddy noticed: Sidney Bishop, the little treasurer and hanger-on, was standing on the other side of the room, watching Schuster and Trevett with wrinkled brows. Freddy looked around ruminatively. He had met all the most important members of the East London Communist Alliance, he believed. It was curious to see that, apart from Bishop—and possibly Trevett, who as a former actor might easily be dissembling—they were all from the upper reaches of society. Why were the real working men not represented on the Committee? Was there really a conspiracy? And did it originate with Anton Schuster, as Henry Jameson believed? Schuster and Trevett certainly seemed to have private concerns to talk about, but they might be quite innocent matters. The only other suspicious thing Freddy had seen that evening was the look which had passed between Mrs. Schuster and Leonard Peacock—but that was easily explained away and most likely had nothing at all to do with any sort of political plot. Altogether it had been an unsatisfactory sort of evening with regard to his investigation, and he would have very little to report to Henry Jameson. Freddy set himself to pondering idly the best way in which to ensure that Mrs. Schuster did not forget to invite him to her next evening party, for it seemed to him that if there were anything to find out, then the Schusters’ house would be the best place to start.

  Just then he noticed Miss Flowers giving him a stern look, of the sort one receives from an elder on being discovered fidgeting in church. He recalled his thoughts to the here and now, and was just in time to join in with the last two lines of the Red Flag, which he sang without having any particular idea of the words.

  Both meetings ended at about nine o’clock, and all was confusion as two hundred people tried to leave the building at once. Freddy hung back under the pretence of wanting to speak to St. John, but really in the hope of finding out something useful. As he waited in the lobby, he saw the young couple who had gone into the two separate meetings standing by the cloak-room. The girl seemed to be complaining about something. Freddy drifted across and listened shamelessly.

  ‘They lump us all together,’ she was saying. ‘And some of those girls aren’t any better than they ought to be. I’m not one of that sort—never touched a drop or done anything I oughtn’t to have—and yet they seem to think we’re all the same. They think we all need saving. Well, I don’t! I’m sick of being talked down to, and I’ve a good mind to tell them so.’

  She looked quite fierce. Her companion clicked his tongue and frowned in annoyance.

  ‘I’ve told you before about those la-di-da types,’ he said. ‘I said they didn’t understand, and I was right, wasn’t I? They’re nothing but bourgeois tyrants.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t go that far,’ said the girl reluctantly. ‘Some of them are all right, I suppose.’

  ‘They’re all as bad as each other,’ said the man. ‘But it’s all going to end soon. You mark my words, my girl—soon you won’t have to sit through all this nonsense, or mix with those who are beneath you. They’ll stop looking down on you soon enough when they see what we’ve got planned. Watch out for something in the next few weeks. I’ve told you before, Trevett and Schuster know what they’re doing. I’ll be out on the streets protesting, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll come too.’

  ‘Get away with you,’ said the girl good-humouredly. ‘You and your revolution. I’ll believe it when I see it. Come on, are you going to treat me to this fish and chips supper or not? I’m hungry.’

  They went out and Freddy was left to w
onder whether there was anything in what the man had said. Most people had now left, but he had not seen any of the Committee leave the hall, and he was about to go and scout around a little when to his dismay he was accosted by Miss Stapleton, who just then came out of the minor hall and swooped on him with an exclamation of triumph.

  ‘Ah, Mr. Pilkington-Soames!’ she said. ‘You won’t mind helping us clear up, will you? I’m afraid we are one short, since our treasurer, Mr. Bottle, who usually helps us, has most unfortunately been struck down with pneumonia and is not here this evening.’

  Since Miss Stapleton was accustomed to carrying all before her, Freddy could do nothing but allow himself to be swept up, much to his vexation. Fortune was with him, however: Miss Stapleton wanted him to stack chairs in the minor hall, and when he entered Freddy found that the big folding doors between the two halls had been thrown open, allowing him to see into the main hall. Nothing much was happening, as far as he could see. St. John and Ruth were just on the point of leaving, and very soon did so, but not before St. John had stared very hard at Freddy and then directed a meaningful glance at Ruth. Freddy indicated the chairs and gave an apologetic smile, and St. John grimaced, and then they went out. The Schusters seemed to have disappeared, while Peacock and Dyer were indulging in noisy horseplay as they stacked chairs in the main hall. Just then, Ivor Trevett appeared from somewhere and strode towards the lobby. In the doorway he bumped into Mr. Hussey. The two men stiffened and glared at one another haughtily, then passed on. Freddy heard a giggle by his side. It was Mildred Starkweather, who had come to help.

  ‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘They can’t bear one another.’

  ‘Whyever not?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? They’re far too alike—fascinating to look at and full of S. A, although I suppose it doesn’t do to talk that way about a Wesleyan minister. At any rate, you can see they each want to be top dog. Whenever Mr. Hussey comes they compete to see who can get the loudest applause and drown out next door’s meeting.’

  ‘But Mr. Hussey is a man of the cloth,’ said Freddy. ‘I should have thought that sort of thing was un-Christian.’

  ‘Pfft,’ said Mildred. ‘Try telling that to Mr. Hussey. He thinks it’s his duty to assert the superiority of the Church over the heathen Communists.’

  ‘And I suppose Trevett wants to do the opposite?’

  ‘I don’t think he cares much, as long as people are clapping loudly enough,’ said Mildred.

  ‘I’m sorry I missed Mr. Hussey’s speech,’ said Freddy. ‘Was it good?’

  ‘Oh, very good. How’s St. John, by the way?’

  ‘Asinine, as usual.’

  ‘I gather he’s fallen for the Chudderley female,’ said Mildred. ‘I know it doesn’t do to say so, but she’s insufferable.’

  ‘I—er—did get something of that impression,’ said Freddy cautiously.

  ‘I’m being a spiteful cat, of course. I only say it because she looks down her nose at me.’

  ‘How could anyone look down their nose at you? You’re a splendid girl,’ said Freddy.

  ‘She thinks I’m naïve—or at least, that’s what she said. Oh, she dressed it up in a compliment, but it was pretty obvious what she meant. She thinks I’m too green for words.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? You’re jolly nice.’

  ‘No, she’s right,’ said Mildred, stacking chairs with great ferocity. ‘I’m dull. Prim and dull. I come to Temperance meetings with my mother, and smile at people and make tea and never have any fun.’

  Freddy was spared having to reply by the arrival of Miss Hodges, flustered as usual, who had been sent in to help by Miss Stapleton.

  ‘Mrs. and Miss Starkweather have to leave very shortly,’ said Miss Stapleton from the doorway, ‘and Mabel and Jessie are quite capable of clearing up the kitchen by themselves, so you may as well help Mr. Pilkington-Soames. Do remember to stack the chairs properly this time.’

  Miss Hodges gave an apologetic smile and began flapping ineffectually, since Freddy and Mildred had already made short work of the chairs. Miss Stapleton disappeared, to be replaced by Mrs. Starkweather, who put her head into the hall.

  ‘Come, Mildred,’ she said. ‘It won’t do to keep Burton waiting.’

  Mildred said her goodbyes and hurried off, and Freddy shoved the last stack of chairs against the wall.

  ‘I think that’s everything,’ he said. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so,’ said Miss Hodges doubtfully. ‘That is, unless Jessie and Mabel need us to do anything.’

  Jessie and Mabel, who worked in a nearby factory and were recent converts to the Temperance cause, had no need of help, it turned out, and were already putting their coats and hats on.

  ‘It’s very dark outside,’ said Freddy, glancing out through the front door. ‘How do you get home?’

  ‘By ’bus,’ said Miss Hodges. ‘Islington is not very far, but it’s just a little too far to walk at this time of night.’

  ‘I’ll see you onto the ’bus,’ said Freddy. ‘What about you two girls? Where do you live?’

  There was much giggling at the question, but it was eventually ascertained that the two young women shared a room less than half a mile away, and after some little discussion it was agreed that Freddy would see them safely to their door. Miss Stapleton was nowhere to be found, so they set out without bidding her goodnight. It was a clear evening, with half a moon. The streets were damp, and gleamed under the light from the street-lamps. The two girls chattered together, discussing some mysterious business of their own, and Freddy made polite conversation with Miss Hodges, who seemed fearful of putting him out—indeed, had it not been for the presence of Jessie and Mabel, it is very likely that she would have refused his assistance altogether. In less than five minutes they arrived at the ’bus stop. Freddy and the others were preparing to wait with Miss Hodges for her ’bus to arrive, but there were already two respectable-looking women standing there, who, to judge from their conversation, worked at a well-known draper’s shop near Oxford Street. Miss Hodges was evidently so agitated and pained at the thought of keeping anyone waiting on her account that Freddy and the girls bade her goodnight and walked on. Once Jessie and Mabel had been safely delivered to their dingy lodgings Freddy turned back. He was not so very far from his own rooms on Fleet Street—not more than ten or fifteen minutes’ walk—but it was cold and he decided to take a taxi if he could find one. An omnibus passed, and Freddy saw that the ’bus stop was now deserted and felt a brief sense of relief that he should not have to stop and make conversation with the permanently apologetic Miss Hodges. As the sound of the ’bus receded into the distance, silence fell. It was all unusually quiet for that time of night—perhaps because of the cold, and Freddy strolled along, thinking of nothing in particular. A hundred yards ahead of him he could see that some of the lights were still on at Clerkenwell Central Hall, and he decided to go in and snoop around a little if the caretaker had not yet locked up. Just as he reached this decision, he saw a dark figure detach itself from the shadows of the main entrance to the hall, descend the steps and hurry off down the street. The figure had a furtive appearance, and seemed fearful of being seen, for it glanced to right and left as it went. Freddy could not see who it was, although it was certainly a man. Whoever he was, he looked so anxious to avoid detection that for a moment Freddy considered following him to see what he was up to, but then decided against it, for the man was now some distance down the street, and even as Freddy watched, he turned a corner and disappeared.

  Freddy stood looking at the building for a minute, then went in quietly. Some of the lights had been switched off, and the lobby and corridors were dim. Nobody was about, but he could hear voices coming from somewhere—perhaps the main hall. He stole up to the door and peered in. At the far end of the hall was the stage, hung with
a heavy curtain that was pulled a little way across. The voices were coming from behind it. He listened carefully but could distinguish nothing that was being said. He wanted to get closer, but it was impossible to do that without walking openly through the hall. Perhaps he could approach through the minor hall instead. Yes; he could sneak in there and through the folding doors between the two halls, which were located near the stage of the main hall. There were some chairs stacked against the wall there, and it would be easy enough to crouch down behind them and avoid being seen. He turned and went into the minor hall, walking slowly and quietly so as not to be heard, and put his head carefully around the folding doors. He could see nobody, but the sound of voices was a little louder from here. He was just about to creep forward to the nearest stack of chairs when a hand came down on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled round to see Leonard Peacock and Ronald Dyer standing before him. Dyer was just putting on his scarf.

  ‘Hallo, hallo!’ said Leonard Peacock jovially. ‘Still here, are you? I thought you’d gone home ages ago.’

  ‘I’m looking for my umbrella,’ said Freddy easily. ‘I thought I’d left it here. You haven’t seen it, have you?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ said Peacock. ‘Come back tomorrow and ask old Davis. Dyer and I are just off home now. You’d better come with us; they don’t like people staying here too late.’

  ‘All right,’ said Freddy. It seemed he had no other choice, for Peacock and Dyer were now leading him out of the hall and evidently had no intention of allowing him to stay. ‘Are you the last?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I think so. The others left a while ago,’ said Dyer. ‘I expect Davis will come and lock up soon.’

  Freddy could not say for certain that Dyer was lying, for it was always possible that he believed what he said and had not heard what Freddy had heard: the voices of Ivor Trevett and Anton Schuster coming from behind the curtain. There was nothing to be done, however; Freddy had no wish to be found out, and could only hope that his snooping would be ascribed to the natural curiosity of a press-man out for a story. Moreover, since he wanted to be admitted to the Schusters’ inner circle, he felt it expedient to ingratiate himself with Peacock and Dyer—Peacock in particular—and so he walked with them as far as Chancery Lane, even though it was a little out of his way, and bade a cheery goodnight to them there, then went home and was most uncharacteristically in bed by eleven o’clock.