Chapter Five
The cab dropped Dody off outside her house. It was three days since the explosion and she hoped the final few post mortems would be completed the following day. All she could think about was a hot bath and bed. Annie had left the porch light on, but even then, Dody had trouble slotting the key into the lock. Her arms felt as if they were tied to weights, her eyes filled with sand, her feet encased in lead — hardly surprising as she had been on them for three days in a row now, only breaking for the occasional snatched meal and a minimum amount of sleep.
She closed the door behind her, brushed past the palms in the front entrance and dumped her Gladstone bag onto the black and white tiles of the hall floor. The sound of raised voices met her from behind the closed morning-room door at the other end of the hall. Annie, the maid, sprang up from her crouched position at the keyhole.
‘Miss Dody! I was just looking for Miss Florence’s earring. She said she dropped it somewhere hereabouts.’ Before Dody could finish her eye-roll, the maid rushed to her side and took her coat and gloves. ‘I’ll carry your bag upstairs for you, miss, and run a bath. You look done in.’
‘It sounds like my sister has company.’ A familiar-looking bowler sat on the hall table. ‘Chief Inspector Pike?’ What was he doing here? He only ever called at this hour when Dody was certain to be alone.
‘I wouldn’t go in there, miss,’ Annie warned, too late. Dody pushed the door open, effectively plunging the room into silence. Pike stood with his back towards the cracking fire, arms folded. Florence was at the bay window, examining the folds of the green velvet curtains.
Florence turned. ‘Ah, Dody you’re home,’ she said with false gaiety. ‘I’ll leave you to entertain the chief inspector then. I’m going to bed.’
She attempted to pass, but Dody stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘Florence, what’s going on?’ Dark shadows circled her sister’s violet eyes. Her skin appeared almost translucent, heightening rather than detracting from her sculpted beauty. Why couldn’t she look like that after a bad day? Dody felt quite the haggard old woman in comparison.
‘Are you ill, Florence?’ she asked with concern when her younger sister didn’t answer.
‘I’m tired, that’s all. He’ll explain; I’m sure I can count on that. Goodnight, Dody, sleep well. Why is it,’ she said through gritted teeth as she passed, ‘that policemen always make an innocent person feel guilty?’ She was too well brought up to slam the door, but her rapid departure had the same effect.
‘Matthew, what on earth is going on?’ Dody asked as he strode over to the drinks tray.
He poured two stiff whiskies and handed one to Dody. ‘Here, you’re going to need this.’ He beckoned her over to the sofa where they sat side by side. ‘Your sister’s in trouble — we suspect her of involvement in the Necropolis Station bombing. I came over personally to request her attendance at an identification parade tomorrow. I could have sent a constable, but felt I should break the news myself. I have also confiscated her bicycle.’
Dody tipped some whisky down her throat. The painful burn reminded her that this was not the first time she had heard such news regarding Florence, and it would probably not be the last. The suffragettes went out of their way to court trouble in order to draw attention to their cause. This was the first time, though, that Pike had been part of an investigation directly involving her sister. Even when he had been in the Suffragette Division he had managed to avoid such a confrontation. That one should occur was inevitable, she supposed, but still, she felt ill-prepared.
‘What is she supposed to have done?’ Dody asked shakily.
‘I am almost certain that she and one other were responsible for planting the bomb at the station. My witness couldn’t identify the second woman on account of the wide brimmed hat she was apparently wearing. Your sister’s head covering was modest, her face more exposed.’
Dody almost choked on her whisky. Her sister was rash, she was irresponsible, but this was beyond the pale. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Good. I do not wish to believe it myself. I am praying that my eyewitness was mistaken.’
‘And if he is not …?’
‘She. Then I must do my duty and you must do yours. You have helped us investigate the suffragettes before,’ he reminded her. A log, precariously balanced above the flames, crashed into the fireplace.
‘But never my sister!’ Dody sprang from the sofa and began to pace the carpet. ‘I might not agree with how the militants go about airing their grievances, but I am as adamant as they are about the need for change. I am for female emancipation and equality as much as any of them.’
Pike stood up and drew her towards him. ‘And you and women like you, the quiet achievers, do more for the cause than any amount of the screaming and caterwauling and wanton destruction that the militants get up to. I have a daughter; I want her to grow up in a world that gives her a fair chance. But I tell you this — the suffragettes’ tactics will not achieve equality. They are turning the people against them.’
‘I hope you are not expecting me to take sides, Matthew.’
‘Of course not.’
Dody released a pent-up breath. ‘I have not quite completed my part of the investigations. So far, at least, we have found nothing to indicate that any of the body parts belonged to people who were alive prior to the blast.’
‘Thank heavens for that.’ And then a thought hit Dody like a blow to the chest. ‘My God, the night watchman — how is he?’
Pike brushed loose hair from Dody’s forehead. She could smell the smoky whisky on his breath, and would have collapsed into his arms if she had not felt so pent up.
‘He has not yet regained consciousness,’ he said. ‘His condition is still considered critical.’
Dody pushed Pike away. She prodded and poked at her untidy pile of mahogany hair. ‘That poor man. Does he have a family?’
Pike nodded. ‘Six children.’
‘What of them, if he dies? And my sister …’ She could not bring herself to complete the sentence. ‘Matthew, have you any idea what prison would do to Florence? She will embark on a hunger strike, like she did before, and this time force-feeding might break her spirit completely. You know she has never been the same since Tristram’s death.’
Pike passed a hand across his brow and sank back into the sofa. He had been a supporter of force-feeding until Dody had invited him to attend one such procedure as an observer. ‘It’s not so much the force-feeding that is worrying me,’ he said quietly.
Dody knew he was alluding to an even worse scenario, a scenario that she refused to contemplate. ‘You seem very quick to assume that Florence is guilty,’ she said testily. ‘What if I tell you she was at home with me all that night? Annie will vouch to that. Why don’t you speak to her?’
‘I intend to.’
‘Good. And then you must step aside from this case. It is conflict of interest of the worst kind.’
Pike paused, nodding. ‘I’ll see what I can do. On another topic, did you notice anyone in the street when you came home?’
‘None but the usual traffic. Why?’
Pike shrugged. ‘I might be mistaken, but I’ve been getting the feeling that I’m being followed.’
The last time Pike had been followed he’d been victim of a beating he’d barely survived. ‘Good God, be careful, Matthew.’
Pike chuckled. ‘I think it’s an old woman, the eyewitness to your sister’s alleged crime. I thought she was at the rest home where she usually resides, but it seems she has been let out again. I must speak to her son about it. Perhaps she has absconded.’
‘She followed you here? She knows where Florence lives? Perhaps it is a set-up, Matthew, she is trying to put Florence in the … box.’
‘The frame, my darling.’
Dody smiled for the first time since coming home that evening. ‘I see my knowledge of police jargon still needs work. Have you spoken to the old woman yet?’
‘No, but I will.�
�� Pike’s expression became serious again. ‘Meanwhile, telegram your father and ask him to organise a good lawyer for your sister.’ Pike downed his drink and climbed to his feet. He turned back to her when he reached the door. ‘I won’t break the law for her, Dody. You know that, don’t you?’
‘But would you for me?’ she whispered to his retreating back. That was a question to which she was, at that moment, uncertain.
Dody found Florence in her room fully clothed, sitting at her dressing table staring at her pale reflection in the mirror. As soon as Dody sat down on the bed, Florence started ripping pins from her hair and scattering them noisily across the silver dressing-table tray.
‘Florence, we need to talk.’
‘Is that wise?’ Florence replied through pursed lips.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your lover has accused me of a crime. I think you should stay right out of it. For everyone’s sakes.’
‘I’ve been left with the mess and the gore to clean up. I am involved whether you like it or not. Did you do it, Florence, did you plant the bomb?’
Florence began to brush her long dark hair, continuing to scatter pins that she had missed. ‘Call Annie, will you please, dear?’
Dody came over and took the silver-backed hairbrush from her sister’s hand. ‘I’ll do it, Annie’s gone to bed.’ After several sweeps of the hairbrush through Florence’s lush hair, Dody said, ‘Whoever did do it has desecrated bodies, caused extra suffering to those already grieving and needless time and money wasting. Not to mention murder if the night watchman dies.’ Dody paused. ‘He has six children, you know.’ The muscles in Florence’s neck and shoulders tightened. ‘I cannot say yet that all the mutilations were caused post-mortem. I still have several body parts left to examine.’ Dody clattered the brush back onto its silver tray.
Florence swivelled the pearl necklace around her neck, its jewelled clasp resting against her throat. Emeralds, amethysts and seed pearls shone under the dressing-table lamp.
‘I hope the perpetrators are caught and hanged.’ Despite her bravado, Florence’s fingers shook as she attempted to unhook the necklace. Dody helped her and placed the necklace in its velvet box before undoing the back of Florence’s bodice and loosening the ties of her corset.
‘Thank you, Dody, I can manage now.’
Dody placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and spoke to Florence’s reflection in the mirror. ‘I’ll arrange a meeting with Poppa’s lawyer.’
‘Pike wants me to meet him at the station tomorrow morning. I am to be slotted into a line with similar-looking women and the witness is going to try and identify the person she thinks committed the crime.’
‘And you are worried, naturally,’ Dody said.
Florence straightened on the stool. ‘Only that it might be a case of mistaken identity.’
‘I’ll make sure the lawyer attends too.’
‘Pike’s out to get me.’
‘He’s doing his job. He’s very fond of you, you know that. Only the other day he told me how pleased he was to see that you had recovered some of your former spirits.’ Dody paused as a thought struck her. ‘Unless your grief for Tristram has turned you reckless.’
A ghost of a smile brushed Florence’s lips. ‘I’ve always been reckless, you know that. My fiancé’s death has nothing to do with my returning to the fray.’ Florence’s gaze fell to the black enamelled mourning ring she wore on the little finger of her left hand. The ring contained a tiny slot through which she had twisted one of Tristram’s hairs. ‘I decided my grieving and my moping had to stop. It’s been six months since Tristram fell from his horse. Do you really think I would deliberately inflict on others what I have been going through myself these last months?’
‘No, but mistakes are made …’
‘Why do you not believe me? It’s Pike that’s sown these seeds of doubt in you.’ Florence’s voice rose. ‘I wish you had never become involved with him. If Mother and Poppa knew you were consorting with a policeman, all hell would break loose. And what about your career? Do you have any idea of the risks you are taking? If Shepherd or Spilsbury found out about this dalliance of yours you’d both be out on your ears. And as for you being a fine example to the sisterhood of a woman succeeding in a man’s world, you can forget that. You’ll be accused of getting where you have through seduction and wily feminine guile. You’ll —’
‘Florence, that’s enough! And please leave Pike out of it. I am involved with him, whether you approve or not. To compare my special friendship with Pike to what you have been accused of doing is utterly ridiculous.’
Florence sprang up from her dressing-table chair and rushed to her bed, throwing herself face down upon her pillow. Her emotions spilled as if from a burst floodgate, the bones of her back visible through the thin fabric of her chemise, rising and falling with each gasp.
‘All right, I did it, I did it,’ she sobbed.
It was all very well to have suspicions, but to hear them confirmed thus changed everything. The shock of the admission felt like a blow to Dody’s chest, a physical pain. As she closed her eyes and prayed for strength, angry thoughts buzzed around her head like disturbed bees in a hive.
Steeling herself as best she could, she sat on the edge of the bed. She must not let her anger show. She must remain calm for Florence’s sake, offer her support and then suggest the most honest course of action — that Florence turn herself in and throw herself on the mercy of the courts.
Florence spoke first. ‘Every time I close my eyes I see that night watchman’s face. He caught us just after we’d planted the bomb. He tried to put his hand on me and I threw him to the ground. He hit his head.’
‘You managed to throw a grown man to the ground?’
Florence ignored the incredulity in Dody’s voice. ‘We knew the bomb would blow any minute and dragged him behind the convenience block outside the station. We stayed with him until the authorities arrived, then made our escape before we were seen by anyone.’ She paused to draw a shaking breath. ‘If I could save him by surrendering myself to the authorities, I would.’ She sat up in the bed and took the handkerchief Dody offered. ‘I really would — but it won’t make any difference to him now, will it?’
‘No, I suppose it won’t,’ Dody said, chewing her bottom lip. ‘But it would offer his family some form of justice.’
Florence appeared not to hear Dody’s last remark, as if still fixated on the scene in her head. It must be a relief to talk the whole ghastly incident through with someone, Dody thought.
‘And all those bodies … it was a horrible mistake that should never have happened,’ Florence said.
‘Who was your partner? You seem to have been left to face the consequences.’
She lifted her chin with some of her usual spirit. ‘I will never reveal my accomplice’s name. ’
‘But you will turn yourself in, won’t you?’
Florence swallowed. She shook her head.
‘But you have to.’
‘I received a note from Christabel. On no account am I to admit to this disaster. This incident has apparently been an embarrassment to them.’
‘For goodness sake, Florence, you mean they will take no responsibility for this atrocity at all?’
‘No,’ she said, with an amazing absence of rancour.
Dody wanted to throttle her sister. How could she brush this betrayal off so easily? Her dedication to the cause had made her quite blind to its dark side. Dody jumped up from the bed and began to pace.
‘I suppose you’ll tell Pike now,’ Florence said with a sigh. ‘I’ll deny it, of course.’
Dody said nothing. Her agitated footsteps bounced the floorboards and made the scent bottles on the dressing table tremble.
‘So where does this leave you?’ Florence added, finally.
‘Between Scylla and Charybdis,’ Dody muttered under her breath as she continued to pace. And think.
Chapter Six
The afterno
on was dull, the pungent breeze from the river worse than none at all. In the police yard, Florence lined up with the other women under a dishwater-grey sky. A residue of sulphurous grease coated her skin, a cold trickle of sweat inched its way down her side. It was impossible to control her perspiration under these conditions. But she knew she must not betray her guilt by appearing too nervous, nor must she be overly nonchalant, as that might also give the game away.
The woman beside her stiffened as the yard door opened. Her neighbour’s reaction provided Florence with some consolation. It served to remind her that taking part in a police identification parade was not all in a day’s work for most people.
Despite this comforting thought, when Sergeant Hensman appeared with the witness, Florence could not help but imagine a big red arrow hanging down from the sky and pointing at her head. She held her breath as the old woman shuffled past, like an ageing general inspecting her troops. The woman lingered for several seconds in front of each of the women in the line-up. This was the old dear they’d thought had been sleeping soundly when they’d scaled the station gate — Florence recognised the tatty straw hat. She only breathed again when, having completed her inspection, the woman stepped aside to confer with the policeman. She did not seem capable of keeping still, shuffling repeatedly from one foot to the other. Sergeant Hensman must be making her nervous, Florence decided, knowing too well how she felt.
Florence wished Pike were here. She had not seen him since yesterday evening at the townhouse, although his henchman, Singh, had been present during her morning interrogation. Florence knew nothing about Singh other than that his sense of dress was even worse than Pike’s former assistant — his turban looking most odd with his poorly cut English clothes. She would have preferred big old comfortable Fisher, but he had been promoted (undeservedly, according to Dody) and shipped off to the East End somewhere.
There was no sign of Singh now. Florence suspected he was watching from the wings — perhaps the mystic-like man did not even cast a shadow. He had left most of the talking to Hensman. The sergeant had tried to get Florence to divulge the name of her accomplice, saying that if she did, he’d plead with the judge for leniency, even though Florence had protested her innocence throughout. How could she have an accomplice to something she did not do? At one stage during the interview, Hensman had looked so angry Florence feared he would strike her.
The Insanity of Murder Page 4