‘You have them informing on one another?’ I exploded. ‘So much for sisterhood indeed.’
‘The violence has been extreme, Euphemia. We are not talking about the smashing of a few windows any longer. Telephone exchanges have been destroyed. Railway carriages badly damaged. This is occurring at a time when the international situation is far from stable and I do not need to tell you how important communication and other infrastructures during are during what may soon become the darkest of times.’
I shivered at his words. ‘You believe that –’ I began, but he interrupted me.
‘I am not here to speak with you of international affairs. Finish your dessert. I will tell what has brought me into the situation over coffee.’
‘They’re going to bring us coffee?’ I asked astonished. ‘We are hardly dining at the Ritz.’18
‘They will if they know what is good for them,’ snarled Fitzroy and fell on his own portion of spotted dick as if it had somehow offended him.
When plates had been removed, coffee poured and we were alone once more, Fitzroy grew serious. ‘I do most definitely need your help, but if you are not well enough to continue I must ask you to say so before I disclose further information.’
‘Will I be required to do anything energetic?’ I asked for my head still throbbed.
‘You will be placed back among the detained women. At times you will be removed for questioning or force feeding – or so the others will think. In actuality you will be dining with me and discussing what you may have uncovered.’
‘So I am to be spy?’ I said bridling.
‘An embryonic one,’ said Fitzroy. ‘You barely have any training, but I do not think you will be in any danger.’ He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. ‘Remind me, when you are feeling more yourself, to show you some basic self-defence moves. By all reports you were taken most easily. Though I give you full marks for pulling the man out of his saddle. I take it he was completely unbalanced at the time?’
‘That is largely accurate,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m not sure I am comfortable being …’ I met his clear, cold, grey gaze. I swallowed. ‘I mean…’ His gaze challenged me to decry his lifelong profession. I gave way and said somewhat piteously, ‘Why?’
‘Because someone has died, Euphemia, and I am almost certain that one of the women in the cell with you will know who caused his death. More than that, though, I need to know if his death was intended.’
‘How did he die?’
‘A fire bomb was placed in a railway carriage. When the blaze was extinguished two bodies were recovered, one of a young suffragette and the other of a man of, shall we say, significance.’
‘And it happened at the same time as the march? You think the protest was a deliberate diversion?’
Fitzroy leaned back in his chair. ‘I do so enjoy conversing with you,’ he remarked.
‘Who died?’
‘The young woman’s name was Aggie Phelps, a known suffragette of the more militant persuasion. Twenty-nine years old, spinster, working as one of these new shop girls, who are given lodging in the store. Her colleagues describe her as intelligent, but of a somewhat sour disposition. She had a strong dislike of male authority and was currently on her last warning.’
I noticed Fitzroy did not refer to any notes. No, notes could be incriminating, I told myself, and I did my best to retain the information. Whatever the doctor had given me had eased the throbbing, but I still felt as if there was an iron band around my temples that was intent on squeezing my poor brain.
‘The man,’ continued Fitzroy, either not noticing or not caring to notice my discomfort, ‘was Sir Aubrey Wilks, a senior civil servant. Unmarried, or perhaps “married to his job” is a better description. He had been known to frequent the higher class of brothel for his amusement, but not to avail himself of disporting with his own sex. He has no connection with the suffragette movement that I can discover. Though, of course, I have only been looking since this morning. He was not someone on Edward’s watchlist.’
I swallowed hard, trying desperately not to think of how my mother would react to this conversation. Fitzroy has never amended his manner around me to suggest he thinks of me as a member of a weaker sex or a being with fragile sensibilities.19 The mention of Edward, the man with bushy eyebrows, a discreet office, and a network of informants across Great Britain, also sent a shiver down my spine. He is less amiable than Fitzroy.
‘The girl Aggie was not known to be a …’ I left the sentence hanging. I might be quite capable of following Fitzroy’s train of thought,20 but there was no reason why I could not speak as a lady.
‘She was not of the appearance or breeding necessary to procure her a position among the establishments Sir Aubrey preferred.’ He shrugged. ‘And even if on some whim he had had occasion to lower his standards, I can discover no scrap of evidence that she was ever a street-walker.’
‘But you think she might have planted or somehow set of this firebomb?’
Fitzroy inclined his head to one side, ‘My information suggests she may have been connected to a cell responsible for the destruction of a telephone exchange last month. She has certainly been arrested for window-smashing, and was only spared jail because a foolish man in a wig judged her to be of a respectable position and a woman of promise, who had been led astray by more devious women.’
‘You do not believe that so?’
‘I think she was quick and clever, dedicated to her cause and if she was caught in a fire bombing of her own making it was by accident and not design. I also happen to think that from smashing windows to firebombing is a big step, but to be frank my interest in this matter is Wilks. He was a man of some standing in the Civil Service, and more to the point some of his old school fellows are of even more standing, and want to know what happened to their old chum.’
‘Could Aggie’s death be a suicide and Wilks’s death a collateral effect?’ I countered.
Fitzroy took a deep breath. ‘So far something of that nature has not yet occurred. It would indeed be a powerful statement.’ He took another sip of his coffee. ‘You know, Euphemia, I am very glad you are on our side. You would make a formidable opponent.’
‘How do you know I do not support votes for women?’ I returned hotly.
‘I suspect you do,’ replied Fitzroy, ‘but you would never condone violence, especially where innocent life is endangered. And your upbringing would preclude you from supporting self-destruction altogether.’ His face softened. ‘I do believe women will one day get the vote and that they deserve it, too, but now is not the time for that particular battle. We will face such peril on these isles that we will all be forced to stand together.’
‘You are suggesting that war will soon come to our shores.’
Fitzroy’s eyes raised in surprise. ‘I very much hope such an occurrence will not come to our shores. It will however not be long before the Balkans erupt into war and that will be the start of it all.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And here I am looking into the death of a civil servant.’
‘A far less exciting experience than being on the ground at the beginning of a war,’ I remarked.
Fitzroy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Exactly. Where is the adventure in this?’
‘I shall choose not to be insulted by that remark, but simply remind you that justice is a higher calling and one that you should not be shamed to embrace.’
‘This,’ he gestured to the room around us, ‘is not living. This is the slow death march of time within the boundaries of petty politics that will never shape a better world. One day, Euphemia, I shall have to take you somewhere exciting.’
I shivered at the thought.
‘In the meantime,’ continued Fitzroy, ‘could you be a good girl and discover what, if anything, the women in cell know about Wilks’s death. In return I shall ensure that no mention of your part in the fracas is ever mentioned.’ He rose and gave me a quick smile that did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Besides, I am sure you would be happy enough to d
o this without reward, seeing as you have such a high regard for justice.’
‘How am I …?’ but Fitzroy was already unlocking the door and calling for the guard to return me to me cell. My hands were manacled behind my back. I gave Fitzroy a furious look. ‘For verisimilitude,’ he said. ‘Not too rough,’ he added to the guard as the man began to hustle me from the room.
‘Euphemia,’ Fitzroy said as I was exiting the door, ‘if you do feel ill again, have one of your compatriots summon the guard. I will ensure there is medical aid on offer for you.’
‘A hairbrush would be more useful,’ I countered, but he merely smiled his cold smile again and closed the door in my face.
‘Sorry about this,’ said the guard as he took my upper arm in a vice-like grip, ‘but if they others don’t believe it they may turn nasty on you.’
‘Ouch, does it have to be quite that sore.’
‘Believe me a few bruises to show the others will quieten any suspicions of where you have been. Though you’ll need to try not to get too close to anyone for a while. There’s wine on your breath. Sometimes Fitzroy is too flash for his own good.’
‘You’re one of his men?’
‘Hush,’ said the guard. ‘We’re getting near the cells. No, I work for Mr Edward. You can call me Mark. Fitzroy’s on secondment due to his recent injuries, but I heard you knew about all that.’
‘Hmm,’ I nodded. When matters of state are involved I have learnt to keep my mouth shut. As if he had read my thoughts, the guard looked at me approvingly. ‘I’m the only one in here. If another guard is taking you out it’s probably not somewhere you want to be going.’
I swallowed hard. Weak as I was, I imagined I would find it hard to resist a man bent on dragging me out of the cell, though the heavens knew I would do my damnedest. ‘And I really am sorry about this,’ said Mark as we turned the corner and came up against the bars of a large cell. He kept his grip on my arm as he unlocked the cell. Then he pushed me in with such force that I landed on my hands and knees. He spat at me – though I am glad to say his spittle did not actually reach my person. ‘Stupid whore,’ he said and clanged the door shut. He locked the door and ran his baton loudly along the bars as he walked away. The noise made my tender head ring.
I sat back on heels and surveyed my surroundings. Eight women looked down at me. None of them were smiling.
18 Though in all fairness the food was superb.
19 I have seen him do so with other women at superior social gatherings, so I know he is capable of treating a lady as a lady, but he never does so with me. I am unsure, but I believe from him that this may be a compliment.
20 Being brought up alongside farmyard animals has proved most helpful in this
Chapter Ten
Thrown to the lions (or rather, lionesses)
Richenda was not in the cell. Our number had been reduced to nine. My task was now to interrogate these eight women discreetly. I did not have pen and paper to hand for obvious reason, but even if I had I would have been loath to record anything another might read. My thoughts about whether it might be safe to write in Latin served only to remind me that I had forgotten many of my conjugations through lack of use. Instead, as I made tentative moves towards knowing my cellmates, our proximity making this a necessity and thus not too lacking in subtlety, I attempted to make mental notes in the manner I imagined Fitzroy might. Of course he was used to this and I was not. For the first time I actively missed having either Bertram, or even a sulky Rory, with me on my adventures. I felt very alone.
And so it seemed did little Maisie Dawson, the maid who had been taken away before me. She was the first to come over and ask in the quietest of voices, ‘Are you alright, m’um?’
‘I am, thank you.’ I smiled at her and brushed back a few stray locks. ‘A bit roughly used, but I will survive. I’m Euphemia,’ I added, holding out my hand.
The girl brushed away a tear and tentatively took my hand. ‘Maisie Dawson.’ She gulped. ‘I think you’re right brave, miss. They were horrible to me.’
‘Did they beat you?’ asked the freckled face woman who had been so forthright before.
‘N-no,’ stammered Maisie. ‘Are they likely to?’
‘Depends on whether or not we go on hunger strike! Which of course we will if they threaten to hold us here much longer!’
‘Perhaps it will all be sorted out much sooner than you expect,’ I suggested, noticing Maisie’s terrified expression.
‘My name is Abigail Stokes and I am proud to be a long standing member and activist for women’s rights! Onward, sisters!’
I blinked at this forthrightness. ‘We may have to suffer to reach our aim, but it will be worth it,’ continued this redoubtable matron.
The woman, who had been sitting calmly and was particularly well-spoken, came across to the little group. ‘Maisie, I am Mary Hill,’ she said kindly, ‘and I assure you that you need do nothing that you do not wish to do. We may all be united in our belief women should have a say in the running of their own country, but we are not,’ and she gave Abigail a stern look at this point, ‘all of the persuasion that force-feeding or even the indulgence in violence is the way forward. If you are polite and co-operative with the police force I am sure we will all be quickly released.’
Maisie gave Mary and I muttered ‘thanks, m’ums’ and disappeared over to the corner.
‘Quiet as a mouse,’ opined Abigail not bothering to keep the scorn from her voice.
‘Young and frightened,’ retorted Mary Hill. ‘That she came on the march at all shows great courage.’
Abigail gave a loud sniff. ‘What would the likes of you know about courage? Bet you’re sitting pretty. I bet your nob of a hubby will have you out of here in a jiffy.’
‘I am unmarried,’ said Mary calmly and quietly, ‘and if the imprisonment of Mrs Pankhurst and others has shown us nothing else, it has proved that rank is no protection against imprisonment.’
‘Well, they will have to put us up before the magistrate soon,’ said Abigail. Then she turned on me, ‘Unless there’s something you know that I don’t!’
To my horror I felt the blood rushing into my face. Why had Fitzroy asked me to spy on these women? It was a task I was most unsuited to.’
Mary came to my rescue. ‘Oh, hush,’ she said, ‘for a women who protests to support the Sisterhood you appear to be doing your best to set us each against the other.’
Abigail fairly glowered at this, but turned her back on us to go over and talk to two older women, who were dressed very much alike, sitting close together and regarding us all with great suspicion.
‘They,’ said Mary Hill to me, ‘are Eunice and Jasmine Pettigrew. Both of them retired teachers and on a much reduced income. I do not believe they are twins. Although they dress alike and appear to be of similar age.’ She smiled at me. ‘I have met them at previous meetings. They live near to me. They are resolute in their belief in the suffrage movement and also that the rest of the world is against them, poor things. I fear they have both had a very hard life and have learned to cling only to each other for support.’
‘You are most observant,’ I remarked.
‘I have had a little longer than you to become acquainted with our companions. In situations when one is confined in such close quarters I find it helpful to assess who I am with. Sadly, while we might all be suffragettes, of late the cause has become much divided. It is not uncommon for fights to break out in the cells. At least, until the confinement takes a crueller turn.’
‘You have been arrested before.’
‘I do appear to have the unfortunate knack of being arrested,’ said Mary, her eyes twinkling, ‘however, I have never been detained formally in prison. It is not just words. I do not believe in anything more than passive protest. Anything else gives the establishment leave to demonise us and to use violence towards our persons.’
‘Does that really happen?’ I asked.
‘I am afraid so,’ said Mary, her voice
very low. She cast a quick look towards Maisie, but the young woman had remarkably curled herself up and appeared to be fast asleep. ‘It is why I was glad of your help in dealing with Miss Stokes. Her actions could make life for us all very difficult.’
‘Do you know who the other women with us are?’ I asked hopefully. Could it be that Mary had already done most of my job for me?
‘Constance Woodley,’ she said pointing discreetly to a blonde-haired woman with a round face and slightly fuller figure. ‘We had an interesting conversation. She is the wife of a doctor and the mother of two young children. She is most conflicted concerning her role as a campaigner and a mother. She has one daughter and one son, and has remarked to me many times that already she sees such unfairly different futures for them both. Her husband assumes her son will also train as a doctor, but Constance feels her daughter is the brighter of the two.’
‘She wants her daughter to train in medicine?’ I asked amazed.
‘It is not so unusual for women to train in the higher education systems. I, myself, studied mathematics at Oxford. Though of course, despite sitting the exams, and passing them, I have not been awarded a degree.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I am a woman, my dear, and women cannot be awarded degrees. I have met many intelligent women, from all walks of life. It is one of the main reasons that I joined the movement. It makes little sense to me that our country should not make use of the talents of its citizens regardless of their gender.’ Her eyes shone brightly. ‘By the very nature of our different genders men and women must perceive things differently. Imagine what a disciplined and well-trained female mind might do with some of the great problems of our age if they were allowed to bring their intelligence to bear!’
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘When you put it like that the argument is unassailable.’
A Death for a Cause Page 5