by Brown, T. J.
Remembering what the guard had said, she opened the bed and made it up. It took her a minute to figure out how to fold it back up, and by the time she had it latched, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Then she sat on the stool and waited.
She wouldn’t send word to her uncle first, Victoria decided. No, if this could be handled by Martha, she would just as soon spare her family the embarrassment. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t had any idea whatsoever what Mary had planned. She had screamed, not to draw attention away from Mary but because she realized Mary had an ax. Wouldn’t anyone scream if she saw a menacing woman with an ax? They would believe her and let her go. They had to. She wasn’t a criminal like Mary. She had never been to prison before. No. She would send word to Martha. Martha had probably handled things like this quite often.
Resolve and hope buoyed her for the next couple of hours. The women disappeared from the yard and Victoria was certain that it was lunchtime, but no one came. More hours passed and still no one came. Had they forgotten her completely? Was this how all suffragettes were treated? Was it a punishment?
She had no way to tell the time, except for the shadows outside that crept longer and longer eastward. Victoria finally pulled apart her bed again and lay on it for something to do. She counted the stones in the ceiling, anything to keep from thinking about her stomach. She drank more water but didn’t want to drink it all in case they really had forgotten her. She wrapped her blanket around herself to fight off the damp chill that was so pervasive she could feel it all the way to her bones.
When had she last eaten? What was it? Breakfast yesterday, she realized. Kippers, eggs, berries in cream. A scone. Her mouth watered. A good breakfast. She always ate a good breakfast. Without warning, the tears came and this time she couldn’t stifle the sobs that wracked her body until, exhausted, she finally let sleep overcome her.
When she awoke it was dark out again and still no one came. She used one of the buckets as a toilet and dipped the corner of her towel in her precious water to wipe her face and hands. The cell smelled strongly of urine and mildew.
It wasn’t until the light clicked off that she knew that she was in very real danger. The entire day had gone by without anyone even checking on her, let alone bringing her food. If suffragettes were going on food strikes, that meant they were being fed, so this couldn’t be a punishment.
They must have forgotten her.
Knowing it would be useless to scream at night in a room made of stone, she felt her way to her bed and crawled back under the coverlet. She would begin her campaign in the morning, trying to get someone’s attention. For now all she could do was rest.
Except that she had slept most of the afternoon and her terror of the dark kept her eyes open and staring into the oppressive blackness that engulfed her. The window, her only source of light during the day, had transformed into an object of terror, opening into a dangerous, shadowy world. Her imagination ran wild to Dracula and Frankenstein and she felt her chest tighten. No. She couldn’t have an attack. She would die. So she counted and breathed until the tightness lessened. She kept counting until her eyes grew heavy.
She must have fallen asleep again, because by the time she opened her eyes, the sky outside was lighter, though there was no evidence that the sun had actually risen. She waited in bed until the overhead light flicked on. They probably had a schedule and would be taking food around at a set time.
She waited for as long as she dared and then, overwhelmed by hunger, started banging a bucket against the cell door. Every once in a while she would trade that racket with some yelling, but she began growing light-headed from the effort. She banged until her arms ached. Her ears were still ringing when she quit pounding and curled back up on her bed into a ball.
* * *
Rowena looked with horror at the building where the car had stopped. She looked at the address again. “Are you sure this is the right address?” she asked the driver.
Kit made a noise deep in his throat. “How often did you say she came here?” he asked Prudence, who sat across from them in his motorcar.
Prudence shrugged and reached for the door handle. “A couple of times a week. And what did you expect? This isn’t the National Union of Suffrage Societies. They can’t afford a nice building. They are probably spending all their money on the cause.”
Rowena felt the sting of Prudence’s retort and held her tongue. This wasn’t about her and Prudence, this was about Victoria. She followed Prudence out the door and up the stairs, with Kit close on her heels.
Rowena thought Prudence might knock on the door, but she walked right in and stopped still. A small, dark-haired woman stood in the center of the room, packing things into a box. She startled as Rowena crowded her way past Prudence. The woman blinked. “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Rowena said. “Is this the Suffragettes for Female Equality?”
The woman hesitated and then nodded. Her eyes kept darting over to Kit, as if she was concerned with his presence.
“I’m looking for my sister, Victoria Buxton. Have you seen her in the last two days?”
“Victoria?” The woman’s voice went up in surprise. “No, I haven’t seen her in quite some time, actually. I thought she had quit. Some women are just dilettantes, you know.”
Prudence shook her head. “That isn’t like Victoria. I was under the impression she was working quite a bit for you.”
The woman’s eyes kept darting over to Kit, who was moving around the room and looking around. “May I help you?” she finally snapped.
Kit shook his head. “Just looking around.”
“Well, don’t.” The woman tried to soften her words with a smile, but it was obvious to Rowena that she was uncomfortable with Kit’s presence. She turned back to Rowena.
“Well, I’m not sure what she told you, but she didn’t work with us for very long. We liked her just fine, but like I said, she just wasn’t dedicated.”
“Dedicated to the Suffragettes for Female Equality or the Women’s Equality League?” Kit held up a paper and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
The woman gave him a tight smile. “Either.”
“Why do you have two names?”
Rowena’s neck prickled. Something about this wasn’t right.
The woman smiled again, a public smile meant to soothe. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself, my name is Martha Long. And we have two names because both organizations have very different goals. Two names keep them from being confused. But none of that has anything to do with Victoria.”
“Are you moving?” Rowena asked, nodding her head toward the boxes.
“Just cleaning up,” Martha said. “I hope you find Victoria. She was a very nice girl. Please send word when you do. Now I really should get back to work.”
Tears of desperation filled Rowena’s eyes. In this short conversation she had lost all hope that Victoria would be found quickly. And more than that, she realized that she finally needed to tell her aunt and uncle.
“Were there any protests planned for yesterday?” Prudence asked before they turned to the door.
“Not that I know of.” Martha smiled again. She was altogether too cheerful for someone who should be concerned about a missing worker. “But then again, we don’t know about all the protests every suffragette group has planned. Now if you will excuse me?”
Her meaning was plain and there was nothing left for them to do. Clearly, Victoria wasn’t there.
By the time Rowena made it downstairs, Prudence was speaking to a young boy. Rowena saw Prudence hand the boy a coin.
“What was that all about?” she asked when Prudence rejoined her and Kit.
“Something was off about that whole situation. I don’t know if it had anything to do with Victoria or not, but I thought we could use some information on where Martha Long goes after she’s done here. I gave him a shilling and told him there would be more if he brought me the information tonight.”
Prudence
waved a hand at where the boy had taken up watch on the other side of the street and then climbed into the car.
Rowena just shook her head and followed her.
“What now?” Kit asked when they were all in the car.
Rowena shook her head. “I shall go to my aunt and uncle. No one knows where she is and we need help in finding her.”
After dropping Prudence off, Kit had his driver take them back to Belgravia.
“You know, this isn’t going to be easy,” Kit said as they got out of the motorcar.
“That’s an understatement,” Rowena said. Sebastian was waiting outside for them as they walked up the steps.
He took one look at Rowena’s face and wrapped his arms around her. Colin opened the door behind them and Kit shook his head and went inside. Rowena stood for a moment in Sebastian’s arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
She lifted her tearstained face and he kissed her gently on the cheek. “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the house. “I’ll go with you.”
Telling her aunt and uncle turned out to be as terrible as Rowena had feared it would be.
“Are you telling us that you knew she wasn’t with Prudence last night and you didn’t tell us?” Her uncle’s look of disappointment and disapproval crushed her.
Her stomach sank as she realized that, once again, her inability to take action had let everyone down. She could only manage a nod.
He shook his head and rose. “I’m going to the office to telephone the authorities.”
His wife put a restraining hand on his elbow. “Wait a moment. She rang a bell and the butler appeared. “Cairns, could you please take one of the maids and search Miss Victoria’s room? Look for any papers in the dustbins. If someone has already cleaned in that room, please look through the garbage. We are looking for a note that someone delivered yesterday. Thank you.” Lady Summerset looked at Rowena. “I’m disappointed. While I understand your desire to protect your sister from your aunt and uncle, I think in retrospect it seems rather unwise, doesn’t it?”
Uncle Conrad turned to his wife. “I really think we should notify the authorities.”
She nodded. “Of course. I just thought we might want to do some investigating first. If the girl ran off on her own, I would just as soon protect the reputation she and her sister seem to have so little regard for. Plus, her sister has already waited eight hours to inform us, with little regard for her sister’s safety, so I don’t think a few more minutes will hurt.”
Rowena lowered her eyes. While her aunt’s words were harsh, she deserved and expected little else. She had gambled on her sister’s safety and this was the result. She just hoped Victoria wasn’t paying for her stupidity right now.
Aunt Charlotte rang the bell again and a maid stepped into the room. “We need several pots of tea made, please, and we could use some sandwiches as well.”
She looked at Colin, Kit, and Sebastian, who flanked Rowena. “If we do have to send out searchers, they will need to be fed. I suppose you three have friends capable of searching for a young girl?”
Relieved, Rowena sat back and closed her eyes as her aunt took over. Why hadn’t she just taken the whole mess to her aunt earlier?
“Now, Rowena. You can still redeem yourself. We need as much information as you can give us about your sister’s activities. Did she have a young man?”
Next to her Kit stiffened and without meaning to her eyes went to him. Her aunt must have caught the look because she raised her brows in comprehension.
Rowena shook her head. “No.”
Her aunt continued. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what her position with the Suffragettes for Female Equality is?” Rowena’s mouth dropped open and Aunt Charlotte shook her head impatiently. “Of course I know. She didn’t think she could canvass my friends for money and not one of them would mention it to me, did she? I shudder to think how much money they forked out on such an unseemly enterprise. She must have been very persuasive.”
Rowena nodded. “Victoria can be very persuasive if she chooses to be, though I had no idea she was asking for money. I knew she had taken a position, but not exactly what it entailed. Victoria is not a very forthright person. She never got over her childish love for secrets.”
Kit interrupted them. “You say she was canvassing for money? Were they giving the money to her or just sending to the society?”
“Both, I believe,” Aunt Charlotte said.
“I wish I had known about such goings-on,” Uncle Conrad said with a sniff. “I would have put a stop to this nonsense. If Victoria needed an outlet for her energies, there are other, more respectable charities she could work for.”
Cairns came in holding a small blue piece of paper. He handed it to Aunt Charlotte, who read it and handed it to her husband.
“Do you know of anyone named Mary?” Aunt Charlotte asked while her husband read the note.
Rowena shook her head.
Uncle Conrad ran his hand over his face. “Oh, dear Lord. Cairns, please go to my office and bring me this morning’s newspaper.”
He sank into a chair with his hand over his eyes. Aunt Charlotte moved swiftly to his side. “Conrad! You’re scaring me. What is it?”
“I think I know where she is.”
Kit stood, his hands clenched by his side. “Then let’s go get her!”
Uncle Conrad shook his head. “I’m afraid it may not be that easy.”
Kit snatched the paper out of Uncle Conrad’s fingers and Rowena stood up to read the note with him.
Dear Victoria,
Here is a chance to prove yourself. Please meet me at the National Gallery at two this afternoon. Tell no one.
Mary
Rowena’s stomach clenched, more from her uncle’s reaction to the note than the note itself. “I don’t understand. The National Gallery? What does that have to do with anything?”
Cairns reentered the room holding the newspaper. Her uncle glanced at the front page and then held it up to show the rest of them. Rowena read the headline.
“ ‘Suffragettes Attack the Rokeby Venus at the National Gallery.’ ”
Rowena would have fallen to her knees if Kit hadn’t caught her. Sebastian came up next to her and supported her while he read the next line.
“ ‘Mary Richardson, a notoriously hard-line suffragette, and an unidentified woman slashed Velázquez’s masterpiece Venus at Her Mirror yesterday afternoon at the National Gallery.’ ”
Rowena shook her head. “No. Victoria wouldn’t do that. She’s foolish, but she wouldn’t attack a priceless masterpiece. She had too much respect for the arts to do something like that.”
Her uncle looked at the note again. “I hope you’re right. But still . . . if she was in any way involved in this, I’ve no doubt she’s been taken to prison.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Victoria must have finally fallen asleep once more, for when she awoke, sunlight was streaming in through her small window. She looked out the window and her heart sank at the sight of the empty yard. Once again, there was no one to hear her screams.
She was going to die here. Cold waves of helplessness flooded over her. All of her work, her attempt to become an independent woman, to make a difference . . . it was all for nothing. She would die here without ever having made an impact, without ever having left her mark. Her family would never know what had happened to her and she was so, so sorry. Why had she kept so much from them? Maybe she was just as childish as everyone thought her to be after all.
Just then a click in the door made Victoria sit up in alarm. The door opened and she stared at it in disbelief.
A guard in gray stood there, her hand on another woman’s arm. The guard looked confused.
“What are you doing in here? This room is supposed to be empty.”
Victoria’s throat still ached from screaming. “They . . . forgot me,” she managed to croak.
“I’ll say. Hold on a minute. There must be some ki
nd of mix-up.”
The guard shut and locked the door before Victoria could beg her not to leave her alone again. Please, God, don’t leave me alone.
Victoria wrapped the blanket around herself and stared at the door fixedly. When it opened, Eleanor stood before her with the guard.
Upon seeing a familiar face, Victoria burst into tears. Eleanor immediately wrapped her arms around the girl. “Good God. What kind of muck-up was this?” She turned to the guard. “I can’t trust you with any of my patients, can I?”
“It wasn’t my muddle,” the guard muttered.
“Make yourself useful and get her some food.”
“But—”
“Now!” Eleanor let go of Victoria and brought her the white towel. “Make yourself presentable. We’re going to go see someone as soon as you eat.”
Victoria did as she was told, her hands trembling. Eleanor took her pulse and felt her forehead. “How long have you been in here?” she asked.
“Since shortly after you left. They didn’t seem to know where to put me.”
Eleanor shook her head. “That would be my fault, I’m afraid. I talked the doctor into requesting a private cell for you because of your medical condition. I was afraid the shock of being in the general prison population might trigger another breathing attack. Probably one wasn’t open and they brought you down here. We don’t often use these cells except for patients with consumption.”
The woman came in with a small loaf of rough brown bread and another pitcher of water. Victoria tried not to stuff her mouth the moment the food was in her hands. “Why did you come back?”
“I was asked to work the morning shift and I was curious about you. We didn’t have your name because you came in so sick. When I tried to find out where Jane Johnson was placed—that’s what we call no-namers—no one remembered. After a bit more digging, I realized that no one had any idea where you were, so I put out an alert. Of course, if the guard hadn’t tried to put someone in here, I don’t know how long it might have been before we found you. No one was much interested in finding a no-namer who seemed to have disappeared.”