A Death for a Cause (16 page)

My heart, usually a most reliable organ, jumped into my mouth. It is only the maid, I told myself, but I was already looking around for whatever in a hotel bathroom might be used as a weapon.
³⁹
My fingers reached for the bath plug. My modesty warred with my desire not to be drowned in my own bathwater. I heard footsteps outside the door.

‘Euphemia?' called a familiar voice.

‘Oh, good heavens, Bertram. I am bathing!'

Then came the strangled sound of a gentleman in an unconscionable position. It was as if Bertram had swallowed his tongue and his neck tie all at once. After this came a gargling noise and that distinctive cough the well-educated male gives to show that he has realised he has committed a fatal breach of etiquette and is about to pretend it has not happened. ‘I will await you in the coffee room downstairs,' he said in uneven tones. Then I heard the sound of footsteps fleeing.

Every maidenly bone in my body should have been shocked, but I could not help it. Laughter bubbled inside me and within moments I was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. After the horrors of the cell, to be back in a position where one had to consider niceties once more struck me as both delightful and ridiculous.
⁴⁰

Eventually when I felt I was edging close to hysteria, I did something my mother would have approved of and stuck my head under the cold water tap. The sudden sensation of coolness sobered me. I dried myself and dressed, but then came a real problem – one gentlemen do not have to consider. My long hair was still very wet and would take some time in front of the fire to dry. There was no way I could venture downstairs with wet hair. Even I would not go that far! I rang for a maid to light the fire and also to convey a message for Bertram to attend me. I described him as my brother, a ruse we had used to effect before, and ordered that coffee be brought up for us both. I also added a small brandy to the order for Bertram. From the sound of him earlier, he would need it if he were to face it.

Bertram was, after all, a man and would have been unable to resist imagining me in the bath. He would doubtless be acutely aware that when he saw me again the image he had been imagining was still present, though now under clothing. I suppose it is a measure of those I have associated with of late that I even entertained such thoughts.

Bertram and the coffee arrived together. The maid placed the tray on a little table and gave a little bob before retreating. Bertram opened his mouth to speak, but nothing happened. I passed him the brandy. He downed it in one and gave a little splutter. ‘Ah, thank you, Euphemia.'

‘I have told the staff we are brother and sister,' I said. ‘I hope you have not done anything to counter this idea. This is, after all, a suite and the two bedrooms are separated by our private saloon.'

‘Good God! I can't stay here!'

‘Indeed,' I countered passing him a cup and saucer, ‘then I assume I will have to find Wilks and Maisie's killer alone. I had rather hoped you were going to help me. Fitzroy gave me this.' I passed him the list of names and addresses the spy had given me. ‘Only one is missing. A Martha Lake. I assume she is at this moment being followed and we will receive the information in due course.'

Bertram, now forced to hold his cup and saucer and the document, admitted defeat and sat down. ‘Have we been officially, unofficially, asked to do this?' he asked in a defeated voice.

I avoided the question. ‘Surely you wish to see justice done?'

I passed him another page that I had written on the hotel stationery. ‘These are the names that Hans managed to find of men who are associated with Wilks. Below that is the boarding house where the dead suffragette in the railway carriage was resident. Richenda managed to discover that she received a letter on the morning of the attack that changed all her plans.'

‘Never tell me the Mullers are working for Fitzroy!' exclaimed Bertram.

I shook my head and poured myself a coffee. ‘No, they were doing their best to aid me.' I gave him a level look.

Bertram flushed slightly. ‘Of course I won't let you down,' said Bertram. ‘I realise the killer must be caught for your name to be cleared.'

‘Which is why we need to go to the Gilded Lily. Have you heard of such a place, Bertram?'

The question was redundant. I could see from the puce colour that had suffused his face he knew exactly what the Gilded Lily was. ‘Bertram,' I said in a reproving tone.

‘Clubs. Men talk in clubs,' replied Bertram in a strangled voice. Then he resorted to bluster. ‘What the devil does Fitzroy mean telling you about such places.'

‘This whole affair started with the firebombing and as no one seems to have witnessed anything, we must begin with the victims. Wilks was a known frequenter of this place.'

‘But damn it, Euphemia, such places don't go about giving information out. They are used for their discretion.'

‘Which is why while you are unsuccessfully talking to the owners of the establishment, I will be talking to the girls.'

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Ahabit I had begun to enjoy since joining the Muller estate. My mother had frowned heavily on indulgent bathing. She felt it weakened one's moral fortitude.

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The answer, in case you were wondering, is not very much. Unless you are particularly lethal with a sponge.

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My mother would never consider being caught in the bath a nicety of social etiquette, but in my defence she has never had to urinate in a bucket.

Chapter Twenty-three

The Gilded Lily

The Gilded Lily was an unassuming terraced townhouse. Bertram was still virtually straining at the leash. I had got him here by the simple expedient of telling him that if necessary I would go alone. I did not share with him that Fitzroy, fearing exactly this, had not divulged the address.

‘Damn it, Euphemia! I'm not going in there!' said Bertram after he had paid off our cab at a discreet distance from the club. ‘I should never have let you talk me into this.'

‘Well, then I shall have to go in alone.'

‘You are hardly one of their normal clients,' said Bertram with a sharpness that was uncharacteristic.

‘I shall pose as a girl looking for work.'

At the point, Bertram caught me by the arm, and held it uncomfortably tightly. ‘You cannot, you absolutely cannot do that,' he said.

I looked him direct in the eyes. ‘Why not? When you first met me you thought I was exactly what the girls inside are.'
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Bertram flushed so darkly I would have feared for his heart if his grip on my arm was not so bruising. ‘Your association with Fitzroy is damaging you.'

‘How dare you! I do not
associate
with Fitzroy,' I exclaimed hotly. ‘You are hurting my arm.'

Bertram let go at once. He looked more shaken than I had ever seen him in all our adventures together. ‘This is not right, Euphemia. Neither of us should have to enter this place.'

‘I think I will find that being threatened execution by foreign spies is far worse.'

‘It is not the same thing at all,' said Bertram. ‘Here, your virtue may be in jeopardy.'

‘I assure you I am quite capable of looking after myself. I will be in no danger,' I countered in what I hoped was a more reasonable tone. Though, I admit, if Fitzroy had shown me the manoeuvres he had promised, with which he claimed I would be more able to protect myself, I would have felt more self-assured. Still, to date I had found my quick wits
⁴²
and loud scream had stood me in good stead.

‘Euphemia, you have no idea what such a place is like.'

‘It can't be worse than the farm I grew up on!'

The look on Bertram's face should have been immortalised in oil. Really, men, gentlemen in particular, seem to need to believe that ladies should know nothing about reproduction, which when you consider we do the actual producing is quite ridiculous!

I used Bertram's momentary shock to escape and head down the steps to the side door. I assumed that those I wished to talk to would definitely be using the tradesman's entrance. I knocked smartly on the door. I had a last glimpse of Bertram's shiny brogues pacing back and forth in indecision before my attention was taken by the door opening.

In truth I had prepared many speeches to achieve my objective and been happy with none. My intention had been to discuss matters further with Bertram until he showed his intractable side. As it was my heart was in my mouth as the blue door opened. I had a moment of panic, but managed to suppress my impulse to flee simply because I couldn't bear to see the smug look on Bertram's face if I bottled it.

‘Good evening,' I began before the door was even fully open. ‘I …'

An older man with greying hair, who was clearly a butler but dressed with exceptional style, said, ‘Lizzy?' in a pleasant baritone. ‘You are a little late.'

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

‘You are Lizzy, aren't you?'

I managed to nod my head. The man gave me an avuncular smile, ‘Well, my dear, this is a good, clean house and you will be well looked after. You have no need to worry. Come in.'

Dumbly, I followed him inside and along a narrow passageway. ‘I'll take you in and you can meet some of the other girls. I'm sure they will take to you. From what I can see you are quite different from the others and we do like to offer our gentlemen variety.'

My faint hope that Lizzy might have been the new kitchen maid faded. ‘Now, what you're wearing is quite nice, but the master has laid out your costume for the evening in one of our downstairs rooms. It is not so very different from what you are wearing, but it is, shall we say, more accessible.' He opened a door to a large kitchen. A not unpleasant smell of cooking wafted out. ‘I suggest you get yourself a decent dinner,' continued the man, ‘and maybe a glass of wine for courage.' He ushered me in. As I passed him he gave me a little pat on the bottom. With difficulty I managed to suppress both my small squeak and my immediate response to turn round and slap him.

The scene in the kitchen, if it hadn't been for the apparel the occupants were wearing, would have been quite domestic. Several women were seated around a kitchen table. Three were finishing their dinner. All of them looked to be no more than nineteen. One of them, the youngest at around seventeen, was licking her knife with an expression of ecstasy. ‘That were right lovely, Mother,' she said to an older woman, who was tending to pots on the range. ‘I don't rightly remember when I had such a good plate.'

‘Just as well,' said one of the other three, ‘Father's said how we've got a busy night.' There was an outburst of giggling. None of the them seemed to have noticed me yet or perhaps they were simply not interested. The diners, and another woman, who was mending a stocking, were all wearing the lowest-cut bodices I had ever seen. Moreover they were loosely laced, doubtless to expose the ladies' assets to full effect. The woman darning had her feet up on another chair and her skirts pulled up around her thighs, so that a glimpse of lacy underwear could be seen. I must have been staring for one of the diners suddenly said, ‘Cover your purse up, Gladys! You're shocking the new girl.'

‘If she's shocked by what I've got wait till she sees what Sir Toby's got!' said the darner. The others burst out laughing.

‘Oh, come on,' said the first girl. ‘We were all new once.' She got up and came over to me. ‘I'm Betsy, but the gentlemen call me Lucia. They like nicer names. Most of them.' She guided me to the table. ‘Mother, can you get the new girl a plate?' she called over to the cook. ‘She's not actually our mother,' she said in a low voice to me, ‘but she likes us to call her that. Rather like Father. He's the butler. You watch out for him. He's all nice and friendly, but a couple of tots of gin and he's got more arms than an octopus. Probably tell you how he gets it on the house as he works here. Don't you believe it. We don't service none but the proper gents.'

A plate of stew was set in front of me with a cup of tea. ‘Get that down yer, love,' said the cook. ‘Father said how the master wants you to get straight to it. He always reckons it's best with you new ones to throw you right in.'

‘Oh are you doing the fainting virgin too?' asked the seventeen-year-old. ‘Only that's kind of my thing.'

‘Ah but you, Janie, are a blonde and this girl has got lovely chestnut curls.' She fingered my curls and I fought an impulse to pull away. ‘Quite a different look. So there's no need to be getting your claws out.'

I still hadn't spoken. I now understood that Bertram had been completely and utterly right. This was a stupid plan. None of these women were going to open up to me easily and I had no desire to chat with an octopus. At the moment Bertram could have been as smug as he liked if only he would walk through the kitchen door and rescue me right now. I looked over hopefully, but the door stayed resolutely shut.

Mother followed my gaze. ‘There's no point thinking of leaving, my dear,' she said firmly. ‘The master has paid good money to your family for you and until you work it off you'll be staying here. If you had any doubts you should have left them on the doorstep. Gladys, keep an eye on her, we don't want a bolter.' She turned back to me. ‘Not that you'll get far. Father keeps the house locked up tight. Now, when you've finished, Gladys will take you through and show you your get-up. Nice red one it is.'

I managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of stew and tepid tea. My mind was racing frantically. I decided to play the foolish, scared girl, which was not too far from the truth. Hopefully, if I was quiet and seemingly compliant, I would be able to grab a chance to escape before the evening's entertainment begun. The doors might be locked, but did they lock the windows too? There had to be emergency measures in case of fire, didn't there?