A Death for a Cause (8 page)

Martha Lake suddenly stood up and began to pace back and forth. In our overcrowded state this action disturbed us all. When she stood on my foot for the fourth time, I rose from my seat on the bench and inquired if I could be of assistance.

Martha lowered her face close to mine. Close to, her skin contained more lines than I realised and I mentally readjusted my estimate of age upwards. ‘Do you know,' she asked me in strangled, but refined accents, ‘how one summons the man to use the necessities?'

Unfortunately Abigail Stokes overheard us and gave a crack of coarse laughter. ‘That'll be the bucket in the corner, milady!'

Martha paled. ‘She cannot be serious?' she asked me.

At this point Constance came across to us. ‘I believe with the help of some other ladies we can arrange some privacy, but I fear that is indeed the basic commode we must use.'

‘Never,' said Martha.

Constance gave her a gentle smile. ‘Sadly, it is not within our gift to control the tides of nature.'

‘Oh, dear God,' said Martha. ‘This is unbearable.'

Under Constance's guidance, we managed to surround the bucket, so that each woman could use it in a semblance of privacy. We were all more than aware that only bars separated us from the view of any passing guard.

Even Abigail was not exempt from the natural happenings of the human form and also had to take advantage of our makeshift water closet. I was extremely glad the bucket provided was on the larger side.

It was a humbling experience for us all. I imagined that if Rory or Bertram had been forced to endure such an experience they would have retreated to their individual areas and turned their backs, but with us women the hardship had bonded us. We exchanged friendly ‘good nights' and jocular hopes that we might sleep well, as we laid down in the darkness and prepared for rest.

To my surprise I did sleep well. I woke as dawn crept through the bars of the window. The light was weak, so I surmised the day was newly broken. I blinked to bring the cell into focus. I appeared to be the only one awake. Around me the women lay in various attitudes of reclining. Some had lain fully on the floor, like Abigail and Maisie. The Pettigrew sisters had slept sitting on the bench, leaning against the wall and each other. Their chins were sunk deep on their chests and as I watched Eunice uttered a snorting sound. Martha Lake had fallen onto one side and took up more than her fair share of the bench. Two other dark shapes on the floor I took to be Angela and Mary.

My headache had fled, but my back felt as stiff as a board. I wiggled my toes experimentally. They worked. I sat up carefully. Pain shot through my lower back and I almost cried out. I would not have been surprised if I had actually creaked as I pushed myself up to a sitting position.

‘Euphemia St John,' came a male voice behind me. ‘You're wanted.'

Close to the bars was a man's face, illuminated in a most unflattering manner by the small lantern he held.

‘For goodness' sake, be quiet!' I commanded. ‘You'll wake them.' The man snorted and unlocked the door. ‘And send a man to change the bucket. It will be needed again when they awaken.'

The man banged the door shut as I stepped through. He locked the door and then caught me in a painful armlock. Taken by surprise I could only gasp. ‘I don't know who you think you are,' he spat in my ear, ‘but I don't take my orders from whores like you!' He did not allow me to walk myself, but frogmarched me down the corridor. I twisted my neck to look back at him. ‘For heaven's sake,' I began, and I intended to finish
you can drop the act now they can no longer see us
, when I saw the maniacal glint in his eye. This was not, as I had supposed, one of Fitzroy's men. Then I recalled Mark had said he was the one here. I felt a wave as fear. Where was I being taken and why, if not to the spy? Mary's and Abigail's warnings wormed their way into my treacherous heart, which began to beat most alarmingly fast.

‘Frightened now, are you?' asked the hateful voice at my ear. ‘So you should be. This place is being soft on you women. At my last station we knew how to treat you. With chains. With whips. It's all your kind are good for. The good Lord gave you a place and you should keep it. Those that won't deserve all they get as far as I'm concerned. Women like you are fit for only one thing!'

At this end of this charming speech he thrust me through a door. ‘Ten minutes. That's your lot,' he growled, and slammed the door behind me. The small room had no windows and was lit only by a candle lantern on the table. Sat on a small hard chair was the last person I had expected to see: Richenda Muller. In front of her was a box.

‘Oh for heaven's sake, Euphemia,' she cried, ‘what on earth have you got yourself into now?'

I collapsed into the chair. ‘Richenda, this was all your idea!'

Richenda pushed the box towards me. ‘Cake. It has been examined.' I opened the lid to find an extravagant, rich, and frankly over-decorated monstrosity that even in the best of times would have made my stomach lurch. I recognised it as one of Richenda's favourites. It had been cut into sliver-thin slices, which I presumed was the examination. I recognised it for the peace offering it was.

‘Thank you,' I said, ‘but I would so much like to have known where we were going.'

‘You really did not guess? Even when I made you wear that dress. I thought you were meant to be unfashionably intelligent?'

I hung my head. ‘Perhaps I should have guessed.'

‘But what on earth made you get in with a terrorism cell?'

My head jerked up at that. ‘I am not and never have been involved with anyone who advocates violence!'

‘The chief inspector I spoke to said you pulled a policeman off his horse.'

‘Have you been here all night?' I asked, astonished.

‘It took me a while to convince them to let me see you. Hans called the station, but it did not have much effect. Bertram is on his way.'

I blinked. ‘Why? What?'

‘Well, obviously I cannot leave you here, and I cannot ask Hans to leave Amy. She needs one of us there and Bertram has helped you solve those little puzzles of yours before, so …'

‘What? How?'

‘I don't believe for a moment that you would be involved in a firebombing, but both Hans and I have failed to convince the police, so the only option left is for Bertram and I to solve the case.'

Chapter Twelve

Richenda plots and I despair

I could think of nothing worse than Richenda blundering around in what might prove to be a highly dangerous situation. Where on earth was Fitzroy when I needed him? I took a deep breath. ‘But Richenda, Hans is a wonderful man, but Amy needs you.'

Richenda sniffed valiantly. ‘So the quicker we get this over with the better. The early morning newspapers have named the man that died as Sir Aubrey Wilks. When I telephoned Hans he said he had never heard of him. I suppose I could ask Richard, but I don't trust him not to meddle to your disadvantage.'

‘Indeed,' I said dryly. Richenda's brother was something of a nemesis to me.

‘But what no-one has said so far is who was the women.'

‘Aggie Phelps.'

‘Oh, did one of the women in your cell know her?' asked Richenda.

I cursed myself. Usually I am very good at keeping secrets. Fitzroy's threats of what happens to those who breaks the Official Secrets Act are vividly inspirational. If I hadn't been so tired and worn out I would never have let anything slip. I had to cover this up. ‘It was what someone said when we were held in the first group. I haven't seen her since. It might just have been gossip.'

Richenda leant forward, endangering the cake, ‘Euphemia, this is vital. You must try and recall this woman. At the time you were swept up the chief inspector did not even know of the attack. I had almost convinced him to release you when news of the deaths reached the station. Whoever knew the identity of this woman must have known about the attack!'

In desperation I tried a different tack. ‘I am sure this is all going to be dangerous. Hans would disapprove of you involving yourself.'

Richenda bridled. ‘The whole reasoning behind our Movement is that women are equal to men. Hans would not dare tell me what to do. Besides, he believes I am already on my way home.'

‘In all seriousness, Richenda, what could you do?'

‘I don't know,' snapped Richenda. ‘What would you do if you were free?'

I looked into Richenda's tired face. Her hair was coming down and in the unflattering light of the early dawn she looked grey, haggard, and ten years older than her actual age. It occurred to me, much as I imagine lightning strikes a rod, that for the first time in her life she was feeling guilty in her actions towards me. Perhaps this was even the first time she had ever felt guilt. Richenda had mellowed magnificently since she had married Hans, and even more since adopting Amy. Who was I to deny her the opportunity of further emotional growth?
²²

‘I would,' I said slowly, a plan forming in my mind, ‘contact any of the other sisters I knew and attempt to find out what I could about Aggie Phelps. It may be she was the firebomber and was accidentally caught up in her plans. If she was I am sure there will be rumours of her involvement in the more militant side of the movement.'

‘Wait,' said Richenda, ‘are you suggesting she might have been murdered too?'

I shook my head. ‘I don't know. The key is finding out what Aggie was like. If we can find out about her maybe we can work out why she was in a First Class carriage at the railway station rather than on the march.'

‘I take it she wasn't a woman of substance?'

‘I haven't heard anything about her to suggest she was other than a working woman,' I said. I was warming to this plan, but I felt divulging the information Fitzroy had given me about her place of work would be crossing a line too far in the spy's eyes. I had no idea how many women in the movement Richenda knew. She certainly had not been inviting them to dinner at the Muller Estate, but maybe she could root out some rumours. Fitzroy was good with rumours. ‘You've never heard of a Martha Lake, have you?' I asked.

Richenda shook her head. ‘Why?'

‘She's in the cell with me and I don't think that's her real name. She has …' I sought for a generous phrase, ‘breeding.'

‘Snotty cow, you mean?'

I gave a slight smile. ‘That may be one way of describing her. All of us are finding the situation difficult, but she seems totally unprepared for the unpleasantness of prison.'

Richenda lowered her eyes. ‘I had read the accounts of women imprisoned, but if I am honest I thought it exaggerated. And goodness knows, we have suffered very little of what I have read, and yet it was – awful. The attitudes of the men. The treatment.' She reached out a hand to me. ‘I am so sorry I got you involved, Euphemia. I should have told you where we were going.' Then her gaze turned steely. ‘But I will tell you this: after what I have seen and experienced this day I am more committed to the cause than ever before. I only joined the Sisterhood to annoy Richard and our father, but now I see how very much needed it is. How this is a war that must be won. How far the patriarchy will go to discredit us, to humiliate and belittle us, is incredible. I would go so far as to suggest that a man might even have planned that firebombing to discredit the movement!'

I blinked slightly at that. It was a thought that had not occurred to me, and it was without doubt worth passing on to Fitzroy.

There came a loud bang on the door and it was flung wide open. The hateful sergeant who had brought me down stood in the doorway. ‘Time's up!' I got up before he could manhandle me. Richenda passed me the box. ‘What's that?' shouted the man in blue. His hand went to his whistle.

‘It's a cake,' said Richenda quickly. ‘It's already been examined.'

The sergeant came over and peered into the box. ‘And very nice it looks too. Go down nice with a cup of tea that will. The boys will appreciate it.'

‘But I brought it for Euphemia. The chief constable …'

‘The chief is tucked up nice and snug in his bed. So in his absence I am in charge and I say that this is the kind of cake that cannot be allowed. It will excite the women and make them even more difficult. It is the kind of cake that causes hysteria.'

Richenda opened her mouth to object.

‘Of course any objection she raises you will decry as her being hysterical, I suppose,' I interjected.

The sergeant gave me an unpleasant grin. ‘Ah,
now
, see. You're beginning to understand the system. If you behave proper than you'll be treated right. Meek and mild. That's what I tell my daughters. That's what any man wants to see in a woman.'

I stepped towards the door, trying with all my might to send a warning glance to Richenda. ‘Remember to give my love to Aggie,' I said. I could see Richenda struggling with herself. Her natural reaction was to hit this obnoxious man with anything to hand, in this case most likely a chair, but that would only end up with her back inside.
²³
She took a deep breath, inflating her person to magnificent proportions, and nodded to me. The sergeant, taking the nod as capitulation, swept up the box under his arm and prodded me in the back with his truncheon. ‘Get along now. You know the way.'

It was with a sense of weary familiarity that I re-entered the cell. The three brick walls and the front of bars had taken on a different aspect now I feared I might need to remain her for some time.

The light coming into the room had grown stronger, and more of the women were waking. From the wake they stretched and grimaced I knew they had found the accommodation no more comfortable than I. Eunice and Jasmine, looking like a pair of animate bookends, stood face to face as they tidied each other's hair. Constance was crying quietly with Mary trying to comfort her. Then my gaze alighted on Maisie. She was still curled on the floor. Something about the way she lay struck me as amiss, but I couldn't quite tell what it was. A sense of deep unease crept over me. ‘Goodness,' said the woman Mary had pointed out as Angela Blackwood, ‘to be so young you can sleep anyway. I don't feel as if my back will ever be straight again.'