The February March, as it later became jocularly known, was an event which many hoped would go down in history as a spectacular demonstration of solidarity among the honest working people of Great Britain. Despite St. John Bagshawe’s description of it as being likely to prove an enjoyable outing for many, most of the participants arrived in a spirit of grim determination, bent upon showing that the ordinary man would no longer consent to being ignored by the Government in his quest for fairer pay and conditions. Little by little, wages had been cut and working hours lengthened, and the unions wanted an end to it. No more would men be unable to feed their families or afford to aspire to a civilized existence. The people would speak and the Government would have no choice but to listen. It was time to protest in the mass—and protest they did. From Camberwell, Sutton and East Grinstead they came; from Bolton, Wrexham and Durham; from Huddersfield, Wigan and Glasgow. From all over the country men and women descended on London, resolute in their desire to make their voices heard. They gathered in Trafalgar Square, a sea of flat caps and bowler hats, carrying oilskins against the rain that threatened at every minute, for the sky was lowering and black. They played concertinas, mouth-organs and drums. They sang and shouted slogans, and held aloft banners—some printed expensively, others hand-painted—bearing the names of their respective trade associations. Coal-miners, shipwrights, dock-workers, factory-workers, train-drivers, ’bus-drivers, brewers, bakers, steel-workers and more—all were represented that day among the teeming crowds. The noise was deafening. They gathered, and then they marched. Along Pall Mall they went and up Regent Street. Into Piccadilly they poured in their thousands, chanting, shouting and singing, accompanied by hundreds of policemen on horseback and thousands more on foot—for there were fears that what had started out as a march would turn into a riot without the heavy presence of the authorities. Londoners might have grumbled at the slowness of the traffic and the closure of many of the more expensive shops along the route (for who knew whether the provincial lower classes might not take it into their heads to engage in a spot of looting as they passed?), but for the most part the march went on peacefully—indeed, it was noted that many visitors from further afield were taking the opportunity to admire the landmarks of the capital city as they proceeded, and were turning their heads this way and that, pointing out one famous building or another to their companions.
By three o’clock most of the marchers had reached Hyde Park Corner and were spilling into the park itself and up towards Speakers’ Corner. Here the atmosphere was noticeably more festive, for a brass band had set up and was playing the marchers through the park with a succession of rousing tunes. As the protesters continued into the park they were handed leaflets and pamphlets by representatives of a number of organizations, while farther on still stalls had been set up, many offering hot and cold food and drink to weary travellers. Near Speakers’ Corner itself a stage had been set up, upon which various important personages were to take turns in addressing the crowd. It was currently occupied by a man whose diminutive stature belied his impressive vocal projection, and who was striding back and forth, expounding upon the subject of the day and punctuating his words rhythmically with a forefinger. Here, too, many policemen stood by on foot or horseback, keeping a sharp eye out for any signs of trouble—although, of course, they could have no idea of the real danger which threatened the event at that moment, but were merely looking out for pick-pockets and any indication of violence among the protesters.
Near the park, on a little side-street just off the Bayswater Road, a car stood. Inside it, Theresa Schuster and Freddy sat in silence. They had arrived nearly two hours ago with Peacock and Bishop, and another silent man whom Freddy did not know, then the three men had gone away, leaving Mrs. Schuster to watch the prisoner. Freddy was fighting a feeling of grogginess, for he suspected that his captors had put something into his food or drink in order to render him docile for the day’s events. He ought to have expected it, he supposed, since he had been wondering how they intended to show their prisoner to witnesses in Hyde Park without his showing signs of unwillingness. But even had he not been feeling woolly-headed, he could not have tried to escape, for Mrs. Schuster was sitting close by him in the back seat, pressing a tiny derringer to his ribs under the cover of a brightly-coloured silk scarf. The gun prodded uncomfortably, but Freddy dared not wriggle.
‘I say, you’re going to give me a bruise with that thing,’ he said at last. ‘I know it’s there. Is it really necessary to poke me so hard with it?’
She moved the gun away very slightly, but said nothing. Freddy sighed inwardly, and stared out of the window. The street was quiet, but people passed by on foot occasionally, on their way to the rally.
‘Whose car is this?’ he said suddenly. ‘Is this how you’re planning to get away? Aren’t you worried someone will see it and the police will trace it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘This is your car.’
‘My car?’
‘Yes. Sidney hired it in your name, and we had them bring it to Fleet Street.’
‘You’ve thought of everything, I see.’
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
‘Might we have the window open? I’m feeling rather sick,’ said Freddy, not untruthfully. ‘You don’t want me making a mess all over the place, now, do you? Don’t worry, I won’t shout,’ he went on, as he saw her regarding him closely.
‘You will not have the chance,’ she said. ‘Very well. You do it.’
He moved away carefully and opened the window slightly. A cold draught came in and revived him a little. He was beginning to think more clearly now.
‘Who was that other man who came with us?’ he said.
‘It is not important,’ she replied. ‘You will never see him again.’
‘How many people are in on this?’
She was silent. Freddy tried again.
‘Who is actually going to do the deed?’ he said. ‘This isn’t the gun you bought for the purpose, is it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Leonard has taken that.’
‘I do hope he has the sense not to leave any finger-prints on it.’
She merely smiled. He looked at her.
‘I believe you’re enjoying this,’ he said. ‘You are, aren’t you? I don’t believe it’s the politics at all. You’re in it for the fun of it, like Peacock. That’s why you and he get along so well. Oh, perhaps you were a revolutionary once, but that’s not what drives you now, is it? You like trouble. You like to have men under your thumb, doing dangerous things at your command.’
She laughed, not at all disconcerted.
‘Do you think so?’ she said. ‘Perhaps you are right. I do like to have men in my power. Leonard will do anything I tell him, and so will Sidney, and Anton. And so will you, is that not so?’
‘I might have, before I knew what you were,’ said Freddy. ‘But I hope I’m not quite so easily cowed as to walk blindly to my own doom just because you ask me to.’
‘True. I have not so much power,’ she said. ‘But I do not need it, for I have this. This gun is your mistress now, and you will do as she tells you.’
She raised the pistol and caressed his cheek gently with it, then placed it against his right ear-lobe. Freddy froze, and swallowed.
‘You have already lost one ear,’ she said smoothly. ‘Perhaps we can shoot this other one to match it.’
‘I’d far rather you didn’t,’ he managed eventually.
She smiled and lowered the gun, pressing it into his ribs again.
‘Of course I shall not,’ she said. ‘You did not really believe I should do such a thing, did you? As long as you are good I am to keep you safe and unharmed. It will not do for the police to find bullet-holes in you. Then how shall we convince everybody?’
‘I don’t know how you expect anyone to believe you at all,’ he said. His heart was still racing, but he hoped his tone was casual. ‘I mean to say, it’s a pretty thin story, don’t you think? To start with, you may have noticed that we’re not at the rally. If we sit here all day in the car then there will be no witnesses to place me on the spot for Rowbotham’s killing. Of course, you can still claim I did it if you plant enough evidence, but it’s a fantastic story you’re asking people to believe, and there’ll always be a doubt in people’s minds unless you can prove I was actually there. Aren’t you planning to parade me about in front of some convenient eye-witnesses?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But not until closer to the time. The longer we are outside, the more likely you are to try and escape, is it not so? Here in the car I can look after you alone, but outside it is a different matter. Have patience. We shall wait until one of the men comes back, and then we shall all go out together.’
Freddy’s heart sank. He might have been able to overpower Theresa Schuster alone, but against two of them he would have no chance. His captors were not as foolish as he had hoped. Mrs. Schuster still had the gun pressed firmly against him, and evidently had no intention of lowering her guard. In this confined space, with the pistol sticking into his ribs, he dared not attempt to try and wrest the gun from her.
They sat in silence for a while, then Mrs. Schuster suddenly stiffened and gave an exclamation of impatience. Freddy looked up and saw what she had seen: the elderly Miss Flowers, walking down the street towards them, in the direction of the park, holding an umbrella. She was presumably on her way to the rally.
‘Be silent,’ hissed Mrs. Schuster.
But Miss Flowers had already glanced into the car and seen them. An expression of surprise and pleasure spread across her face and she stopped.
‘We had better get out,’ said Mrs. Schuster quietly. ‘I warn you—if you try to say a word I shall shoot you without hesitation. Open the door.’
Freddy did so, and stepped out onto the pavement, followed quickly by Mrs. Schuster, who took his arm as though to steady herself, then held onto it firmly and stood close to him. He could feel the derringer against his right side, still hidden under the scarf.
‘Hallo, Miss F,’ he said as jovially as he could manage. His mind was racing as he tried to think of a way to attract her attention. A significant glance was out of the question, for Theresa was watching him like a hawk—and besides, he was sure a glance would not be enough to convey the message.
‘Oh, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ said Miss Flowers, lowering her umbrella and folding it up. ‘And Mrs. Schuster. How delightful! I was worried I should not see anybody I knew today. There are so many people that it is only too easy to get lost in the crowd, but here you are!’
Freddy quickly saw that he was not to be allowed to speak, for Mrs. Schuster immediately launched into conversation with Miss Flowers. They talked of the rally and the march, and of the speeches that were to be made that day, and of people they had seen. Then Mrs. Schuster was telling Miss Flowers that Anton was somewhere about, as he was to address the crowd, and that Mr. Pilkington-Soames had kindly agreed to look after her that day, for she did not like being alone.
‘Did you go to the march, Miss Flowers?’ she said.
‘I was there at the start,’ said Miss Flowers, ‘but I fear the crowds are a little too much for me these days, so I crept away home and had some tea—I live near Paddington, so it’s easy enough—then decided to walk to the park for the speeches. I am very much looking forward to seeing your husband speak, Mrs. Schuster. And what about you, Mr. Pilkington-Soames? Are you finding plenty of—er—material for your paper today?’
Freddy did not have a chance to reply, because Mrs. Schuster said:
‘Oh, I have promised to introduce him to all the most important people, and I am sure he will find many things to write about. We could not have dreamed that the march would be such a success, do you not agree?’
‘Oh, quite,’ said Miss Flowers. ‘It is just a pity the weather is so damp.’
Mrs. Schuster shivered.
‘Indeed, it is true. And so cold! I am glad I put on my thickest coat.’ She glanced at the vivid pink woollen scarf—almost a shawl—which Miss Flowers was wearing. ‘But you will be warm too, in this thick scarf. It is very beautiful. Did you make it yourself?’
‘Why, yes, I did,’ said Miss Flowers, flushing with pleasure. ‘It is one of my own, from my own pattern. There is a matching pair of mittens, which I have not quite finished yet. I have done them in purple, as a sort of contrast, you know.’
Freddy had been looking up and down the street, wondering whether he dared try and attract the attention of someone less vague than Miss Flowers, and had not been listening carefully to the conversation, so nearly missed this last remark. Almost too late the familiar words registered, and he turned to her, hiding his astonishment.
‘Purple mittens?’ he said. ‘I should have thought green would be more practical.’
Mrs. Schuster wrinkled her nose at him and laughed.
‘Men, they know nothing of colour,’ she said confidentially to Miss Flowers. She gazed down complacently at her own pretty scarf, and Freddy immediately took the opportunity to mouth the words ‘help me’ at Miss Flowers. She made no sign that she had seen, but said:
‘Yes, perhaps green would go better with brown or grey. Green is more of a masculine colour, I think. Perhaps I shall make you a pair, Mr. Pilkington-Soames.’
The two ladies laughed.
‘Are you coming to the park now?’ inquired Miss Flowers.
‘In a little while,’ said Mrs. Schuster. ‘We are waiting for someone.’
‘Then I shall see you later,’ said Miss Flowers. She held out a hand, palm upward, and gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘Oh, I thought it had stopped raining. You had better sit in the car if you don’t want to get wet.’
She made as if to open her umbrella, and Mrs. Schuster and Freddy turned to get back into the car. At that moment Miss Flowers struck, hooking Mrs. Schuster’s right arm with the umbrella, and pulling it backwards with a sharp jerk. Mrs. Schuster let out a shriek as the gun went off, firing harmlessly into the pavement. She dropped the pistol with a clatter, but before she could bend to pick it up, Freddy opened the car door wide, shoved her roughly inside, then slammed it shut, ignoring her cry of rage. He picked up the derringer and stuck it in his pocket.
‘Quick!’ he said, grabbing Miss Flowers by the arm. ‘Let’s go!’