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.’

I pushed Angela aside and strode quickly across, but even before I laid my hand on her icy forehead I knew Maisie Dawson was dead.

²² When she had been under the sway of her twin she had been a truly disagreeable and self-centred individual.

²³ Criminal terminology was coming to me with alarming ease.