Chapter Thirteen

Fitzroy fumes

‘How the hell did this happen?’ yelled Fitzroy.

‘I don’t know,’ I said quietly. ‘I wasn’t there.’

We were back in the small room where we had such a pleasant dinner previously. This time there wasn’t so much as a sniff of a salt cellar. Fitzroy fixed me with a blazing gaze, ‘And you were where exactly?’

‘In an interview room with Richenda Stapleford. She’d brought me cake.’ I could have bitten out my tongue the moment I said it. If I had thought Fitzroy was in a temper previously, he was now raging. He span away from me, and picking up a chair, threw it against the wall with such force that it splintered. I almost managed to suppress my scream.²⁴

My involuntary sound drew his attention and he turned to face me. I did my best not to shake in my shoes.

‘Of course, I will have to remove you from the situation now,’ he said, his voice flat and cold.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked with trepidation. ‘Remove’ could mean many things where Fitzroy was concerned.

He took several paces towards me, so I was forced to look up into his face. My instinct was to turn and run, but I knew the door was locked. I was also sure that turning my back on the spy in a bad mood could be ruinous to one’s health.

‘Do you think I would hurt you?’ he asked, his tone now even, but so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.

I swallowed. ‘If you thought it necessary.’ I said in as quiet and dignified a manner as I could, and I was relieved my voice hadn’t come out like a mouse’s squeak. I certainly felt like a tiny rodent being hovered over by a hawk.

He stepped back a pace and laughed. ‘Ever the realist, Euphemia.’

‘Is it necessary?’ I persisted, hopeful now his mood had lightened.

‘No. And believe me that even if it were I would always exhaust all other options first.’ He gave me a flash of his most charming smile. ‘Not something I would do for everyone.’

‘So what did you mean by remove me?’

Fitzroy sighed. ‘Even I am not so callous as to put you back in a cell where a woman has already murdered.’

‘You think …?’

‘If a guard had entered, one of you would have awoken. None of the women when interviewed recall anything untoward.’

‘No one woke when I was taken out,’ I said.

‘But he did not enter, did he? He did not have to make his way amongst you. Besides, we cannot even be sure she was not already dead. Did you notice her?

‘No,’ I said. ‘I am deeply sorry to say I did not.’ A thought struck me. ‘Could they all be involved?’

‘It’s not a bad thought,’ answered Fitzroy. ‘But if they were I suspect you would also be dead. No, this murder was committed by someone desperate enough to kill when locked in a cell with eight other sleeping women, any of whom might have awoken at any time.’

‘They must be very desperate indeed,’ I agreed. ‘But why Maisie? She was the quietest thing.’

‘The obvious conclusion is that she knew something that the murderer could not allow the police to discover. Did she strike you as bright?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Then it must have been something she saw.’ He sighed. ‘She may not even have realised that she saw something of importance.’

‘But it was something so serious that she had to die.’

Fitzroy nodded. ‘It only goes to confirm my suspicions that one of the women in that cell was involved in the firebombing that killed Wilks. Perhaps even arranged it.’

‘Could one of them have done it? I don’t know London at all well, but did the march go near enough the station for it to happen.’

‘Yes, but we have no eyewitnesses that saw anything untoward.’

‘It’s another reckless act,’ I said. ‘I assume a London station is very busy at all times?’

Fitzroy nodded again, pursing his lips together. ‘I don’t like it. A nice, cruel, calculating murder I can manage, but this is more …’

‘If you say hysterical I shall pick up what is left of that chair and hit you with it.’

Fitzroy gave a smile of genuine amusement. ‘No, I am well aware that both men and women can feel themselves so driven into a corner that they will take desperate action. Desperation is unpredictable, and depending on the resources at one’s disposal, when panic sets in real disaster can strike.’

‘There have already been three deaths,’ I said drily.

‘Civil unrest could cause many more,’ said Fitzroy grimly. ‘If the individual behind this has a bigger plan, something they are desperate to protect, then I am greatly troubled.’

‘I see,’ I said quietly. ‘Then there is only one course of action to be taken.’

I was again shown into a little interview room. There, not sitting at the small table but pacing backwards and forwards, his hat twisting between his hands, was Bertram. On sight of me he dropped his hat and rushed forward to take my hands in his. I trembled slightly at this enthusiasm. Bertram has a habit of wanting to rescue me from situations to the point that he has even offered to marry me. However since his last proposal he has fallen in love again at least once, so I was hopeful I would not have to refuse him again today. My events of the morning had taken their toll on me and I doubted I would have the energy to handle such a situation with the delicacy Bertram required. We are friends, but we do argue a lot.²⁵

‘My dear Euphemia,’ he said with a look of such sympathy you would think I had suffered a family bereavement. ‘I feel I must apologise endlessly for what my wretched sister has embroiled you in.’

‘Please don’t,’ I said with feeling. ‘It was extremely foolish of me not to realise what Richenda was up to. The dress. The sudden desire to visit London. I should have been more suspicious.’

‘At least after this dreadful incident they will have to release you all. No suffragette has ever died in custody before. The newspapers are going to go wild.’

‘Is that what they are saying?’ I asked. ‘That she suffered police brutality and died?’

‘Well, there’s nothing in the papers yet. One of the policemen – someone of rank by his strange uniform I should think – told me while I was waiting for you that one of your cellmates had died. He asked me not to repeat it. Said something about my understanding and you would explain?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘You haven’t killed anyone, have you, Euphemia?’

‘Shall we sit down?’ He pulled out a chair for me and I continued. ‘No, Bertram, I haven’t killed anyone. In fact I am a little offended that you would ask that of me.’

‘I knew it would have been in self-defence anyway,’ offered Bertram. I tried very hard not to be proud that he thought I was capable of such a thing.

‘No, it’s both worse and more complicated than that. You see, I do have to go back into the cell with the murderess. Or rather, I want to. It’s become necessary.’

²⁴ My cry came out as the sort of noise a parrot might make while being strangled. There were words in it, but they were largely incoherent.

²⁵ I still do not fit correctly into his well-ordered world, and for all I believe he has some affection for me, this irks him remarkably. Or rather, I irk him often.