A Death for a Cause (12 page)

‘I mean you're a spy for the coppers.'

‘And by coppers I assume you mean the policemen who have thrown me in and out of this cell with such tender care?'

‘Are you daft or what?'

‘So I am a daft spy? That would seem to be a most unlikely combination.'

‘Ladies, please,' said Mary in her quiet voice. ‘We are all in this together.'

A spark of indignation arose in my breast. Mary was continually calm and acquiescent. She advocated harmony at all times, and I for one, was being to find it all rather galling. I blushed, wondering if it was because I normally found myself being the voice of reason and did not like to have my position usurped. Then it occurred to me that if we all continued being calm and harmonious, how on earth was I to discover anything? It might only be when harsh words were spoken and emotions roused that the truth might slip out. I took a deep breath and prepared to be as difficult as my mother had ever thought me.

‘There is a saying, though I doubt you would know it, Miss Stokes, about protesting too much. You seem most vocal about the possibility of a spy among us. I am forced to ask myself if you are intent on drawing attention away from yourself.'

‘Why, you bleedin' …' began Abigail, but I raised my voice above hers, employing the perfect vowels my mother had bestowed on me and which I had been at such pains to conceal from my employers. ‘I'd have thought that anyone with any sense at all would think that discovering who was the murderess among us was far more important than whether someone was a spy? Unless you believe the spy is trying to uncover the murderess and that is something you do not wish to come to pass.'

Abigail Stokes opened and closed her mouth a few times. Her face turned beetroot. ‘Are you calling me a bleedin' killer now?' she fairly screamed at me.

‘The only person I am certain is not the killer is myself,' I said calmly, in the full knowledge that not rising to her ire would incense her further.

‘Why you …' Her face contorted fury and she leapt for me. As she did so I saw her shake something from her sleeve. I had a momentary glimpse of a flash of silver. I dove to one side not caring that I must throw myself full force on the ground, and rolled to one side immediately as I was sure she would throw herself on me. However, the attack did not come. Instead I looked up to see Eunice and Jasmine very effectively holding Abigail mid-flight in a most secure armlock.

‘Sadly, the village children we taught were not always raised by their parents as one might hope,' said Eunice.

‘Indeed,' echoed her sister in her fainter voice, ‘at times one was forced to be most unladylike with the older boys.'

Mary walked over to Abigail who was spitting furious obscenities and twisted the fingers of one of her hands in an expert manner. ‘A difficult male cousin,' she said shortly. ‘Always trying to put unpleasant things down my back. One learns to intercept.'

From my position on the floor it struck me that these three women were far more physically capable than I had assumed. The unwelcome thought exploded in my brain that perhaps Maisie had been killed by more than one person. As I got shakily to my feet, and saw the intense interest of the women who had not so far been involved in this situation, I had the horrendous thought that perhaps they were all involved.

Angela Blackwood came across to Mary and they bent their heads over whatever Mary had wrested from Abigail. ‘Why,' said Angela,' she's made herself a shank.'

Constance stood up from her seat on the bench. ‘What is that?'

Mary turned the glinting thing over in her hands. ‘A crude knife,' she said.

Constance's hands flew to her face in alarm. ‘Wherever did she get such a thing?'

‘Looks like a spoon she's been sharpening on the wall,' said Angela. ‘I've heard of such things. It's an old prisoner's trick.' She brought her face close to the restrained Abigail. ‘I'm thinking that this woman hasn't been that open about her past. I'm thinking she's not a stranger to being in a cell, and I doubt she was incarcerated for being a suffragette.'

‘If that were the case,' said Mary slowly, ‘then perhaps Euphemia's accusation has merit.'

‘You mean she could have done a deal to spy on the Sisterhood,' said Constance, her voice shaking. ‘Surely no sister could do that to another?'

Martha Lake, who had edged as far away as she could into the corner when the action had begun, now spoke in her well-bred voice, ‘Whether or not that is the case, it appears we have uncovered a woman with a tendency towards violence. I think, ladies, I should call the guard, we appear to have discovered our murderess.'

‘Though so far they have shown themselves to be very uncouth young men,' said Eunice, tightening her grip on Abigail, ‘I think that might be a very good idea.'

‘But, sister,' said Jasmine, ‘Miss Dawson was strangled, not stabbed.'

‘No, the stabbing was for whoever she had next in mind,' said Angela. ‘It would take a while to sharpen a spoon against the wall. Stupid of the constabulary not to give us wooden ones.'

‘And not to count them when they were removed from the cell,' added Martha. ‘It must have been that very young man.'

‘I wasn't the one asking for bleedin' knitting needles,' said Abigail. She was no longer struggling against the Pettigrew sisters. I detected a note of fear in her voice. ‘That little girl was killed by someone strong. And these two biddies are fair twisting my arms out of their sockets.'

‘Why did you fashion a knife for yourself?' I asked.

‘Self-protection,' snapped Abigail. ‘As you all keep saying, one of us is a bleedin' killer. And she knows a thing or two herself,' she nodded at Mary. ‘Fair broke my fingers.'

An image came immediately of Mary crumbling the almost stone-hard bread into her soup. Whoever killed Maisie would have had to have more than average womanly strength.

‘It does not matter what skills are being displayed,' cut in Martha. ‘Only one of us has shown violence towards the others.'

‘Two!' protested Abigail. ‘Besides, she provoked me. Can't you see she was trying to start a quarrel?'

‘I find that most unlikely,' said Martha. ‘Miss St John speaks and acts with the manners of the well-bred.'

I felt a twinge of guilt. I looked more closely at Abigail. She was certainly afraid, but then if everyone in the room had decided to turn on me, I too would be ill at ease. At this moment I found myself only able to rule Constance and Martha out as ones who had not shown any physical prowess. Then again, I would never have suspected that the Pettigrew sisters could have hold such a termagant as Abigail at bay so easily.

‘I would be most grateful if we could decide what to do,' said Jasmine suddenly. ‘This is all very tiring. I am not as young as I was when I had to deal with playground situations.'

‘Glad I didn't go to her school,' muttered Angela as she passed me and returned to her seat. ‘I'll tell you what,' she continued. ‘I have a bit of a gift. I can conduct a séance and we can ask little Maisie who killed her. Victims of violent death do tend to linger.'

‘What an unpleasant thought,' said Jasmine faintly.

‘I am summoning the guard,' announced Martha. ‘If nothing else this woman must be removed from the cell. They will surely do so when we hand over the – er – shank'

‘No,' cried Abigail. ‘If you do that they'll beat me. Some of them coppers keep chains for use on the suffragettes!'

‘Nonsense,' said Martha.

‘I'm afraid it is true,' I said. ‘One of the guards boasted of the fact to me. Although he said those methods were yet to be employed at this station.'

‘I should not like anyone to be beaten,' said Constance. ‘Least of all a sister.'

‘But she is in all likelihood the killer,' said Martha. ‘I can assure you a potential beating will be the least of her worries. She will face the noose.'

‘And I am sure the constabulary will be very pleased to have the situation cleared up so easily,' said Angela. ‘After all, it seems to me that Miss Stokes is unlikely to have anyone to protest her case. Working class girl. No better than she should be. That, I imagine, is what the papers will say.'

‘Oh dear,' said Constance. ‘I cannot condone violence of any sort, but I do fear Miss Blackwood has the right of it. The police will most likely take the easiest path out of this situation.'

‘Do you not believe in Justice?' I said angrily.

‘I most certainly do,' said Constance. ‘But I fear the situation will soon become political. The newspaper men will be making a great deal of this story and the fear for Mr Asquith's government must be that any sympathy towards the Sisterhood may be aroused. Far better to name, shame, and hang one of us for the hysterical murder of another.'

‘But one of us was killed,' answered Martha, a level of exasperation creeping into her voice.

‘I reckon my séance is the best way forward,' said Angela.

‘Nonsense,' snapped Martha.

‘We have often sensed dear Father's spirit watching over us,' said Jasmine unexpectedly.

‘That's hardly the same thing,' answered her sister. ‘This woman is talking of raising the dead.'

Jasmine paled. ‘How very unpleasant.'

‘Complete nonsense,' said Martha emphatically.

‘Just summon the ruddy guard,' said Abigail. ‘My arms are fair popping out of their sockets.'

‘Perhaps if we removed the shank,' said Constance.

‘Are you for trying a séance too?' asked Mary.

‘I have no fixed opinion on spiritualism,' answered Constance, ‘but my husband, who has seen people pass away as any doctor in village practice will, is adamant that there is an absence when death encroaches and he is most decidedly a man of science.'

‘I too have heard some interesting discussion on the subject during my time at the university,' said Mary. ‘What do you think, Euphemia?'

‘My experience has been,' I said, thinking of Madam Arcana, ‘that mediums offer a mixture of information some of which may feel true and some of which does not.' I nodded to Angela, ‘I mean no offence, but I fear at best people hear what they wish to hear and at worst they are misled by the unscrupulous.'

‘As if I could take offence at that,' said Angela with a sharp laugh.

‘But who would take the shank?' asked Constance.

‘If you are insistent that this women be not handed over to the guard, which I consider most unwise, then I will take it,' said Martha, and held out her hand.

‘I think, perhaps, none of us should have it,' said Constance. ‘I could not feel easy that it was in the cell. It could be obtained by the killer.'

‘We could throw it out of the cell,' I suggested. ‘If we aim correctly though the bars it will likely go unnoticed for some time in the dim corridor. And even if it is found then no one will be sure where it came from.' Abigail threw me a startled look.

‘What about fingermarks?' asked Constance nervously. ‘I hear there is a new science that traces who has touched things by examining the marks on the ends of one's fingers.'

‘Let 'em try and look at my fingers,' said Abigail, ‘I'll give them a knuckle sandwich.'

‘No one has taken an imprint of our fingers, which is how I believe the science works,' I said. ‘I read a little about it in the newspapers. I believe we have handled it enough between us that any marks would be quite confused.'

‘So you too side with this woman?' asked Martha.

‘No,' I said. ‘I do not wish to side with anyone. However, I do wish that true justice will take its course, and I have been convinced by all of you that merely turning Miss Stokes over to the guard will ensure her found guilty without the bother of a proper investigation. That is not something my conscience will allow.'

‘Neither will mine,' said Constance stoutly. ‘Well said, Euphemia.'

I could, of course, hope that Fitzroy would see that true justice was done, but I feared that the spy would be most keen on closing the incident at quickly as possible. I had borne first-hand witness to his ruthlessness and I doubted strongly that he considered the death of poor little Maisie Dawson as important. Indeed, I knew he was chafing to be put back in the dark world of intrigue that was his natural milieu. I feared Fitzroy would all too happily embrace the easy option.

‘So throw out the knife and we can prepare for the séance,' said Angela. Mary went over to the bars and threw the knife into the corridor. It landed some distance from the cell.

‘I believe that to be out of reach,' she said in a satisfied manner.

Jasmine and Eunice released Abigail, who stood forlornly attempting to rub the feeling back into her sore arms. ‘Thanks,' she said very quietly as I passed her to sit on the bench.

‘So let's get on with it,' said Eunice stoutly.

‘Needs to be twilight, at least,' said Angela. ‘The spirits do not like bright light.'

Martha groaned. ‘How tiresome of them.'

As I had seen Madam Arcana take séances during both evening and daylight hours I did not know what to make of this statement. I looked across at Angela Blackwood and to my astonishment she grinned at me. Her whole face lighting up. The expression was gone in an instant, so I could not be entirely sure the smile had been aimed at me, but no one else seemed to have remarked it. It then dawned on me that perhaps Miss Blackwood was a lot more clever than I had given her credit. None of us knew for certain whether or not she could speak to Maisie, though I strongly doubted it, but I felt certain that the killer sitting waiting for the long day to pass would find the impending séance extremely uncomfortable. In fact they might find it so unnerving that their behaviour might give them away. Who knew what a woman desperate enough to kill in a cell full of sleeping women might do if she thought there was a chance she was shortly to be unmasked? I looked across once more at Miss Blackwood. She nodded very slightly at me. I felt a slight shiver down my spine. I had no doubt she knew exactly what I was thinking.