Palace Circle (29 page)

Davina could bear no more. “Fascism equals Hitler, equals Mussolini!” she shouted as a fellow woman protestor was grabbed by two Blackshirts and hustled up the nearest aisle toward an exit, her arms twisted behind her.

It took minutes for the chaos to settle down. When it did Aileen shouted urgently, “Where is Fergus, Davina? Where has he gone?”

Davina looked around her, searching for a sight of him. There wasn't any.

“I don't know. But we can't leave our seats to look for him, Aileen. We might never make contact with each other again if we do.”

Her stomach muscles taut with anxiety she heard Mosley thunder, “Masses of our people have shown in no uncertain way that they are weary of the present order; weary of political parties and of the present parliamentary government—”

Suddenly, a hundred feet above him a voice with an unmistakable Scottish inflection shouted,
“Down with fascism!”

Davina's eyes flew upward.

Beside her, Aileen screamed.

Fergus was balanced precariously on an iron girder, and as thousands of people drew in a concerted breath he began raining pamphlets down.

Mosley didn't even pause in his tirade but he had lost everyone's attention.

Arc lamps swung away from the platform and illuminated Fergus. Within minutes half a dozen Blackshirts had reached the girder.

People directly beneath the girder scrambled out of the way.

Aileen, her eyes wide with horror, had both hands pressed to her mouth. Davina was praying harder than she ever had in her life.

“The soldiers who fought in the Great War are weary of the privileged Conservatives,” Mosley continued as if nothing untoward was taking place. “Our people are weary of the inertia of socialism. The Labour Party is nothing but a Salvation Army, taking to its heels on the Day of Judgment.”

As the Blackshirts reached Fergus, he swung himself up onto an even higher girder and from there onto a platform that disappeared into the shadows of the roof. Within seconds he, too, was out of sight, his pursuers hard on his heels.

“What is wanted is a new creed,” Mosley declared with passion. “We are fighting for nothing less than a revolution!”

From somewhere came the sound of shattering glass.

Someone had fallen—and from a great height.

Aileen and Davina didn't hesitate. They began pushing and stumbling past everyone seated between them and the nearest aisle, intent only on reaching Fergus.

Once in the aisle Aileen, with Davina behind her, began to sprint. A fight had broken out ahead of them. A missile intended for one of the Blackshirts hit Davina at the side of her head. She felt blood pour down her face and though she tried to stay on her feet, the world spiraled into darkness. With Aileen's screams ringing in her ears, she buckled at the knees, falling senseless amid a forest of booted feet.

When she regained consciousness, Davina knew she was in a hospital bed. The ward was dark and she realized it was night.

“Fergus Sinclair?” she said weakly to the nurse who came to check on her. “Did he fall? Is he hurt?”

“Quite a lot of people were hurt last night,” the nurse said briskly. “And I don't know anything about the men who were brought in. You've had a very nasty knock to the head and you need to rest and not worry. We'll make inquiries about your friend in the morning.”

Though she tried to stay awake, she fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning she opened her eyes to find her mother sitting next to her bed. “Fergus?” she said again, before even wondering how Delia knew what had happened. “He was a hundred feet above the auditorium and then Aileen and I couldn't see him. We only heard a huge crash. Is he all right?” Her gray eyes were dark with worry. “Is he here in the hospital? Is Aileen with him?”

“He's in men's surgical and yes, Aileen is with him.” Her mother's lovely face was tense and drawn. “He wasn't over the hall when he fell. He's hurt badly, though, and at the moment Aileen is the only visitor allowed.”

“Was Aileen hurt as well?” she asked, feeling as if her heart
was being squeezed within her chest. If Fergus was badly hurt, what would happen to Aileen's plans for a clinic?

“Aileen received some cuts and bruises in the melee, but otherwise she's all right.”

Davina gave a prayer of thanks. “Are you going to take me home now?”

“Home?” Her mother's eyebrows rose. “You may think you just have a sore head, honey, but it's a
very
sore head. Can't you feel how tightly it's bandaged? There's no way you're goin' to be comin' home for another two or three days.”

Davina didn't protest. Men's surgical was probably only a short walk down a hospital corridor. As soon as she was able, she was going to find him.

It was the next day before she was able to walk without becoming dizzy. On the pretext of having a bath, she left the ward and, in her nightdress and dressing gown, made her way to men's surgical.

Before she reached the ward itself a nurse hurried up to her.

“I'm afraid this is a men's ward, miss. You've got terribly lost. Would you like me to get someone to escort you back?”

Davina was about to shake her head but then, remembering her still massive headache, said, “No. And I'm not lost. A friend of mine, Dr. Fergus Sinclair, is a patient on this ward. I know he isn't allowed any visitors other than his wife, but I'd like to know how he is doing and I was hoping to have a word with Mrs. Sinclair.”

The nurse eyed her doubtfully. “Dr. Sinclair is still very poorly, but if you'd like to take a seat in the waiting room, I'll tell Mrs. Sinclair where you are.”

“Thank you.” There was nothing Davina wanted more than to be able to sit down. The effort it had taken to walk the short distance from her bed had left her feeling not only dizzy but profoundly sick.

The waiting room was blessedly empty and she sat down
gingerly on a slippery-looking leather chair and took deep breaths in order to fight off her nausea.

As the sick feeling receded, Aileen opened the waiting-room door. Her face was ashen with anxiety and there were blue circles beneath her eyes.

Davina started to rise to her feet, but Aileen forestalled her.

“Don't get up, Davina,” she said, her voice breaking. Then, as if her legs would hold her upright no longer, she collapsed on the chair next to Davina's and took a tight hold of her hand. “Fergus has broken his back,” she said starkly. “It's going to be months and months—perhaps a year—before he'll be able to walk again. They are going to do the bone grafts here and then as soon as he can be moved by ambulance they are going to transfer him to a hospital near our home in Caithness. He'll be in traction to allow the bones to align properly as they heal.”

Davina closed her eyes for a moment, trying to take it all in. Fergus wasn't going to be paralyzed. That was the main thing. It would, though, end his work in Whitechapel. And it would mean the shelving of Aileen's plans for the free clinic.

As if reading her thoughts, Aileen said, “When Fergus is recovered—and no matter how long that process takes—we'll come back to Toynbee Hall, Davina. And there will be a free clinic for the women of Whitechapel. It is just going to have to wait a year, that is all.”

Davina squeezed her hand, knowing that no matter when it was, her mother would still be a staunch financial supporter.

Aileen said quietly, “I have some other news, Davina, and this time it's good.” Despite her exhaustion, she smiled. “I'm pregnant. Fergus doesn't know yet. I was going to tell him on our wedding anniversary at the end of the month, but now I'm going to tell him just as soon as he's well enough to appreciate the news.”

“Aileen is having a baby? But that's wonderful, honey.” Delia's face lit up. “It will give both of them something to look forward to during Fergus's recovery.”

Davina had told Delia when they were back home in the garden, having afternoon tea with Wallis Simpson.

“Is Aileen the friend you introduced me to at the cocktail party?” Wallis asked. “The young woman married to the doctor?”

Davina nodded.

Her mother waved a hand in the direction of a cane chair, indicating that Davina should join them, saying as she did so, “Dr. Sinclair had a ghastly accident and broke his back. He's going to be able to walk again, but it will be a long time before he does so. Now do tell me about Fort Belvedere. Are you meeting with lots of objections?”

“Not from the Prince. He's given me a free hand.” Wallis, bandbox smart in a navy dress edged in white, flashed Delia a broad smile. “And I just love fixing furniture and choosing decor. Lady Mendl is giving me a hand. We spent the whole of last week pulling up carpets and taking down curtains. There isn't one room that looks as it did in Freda Dudley Ward's time.”

“Or Thelma Furness's?” Delia asked naughtily.

Wallis's smile broadened. “Or Thelma's. That gal really did have appalling taste, Delia. Her bedroom at the Fort was done in the most frightful shade of pink and the bedposts were decorated with Prince of Wales feathers!”

As her mother and Wallis shook with laughter, Davina, who wasn't remotely interested in how the Prince of Wales's home was decorated, ignored the vacant chair.

“I won't join you, if you don't mind,” she said to her mother. “I haven't seen Fawzia for ages and I want to be with her.”

“Then you'd better go fast, Davina. She has a river cruise with Jack this afternoon. He'll be here at any moment.”

“Is Aunt Gwen going with them?”

“I don't think so.” Her mother avoided looking her in the eye. “I don't think Gwen likes water.”

Davina pursed her lips disapprovingly, well aware of what Zubair Pasha would think of such an arrangement, knowing he had been right where Delia's chaperoning skills were concerned.

For the next few weeks Davina visited the hospital daily. Whenever she could, she persuaded Aileen to leave the hospital for a short walk or to a cafe for elevenses or lunch.

“Fergus is going to be transferred to Inverness soon,” Aileen said as they sat having tea and sticky buns around the corner from the hospital. “I can't wait for him to be somewhere his parents can visit him, but I shall miss you, Davina.”

“I shall miss you, too,” Davina said sincerely. “It will mean I will see more of Fawzia—I have a guilty conscience where she is concerned—but we don't have much in common anymore. All she can think about is being the exotic center of attention at parties and balls. When you and Fergus go to Scotland I'm not going to stay in London. Even though the season isn't quite over, I'm going to return to Cairo. My mother will be disappointed but I don't think she'll raise any objections. She knows she has lost the battle to turn me into a debutante.”

It turned out her mother was more than disappointed; she was seriously cross.

“It just isn't fair to Fawzia,” Delia said. “She is having a great time and yanking her back to Cairo before the season is finished is cruel.”

“She doesn't have to come back with me. She can stay in London with you and the two of you can travel out to Cairo together in a few weeks. I can go to Cairo alone.”

Her mother was about to leave the house for dinner at
Quaglino's and, taking a leaf out of Wallis's book, was dressed with stunning severity in a narrow, backless sheath of black crepe. The skirt skimmed high-heeled black suede shoes and her fiery red hair blazed like a flame.

She picked up her slim evening bag and said, “No, Davina. You can't. You're only eighteen.”

Davina shook her head in disbelief. “Of course I can. You were married when you were my age. And before that you used to ride for miles in the Blue Ridge Mountains unaccompanied. All I shall be doing is catching a couple of trains and a boat. I have Chandler blood, remember? I'm quite capable of doing things without a chaperone.”

“Sweetheart, I've been at Fort Belvedere all afternoon watching the Prince of Wales fetching and carrying for Wallis as if he were a slave and she was the Queen of Sheba. Where that relationship is going heaven only knows and I'm beginning to have great concerns about it. What I don't need is to be worried about you, as well.”

She turned to pick up her chinchilla stole, revealing a flawlessly creamy back.

“You don't need to be concerned about me.” Davina's voice was one of sweet reason. “All you have to do is give me a kiss, send me on my way, and tell me that you'll see me in Cairo in a month's time.”

“Land's sakes, you really are the most exasperating child! All right, go back to Cairo by yourself—and don't blame me if you fall into the hands of white slavers!”

“I won't,” Davina said, loving her mother so much that it hurt, “but white slavers aren't very likely. Daddy has already agreed to my plans and has bought me the tickets and I don't think white slavers travel first class.”