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Chapter Eight

L eo paced the pale blue carpet in the small room.

Inside, it was stuffy and hot, the window having been nailed shut long ago as a preventative measure, though that seemed utterly absurd.

No rational woman would jump to her freedom from three floors up, for heaven’s sake.

Her limbs ached with restlessness even as she moved, charting the room from one corner to another and back again.

She’d been there all night and into the morning, and so far, she’d only been brought a single cup of water to quench her thirst. Her stomach rumbled fiercely, but her anger was doing well to snuff that out.

After being handcuffed in the Stewarts’ home and led out to the back of the police wagon, she’d settled on the bench next to Geraldine. The woman had been stark white, her eyes round in disbelief. “They think I’ve murdered a man. That I set off a bomb!”

Leo had tried to ignore the cold, surprisingly heavy iron cuffs around her wrists.

Inspector Tomlin would be forced to release her swiftly, she’d reasoned, as he had nothing to charge her with and no evidence at all to point to her involvement with the bombing.

But Mrs. Stewart was facing a much more serious plight.

“Did you know Police Constable John Lloyd?” she asked the woman.

At the rapid shake of Geraldine’s head, Leo explained what had unfolded the previous day and who the victim had been.

“Miss Brooks was to marry him?” At this, Mrs. Stewart’s eyes shone with tears. “The poor dear. I’m so very sorry for what she is going through, but I had absolutely nothing to do with his death.”

Leo believed her. However, there was the matter of the valise that John had been carrying. Inspector Tomlin had confirmed that it belonged to Mrs. Stewart, and when Leo described the case that had housed the device, the WEA leader had gaped.

“Yes. Yes! That is my valise. I’ve had it for a handful of years, ever since our trip to France after Porter and I married. But it should be in my attic, not blown to pieces by a bomb!”

Leo considered what Inspector Tomlin had said while making the arrest. “Lord Babbage was to visit Scotland Yard that afternoon. It seems they’ve concluded that he might have been the intended target. And you, Mrs. Stewart, have been quite vocal about your dislike for him.”

“Of course I have been,” she replied. “The man is infuriatingly prehistoric in his views of women. It is no secret we dislike each other, but I would not try to kill him!”

Babbage had recently been quoted in The Times , calling Geraldine and all women like her “bratty shrews.” They were no better than whining children who’d been given too many sweets before bedtime, he’d added.

“Besides,” Mrs. Stewart continued, “we’ve gathered enough petition votes to bring a debate to the House floor in just two weeks.

That is what Sir Elliot was to announce tonight before he sent word that he couldn’t attend.

” She squeezed her eyes shut in apparent frustration.

“It’s what the WEA has been striving for.

I would never jeopardize this opportunity with such violence. ”

Leo had signed the petition at her first meeting. A debate in the House would force members of Parliament to listen to the WEA’s arguments, and with Sir Elliot’s support, it could sway opinions. Now, however, that debate was unlikely to be held.

It was possible, Leo considered, that Geraldine Stewart was being set up to look like a radical, violent activist. It was precisely what someone like Lord Babbage would want.

The ride to Scotland Yard had been bumpy and rough, and the two women had felt the jolts keenly in the back of the police wagon. It wouldn’t have been a shock to learn the driver had been instructed to aim the wagon’s wheels for the largest holes in the cobblestones along the way.

“Why have they arrested you?” Mrs. Stewart asked after several minutes of silence had passed.

“The inspector isn’t fond of me. I’m sure this is punishment for questioning him in public.”

They arrived at the Yard, and Leo’s heart rate increased in anticipation of crossing paths with Jasper.

It would be humiliating to be seen in handcuffs, being led away like a common criminal.

Thankfully, it was later in the evening, and she hadn’t seen him.

The constables brought her and Mrs. Stewart to the third-floor rooms, where they were given over to the care of the on-duty matron.

The room with the blue carpet that Leo had been treading for hours likely had been a servant’s bedroom, back when the building existed within the Palace of Whitehall, a once grand structure with multiple wings used to house Scottish royalty and diplomats.

Now, furnished with only a chair and footstool, and a small commode in which to empty her bladder, the room was spartan.

She’d sat with her legs tucked up beneath her in the dark all night, nodding off a few times, waiting for Inspector Tomlin to come rail at her.

But he hadn’t.

As the morning sun lifted above the rooftops outside, a knock landed on her door. Leaping to her feet, she was prepared to see Inspector Tomlin enter her quarters. Instead, Sergeant Lewis had entered, the matron standing in the open doorway to act as chaperone.

“Miss Spencer, I’ve just been informed of your arrest,” he remarked matter-of-factly.

Heat suffused her cheeks. “I haven’t been properly booked,” she said to clarify.

“Shall I send for Inspector Reid?”

“No,” she answered a little too eagerly. “No, please, it’s not necessary. But could you send word to my uncle? He’s sure to be worrying himself sick about where I’ve been all night.”

“He was in looking for you just now. I assured him I’d make certain you were all right.”

Leo exhaled, relieved. Yet also infuriated. How long must she wait here before Inspector Tomlin decided he was ready to question her?

“How is Mrs. Stewart?” she asked. “Is she still being held?”

There had been little sound outside her small room that morning, and Sergeant Lewis’s answer explained why.

“She’s been taken to Holloway Prison to await official charges.”

Leo’s breath left her at the news, and she didn’t regain it until after the sergeant bobbed his head in departure, the matron closing and locking the door behind him. Geraldine had already been taken to prison ? How was that possible? Leo felt completely useless as she began pacing the room again.

Shortly afterward, the matron returned with a small bowl of gruel.

The older woman had searched Leo upon her arrival the night before for any weapons or stolen items, turning a deaf ear to her assertions that she would find nothing of the sort on her person.

This matron wasn’t warm or smiling, however, as Dita would have been.

Leo left the bowl of thin gruel untouched despite her grumbling belly.

Where the devil was Inspector Tomlin? At least the handcuffs had been removed before he’d gone home last night, leaving her to stew.

She was standing at the window, watching the street below when she heard a gruff command from the corridor: “Open that door. Now, please.”

Leo closed her eyes at Jasper’s deep voice, her heart launching into her throat as a ring of keys rattled, and the lock turned.

This was going to be nearly as bad as when he found her stuck in the open grave at All Saints Cemetery back in January.

Jasper stalked into the small room and came to an abrupt halt when he saw her at the window.

“Christ, Leo.” He came forward, raking her from crown to toe with his smoldering green eyes. “Are you hurt at all?”

She stumbled at the question. It wasn’t the one she’d expected. “I’m fine, I’ve just… I’ve been here all night. Inspector Tomlin put me here and never returned.”

He swore an oath under his breath. “What has he charged you with?”

Leo sensed Jasper’s temper was about to boil over. He was angry, but to her surprise, she didn’t think it was with her. “Nothing. Yet.”

He turned to the matron. “Miss Spencer is coming with me.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “But Inspector, I have orders to?—”

“She is coming with me,” Jasper said, more slowly this time. After biting her lip, the matron nodded. Jasper held out an arm, indicating for Leo to leave the room. She did so, with great relief.

“Go home,” he said, passing her in the corridor on the way to the stairs. “I need to speak to Tomlin.”

She caught his elbow to slow him. At her touch, he stopped moving, and his eyes lowered to her hand. With a dart of panic, she released him.

“Tomlin was out of line,” he said, his voice tight.

“The man is galling,” Leo said. “But I am fine. It is Mrs. Geraldine Stewart I’m more concerned about; he’s arrested her for conspiracy in the bombing. The first bombing, that is, involving Constable Lloyd.”

“The suffragist. Yes, I’ve heard.” He grimaced and began down the stairs. “Are you really a part of that group?”

“Do you disagree that women should have the right to vote?” she shot back. “Am I not intelligent enough to decide for whom to cast my own ballot?”

Jasper stopped on the bottom step and turned, his arm still on the railing, barring her from passage. “I am not in disagreement. And I am well aware of your intelligence, Leo. But there are suffragists who are radical enough to plot a bombing.”

“Not the WEA. Not Geraldine Stewart. She is being set up.”

He sighed and turned to take the next set of stairs down. It was then that she noticed how disheveled and exhausted he appeared. Golden bristle on his jaw, in want of a razor; clothing, rumpled; and several holes in the back of his jacket.

“What happened to you?” She regretted the question right away. What he did wasn’t a concern of hers. Not anymore.

“There was an incident this morning,” he answered as he kept on toward the detective department. She followed, her stomach twisting with hunger again.