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Chapter Twelve

C arlisle Street was part of an upscale neighborhood near Soho Square, just south of Oxford Street.

As Leo approached the front door to the Stewart household, she felt as out of her depth as she had the previous evening.

This time, however, the house was serene, bathed in afternoon sunlight, without the busy murmuring of voices emanating from within.

After Geraldine’s dramatic arrest and the horrific charges levied against her, Leo wondered how many of the women who were present last night would continue in their support of her and the WEA.

As much as some ladies believed in the vote for women, they believed more devoutly in decency and decorum.

For many, having their leader carted away in a police wagon would be insupportable.

Not for Dita, however. Before Leo had left her, she’d written a brief note to Geraldine.

In it, she reassured her that she did not believe the WEA leader was involved in any way with the bombing that had taken John’s life and that she would support her publicly whenever the time called for it.

“It isn’t much,” Dita had said tearfully.

“But I want her to know she still has friends.”

It had given Leo a good reason to stop by the Stewarts’ home. If she could ask about the valise that had been stored in the attic, all the better.

Leo brought the brass knocker down onto its plate and only then considered that she, too, had been carted away in a police wagon.

Perhaps Mr. Stewart would not wish to admit her.

The door opened, and the maid, whom Leo had seen whenever she came to WEA meetings, gave her a questioning once-over. She waited for Leo to speak.

“I have a note for Mrs. Stewart?—”

“The lady of the house isn’t in,” the maid said sharply.

“Yes, I am aware. I was here last evening.”

She lifted her nose, as if scenting something. “I know. You were the other one they took away.”

Leo wasn’t sure what expression to form. Not a smile, for she wasn’t proud of having been arrested. Yet, she also wasn’t ashamed, so she would not look remorseful either.

“That’s correct. I have a note from a mutual friend who wanted to get word to Mrs. Stewart?—”

“As I said, she isn’t in,” she said, interrupting again, this time with a tone of finality.

“If I could leave the note for her?” Leo said, taking the small card from her pocket.

The maid flared her nostrils as if she were about to be handed a dead mouse.

“Betty, who is it?” Another voice sounded from behind the maid. One which Leo recognized.

Mrs. Emma Bates, Geraldine’s sister-in-law, appeared over the maid’s shoulder. Her forehead wrinkled with surprise. “Oh, Miss Spencer. Why, hello. I didn’t expect a call from you today. Do step aside, Betty. Miss Spencer is to be invited in.” Mrs. Bates shooed the stern maid out of her sentry post.

“Thank you,” Leo said as she entered the foyer.

The tasteful décor spoke of refined affluence and understated elegance.

It was the kind of wealth where one felt welcomed rather than towered over.

However, her attention tripped as she noticed a few changes to the foyer since the previous evening.

A Wedgwood vase had been moved from a credenza to another table next to the stairs; an urn that was used to hold umbrellas and walking sticks was gone entirely; and the placement of two paintings on the walls had been swapped.

Leo’s memory held a clear image of the arrangements as they’d been, and she puzzled over the changes as the maid assisted her with removing her capelet.

Mrs. Bates then led her to a sitting room.

A small fire leapt in the grate, and a tea service was already laid out on a table.

An embroidery hoop with a nearly completed floral design had been set down on the seat of a chair.

Mrs. Bates picked it up and put it aside before retaking her seat, while calling for Betty to bring more tea.

Leo lowered herself onto the adjacent sofa.

“I must say, I did not know what to expect after last night’s episode,” Mrs. Bates began.

“Those awful police officers, taking you and Geraldine away as if you were both criminals. It was utterly demeaning.” She drew in a shaky breath as if to calm her temper.

“I am happy to see you were released from custody. Pray, what did they ask of you?”

“Nothing, in the end. I believe Inspector Tomlin simply does not like me.” Leo didn’t want to go too in depth about her night spent at Scotland Yard, so she said, “I’ve heard that Mrs. Stewart has been taken to Holloway Prison. Has there been any word on how she is faring there?”

Mrs. Bates shook her head, her frustration evident in the hardening of her jaw. “No. And Porter is in such a state. The poor man doesn’t know which way is up. He at least had the cognizance to ask me to stay and mind the children.”

Leo considered the statement odd. The Stewarts were a wealthy family. Surely, they employed a nanny.

“That is kind of you,” she replied rather than ask such a prying question.

“Oh, I adore them. Zachary is the very image of his father, and little Jessamin reminds me so much of my late husband, Hubert, Geraldine’s brother,” she explained. “I do lament not having any children of my own.”

It was a rather intimate topic, and Leo wasn’t certain how to respond. She and Mrs. Bates were hardly acquainted. To comment on or ask the circumstances of her childlessness would be offensive. So, she said nothing. However, her lack of a response was apparently also gauche.

“I know what you must be thinking,” Mrs. Bates said with light laughter. “To be childless at my age. A sorry state, indeed.”

“Not at all,” Leo was quick to say. “And you are still quite young, Mrs. Bates.”

The woman was in her thirties, pretty, and quite refined. There was every reason to believe she could marry again and bear children, if that was what she desired.

“You are too kind, Miss Spencer. I admit to holding a flame of hope.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “After all, what are we without children?”

Leo stiffened, again feeling trapped by a statement and uncertain how to respond.

Her reflexive reaction was to disagree with Mrs. Bates.

It wasn’t a very feminist point of view.

Women were not only here on this earth to bear children.

She couldn’t help but think that Mrs. Stewart would speak up and say as much, rather than hold her tongue as Leo chose to do.

Thankfully, the maid arrived just then with a fresh pot of tea. Mrs. Bates poured for them and then settled back into her chair. “Now, Miss Spencer, what was it I heard you say about a note for Geraldine?”

Leo set down her cup and retrieved the note she’d returned to her pocket. “Yes. You see, I spoke to her while we were being transported to Scotland Yard. My friend, a matron at the Yard, wrote to her. Her intended was the young police constable?—"

A great stomping of feet and giggles converged on the sitting room suddenly, and two children burst in through the open door. A young girl of about five and a boy of seven or eight years of age. The boy held something aloft, out of the little girl’s reach.

“Give it back, Zachary!” she complained.

Leo’s chest squeezed as she thought of her own older brother, Jacob. The last memory she had of him was nearly identical to this scene. He’d taken her doll, Miss Cynthia, and wouldn’t give her back to Leo.

“Jessamin, stop that at once,” Mrs. Bates said. “A young lady does not shout or run about the house.”

“But Auntie Emma, he’s taken my paper doll!”

“I do not care what he has taken; you must mind your manners.”

Leo rather thought Zachary should be scolded and made to return the paper doll, but Mrs. Bates didn’t say as much.

A young woman in maid’s attire hurried in, her face flushed. “My apologies, Mrs. Bates,” she said. “Come, children. Your aunt isn’t to be disturbed.”

She tried to shepherd the children from the room under Mrs. Bates’s disapproving gaze, but Jessamin threw back her head and released a wail. Zachary groaned. “Oh, here, take it then.” He shoved the paper doll at her and stalked out, but she only continued to cry.

The nanny, Leo presumed, grew even more flustered and all but dragged the little girl from the room.

“Geraldine really was not strict enough with that one,” Mrs. Bates said with a heavy sigh as she lifted her teacup. “She was always so busy with her club.”

Leo gripped Dita’s note a bit tighter as more tension rippled through her. Calling the WEA a club was condescending, as was intimating that Geraldine had fallen short somehow in her mothering of Jessamin. Mrs. Bates, Leo began to suspect, was not a true ally.

The front door to the home opened, and from where they sat in the front room, Mr. Stewart was visible as he swept inside.

“I’m home,” he called, doffing his hat and coat and handing them to Betty as she rushed to meet him.

Mr. Stewart caught sight of his sister-in-law and Leo and turned to join them in the sitting room. Mrs. Bates rose to her feet. Leo quickly did as well.

“Good afternoon.” Mr. Stewart’s eyes filled with recognition. “You are the young woman from last night.”

“Miss Spencer,” Mrs. Bates provided. “Do sit, Porter. You could do with a spot of tea, I’m sure.”

He shook his head and waved a hand. “No, no, Em, I’m fine. Miss Spencer, I’m glad to see you were released from Scotland Yard.”

“I am sorry to hear your wife is still being held,” she replied.

He rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “At a prison. I cannot fathom it. I’ve heard from our solicitor that they are charging her with conspiracy to commit treason.”

Mrs. Bates took his arm and forced him to sit upon the sofa. “I won’t hear any objection. You’ll have tea.”

He nodded absentmindedly, strain painting his expression. Leo sat as well.

“Mr. Stewart, has Detective Inspector Tomlin been here, or anyone else from the Metropolitan Police, to inquire about the valise they say was used in the bombing?”

He blinked, as if coming out of a stupor. “Yes. I spoke to him, as unpleasant as it was. I showed him to the attic, where the maid stored Geraldine’s luggage. It had been there for years and years, but…it was gone.” He paused. “You are acquainted with this inspector?”

Leo wanted to tread carefully. As gentlemanly and welcoming as he had been so far, she doubted Mr. Stewart would continue to be once he knew where she worked and her ties to Scotland Yard.

“I have friends within the police force, yes, but Inspector Tomlin is not one of them,” she replied. “Mrs. Stewart also told me that the valise should have been in the attic. Do you know of any way someone could have taken it without your knowledge?”

Mrs. Bates handed him his teacup. “We know exactly how it was done. Porter told the inspector too.”

His hand shook somewhat as he brought the cup to his lips. “A housebreaking. About a month ago.”

Leo’s interest piqued. “Did you report it to the police?”

“At the time? No.” He frowned into his tea. “However, now I realize it would have been prudent.”

“How were you to know?” Mrs. Bates asked as if to appease him. She remained standing near his side, ready to assist.

“Nothing was taken, or so we thought,” he went on. “Geraldine and I had brought the children to the park for the afternoon. When we returned, we found the back door to the mews lane open. A pane of glass in the door had been smashed.”

It was something a maid or cook would have noticed. “Was Betty present? Or any other servants?”

But Mr. Stewart shook his head and explained that it had been a Sunday, when their small staff all had the afternoon off.

“We searched the house but found no sign we’d been burgled. The safe in my study had not been touched, and none of Geraldine’s jewelry was missing.”

That was very odd indeed. Why would anyone break into their home but take nothing except the valise?

“Inspector Tomlin did not believe you, I presume,” she said.

“He did not,” Mr. Stewart said. He then seemed to startle. “I’m sorry, Miss Spencer. I didn’t ask why you’ve come.”

She extended Dita’s note to him. “From one of your wife’s supporters. I thought you might be able to pass it along to her…if you see her?”

He took the small envelope and gave a sad nod. “Of course. Thank you.”

As the crackling fire in the grate became the loudest sound in the room, Leo had the distinct feeling she had overstayed her tenuous welcome.

She placed her cup and saucer onto the table. “I’ll be going. Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Bates.”

“I insist you call me Emma,” she said. Leo welcomed her to call her Leonora in return, as it was the polite thing to do.

As any gentleman would, Mr. Stewart shot to his feet to see her out. Standing so tall over her, Leo was struck by his handsome looks and graceful figure. A harmonious balance of polished masculinity. It was clear Mrs. Bates doted on him, and Leo thought she could see why.

“Thank you for your visit, Miss Spencer,” he said as he and Mrs. Bates walked her to the front door. “It’s heartening to know my wife still has friends.”

Leo nodded, understanding that no matter how things turned out with Geraldine, it would be difficult for them to regain any social standing in London now.

Betty took her plain black capelet from where it had been hung next to a decadent, wine-red, velvet cloak—surely belonging to Emma Bates—and as the maid helped her don it, Leo again peered at the rearranged items in the front hall.

This time, she wondered if Mrs. Bates had directed the changes.

There was no proof of it, but it was her first thought.

Once on the front step, she turned back as the maid closed the door behind her.

Through the prismatic glass of the sidelight window, she made out Emma Bates putting her arm across her brother-in-law’s back as she walked him further into the foyer.

He truly did seem unmoored with the upheaval surrounding his wife.

Mrs. Bates, however, did not. She was entirely in her element, practically relishing the opportunity to run the household and play mother.

A dark and wicked thought crept through Leo’s mind as she started back along Carlisle Street: Perhaps Mrs. Bates wouldn’t mind playing wife to Porter Stewart as well.