Every moment the notebook resided in Lord Sherringham’s house, the more opportunity he would have to stumble across it and read the notes I had so thoroughly taken. Sick at the thought of him becoming privy to the Union’s plans, I hurried up the stairs, leaving the coat behind.
“The constable is here,” Mullin told me, interrupting my unhappy meditation.
I met him in the sitting room and succinctly gave him details of the assault, keeping Helena’s participation in the events out of the narrative.
“You ought to know better than to walk about by yourself at night, miss. It’s not like you was still in the country,” he lectured me.
“Am I correct in understanding, Constable Merrywhite,” I asked politely as we strolled out to the front steps to enjoy the sunny morning, “that it is unsafe for anyone to walk through this area of London at night?”
I gestured at the pleasant scene in front of us. Across from the house was a small square presently inhabited by a nanny whose two charges skipped alongside a pram, and an elderly gentleman who hobbled before them, waving his stick in greeting to a passing motor. On a bench facing the house sat a man in a brown checked suit and bowler. It was peaceful, serene, and utterly lacking in any threatening elements.
“It’s not wise for you to be walking anywhere at night by yourself, miss.”
The man on the bench looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. After a few moments he stretched, stood, and with a disinterested air, sauntered off down the block.
“How very odd…” I murmured.
“Not odd so much as unwise,” the constable corrected.
“No, I meant...never mind.” I thanked him for his advice and time, and returned to the house to consider the problem of the missing notebook. I had just settled down to write a note to Helena when I was summoned to the telephone.
“Cassandra, my dearest, I was hoping you would be home so I might call on you around tea time. I have an important subject to discuss with you.”
“Freddy, you are incorrigible. Your important subject wouldn’t happen to be one of a matrimonial nature?”
“My dear, your suspicious mind! Can a dearly loved cousin not visit without being expected to propose?”
I smiled. “In your case, I sincerely doubt it. I am engaged this afternoon, Freddy, so you won’t find me at home. What, if it wasn’t marriage, did you wish to discuss?”
“Your happiness, dearest cousin,” he sighed dramatically.
“Freddy—”
“You know how devoted I am to you! It is not my own passionate feelings that I am considering. No, it is your welfare that is uppermost in my mind. I want to save you from the grief your life as a spinster must give—unloved, unwanted, moving from relation to relation in the fruitless quest for a home…”
“In other words, you want to save me from a life like yours,” I interrupted, laughing. “Thank you for the tenth proposal. Consider it denied.”
“My dearest, my own, think of what I offer! Position, a husband who worships you, protection—”
I wondered idly if I had told Cook to prepare chicken for dinner.
“Protection,” he repeated, his voice silky, “from all sorts of evils. With myself at your side, you would never need worry about your personal safety.”
“I don’t worry about my personal safety now, Freddy.”
“But you should, Cassandra. If you continue your connection with the suffragists, you must surely expose yourself to all sorts of violent elements, and I know how you abhor violence.”
“Freddy—” I protested, growing uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Beside Emma, Freddy was the only other person who knew what extreme lengths my father’s fury had often taken.
“Fairest one, I do not wish to cause you pain by reminding you of the unpleasantness of the past, indeed, it is my intention to shield you from ever having to experience such atrocities again. You must see, however, if you continue to pursue your work with the Union you run the risk of becoming involved in unwholesome situations.”
“Unwholesome? Freddy, you exaggerate.”
“Have you read the morning papers? There was a demonstration in Manchester last night. Three women were hospitalized with broken bones after the crowd assaulted them.”
I was silent, unsure of what to say.
“Cassandra, I have seen you beaten and bruised time after time, and was unable to do anything about it. I will not allow you to put yourself in such a position again.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that I had no choice in the matter of my father’s abuse, but I knew he hadn’t really meant to imply that I had allowed myself to be beaten. “Thank you for your concern. I can only promise you that I am using the utmost caution, and have every intention of continuing to do so. Now if there is nothing else, I really must go.”
“Cousin—”
“Good bye, Freddy,” I said firmly, and gently rang off.
It was noon when I sat down again to write Helena. I was not altogether sure if the note would reach its intended recipient. Lady Sherringham seemed the type of person who would feel no qualms about interfering with Helena’s mail. I was in the library, chewing on the end of a pen and staring at a blank sheet of writing paper, wondering what to say to Helena, when visitors were announced.
“I will never get this blasted note finished at this rate. Who is it now—”
I took the card Theodore the footman offered, and leaped up with an exclamation of joy. I almost trampled the poor lad so quick was I to run down the stairs, flinging open the door to the drawing room, and saying, “Helena! I am so glad you brought my coat. I was about to write to you to request it. You will never guess—”
Griffin stood by the window. My heart jumped unreasonably, and suddenly there was no air in my lungs. He turned and looked at me curiously.
Helena held out her hands as she approached, kissing me cheek as she said, “Please forgive us, dear Cassandra, for calling without notice. I hope we haven’t disturbed you.”
I looked at her elegant tweed walking suit with cream satin waistcoat, then down at my new dark green day dress with black corded piping and sighed to myself. No matter how new my clothes, Helena always succeeded in putting me to shame.
“Not at all,” I said weakly. I offered my hand to Griffin; he took it and looked at it as if it were something faintly unsavory, then released it and turned away.
I wondered what it was about him that had caught my unwilling fancy. Once I had thought him pleasant in appearance, but nothing more. But now I looked on his features—his nose a shade too pronounced, his jaw set with a firmness that belied obstinacy, his eyes perhaps a little too far apart—and my heart beat with a rhythm it had never adopted for anyone else. If only I could shake myself of this unreasonable interest in the man. Perhaps if I was to indulge myself in a carnal relationship with him, my ardor would cool.
I was considering just what form a carnal relationship might take when I realized that Helena was looking at me expectantly. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down.”
Helena stood her ground. “I must first unburden myself and beg your forgiveness.”
“Beg my forgiveness?” I asked with confusion, amused by her dramatic air. “What on earth have you done to me that you need to be forgiven?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed to be having a hard time speaking. I looked at Griffin helplessly. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, sunlight from a nearby window casting a halo over his hair. His face was inscrutable as he watched his sister.
“Helena?” I asked her gently. “Whatever can be the matter?”
Two fat tears spilled over her lashes as she grabbed for her handkerchief. She clutched my arm and sobbed onto my shoulder, weeping as if her heart were broken
“For heaven’s sake, Helena, you are the weepingest woman I know. Wipe your eyes and tell me what the problem is.”
Griffin, suddenly grinning, seated himself
on a nearby couch. His left hand was heavily bandaged, although the bandage appeared a big ragged, as if he had been worrying it.
“I’m so sorry, Cassandra. I would never have asked you to take me with you last night if I had known Letitia would return home early.”
I noted absently that she had begun the process of ruining yet another pair of gloves, and wondered if the destruction of hand wear was an inherited trait in the St. John family.
“Can you ever forgive me for exposing you to such abuse?”
“Don’t be silly, Helena. It wasn’t your fault at all. I knew full well the feelings of your family, and can’t blame them for being upset at your unexplained disappearance.”
I looked over at her brother, who was being unusually (and to my mind suspiciously) quiet.
“You are so good, so understanding,” she sniffled into her handkerchief. “Harold and Letitia have been particularly . . . unhappy since Rosewood burned down.”
“Rosewood?”
Griffin spoke. “Rosewood was our family home in Devonshire. The house burned down a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I take it Rosewood was the earl’s country seat?”
He gave an odd bark of laughter. “You could say that.”
Gripping my hand, Helena gave me a strange, impassioned look. “I can’t tell you how I cherish your friendship. It means a great deal to me, and I wouldn’t want anything to destroy it. You are so good, so kind—”
“Hardly either,” I interrupted, uncomfortable with her fervent gaze. “No harm has been done other than a little damage to my pride, and that, I can assure you, will repair itself in no time. I admit that I was concerned about what sort of reception you would meet after I left.”
“I’m not afraid of Harold when Griffin is home.”
Griffin fidgeted uncomfortably, scratching at his collar. “My sister has told me of the evening’s activities.”
“Did she?” I glanced at Helena, surprised that she would mention the exact details of our outing.
With an air of martyrdom, he continued, although he averted his gaze from mine. “I attach no blame to her or you for the events that transpired. I was glad she had you as a companion.”
Clearly she didn’t tell him about the purse thief. “I appreciate your support in this matter. I am just sorry that your brother and sister-in-law do not share your opinion.”
“This is not easy for me to say. You . . . er . . . know my feelings upon the subject of women’s suffrage.”
I started to make a face, then remembered he was a guest in my home and nodded instead.
He cleared his throat and glanced at his sister. “My feelings have not changed about the appropriateness of women’s participation in politics; however, I have discussed the issue with Helena, and have agreed to allow her to attend meetings as long as she is in your presence.”
Helena leaned slightly to the left and prodded at him.
“Despite my better feelings, I have also . . . er . . . agreed to let her become a member of that women’s club you belong to.”
“The Women’s Suffrage Union.” I spoke absently, suddenly wondering about his bandaged hand.
As his words sunk in, I looked up in surprise. Given the feelings that the earl had so vehemently expressed the night before, I had no doubt that Helena’s foray into political activism would be swiftly and irrevocably nipped in the bud.
“However,” he said loudly and with some force, “that does not mean I authorize her to participate in any demonstrations or public displays. I cannot control your actions… “
My eyebrows rose at the very idea.
“. . . but I would recommend you stop your campaigning as well. I’ve heard from Sherry that the new head of Scotland Yard is proceeding with a strict policy of non-tolerance against suffrage demonstrators. If you don’t want to be arrested, I’d advise you to stay clear of any further public scenes.”
His speech over, he sat back down on the couch and looked at me belligerently, as if challenging me to make a defense. I wondered briefly if he had an ulterior motive in allowing Helena to join in the union, but was unable to think of any benefit her participation would have for him or his brother.
I surprised both of us by saying simply, “I agree with you. It would be unwise for Helena to expose herself to any danger by becoming involved in a suffrage protest, and I am sure she will agree to such a reasonable request.”
Helena looked at me with open-mouthed surprise. “I don’t agree all!” she cried. “How can you say that—you who feel so strongly, and know how strongly I feel about the cause?”
I spread my hands in a placatory gesture. “I know you hold the cause very tightly to your bosom, but you must see that about this, your brother is right. There is no reason to risk your personal safety.”
“I see no such thing. I will be at the rally tomorrow!”
“Rally tomorrow?” Griffin repeated suspiciously. He turned to me. “What rally tomorrow?”
I waved my hand in a dismissive fashion. “A small rally in Hyde Park. It’s a minor gathering, no demonstrations, no protests, just an attempt to raise funds and public awareness for the Union.”
“Helena will not be attending the rally, Miss Whitney.” He tugged at the bandage on his hand as he spoke. “And I strongly urge you to reconsider your attendance at such a public spectacle.”
“Mr. St. John, I took umbrage with you when you used that particular word before, and I take umbrage at it now. How you can interpret a peaceful, organized rally at Speaker’s Corner as a spectacle is beyond me!”
He looked surprised by the vehemence in my voice and absently continued to pick at the bandage. “You may consider your cause one that is peaceful and organized, but I would be willing to wager that the public does not see it that way. Helena will not attend.”
“Griffin!”
We both turned to look at Helena, who had risen and was standing with fists clenched. “I am twenty-one years old and of legal age. If I choose to participate in a peaceful rally in Hyde Park with my dear friend Cassandra, then I shall do so.”
I gave her a mental pat on the back for standing up for her beliefs, and smiled smugly at her brother, who looked stunned at her vehemence. A dull red color flooded his face as he started to answer, but I interrupted, unable, any longer, to stand him tearing away at the remaining bits of bandage. “What did you do to your hand?”
“Eh? Oh, my hand. I had an accident—some damned fool knocked me down with his motor car.”
“Good heavens! You were lucky to escape with only a minor injury.”
“Lucky?” he snorted, tearing off a shred of bandage and placing it absentmindedly into his pocket. “I would be a good deal luckier if people would learn to handle their motors before they took to the public streets with them.”
Helena, reminded of her brother’s recent accident, lost her belligerent look. A glimmer could be seen in her eyes, and I hoped we wouldn’t have a repeat of her tears. “You are having too many accidents since you have been home, Griffin. First, there was the ruffian in Limehouse—”
“A common navvy under the influence of a local opium den. It was not a personal attack against me,” Griffin interrupted.
“And then there was the incident a few weeks ago when you fell down the back stairs—”
“A loose carpet rod.”
“And just last week you had that terrible bilious attack that Doctor Treadway called suspicious.”
Griffin groaned as he glanced at me, obviously embarrassed by his sister’s candor. “I doubt if Miss Whitney wants to hear about my internal complaints, Helena. We are boring her. And I’m not through discussing this rally tomorrow—”
“On the contrary, you are not boring me at all. In fact, it sounds like you are a character out of a novel I am at present reading.”
He grunted and looked out the window as Helena asked, “A novel?”
“Your brother’s recent escapades strike me as the melodramat
ic stuff that makes up popular novels. The type with the dark, brooding hero who someone is trying to do away with. I picked up just such a novel the other day.”
Griffin muttered a rude comment under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. “About that rally you plan to go to tomorrow . . . .” he started to say, then fell silent as the butler stepped into the room.
“Miss Debenham.”
“Emma! How delightful to see you. You will remember Mr. and Miss St. John.” I rose to greet my old friend.
“Of course. It’s a pleasure to see you both again. Cassandra, I’m sorry to interrupt. I had no idea you had visitors. I can come back another time—”
“Don’t be silly. I’m always happy to see you. Mullin, bring tea.” I escorted Emma to a chair and sat beside her, giving her hand a little pat of support. Despite our success the other day at my aunt’s tea, I knew Emma still felt awkward in the company of anyone but her oldest friends.
Griffin looked with much speculation first at Emma, then at my hand on hers, then to me.
“You look flushed, Cassandra. Are you feeling well?” Emma asked as silence descended in the room.
“Quite well. I had a busy morning. Helena—”
The slight young woman jumped as I spoke her name. Emma and I looked in surprise at her reaction.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” Helena knelt next to me, taking my arm. “You mentioned…you don’t think…oh, surely it can’t be true! Griffin, say it is not true!”
“It’s not true,” he obediently said.
“What’s not true?” Emma asked me.
“I have no idea. Mr. St. John?”
He shrugged. “Helena has a vivid imagination. No doubt that is giving her grief right now.”
“Helena, what—” I started to ask, but she gripped my hands then, her fingers digging into mine with unexpected strength.
“Griffin,” she whispered hoarsely, her face a bloodless mask. “Do you really think someone is…someone want to…someone plans to do away with him?”