Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (24 page)

While London constabulary worked to cut Miss Lambert-Lambert free, she called out to members of the public who had gathered to watch. “Our fight has been going on far too long. Women will not be trampled … we are prepared to die for our cause.” It was thought Miss Lambert-Lambert was referring to the death of Miss Emily Wilding Davison yesterday afternoon as a result of injuries sustained when she threw herself in front of the King's horse at the Epsom Derby. Miss Lambert-Lambert shouted, “Rebellion against tyrants is obedience to God,” as she was forcibly put into the police van.

Miss Lambert-Lambert will be held in Holloway Prison, and will be arraigned to answer charges of Disrupting the Peace, Causing a Public Disturbance, Obstructing the Police in the course of their duty, and the most serious of all, Assault on a Police Constable.

The Home Secretary, Mr. Reginald McKenna, was quoted earlier this week as calling for “greater measures to be taken against these lawless young women, who invade the privacy of senior government officials in their houses, and on our streets, causing danger to the public with their outrageous antics.”

“Well, that's quite dreadful. What a terrible shock.” Clementine finished the account of Lucinda Lambert-Lambert's debut into the attention-ridden world of the WSPU and read on. “It says here that everyone is sick to death of the suffragettes and the damage they do. Oh, and it says that poor Wilding Davison woman died of her injuries and her funeral is tomorrow.

“A good deal has happened in a very short time, Jackson. I simply can't believe that Lucinda has turned out so very badly. Her parents must be devastated.”

“Lady Harriet and Mr. Lambert-Lambert are downstairs with Chief Inspector Ewan, m'lady. He has given them permission to go to London,” said Mrs. Jackson as she rang for Pettigrew.

“What am I thinking?” Clementine started to scramble out of bed. “I have to get up, get dressed, and go down to Lady Harriet. I expect they want to get up to London as fast as they can so they can set about helping Lucinda out of this scrape.”

As Mrs. Jackson left, Lord Montfort arrived and heard her last remark.

“This is hardly a scrape, Clemmy, for heaven's sake!” he said. “I hope they don't make an example of Lucinda. The government is absolutely sick to death of these women causing trouble and destroying property. It is against the law to chain oneself to the railings of the prime minister's residence, and to thump a policeman on the nose.” Clementine sensed that her husband had firmly allied himself with the ranks of outraged fathers and husbands, and sighed.

“Then Lord Squareforth will have to step in and intervene,” she said. “It's the least he can do for Harriet.”

“Well, let's hope he sees it that way too,” her husband replied as Pettigrew bustled into the room, carrying Clementine's frock over her arm. “I'll leave you to get dressed and look for you downstairs. Harriet and Gilbert are leaving soon. They are just waiting to say goodbye to you.”

Clementine arrived in time to find Lady Harriet Lambert-Lambert and her husband standing together in the hall as their motorcar pulled up into the drive. Gilbert looked quite ill and Clementine's first reaction was that he should not travel. Then she recognized the futility of this thought; when one's child was in trouble there was no staying away. Harriet looked drawn but determined nonetheless, and was clearly in full charge of herself, in an iron-woman kind of way that made Clementine feel nothing but concern for her friends. She took Harriet's arm and turned her gently toward her.

“Harriet, tell me what can I do to help?” she asked.

Harriet replied immediately, “Think who you know who can influence them to drop the charges against Lucinda. Otherwise she will serve a prison sentence.” It was evident that Harriet had no qualms about calling in all favors.

“Of course, I'll talk to Ralph. What about your father?” Clementine wondered if Lord Squareforth knew that his granddaughter was ruining the family's reputation.

“He is our only hope at the moment and he is quite beside himself.” Harriet looked even more determined, and Clementine thought she had certainly inherited her father's powerful will. “I am hoping he will come round…”

“Harriet, what do you know about this terrible business?”

“I know that Lucinda chained herself to those damned railings. When she left on Sunday morning she probably drove to the Pankhursts' house straightaway and joined those bloody women. They must have been over the moon to see her. Can you imagine what a coup it was for them, a girl of her background joining their blasted cause? She must have been with them all this time … and then she did this terrible thing. We simply must get her out of there as soon as we can before the wretched girl decides to hunger strike.

“They usually throw the book at suffragettes who make a public disturbance these days. I am not sure at all what sort of sentence she could serve. Oh damn and blast, where is that motorcar?” Lady Harriet turned to her husband and Clementine felt alarm for Gilbert. He was looking old and vulnerable. Clementine was saddened by the overnight change in Gilbert; gone was the powerful captain of industry who had laughingly turned down Lloyd George's offer of a peerage for a mere fifty thousand pounds as being the last gambit of the desperate to belong to a class he had already married into.

“Ralph said something about Henry Fowler, he's a close friend of the prime minister, and he was in the same house at Eton as Ralph's father; he could talk to him, or perhaps the home secretary, Mr. McKenna?” Clementine said.

“McKenna hates the Pankhursts and the WSPU. I am hoping my father will persuade him on our behalf. Now I must go, Clementine. Pray for us. If Lucinda is to remain in prison I am not sure that Gilbert will be able to live with that.”

Clementine and Lord Montfort stood side by side in the drive to watch their friends leave. As the motor disappeared around the corner they turned and walked into the house.

“It's the end of an age, the end of civilization as we know it.” Clementine felt immeasurably depressed at the ugliness of it all. “It is simply not possible that a young girl of Lucinda's background could be put in prison for something as ridiculous as chaining herself to the railings of Number Ten.”

“And I wonder if it is simply not possible for a young girl of Lucinda's background to have behaved with such impropriety as to chain herself to the railings of Number Ten,” said her husband as he walked her toward the small dining room so that she could join him for his breakfast.

Hollyoak opened the door for them, but said just before they walked in, “Chief Inspector Ewan would like a word with you after you have breakfasted, my lord.”

“Oh good God, what does
he
want?”

“I understood it concerns Haversham Hall. I think the chief inspector's intention is to drive over there to talk to the dowager countess and—”

“Mrs. Mallory? Well good luck to him.” Lord Montfort laughed. “He must be either very brave or a complete nincompoop.”

“I would say the latter, your lordship.” Hollyoak bowed and left them to their breakfast.

*   *   *

As Clementine went upstairs to change for a stroll in the park with Gertrude and Constance, Mrs. Jackson arrived with more news for her. Oscar Barclay was having a wretched morning, so Agnes had reported when she had gone up to see to his room during breakfast and found him still in bed, looking rather ill.

“I was wondering if you had the time to see Mr. Oscar, m'lady,” Mrs. Jackson asked with a look that said it would be worth a visit.

“Most certainly, Jackson, he's in the bachelors' quarters, right? Good. I'm on my way. Would you join me up there? And bring reinforcements in the shape of comforting food and sustenance.”

*   *   *

As Clementine tapped on and opened the door to Oscar's bedroom, she could barely see him across the darkened room, where he lay in his bed.

“Oscar dear, how are you? Mrs. Jackson says you are not feeling well.” Clementine stood at the foot of his bed, peering at him through the gloom.

“So terribly sorry you have troubled yourself, Lady Montfort. I just have this horrid headache, and I am so very cold, I can't seem to get warm.” There was no fire in his room, which faced north, and she saw that Oscar had wrapped himself up in what looked like a flannel dressing gown over his pajamas and had wound a scarf around his neck. He lay there shivering, his face pale.

Clementine crossed the room and opened one of the chintz curtains that were drawn across the windows. Oscar turned his head on the pillow and she saw such misery.

“Oh my dear boy, you do look all in!”

“I don't feel too good actually.” He tried to laugh it off but failed. “I had rather a desperate interview with Chief Inspector Ewan, it went on for nearly an hour. I decided to come back to bed.”

Clementine laid her hand on his forehead. It felt incredibly hot, and she tried to decide whether he was really ill or had just come to the end of the line. Well, it amounted to the same thing, she thought. An hour with Ewan would have been grueling to a sensitive boy like Oscar, she had no doubt.

“Have you eaten breakfast at all, Oscar?” She kept her voice low.

“I have no appetite.”

“Mrs. Jackson is on her way with something that should do the trick. I will look in on you again, but for now just rest and let nature take its course.”

Oscar nodded his thanks and his eyes swam.

Clementine stroked his hair out of his eyes and off his forehead, smoothed the sheets and blankets comfortably across him, and eased a softer pillow under his head. Then she went to the wardrobe at the far end of the room, pulled out an eiderdown, and tucked it around him.

There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Jackson came in. With the calm efficiency Clementine so appreciated, Mrs. Jackson helped Oscar to sit up and gave him a glass of water with Beechams Powders. As he was shuddering the powders down, she slipped a hot-water bottle under his feet, the most comforting feeling in the world when one is clenched up with cold. Mrs. Jackson took away the empty Beechams glass and gave him a two-handled cup from which small puffs of steam carried the deliciously rich aroma of hot, beef tea.

“Well, Mr. Barclay, it's been an upset for us all, no wonder you feel out of sorts,” Mrs. Jackson said as she watched Oscar cautiously sip his beef tea.

“We'll leave you to rest, Oscar. Just give Mrs. Jackson a ring if you need anything and I'll look in on you again later.” Mrs. Jackson opened the door for her and they left Oscar to sleep.

Clementine felt decidedly triumphant as she turned to her housekeeper.

“I will pop along and see how the poor boy is doing after luncheon. Please be sure that a tray of something delicious and heartening is taken up to him at one o'clock. Something comforting, tell Mrs. Thwaite. What did the boys love when they were home from Eton, apart from treacle tart?”

“They liked sausages and mashed potatoes with pickled onions, m'lady,” was Mrs. Jackson's unhesitating reply.

Clementine shuddered. “Well, I am sure Oscar wouldn't. Ask Mrs. Thwaite to come up with something tempting. I always like a little roast chicken when I'm feeling off. You set him back to rights again; afterward I can have a nice little talk with him and find out what he's all about.”

 

Chapter Twenty-three

Before she changed to go down to the dining room for luncheon, Clementine paid a visit to Oscar, who had just finished a tender
blanquette de veau
and had obviously rallied considerably under their kind attentions. Always appreciated for his beautiful manners and fastidious appearance, Clementine was pleased to see that Oscar had bathed and was sitting by the fire, dressed in a velvet-and-silk padded robe over his pajamas; he had even had the energy to shave.

“My dear boy—how are you feeling now?” she asked, taking a seat in the chair next to him and looking appreciatively at his made bed and the overall tidiness of the room.

“I feel so much better, thank you for your kindness, Lady Montfort. Your housekeeper has taken such good care of me.” Clementine noticed that although he had lost the reduced look of bone-tired weariness, there was a resolute grimness about him now.

“Maybe you should continue to rest until tomorrow. But in the meantime is there anything I can bring you? Books, newspapers? Please ring for anything you need. I am sure your friends will want to look in on you later!”

“Thank you—you are too kind to me, as you always have been.” He was genuine in his appreciation, she thought. Oscar had always been such an effortlessly nice boy.

“Goodness, Oscar—don't mention it, my dear. You must have had a pretty rough time of it with that ghastly policeman. What a nasty bully … worse than being back in school I should imagine,” and she laughed so that the bogeyman didn't creep into the room and their conversation.

“Quite,” agreed Oscar, though rather weakly.

“Just doing his job, Oscar, after which he will up and leave us alone. You see, they have to carry on as if we are all suspects—that is the purpose of an investigation.” She laughed again, inviting him to join in. “Did he grill you so very horribly?”

“Yes, he did rather. Made me feel I hadn't a leg to stand on.” Oscar believed quite evidently that he didn't, Clementine thought.

“Oldest trick in the book,” she said, as if she were interrogated every day of the week for all sorts of crimes. “Wants to throw you off guard, make you feel panicky, trick you into all sorts of indiscretions. He was awful to poor Ralph.”

Always confide in the person you want information from,
she said to herself. She instinctively knew that if you wanted to invoke other people's trust, you extended trust to them. Another wily trick absorbed by osmosis from her father, the adroit governor general; she mentally sent her thanks.