Cat and Mouse (24 page)

Dr Armstrong was explaining, portentously, ‘You have my deepest sympathy, Jonathan. The first time your wife was imprisoned here I felt it my duty to stay uninvolved, so as to cause you the least embarrassment, but this time, since you insist . . .’

‘I do.’ A muscle twitched at the side of Jonathan's jaw, and Debbie noticed a slight flush on his scarred cheek.

‘Then of course I shall do what I can. But I regret to say that my orders are quite clear. The Governor had them from the Home Secretary McKenna himself, and he took particular pains to stress them to me. From now on there is to be no exception to prison regulations for any suffragette, specifically including your wife, and Mrs Pankhurst as well for that matter.’

‘Even after my assurance in the House today?’

‘I have heard nothing about that, I'm afraid.’

‘No, well. Perhaps it's too soon.’ Jonathan drummed his fingers impatiently on the edge of his chair. ‘Then I cannot see her?’

‘No, I'm afraid not. No visits, no letters. Not even if her charming sister comes all the way over from Ireland.’

‘It is not a matter for joking, Dr Armstrong.’ It was unusual for Deborah to interrupt a male conversation, but there was something about the man's thick-lipped, ingratiating smile which deeply irritated her. And after this afternoon, she felt that men alone would never protect her sister. She glared at him, shaking slightly. Dr Armstrong looked offended.

‘No, of course not, madam. I didn't mean that at all. But you have to understand that your sister has committed a most serious criminal offence.’

‘I know that, Doctor. But she needs help and comfort too. According to my brother-in-law she was not at all a healthy woman when she was arrested.’

He nodded sagely. ‘That may well be so. It is my belief, in fact, that many of these crimes may be connected with an undiagnosed medical condition. But in any case that is what I am here for. I have not had the pleasure of meeting your wife so far since her arrest, Jonathan, but I shall certainly make it my business to examine her as soon as possible, and convey your concern to her also. I have been away for the past three days, but I understand that so far she has refused to eat, as she did before.’

‘I was afraid of that.’ As Jonathan spoke. Deborah noticed one of his hands playing nervously with the arm of his chair. ‘So she will already be in a feeble condition, I imagine. I suppose it might have affected her mind. Can't you arrange for her release as soon as possible, Martin, without her having to go through all this wretched charade of damaging her health first? I had an agreement with McKenna before that if she stayed at home without making speeches or involving herself actively in the movement she would not be rearrested.’

‘An agreement he regards as broken now, I suppose?’

‘Of course.’ Jonathan waved his hand dismissively, although there was something of anxiety in the gesture too. ‘But he can't keep her in until she dies, can he? That is the nub of the whole dilemma these women confront the government with, you know that. The women cannot be allowed to die in prison, so they have to be released sooner or later. All I am asking of you is that you help me make it sooner. I've done you some service, after all . . .’

‘And I you.’

‘Yes, I know.’ There was a slight, infinitesimal pause, and, although neither of them looked her way, Deborah had the impression that both men had simultaneously become highly aware that she was present and wished she was not. But it was only for a second; then they both hurried on, as though concerned that the pause itself should not be noticed.

‘All I can say, Jonathan old chap, is that of course I'll give her an examination and do my very best to get her out as soon as I can. If I certify that her health is likely to be damaged by further exposure to prison conditions then that's it, no question. I can't do it tonight because I'm leaving here in half an hour and if I barge in over the heads of the other medics the governor will smell a rat and say it's political pressure — but first thing tomorrow morning, all right? I'll let you know what I find. Can't say fairer than that, now can I?’

Jonathan stood up. ‘You're very kind.’ He held out his hand and as he did so Deborah had the impression of great tension throughout his body, as though he might start to shake or tremble or scream at any moment.

‘Not at all.’ Dr Armstrong took Jonathan's hand in his, and shook it, and as he stood up Deborah realised he was not a tall man, just bulky. He took up more space than most men, breathed more heavily. He held out his arms to shepherd them out of his office and escort them to the main gate.

As they crossed the quadrangle Deborah glanced over her shoulder at the solid, gloomy building they were leaving. Everywhere tiny windows crisscrossed with iron bars. Which one was Sarah's? None of them had a face behind it — perhaps they were too high up in the wall for the prisoners to look out? The building must be full of women but no noise came from it at all — the only sound was the pigeons cooing overhead, and the clatter of the traffic beyond the walls. It is like a great catacomb in the middle of the city, where people are buried alive, she thought. How can anyone stand it? It is worse than death.

And Sarah has come here twice before. She knew what it would be like before she slashed the picture. Perhaps Dr Armstrong is right, it is something to do with a strange medical condition. Perhaps her mind is affected.

Either that, or she is a very brave woman indeed.

By evening, Deborah was exhausted. She had travelled for two days, she had been to Parliament, and visited Holloway prison. She had seen her brother-in-law publicly disassociate himself from her sister in Parliament. And beneath that, like a whale just below the surface of her mind, was the constant question of the baby inside her, and what she was going to do about it.

When they returned to Belgrave Square, Jonathan's housekeeper had already unpacked her bags in the guest bedroom, on the same floor as the separate suites that Jonathan and Sarah shared. Gratefully, she undressed, drew the curtains, took a teaspoonful of laudanum, and slept.

In her dreams she was looking for Rankin. She was standing in a crowd in Dublin, and she saw him speaking to a sea of people. Really a sea, for, as he spoke to them, the heads of the crowd rose and fell rhythmically as waves passed through them. Then a huge wave upset the cart and she was struggling on the ground with men and boots and sticks all around her. If only I could get up, she thought, I could find him and then everything would be all right. But each time she stumbled to her feet she was knocked down again and her belly was bigger and rounder and heavier, and the boots of the men ran faster and faster in every direction, kicking her and jumping over her until suddenly there was no one left . . . she was all alone, huge and pregnant like a beached whale, lying on the cobbles in the middle of an empty street, while the mounted police rode slowly down the street towards her, their long batons swinging in their hands. In front of them, smiling coolly down at her from his tall bay horse, rode her husband, Charles.

She awoke, sweating and uncomfortable, to the sound of movement in the room. A maid was there, with a candle. She hovered uncertainly at the foot of the bed, the light illuminating her white pinafore dress and frilled cap, but leaving her face dark, ghostly.

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, excuse me, my lady. Mr Jonathan sent to see if you were awake, and if you were, dinner will be served in quarter of an hour, but if you are not, or are indisposed and would prefer to have it served in your room, it's all up to you, just as you wish. I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to wake you.’

‘It's quite all right,’ Deborah smiled at the girl's confusion. It might have been tempting to stay in her room, but not after a dream like that. The best way to clear her mind of her own troubles would be to talk to Jonathan, see what comfort he could offer her. If he could be trusted, after this afternoon.

But then, who else is there?

‘Tell my brother-in-law I shall be down to dinner. And light the gas, would you please, before you go?’

Jonathan was undoubtedly pleased to see her. He stood with his back to the dining room fire, waiting, alone in full evening dress. The beautiful cut of the black clothes suited him, making him more distinguished than ever. He had removed the plaster from his cheek and there were two red scratches there, nearly healed.

Deborah had put on a pale green satin evening gown, one of the few she had that made the best of her colouring, even when, as today, there were dark lines of weariness under her eyes.

‘Come in, Deborah. I know, it is late by you country standards but I think we both need our strength restored. Can I offer you a drink?’

‘Yes. A small sherry, please.’ The hovering butler brought it to her and she walked up to the fire and stood near him. The long polished table with its silver and candlesticks gleamed in front of them. There were only two places laid. She glanced at it and said: ‘If you think it is all right for us to drink after what Sarah is going through now . . . And what you said in Parliament this afternoon.’

Jonathan's dark brown eyes watched her, twinkling, as the butler lit the candles. ‘I know, it seems callous. But remember what I told you. It was done for the best, although the ways of politics are not always straightforward. My words may even help Sarah, you know.’

‘Help her? How?’

‘By making it clear to McKenna that I, at least, do not support her senseless action. That might make it possible, in time, for him to exercise clemency on her behalf.’

‘In time?’

‘Yes. I am afraid there is nothing more either of us can do unless you want to go out yourself, and throw a stone now, to join her?’

Deborah shook her head, reprovingly, irritated by his flippant manner. ‘Don’t be silly, Johnny, that's unkind. You know I don't approve of the militants. But . . .’

‘But you wish she were here, and so do I. But if Sarah
were
here, you know, she would either ignore me, or give us both the most monstrous lecture, I’m afraid. And you and I would look at each other, and sigh, and think, how did it ever come to this?’

‘Perhaps.’ Deborah glanced, embarrassed, at the butler, who was waiting to serve the soup. Did Jonathan always talk in front of the servants like this?

‘It's all right,’ he said, noticing her glance. ‘Reeves knows things in this house are not — quite as they should be. Both he and I have been engaged for some time in an attempt to make things appear normal when they are not — isn't that right, Reeves?’

‘Indeed, sir.’ The butler avoided her eyes, discreetly, and Deborah thought, oh dear, Jonathan's been drinking before I came down.

Throughout the soup and the fish and the main course, while the servants were present, she managed to steer him away from any discussion of Sarah. They talked of the possibilities of Asquith's sending troops against the UVF — small, in Jonathan's view; of his duties in the House and how he managed to combine them with his flourishing legal practice; of the fogs and the difficulties of getting around London; and the threat of war from Germany.

‘No one thinks it's a joke, I assure you,’ Jonathan said. ‘It's not at all that long since the First Lord, Churchill, sent out a twenty-page detailed memo to all the Cabinet and Chiefs of staff detailing a German landing in East Anglia. His idea was they would put ashore a fully equipped army corps able to march south and attack London, and thus prevent any embarcation of a British Expeditionary Force to the Continent in support of the French. Shook them all up, I can tell you. Especially when no one could satisfy him that sufficient measures could be taken to prevent it.’

Deborah smiled, and her disapproval of Jonathan began to fade away. She had always liked him when he was like this. It was the sort of conversation she missed, living with Charles in Glenfee, or managing alone for long periods when he was on service abroad. Perhaps Jonathan had been drinking a little but it had only loosened his tongue, and what was revealed was an intelligent, articulate man with his finger on the pulse of most of the important issues in the capital. A man who, one day — if Sarah had not ruined it now — might be in the Cabinet. A man who, unlike Charles, actually talked to her. Who appeared to care what she thought.

She began to relax, and forgive him for this afternoon.

After the meal they went into the library. It was a large, comfortable room with a blazing fire. Books lined the walls, there was a desk in each corner, card and chess tables near the windows, and two comfortable armchairs and a sofa. Thick, brown velvet curtains were drawn against the night, and the fire and a heavy wooden standard lamp by the mantlepiece provided the only illumination. It was curiously comforting, intimate.

Jonathan lit a cigar and offered her a glass of brandy. She smiled. It was a gesture Charles would never have made.

‘What I'd really like, if you don't mind, is a cup of hot cocoa.’

‘But of course.’ He rang the bell for Reeves and shortly afterwards it came, in a bone china cup on a silver tray. Reeves bowed himself out and left them in peace.

‘That's what I like about having my sister-in-law to stay,’ Jonathan said. ‘No need to be concerned with appearances.’

He drew on his cigar and looked at her, and she thought, this is what it might have been like if I'd married him, instead of Charles. What it was like for a short time with Rankin. Just a man and a woman in companionable friendship, either side of the fire. None of that awful tension, that loneliness I sense in Charles.

But I'm deceiving myself. Remember what Jonathan did to Sarah in the Commons this afternoon. Because she had broken the code, done what a woman should not. Would Jonathan talk to me at all, if I dared tell him what I have done?

I would be the lonely one then.

Jonathan blew a smoke ring and smiled. ‘Penny for them.’

‘What?’

‘Your thoughts. I've been sitting here watching you all withdrawn into yourself. Do you know you get a little crinkle in your brow just here when you think?’ He gestured to his forehead with his thumb. ‘What were you thinking?’