Women
until she was accosted by a group of men, who snatched her bundle of newspapers and threw them into the gutter. She didn’t know what to do and the papers were quite ruined, she’d had to leave them where they fell—would Miss McCleland like her to collect more newspapers and return to the same street corner or should she try another?
“You will do no such thing; you’ve had enough for one day,” Florence said, her expression torn between anger at the ignorant men and sympathy for the bedraggled victim. “You’ll catch your death of cold. Annie, another cup and saucer, please.”
“Apropos of the police, dear,” Miss Lithgow addressed Florence once Miss Treylen had been settled into a chair by the fire and plied with sandwiches and cake. “Isn’t it time we informed your sister what it is that we require of her?” Florence glanced at Dody. “Dr. McCleland,” Miss Lithgow continued, her voice calm once more, “seeing as through no fault of your own, you have fallen onto the side of the opposition”—she eyed Dody over her pince-nez—“would it be possible for you to at least find out the results of Lady Catherine’s autopsy?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dody replied, looking Miss Lithgow levelly in the eye. Her acquiescence had nothing to do with the other woman’s attempts at intimidation. Having been unable to perform the autopsy, a follow-up was the least she could do, for Florence’s sake. “It would be a professional courtesy for them to inform me anyway. I imagine I will be hearing from them soon.”
“I’m not sure soon is good enough,” Miss Lithgow said.
“We need to know now, Dody,” Florence added. “The Division wants me to accompany you to Scotland Yard to make immediate enquiries before the officers leave for the evening.”
Dody could see no problem with that. “Very well, I am as eager as you to find out the results.”
“Can you tell us the names of the policemen you were dealing with?” Miss Lithgow asked.
“There was a Detective Superintendent Shepherd—”
“The deputy head of the Detective Division—as big a tub of lard as ever I did see,” Molly Jenkins cut in, provoking a smile even on the glacially beautiful features of Miss Lithgow.
“And a Detective Chief Inspector Pike,” Dody added.
It seemed none of the ladies had come across this name before. But after a few moments, Mrs. Slowcroft said, “Actually, I believe I know the name. Miss Hobhouse has spoken of him. An unusual type for a policeman, if it is the same fellow.”
At the mention of Miss Hobhouse, the highly respected welfare campaigner, all eyes became fixed on Mrs. Slowcroft. “There is quite a story. It was during her campaign to expose the appalling conditions inside the British camps in South Africa where the Boer women and children were imprisoned,” she said. “Mr. Pike was an army captain then, a bit of a war hero—received the Distinguished Conduct Medal or something or other. Then he was injured and sent to supervise the running of the Bloemfontein camp. He resigned his commission over what he saw there. Miss Hobhouse approached him hoping to use him in her campaign, but he refused, saying his resignation was all he needed to say on the matter.”
Deeds, not words
, the suffragette slogan—Dody barely managed to keep the thought to herself.
The women exchanged glances. “I think we could suppose he has some sympathy towards the women’s movement, and a sympathetic police officer is worth cultivating, surely,” Mrs. Slowcroft finished.
“It sounds as if he has some principles at least,” Florence said.
“He’s still the enemy,” Olivia Barndon-Brown said, with no trace of humour at all.
Chapter Six
A plainclothes officer showed Dody into the chief inspector’s office. Pike got to his feet and positioned the visitor’s chair in front of his desk for her. Dody looked around the room. There were no pictures on the walls, no photographs or mementos on the
until she was accosted by a group of men, who snatched her bundle of newspapers and threw them into the gutter. She didn’t know what to do and the papers were quite ruined, she’d had to leave them where they fell—would Miss McCleland like her to collect more newspapers and return to the same street corner or should she try another?
“You will do no such thing; you’ve had enough for one day,” Florence said, her expression torn between anger at the ignorant men and sympathy for the bedraggled victim. “You’ll catch your death of cold. Annie, another cup and saucer, please.”
“Apropos of the police, dear,” Miss Lithgow addressed Florence once Miss Treylen had been settled into a chair by the fire and plied with sandwiches and cake. “Isn’t it time we informed your sister what it is that we require of her?” Florence glanced at Dody. “Dr. McCleland,” Miss Lithgow continued, her voice calm once more, “seeing as through no fault of your own, you have fallen onto the side of the opposition”—she eyed Dody over her pince-nez—“would it be possible for you to at least find out the results of Lady Catherine’s autopsy?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dody replied, looking Miss Lithgow levelly in the eye. Her acquiescence had nothing to do with the other woman’s attempts at intimidation. Having been unable to perform the autopsy, a follow-up was the least she could do, for Florence’s sake. “It would be a professional courtesy for them to inform me anyway. I imagine I will be hearing from them soon.”
“I’m not sure soon is good enough,” Miss Lithgow said.
“We need to know now, Dody,” Florence added. “The Division wants me to accompany you to Scotland Yard to make immediate enquiries before the officers leave for the evening.”
Dody could see no problem with that. “Very well, I am as eager as you to find out the results.”
“Can you tell us the names of the policemen you were dealing with?” Miss Lithgow asked.
“There was a Detective Superintendent Shepherd—”
“The deputy head of the Detective Division—as big a tub of lard as ever I did see,” Molly Jenkins cut in, provoking a smile even on the glacially beautiful features of Miss Lithgow.
“And a Detective Chief Inspector Pike,” Dody added.
It seemed none of the ladies had come across this name before. But after a few moments, Mrs. Slowcroft said, “Actually, I believe I know the name. Miss Hobhouse has spoken of him. An unusual type for a policeman, if it is the same fellow.”
At the mention of Miss Hobhouse, the highly respected welfare campaigner, all eyes became fixed on Mrs. Slowcroft. “There is quite a story. It was during her campaign to expose the appalling conditions inside the British camps in South Africa where the Boer women and children were imprisoned,” she said. “Mr. Pike was an army captain then, a bit of a war hero—received the Distinguished Conduct Medal or something or other. Then he was injured and sent to supervise the running of the Bloemfontein camp. He resigned his commission over what he saw there. Miss Hobhouse approached him hoping to use him in her campaign, but he refused, saying his resignation was all he needed to say on the matter.”
Deeds, not words
, the suffragette slogan—Dody barely managed to keep the thought to herself.
The women exchanged glances. “I think we could suppose he has some sympathy towards the women’s movement, and a sympathetic police officer is worth cultivating, surely,” Mrs. Slowcroft finished.
“It sounds as if he has some principles at least,” Florence said.
“He’s still the enemy,” Olivia Barndon-Brown said, with no trace of humour at all.
Chapter Six
A plainclothes officer showed Dody into the chief inspector’s office. Pike got to his feet and positioned the visitor’s chair in front of his desk for her. Dody looked around the room. There were no pictures on the walls, no photographs or mementos on the
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