Given all these careful measures, then, it was certainly unfortunate that the inspector had neglected to monitor the movements of Yuri Messenko. But the young man had seemed a vague, gentle sort, not in the same class with the dangerous Kopinski, the inscrutable Mouffetard, or the clever, comely Miss Conway, and it did not seem useful to expend funds or footwork to watch a half-wit. It was only the greatest good luck, therefore, that had taken Inspector Ashcraft through Hyde Park on Coronation Day, at the precise moment that young Yuri blew himself into little pieces with the bomb that had obviously been meant for the King.
For once in his life, Earnest Ashcraft thought exultantly, he had been at the right place at the right time, and fully prepared to do his duty. Of course, it was altogether unfortunate that, in the subsequent raid on the offices of the Clarion, the tantalizing Miss Conway had been allowed to escape-how, he still did not quite understand. But that was of no great concern. He knew he would find her.
CHAPTER SIX
I WANTS T’ BE A LIDY
I wants to ’ave an evening dress that opens down to ’ere,
And wear a great big di’mond ti-a-ra in me ’air;
And when I to the playhouse go, I wants to play the grand
With a wreath of flowers on me breast and a basket in me ’and.
I wants t’ be a lidy through an’ through!
George Dance,
A Chinese Honeymoon,
A Musical Play in Two Acts, 1901
“No!” Nellie Lovelace exclaimed, raising a hand to her mouth and stifing a disbelieving gasp. “Across the roof and down the fire-ladder? You couldn’t have, Lottie!”
“Afraid I did,” Charlotte Conway replied with a rueful look. “It was rather a daredevil trick, and certainly ill-advised. I’m lucky I didn’t kill myself. But I was desperate, Nellie.” She bit her lip, looking anguished. “Adam and the others-I feel as if I abandoned them. It was a rotten thing to do.”
“But you had to,” Nellie said practically. “You couldn’t go to jail.” She knew that Lottie had been hauled before the magistrates on several previous occasions. She’d be in for it this time. Political radicals of all persuasions were increasingly targeted by the police, and since Lottie’s name was on the masthead of the Clarion, she was a perfect quarry. The newspapers would trumpet her arrest, the courtroom would be jammed at her trial, and the magistrate would be harsh.
Lottie sighed, glancing around Nellie’s bedroom. “I suppose I shouldn’t have come here, but I honestly couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I can’t impose on any of the comrades-if I do, and I’m caught there, they’ll go to jail, too.” She lowered her head and glanced obliquely at Nellie. “I thought… well, you’re not a sympathizer. I didn’t think their spies would be watching you.”
“You did the right thing, Lottie.” Nellie opened her gold cigarette case-a gift from an admirer-and offered her friend a cigarette. “Good Lord, you are in a dreadful corner, aren’t you, old girl? Where did you sleep last night?”
“In Green Park.” Charlotte took the cigarette, wrinkling her nose. “I didn’t sleep, actually. A copper came along about midnight to roust out the vagabonds, and I slipped away before he collared me.” She bent to Nellie’s light and puffed, blowing out smoke. “The question is, Nellie, what the devil do I do now? I can’t go home, because that devil Ashcraft is no doubt watching Mum’s house. And I can’t go to the newspaper-from all the crashing and bashing I heard, I’m sure they wrecked the place. Last time, it took us a couple of months to put everything right and start printing again. This time, they’ve closed us down for keeps.” She closed her eyes and added, reflectively, “A damned shame, too. Without us, the movement has no voice.” Her own voice became bitter. “But that’s their aim, of course-to stifle anyone who doesn’t agree with the government. So much for the right of free speech.”
Nellie Lovelace sat back on her velvet sofa and regarded her friend. She had met Charlotte several years before, at the very beginning of her acting career. At the time, Nellie was still taking whatever parts she could find, mostly as a bit player at Henry Irving’s Lyceum Theater. She had gone to a meeting of the Fabian Society, the foremost Socialist group in England, to hear a lecture by the drama critic for the Saturday Review, George Bernard Shaw. She and Charlotte had sat next to one another. Nellie was only marginally interested in Socialism, and Charlotte was a committed Anarchist-a rather idealistic one, in Nellie’s view-but the two women quickly became fast friends and saw one another as often as their other commitments allowed.
“Yes, that is certainly the question,” Nellie said thoughtfully. “What are you to do now?” She surveyed her friend’s disheveled appearance with a critical eye. Never very tidy, Lottie certainly looked much the worse for wear: her boots were muddied, her skirt was torn, her blouse was stained, and her hair was a matted mess. “When did you last have something to eat?”
Lottie screwed up her forehead as if she were trying to remember. “An old lady gave me half of her sticky bun-this morning, I think it was.”
Nellie frowned, thinking that half a bun since morning wasn’t enough to keep body and soul together, even if you were a stick like Lottie and used to missing meals while you pecked away all day at the typewriter. “And you’re sure you can’t go home?” she asked. “You need a change of clothing, at least.”
“I don’t dare,” Lottie replied. “If Ashcraft so much as catches a glimpse of me, he’ll have me in Police Court by morning. I need to get out of London for a while, Nellie, but I’m sure the filthy beast is watching the railway stations.” She made a wry face. “I have no money for a ticket, anyway. And nowhere to go. I’m afraid I’m a dreadful nuisance.”
“Well, money is not a problem,” Nellie said, considering. “I certainly have more than enough.” The year before, she had taken on her first important role, as Princess Soo-Soo in A Chinese Honeymoon, at the Royal Strand Theater. Musical theater had not been her goal when she had declared to herself that she wanted to be an actress-a serious Shakespearean actress. But Nellie was nothing if not practical, and she had quickly discovered that there was a great deal more money to be made in musical comedy, which was more respectable than music hall and more appealingly lighthearted than serious theater. She’d had some incredible luck along the way, of course-meeting Lady Sheridan, for instance, who had introduced her to Henry Irving and Bram Stoker at the Lyceum, and then to Frank Curzon, who managed the Royal Strand. It was Lady Sheridan who had persuaded Mr. Curzon to give her a part as one of the bridesmaids in A Chinese Honeymoon, and he had suggested that she understudy the leading lady. When Beatrice Edward got into a tiff and left the play, Nellie had stepped into her role.
And from there on, it had been roses all the way. It looked as if the musical might enjoy a very long run, and Nellie was so much admired as Princess Soo-Soo that her dressing room was banked with fresh flowers every night and she was bombarded with invitations from men who wanted to make her acquaintance. Her photograph was in all the shops, her name was in all the newspapers, and she had a dozen admirers on her string, such as the charming American adventure writer she had met at the home of the Palmers the day before. Jack London was quite the man, she thought, and his rough-hewn American ways made him seem more rugged and virile than the foppish young men who usually courted her.