“I will do what I can,” Charles said. “One of them, Adam Gould, is an acquaintance of mine. I supported the union in a case that came up on appeal last year-the Taff-Vale case. You may have heard of it.”
Miss Conway’s eyes widened in surprise. “You took the union’s side in the Taff-Vale case?”
“Yes,” Charles said. He smiled slightly. “For what little good it did.” It had been an ugly matter, a suit by the Taff-Vale Railroad against the Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants, seeking reparation for losses suffered during a strike. The case had come up to the Lords of Appeal, who had found the union liable to the tune of twenty-three thousand pounds. The decision had annulled the long immunity that protected British labor unions against acts carried out by their members and exposed every union to crippling financial penalties each time its members were involved in a labor dispute. All but the most conservative newspapers had decried it as another instance of the power of the Lords being exerted on behalf of large industrialists and against the people.
Miss Conway tilted her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. “I had no idea,” she said. She gave a little laugh. “I supposed that all the Lords were against the unions.”
“Most are,” Charles said, “but there are a few of us who count ourselves Liberals-and worse.” He picked up his pipe and tobacco pouch. “I must say, I came away from the debate with a great admiration for Adam Gould’s courage. I should hate to see him brought to trial on a trumped-up charge.”
“If you sided with Adam on the Taff-Vale case, I can have no reason not to trust you,” Miss Conway said. She paused and, with a glance at Kate, added guiltily, “To tell the truth, I’m beginning to feel more than a little ashamed of myself. When I first escaped from the police, I was so frightened that I could think only of getting away. That’s why I went to Nellie and begged her to help me get out of London.” Her face darkened. “But the more I think about what I’ve done-coming here, I mean-the more I believe that I was wrong. I should have stayed in the City, where I might have been of some service to Adam and the others. They’re all alone, with no one to stand up for them.” She shook her head despairingly. “I don’t even know if they’ve been able to find a barrister to handle their defense.”
“I may know someone who might be willing to help,” Charles said, tamping tobacco into his pipe. “He is certainly more than competent. I’m planning to go up to London on Monday, and I’ll see him then. I’ll try to see Adam, as well, and find out exactly what the charges are.”
“I’ll go with you,” Miss Conway said vehemently, putting her cup down.
Charles shook his head. “Not unless you want to be jailed yourself. I don’t see how you can help Adam and the others if you are behind bars.”
“Lord Sheridan is right,” Kate said firmly. “You’re safe here, Miss Conway. If anything can be done, his lordship will do it. He’ll get at the truth, and within a few days, your friends will be out of jail.”
Miss Conway’s mouth hardened. “I hope you will pardon my skepticism, Lady Sheridan. Now that the men are in the hands of the law, the courts will never release them-not after what happened in Hyde Park. Scapegoats are wanted, and since Yuri is dead, others will have to do, the more the better.” She bit her lip. “Adam and the others will be lucky to get off with ten years’ penal servitude, like the comrades at Walsall.”
Charles put a match to his pipe. He had followed the Walsall case closely, and while he did not like to admit it, he suspected that Miss Conway might very well be right. Some years before, six Anarchists living in the village of Walsall had been charged with the unlawful possession of explosives with the intent to manufacture bombs. No explosives were ever found; in fact, the only evidence the police were able to produce was a length of fuse taken from one man’s house, a sketch of a bomb found in another’s, and a stack of Anarchist pamphlets discovered in the flat belonging to a third. On this flimsy evidence, the prosecution based its assertion that the men were “a dangerous new class of revolutionist,” part of a vast and frightening conspiracy that threatened the peace and stability of the entire country, and argued that it was not what these Anarchists had done that mattered, it was what they were prepared to do. The newspapers quickly took up the battle cry and a kind of mass hysteria began to prevail, for it seemed that unless the Walsall Anarchists were convicted and sentenced, all England would be at the mercy of terrorists with their dynamite.
Had the prosecution’s case been based solely on the evidence, it could not have held up against a vigorous defense in court. But fortunately for the Crown (the Attorney-General himself conducted the case for the prosecution), one of the conspirators, a man named Deakin, was persuaded to turn nose and supply a confession that implicated three of the others. Also fortunately for the Crown, several bombs exploded in France the week before the trial began, which increased the hysteria in Britain. It took the jury less than two hours to find Deakin and three others guilty and sentence them to five- and ten-year prison terms. Upon learning the verdict, the Commonweal, the Socialist League newspaper, printed an angry, impassioned editorial, pleading for justice. Shortly thereafter, the paper was raided, and both its editor and publisher jailed.
Charles pulled on his pipe. “This man Yuri Messenko,” he said. “The bomber. I read that he was employed at the Clarion. Did you know him well?”
Miss Conway sighed. “I knew him a little. His father was Ukrainian, his mother English, I believe. They lived in Manchester, although they are both dead now. Yuri seemed a soft-spoken, kind young man, always willing to run errands or do what he could to help. He was especially good with children and with people who were in trouble; he always knew what to say to comfort them.” She smiled a little, crookedly. “He wasn’t very bright, though. And his views were not threatening-at least, not as threatening as those of others, Pierre, for instance.”
“Did he have any expertise in chemistry?”
“In chemistry? I should say not!” Miss Conway gave a sad little laugh. “Yuri was no more able to build a bomb than to construct a flying-machine. He wouldn’t even know where to obtain explosive material.”
“But he was obviously carrying explosives,” Charles pointed out. “He might not have known exactly what was in the satchel, but someone did. Someone had to obtain the materials, construct the explosive device, put it into the satchel, and hand it to Messenko-all which suggests a conspiracy of some kind. Equally obviously, Yuri Messenko did not succeed in killing anyone else but himself.” Casually, he spoke around his pipe, not seeming to look at her. “Was that by accident, do you think, or by design?”
Kate frowned. “You’re suggesting that the explosion was not meant to kill the King?”
“I’m not sure what I’m suggesting,” Charles replied. “Miss Conway? Was it by accident?”
“How could I possibly know the answer to that question,” Miss Conway said defiantly, “unless I were a party to the conspiracy. And I was not.” Then, more tentatively, she added, “You are thinking that someone deliberately set out to kill Yuri?”
“At this point, it’s as likely an explanation as anything else,” Charles replied. “Do you know where he lived? Who his friends were?”
Miss Conway seemed wary, but she answered nonetheless. “He lived in Telson Street, Number 17, I think, or Number 19-not far from the Clarion office. As to his friends, I’m afraid I have no idea. Ivan might know. I’ve occasionally seen the two of them leaving the newspaper together in the evenings. Sometimes they went to meetings, sometimes they just went out for something to eat.” She pulled her brows together. “As for a conspiracy, all I can tell you is that different people who come to the newspaper-the Spaniards or the Italians, mostly-sometimes make threats or skulk around as though they are planning some violent action. But there isn’t as much of that as the authorities and the newspapers lead one to believe.” Her lips curved in what might have been a smile. “Most of the people in our cell-the Hampstead Road cell-prefer propaganda by word to propaganda by deed.”