Death In Hyde Park

we gets ’ome.”

A guard stepped out from behind the van and raised and lowered his arm. The driver lifted his whip, the horses pulled, and the black, windowless van moved heavily out of the courtyard. Curiously, Tropov sauntered after it, watching as it turned into the dark street. On the other side of the pavement, just past the Bell & Bailey, a hansom cab pulled away from the curb, following the van at a little distance. A moment later, and the darkness had swallowed both.

Tropov took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and considered this small but extremely entertaining bit of theater, for theater it was. Only two of the many persons in the crowded yard, it seemed-he, Tropov, and the prisoner, Kopinski-had understood what it was that the hysterical girl had actually said. Her Russian had been so abominably garbled as to be almost indecipherable, but Tropov had managed to make it out.

“The Frenchman has your keys,” she had said. “Free yourselves. Get into the cab that follows the van.”

Tropov’s first impulse had been to cry a warning to the guards in order to prevent the escape of the two Anarchists, but he had quickly suppressed that urge. Now, he considered the situation, smiling, for it seemed that circumstances had turned, inexplicably but quite fortuitously, in his favor. Kopinski would shortly use the keys he had been so inventively provided to slip out of the embrace of the English judiciary and into the dark and gloomy night-an escape he would no doubt welcome. But under the circumstances, a fugitive Kopinski was far more available than an imprisoned Kopinski. Tropov’s operatives were most efficient. They would very soon have the fellow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ANARCHISTS ESCAPE PRISON VAN! DANGEROUS PAIR AT LARGE IN LONDON POLICE BAFFLED

The Times,

5 September 1902

Charles put down The Times and stood as Kate came into the breakfast room at Sibley House. She was already dressed to go out, in a plain blue tweed walking suit. Her auburn hair was pulled back so severely that she looked rather like a Salvation Army worker. “Good morning, my dear,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I hope I didn’t wake you last night when I came home. It was very late.”

“If you woke me, I must have gone straight back to sleep,” Kate replied with a little laugh. “Yesterday was a very long day. I was exhausted.” To Richards, she said, “Coffee, please.” As the butler poured her coffee, she went to the sideboard to help herself to eggs, bacon, and a slice of toast. Over her shoulder, she added, “Savidge was wonderful yesterday, Charles. He showed up Inspector Ashcraft for exactly what he is, a conniving trickster.” She turned. “You handled the fingerprints brilliantly.”

“Apparently the jury weren’t entirely impressed,” Charles said dryly. “Two of the three men were found guilty.”

Kate brought her plate back to the table and sat down, shaking her head. “It’s such a pity, Charles. I’m glad that Adam Gould was spared, of course, but it’s sad that the other two must suffer such a terrible injustice, and chiefly because they’re foreigners. That seems to be the only reason they weren’t acquitted. Isn’t there anything that can be done? An appeal, perhaps?”

“Actually, something has been done,” Charles said, with a chuckle. “A bit of escape artistry, worthy of the great Houdini.” He held up the newspaper.

Kate scanned the headline and gasped incredulously. “They got away?” She threw back her head and laughed with delight. “Now, that’s justice for you!”

“Poetic justice, if you ask me,” Charles said, folding the paper and putting it beside his empty plate. He picked up his coffee cup. “The law wouldn’t let them go, so they took the law into their own hands.”

Kate attacked her eggs. “How did it happen?”

“According to The Times, the van was on its way back to Holloway Prison, when both men suddenly shed their handcuffs, overpowered the guard who had been locked in with them, and knocked him senseless. When the van reached the prison, the rear doors were unlatched, the guard was unconscious, and the prisoners were gone. The guard was not seriously injured, but he wasn’t able, apparently, to provide any useful information about the escape. The Times says that the police are seeking a Russian girl.”

Kate looked up, her eyes widening suddenly. “A Russian girl?”

Charles nodded. “It seems that she was involved in an odd commotion that occured in the yard outside the Old Bailey, when the men were being put into the van. The police are speculating that she managed somehow to get her hands on the keys and pass them to one of the prisoners. They’re questioning the guards.”

Kate leaned forward, her eyes intent. “Charles, that Russian girl-she was Charlotte Conway!”

Charles stared at her. He could feel his jaw dropping. “You saw what happened?”

“Not exactly.” Kate sat back, picked up her toast, and began to spoon marmalade on it. “Nellie Lovelace and I were standing on the steps outside the courtroom after the verdict was announced, trying to hail a cab. Adam came out and stood on the steps, not far away. We saw him at the same moment that he saw a Russian girl in the crowd and began to call Lottie’s name. Then he rushed down the steps after her. She was headed in the direction of the Old Bailey yard.”

Charles’s lips tightened. “You’re saying that Adam Gould was involved in the escape?” If true, that was unfortunate. He could be charged with rendering aid to escaping convicts, and this time, Savidge probably wouldn’t be able to get him off.

“Not Adam,” Kate said, shaking her head. “He couldn’t catch up to the girl. The sidewalk was very crowded, and she had a head start.” She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “But someone else may have been involved in the escape-someone we both know.”

Charles regarded her. He wished that Kate wouldn’t play guessing games. “Who?”

Kate put down her cup. “Jack London.”

“I don’t believe it,” Charles said firmly. “Why would Jack London be involved in an escape attempt? This matter has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh, yes, it does,” Kate said, half-smiling. She had the air of someone who is deliberately spinning out a mystery and loving every moment of it. “He’s in love with Charlotte Conway.”

Sometimes his wife was almost maddening, Charles thought. He put his hand on her arm. “Enough, Kate,” he said sternly. “Don’t make things up. Tell me what you know. Tell me the facts.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “There aren’t any facts, my dear. In something like this, there are only guesses and suppositions.”

“Blast,” Charles said softly. That’s what he got for marrying a novelist. He sighed and capitulated. “All right, Kate. Tell me your suppositions.”

“They aren’t all mine-but I’ll try. Nellie Lovelace supposes that she is carrying Jack London’s child. Last night, as we stood on the steps, she saw Charlotte, dressed as a Russian girl, and London with her. She supposes that the two are staying together, in London ’s room in the East End. She also supposes that London is in love with Charlotte, because he spoke of her with great admiration. He seemed to be quite enchanted with her, according to Nellie.” She paused. “Now, hearing your tale about the escape, I’m guessing that Charlotte Conway and Jack London somehow worked together to free those men.” She smiled regretfully. “No facts, I’m afraid. Only suppositions and guesses.”

Charles swallowed, hardly knowing where to begin. “Nellie Lovelace is carrying Jack London’s child?”

“She’s not sure,” Kate said quickly. “And she told me in confidence, so perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. But it does explain why she wants so desperately to talk to Lottie.” She glanced down at the gold watch on her lapel, pushed back her chair, and stood up. “I must leave now, Charles. I promised to pick Nellie up in half an hour, so we can go to the East End and look for Lottie.”

“The East End.” Charles frowned. “Is that why you’re dressed like a Salvation Army matron?”

“Exactly,” Kate said. “And if I’m late, I’m afraid Nellie will go charging off on her own, without me.” She bent over and kissed him. “I hope you have a good day, my very dear.”

Charles stared at her departing back. “More coffee, Richards,” he said at last. “Black, please.”

Richards’s sniff, he could have sworn, was sympathetic.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

And so it goes. I wander through life delivering hurts to all that know me… it is the woman who always pays.

Jack London,

letter to Anna Strunsky, 23 July 1904

Charlotte Conway had just finished tidying up the two beds when there was a quiet rap at the door. Frowning, she went to it and put her ear against it. Who could be knocking? No one but Jack knew she was here.

“Lottie,” a voice whispered urgently. “It’s Nellie Lovelace. I know you’re in there, Lottie, so let me in!”

So surprised that she didn’t take time to think, Lottie opened the door and stepped back. “Nellie, what are you-” She stopped, feeling herself go rigid with shock. “Lady Sheridan!”

“Hello, Miss Conway,” Lady Sheridan said, entering the room. She was dressed in a very plain gray suit and wore no jewelry. She glanced around, her eyes lingering on Jack’s typewriter. “What a cozy little room. I hope you won’t mind if Nellie and I come in for a visit.” Without waiting for an answer, she went on, in a light tone, “I always enjoy seeing other writers’ work in progress. I’m sure that Mr. London won’t mind if I have a look.” She went over to the table and picked up the top pages of Jack’s typescript, turning her back.

Lottie put her fists on her hips. “What can you possibly mean, coming here, Nellie?” she hissed. “Somebody might have seen you, or heard you walking up the stair. And if it’s Jack you want to talk to-”

“I didn’t come to talk to Mr. London,” Nellie said loftily. “In fact, we-Lady Sheridan and I-lingered on the street to be sure he was gone. We saw the Palmers leave, as well,” she added. “The house is empty. There’s no risk of our being overheard.”

Lady Sheridan put down the manuscript pages and turned around. “We know what happened last night, Charlotte,” she said quietly. She pointed to the red babushka draped over the head of Lottie’s bed. “You were wearing that, and an embroidered apron when you and Jack London went into the Old Bailey yard. Somehow, the two of you managed to slip a key to the prisoners. They freed themselves and-”

“They’ve escaped?” Lottie cried, nearly beside herself with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad! We weren’t sure the plan would-” She stopped, suddenly suspicious. “How do you know about this?”