Bethlehem Road

There was no change in her expression, no added fear or start of apprehension. 'Yes, I know them both, though not well. There are not many of us, Mr. Pitt; it is hard for us not to know of one another, especially of those few who are prepared to take risk, to fight for what they believe, rather than merely pleading for it to a government which is composed entirely of men and quite obviously not disposed to listen to us. Those who hold power have never in all history been inclined to relinquish it willingly. Usually it has been taken from them by force, or it has slipped from their hands because they were too weak or corrupt to retain it.'

'Which does Mrs. Ivory believe will come to pass here?'

The first pale flush of color marked her cheeks, and her face hardened.

' 'That is a question you had better ask her, Mr. Pitt-after 197

you have discovered who murdered my husband!' Then her anger dissolved in an agony of distress and she turned awa> from him and crumpled against the back of the chair, weeping silently, her whole body shaking with the violence of her emotion.

Pitt could not apologize. It would have been ridiculous, f and without purpose; grief had nothing to do with him; to . comment would have served only to show his lack of com- I prehension. Instead he simply left, going out into the hall- f way, passing the white-faced butler, and opening the front door for himself. He went down the steps into the spring darkness; a slow mist was curling up from the river now, smelling of the incoming tide. She would weep now, and ' probably again when the cold light of morning brought back reality and memory, and loneliness.

When Pitt reached home he went straight to the kitchen and made himself a pot of tea. He sat at the table drinking it, warming his hands on the mug, for well over an hour. He felt tired and helpless. There had been three murders, and he had no more real evidence than he'd had the night of the first one. Was it really Florence Ivory, driven beyond sanity by the loss of her child?

But why Cuthbert Sheridan? Simple hatred, because he too was against giving women more power and influence in government, perhaps in law, medicine, and who knew what else? It was only twelve years since medical schools had been opened to women, six years since married women might own and administer their own property, four since they had ceased in law to be chattel belonging to their husbands.

But surely only a madwoman would murder those who were unwilling to change? That would be almost everyone except a mere handful! It made no sense-but should he be looking for sense in these deaths?

At last he went to bed, warmer, sleepy, but no more certain in his mind.

198

*   *   #

In the morning he left early, saying little to Charlotte except a few bleak works about finding Sheridan, the horror, the rising sense of hysteria in the crowd.

'Surely it could not have been Florence Ivory?' she said when he finished. 'Not this too?'

He wanted to say of course not; this changes everything. But it did not. Such a burning sense of injustice does not know the bounds of sense, not even of self-preservation. Reason was no yardstick with which to measure.

'Thomas?'

' 'Yes.'' He stood up and reached for his coat.' 'I am sorry, but it could still be her.'

Micah Drummond was in his office already, and Pitt went straight up. The daily newspapers were in a pile on his desk, and the top one had black banner headlines: third murder on westminster bridge, and under it, another m.p.

BUTCHERED HALF A MILE FROM HOUSE OF COMMONS.

' 'The rest are much the same, or worse,'' Drummond said bleakly. 'Royce is right; people are beginning to panic. The Home Secretary has sent for me-heaven only knows what I can tell him. What have we got? Anything?'

'Sheridan's widow knew Mrs. Ivory and Africa Dowell,' Pitt replied miserably. 'She is a member of her local women's suffrage organization, and her husband was fiercely against it.'

Drummond sat without moving for some time. 'Ah,' he said at last, no conviction hi his voice, no