“Charlotte Conway?” Charles nearly spilled his tea. Charlotte Conway was the editor of the Clarion-the only staff member Special Branch had not placed under arrest, and only because she had not been found. He stared at Kate, who sat calmly buttering another scone. He was continually amazed by his wife’s inventiveness and her ability to anticipate his interests, but she had outdone herself this time.
“You are a witch, Kate,” he said emphatically. “How under the sun did you manage to get Charlotte Conway here?”
“I didn’t do a thing,” Kate said with a little smile. “It was Nellie Lovelace who brought her, dressed as a young man. It was quite a convincing disguise, actually. I was totally fooled. Nellie has taken the train back to town, but I’ve invited Miss Conway to stay the night, and longer, if you approve.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I know that you planned to go up to London to find and talk with her, but she is after all a fugitive, and I’m not sure you’ll want to have her here. You should also know that it was only by determination and luck that she managed to elude the police, and she’s convinced that if she goes back to the city, she’ll be snatched up by the Scotland Yard detective who engineered the raid.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Charles said, settling back in his chair again. It was an odd but fortuitous coincidence, Miss Conway coming here, since he had planned to attempt to locate and question her about the Clarion employee who had blown himself up in Hyde Park. With any luck, she might have information that would fill in the many blanks in the story, as he knew it now. He sipped his tea. “Did she mention the men who were arrested during the raid-Adam Gould and the other two?”
Kate nodded. “She’s terribly concerned about them.” She gave Charles a slantwise look. “If Miss Conway thinks you are genuinely willing to help her friends, I’m sure she’ll tell you whatever you ask.” There was a sharp, cautionary undertone in her voice. “But if you feel you must convey her information to the Crown as part of this assignment you’ve taken on, I’m equally sure that she’ll refuse to cooperate. If it were me, I shouldn’t like to tell you something that you might turn around and use against my friends.”
Charles chuckled. “I think I can tell whose side you’re on.” He paused. “Now that I’ve had time to think about what Ponsonby asked me to do, Kate, I’ve found plenty of my own reasons for wanting to know what really happened in Hyde Park. It’s possible that the bombing was planned by one of the foreign agents who have been so active in the last few months-and we certainly have to think about the possibility of another attack. So far, though, no definite clues have emerged.”
Kate refilled his cup and handed it to him. Lightly, she said, “And you think you’ll have better luck than Scotland Yard at turning up a clue or two?”
“Oh, I just might,” he replied, grinning. “They have their noses, I have mine.” He paused, the smile fading. “But that raid on the newspaper and the arrests of the men-it’s troublesome, Kate. So far, at least, Special Branch hasn’t alleged a conspiracy, or specified any crimes. It’s not even clear on what charges the men are being held.”
“What about Miss Conway?” Kate asked, frowning. “Can she be charged with sedition?”
“The Clarion’s rhetoric may be a bit overheated,” Charles replied, “but other Socialist newspapers-Freedom, for instance-are equally vociferous, if not more. And if it is sedition for one to speak out, it must be sedition for all.” He shook his head. “The men ought to be freed, for there is no merit in stifling dissent. If the Clarion can be closed and its staff arrested, who’s to say that the same thing won’t happen to anyone else who ventures to speak freely, or to any other newspaper that dares to print something at odds with the general view?”
“If you really mean that, Lord Sheridan,” a quiet voice said from the doorway, “I would welcome whatever help you are able to offer.”
Charles set his cup aside and stood as Kate made introductions. Charlotte Conway was thin and angular and her dark curly hair was cut startlingly short, but there was a lively intelligence in her face and she moved with confidence across the room. She was wearing one of Kate’s dresses, of a pewter color that made her dark hair and eyes seem even more lustrous and gave her a feminine appearance that was somewhat at odds with her assured manner. She sat down, accepted a cup of tea from Kate, and said, without prompting, “I expect you want to know what happened when the newspaper was raided.”
“I do, yes,” Charles said, and listened as she related the story of her narrow escape from the Clarion office. He concealed his surprise at the idea of this slight, fragile-looking young woman scrambling adventurously across a roof, and went instead to the thing that concerned him most. “Was there any warning of the raid?” he asked. “Did the police present a warrant?”
“A warrant?” Miss Conway frowned. “I heard Adam ask about it-he was quite insistent, actually-but I didn’t hear an answer. And I’m sure there was no warning.” The corners of her mouth quirked upward in a ghost of a smile. “If there had been, I shouldn’t have had to take to the roof, now, should I?”
Kate passed around a plate of buttered scones. “On what basis could the police obtain a warrant, Charles? If no laws were broken-”
There was no amusement in Miss Conway’s short, brusque laugh. “I doubt that Inspector Ashcraft would worry his head with such niceties, Lady Sheridan. But if he did, he wouldn’t have any difficult finding a magistrate to issue a warrant for the arrest of an Anarchist. Any Anarchist, it doesn’t matter who, or that he’s done nothing illegal.” Her voice became bitter. “The name itself is proof of our criminal deeds.”
“Inspector Ashcraft?” Charles asked.
“Special Branch,” Miss Conway said dispiritedly. “Most of the police are at least civil, but not that one. He’s aggressive and arrogant. He’s out to make a name for himself, whatever it takes.”
“I see,” Charles said, thinking that it might be good to have a conversation with this Inspector Ashcraft.
Miss Conway gave him a long, straight look. “As I came into the room, I heard you say that you thought the men ought to be freed. Do you mean to offer any help to make that happen?”
“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.”