The Furies (6 page)

‘The Archduke is dead, Herr General,' the chief reiterated. ‘It's over.'

For several seconds Potiorek stood motionless. Then his head dropped onto his chest, his shoulders slumped, and for a moment Gabriel thought he was about to collapse as he swayed slightly. But then he reached out to grasp the side of the chaise longue, steadied himself, and slowly sat down on the edge of the couch, by the dead man's feet.

The room was completely silent, broken only by the sound of sobbing coming through the archway. Gabriel walked back through into the bedroom, where the body of the duchess still lay on the bed, her aides weeping as they knelt beside her. He felt numb as he stood mindlessly watching this pitiful tableau. Then another hand touched his collar – softer this time – and when he turned, the chief was standing beside him.

‘You did your best, Gabriel,' the chief said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

The words of kindness should have consoled him, but strangely Gabriel had felt better being angry. He watched the chief walk back into the annexe to speak to Harrach, Potiorek still sitting on the end of the blood-stained chaise longue, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Gabriel turned to look at the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and for a moment felt lightheaded. Then he remembered he hadn't eaten anything, hadn't had his breakfast yet. He walked forwards and leant on the windowsill. Through the glass he saw an army ambulance speed through the entrance gate to the Konak and pull up beside the Archduke's convertible. The top of Flieger's head appeared as he jumped out from the driver's cab and, accompanied by Major Arnstein, he began to run up the steps to the Konak's entrance. Too late, thought Gabriel as he lifted his gaze and looked at the cypress trees at the edge of the compound. A sapphire-blue sky heralded the prospect of a beautiful summer day, and a flight of swallows swooped into view, darting and diving between the trees. Gabriel looked down at his blood-soaked jacket and slipped a hand inside the pocket to remove his pocket-watch. He flipped open the lid with his thumb: it was only eleven-fifteen in the morning.

Summer had finally arrived in London and Elspeth had the warmth of the sun on her back as she walked beside the Serpentine in Hyde Park. She was due to meet the rest of her arson squad later that afternoon, but as Sylvia was on duty in the hospital that morning, Elspeth had decided first to take a stroll in the park on her own.

The previous Sunday a group of suffragettes had held a meeting near the Serpentine. Elspeth and Sylvia had gone to watch the event, which the suffragettes had called a ‘Water Carnival' as they were banned from holding demonstrations in the park. In fancy dress as dominoes, the women had paraded around the lake, each wearing a letter on her chest that spelt out the word ‘suffragettes'. The parks' office of works had expected this protest and had lashed the boats together in mid-water to prevent their use. But the women had flung off their wraps to reveal bathing costumes and then swum out to the craft to cut them free. Elspeth and Sylvia had gleefully watched all of this unfold from a distance – a sensible precaution, it turned out, because the police soon arrived to arrest the women and take them, dripping wet, to Paddington Green police station.

On this Sunday afternoon, however, there were no suffragette activities taking place, and after a stroll round the Serpentine and an ice cream in the park café, Elspeth decided to return to her lodgings. Sylvia would have finished her shift by now, and Vera and Anya – who had spent the weekend at Vera's parents' farm in Oxfordshire – should be arriving back at Paddington station shortly.

As she walked home, Elspeth thought about the past two weeks. The day after the Abbey bombing, she and Sylvia had gone back to St Mary's Hospital and carried on with their work as if nothing had happened. Sylvia was euphoric over their success, but Elspeth had mixed feelings: a sense of pride she had struck a blow for women's emancipation, but also unease about the violence of their method, the distress it had caused the older couple, and the consequences if they had been caught. Because it had been a close-run thing: if she had not been successful in diverting the cab driver's attention from his rear-view mirror…Well it was just too awful to contemplate.

The day following the event
The Times
and the
Morning Post
had articles about the ‘suffragette bombing outrage' stating that a feather boa and guidebook had been found at the scene and that although the Coronation Chair had been badly damaged, it was repairable. Other newspapers specified that two women had been questioned leaving the Abbey, but no suspects had yet been identified. She knew she should feel pleased, but Elspeth could not shake off a nagging sense that they had been fortunate to get away with it.

Then, two days ago, Sylvia had taken Elspeth into the ward sister's office. ‘Vera wants to meet to discuss further attacks,' she whispered. ‘And Anya has some interesting ideas as targets. Can we meet on Sunday afternoon? Vera is taking Anya up to her parents' farm for the weekend, but they'll be back by mid-afternoon. And guess what: Vera says that the Pankhursts have sent personal congratulations to us. Isn't it fabulous, Ellie – we're famous!'

Although reluctant to discuss another attack, Elspeth had agreed to the meeting. But walking back from the park she found herself dreading it. She had always supported the suffrage cause, and it was her frustration with the lack of progress of the suffragists that had pushed her to join the arson campaign. But was it worth the risk to the most important thing in her life – something she had wanted as long as she could remember – her vocation as a doctor? She had worked hard at her career, harder than the men around her; for as a woman, it was not easy to get the best training and experience. And Elspeth had chosen surgery, one of the more demanding branches of medicine. However, the years of hard work had paid off and she was making good progress in her chosen profession, honing her surgical skills in a prestigious London teaching hospital. Now she was jeopardising all of it with the arson strategy. Surely there must be some other, less destructive way to advance the suffrage cause?

As she turned into the quiet side street and walked towards her lodgings, Elspeth was surprised to see Mrs Evans on her knees, scrubbing the doorstep with a two-handled brush, a bucket next to her filled with milky-looking water. Elspeth's landlady was a plump, kind-faced woman with small eyes that vanished into the folds of her face whenever she smiled.

‘Cleaning the doorstep on a Sunday, Mrs Evans?' Elspeth asked. ‘You dear woman, don't you ever have a day off?'

Mrs Evans stopped her scrubbing and sat back on her haunches; then she wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow with the back of a forearm. It had always been obvious to Elspeth that Mrs Evans loved having her as a lodger, probably because she was the first female doctor to ever board with her. She smiled up at Elspeth.

‘I dropped a bottle of milk on the step just after you went out, Dr Stewart, and if I don't clean it up now it'll be stinking to high heaven by this evening.'

‘Och well, just be careful. Don't overdo it in this heat.'

‘I'm almost finished. By the way, you have a couple of visitors: Sister Calthorpe and one other lady I don't rightly know.'

One
other lady?
That was odd, thought Elspeth: Vera and Anya should have arrived together.

‘I let them both up to your rooms,' Mrs Evans continued. ‘Sister Calthorpe said you wouldn't mind?'

‘No, of course not.' Elspeth glanced up at her open bedroom window and caught a glimpse of a rosy-cheeked face surrounded by curly brown hair. ‘And that'll be Vera, Mrs Evans. She a friend of Sister Calthorpe's and mine. There'll probably be another lady joining us shortly.'

Mrs Evans shuffled to one side and Elspeth stepped past her into the cool, dark interior of the hallway, into a lingering smell of floor polish and boiled cabbage. As Elspeth reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Evans called up after her.

‘I could do some iced lemonade for you ladies, if you'd like?'

‘That's very kind, but there's no need to go to any trouble,' Elspeth called back as she began to climb the steps. She reached the top of the landing, then walked towards her bedroom door and turned the handle.

‘Ah, the wanderer returns,' Sylvia said as Elspeth entered the room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and had changed out of her nursing uniform into a white summer blouse and red skirt.

‘Hullo, Ellie,' said Vera, standing by the open window, as if she had been looking out for something, or someone. Her hair was – as usual – uncombed, but her tall figure looked unusually smart in a matching grey traveller's jacket and skirt. ‘We wondered where you'd got to.'

‘Just enjoying the sunshine in Hyde Park, Vee.'

Sylvia had already risen, and now gave Elspeth a hug of greeting. ‘And anything of interest taking place today?' she asked.

‘Nothing,' Elspeth said as she returned the hug. ‘No water carnivals, no demonstrations, nothing like last Sunday,' she said sweetly, and Sylvia laughed in response. They pulled apart and Elspeth turned to face Vera.

It was the first time they had met since the Abbey bombing. But there was no mistaking the pride on Vera's face as she came forwards and placed her hands on Elspeth's shoulders, then leant forward to kiss her on both cheeks; almost, Elspeth thought, as if she was some Amazonian warrior princess returning from battle. For a moment Elspeth felt awkwardly self-conscious at this display of melodrama, but then could not help grinning as Vera encircled her in her arms and lifted her off the floor, spinning her around in a hug.

‘Very well done, Ellie,' Vera said, and Elspeth laughed at the sheer spontaneity of Vera's embrace. Lowered to the floor again, Elspeth smoothed her ruffled skirt, then sat back on the edge of the bed and looked up at her two comrades.

She had always been intrigued about Sylvia and Vera's relationship because – on the face of it – they seemed such polar opposites.

Lady Sylvia Calthorpe was the epitome of elegance and good breeding. Having initially come out as an Honourable, her wealthy family were aghast when she had announced that she'd been inspired by Florence Nightingale to devote herself to a career in nursing. Currently the sister on the female surgical ward at St Mary's Hospital, the blonde, green-eyed beauty was a magnet for many of the younger doctors. But they vied for her charms without success, because Sylvia just didn't seem interested in any of them, using her professional manner and wit to disarm them with ease. Most of the beautiful women that Elspeth knew relied solely on their looks to succeed in life. But Sylvia had also been blessed with intelligence and a lightness of spirit that had quickly caught Elspeth's attention. They had quickly become firm friends and Sylvia was now Elspeth's closest companion.

Vera, however, was big-boned and well fleshed, and a good head taller than Sylvia. With her square face, red cheeks, and wavy dark brown hair cut boyishly short, she looked every inch the farmer's daughter she was. ‘There's nobody more loyal,' Sylvia had said of Vera, before introducing her to Elspeth at a WSPU meeting. ‘And she's very practical-minded.'

Vera did indeed seem very down-to-earth, thought Elspeth, who had not been surprised to learn that she was the leader of an arson squad. However Elspeth had been most surprised when Sylvia told her that she was also a member of the squad, and then had invited Elspeth to join them as well.

As if she knew Elspeth was thinking about her, Sylvia now came and sat on the bed next to her. Vera stood on a Turkish rug in the middle of the bedroom, smiling down at them both.

‘Well done, girls,' she said. ‘The Pankhursts are thrilled at your achievement. I saw Emmeline in Holloway yesterday and she sends her personal greetings, while Christabel has sent a letter of congratulations from Paris. All the sisters are proud of what you did.'

Elspeth felt Sylvia's arm slip inside the crook of her elbow and turned to see the smile of satisfaction on her friend's face. Then she looked back at Vera and gave a shy grin.

‘Well it was your and Anya's bomb that did it, Vee, even though it nearly blew us up.'

Vera laughed. ‘Well, next time we'll use a longer fuse.'

Elspeth swallowed and her grin disappeared. ‘Yes. Well. Anyway where's Anya?' she asked, quickly changing the subject.

Vera's smile faded. ‘Oh…' She hesitated. ‘She should be here in a minute.' She turned away from Elspeth and walked back to the open window to peer into the street below.

‘But I thought you both took the train back from Oxford?'

‘We did,' Vera said, still looking out of the window. ‘But…'

‘But what?'

Vera sighed; then pulled her head back into the room and looked at Elspeth. There was a strange expression on her face. ‘Well…' she hesitated as she glanced at Sylvia and then back at Elspeth again. ‘Anya thinks…' she hesitated again ‘…Anya thinks our squad is being followed.'

For a moment Elspeth felt nothing. And then her eyes widened as a queasy sensation rose in her belly. She quickly pulled away from Sylvia and stood up from the bed, but Vera was already by her side, palms up in reassurance.

‘No, don't worry, Ellie. I'm sure she's mistaken. Sylvie and I haven't seen anything to concern us.'

‘But who does Anya think might be following us?' Elspeth demanded.

‘Well…' Vera grimaced, then ran her fingers through her tousled hair, ‘…she's mentioned several possible groups.'

‘Several?' Elspeth felt bile rise into the back of her throat. ‘Like who?

‘Well…' Another grimace, another beat of hesitation. ‘Special Branch, for one.'

The words Elspeth did not want to hear: her mouth felt as dry as sandpaper as she tried to find saliva and swallow. ‘Who else?' she said, her voice a croaky whisper.

‘The Austrian secret service.'

‘
Austrian
?' Elspeth shook her head in confusion. ‘What?…Why…?'

‘Anya hasn't said why. But I think it's something to do with a relative who fell into trouble with the police over there—'

‘But Anya's not Austrian…is she?' Elspeth interrupted. ‘I thought she was originally from Poland or somewhere else in Eastern Europe. Is that not the case?'

Vera stepped forward and placed her hands on Elspeth's shoulders again. ‘Look, Ellie,' she said reassuringly. ‘It really doesn't matter where Anya's from. All that matters is that I'm certain we're not being followed.' She looked across at Sylvia for support.

‘Vera's absolutely right,' Sylvia said. ‘I haven't seen a thing.'

‘So you're both certain we're not being followed,' Elspeth said. ‘By Special Branch, or Austrian secret police, or anybody else for that matter.'

Both nodded their heads.

‘But you say that Anya thinks we are. So what exactly are you implying, Vera? That she's imagining it? That she's delusional?'

Vera sighed. ‘I think so. The trouble is, Anya's always been a little paranoid, Ellie. Which I think comes from her being an émigré, you know, seeking asylum—'

‘And from which country,' Elspeth interrupted, ‘is Anya seeking asylum from?'

Vera shrugged. ‘I don't know. She's always been vague about that. One of the Slavic states within the Austro-Hungarian Empire, I think.'

‘But you don't know which one?'

Vera shook her head. ‘I've asked her, of course, but she says she'd rather not say; that the less people know about her, the better.'

‘So what
do
you know about her?' Elspeth said, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.

Vera stiffened. ‘Well I only met her last year, when she joined the WSPU. Where she came from didn't seem to matter then. What was important was her commitment to the suffrage cause and of that there's no doubt. She knows lots of useful things, Ellie, like how to make a pipe bomb—'