The Winter Rose (37 page)

India just had time to wonder how they'd gotten there so quickly
before one horse spooked, reared, and clipped a woman with its hooves.
She screamed. Blood poured from a gash on her cheek.

"This assembly is hereby declared unlawful!" a man's voice blared
over a bullhorn. "Emmeline Pankhurst, I order you to cease speaking!"

A cheer went up, and then an enormous roar of protest drowned it out.
Mrs. Pankhurst kept on speaking. A command was shouted and the horses
began moving in unison toward the podium. The women standing close to it
screamed with terror and surged forward, frantically trying to get away
from the podium. But there were so many of them, they could barely
move. India glanced back at Fiona. Her hat was gone. Her hair was
falling down around her pale face. India feared she would faint in the
crush. She looked all around the square. It was lined by shops and pubs,
but there was no way they could reach those places before the horses
reached them. She looked back at the podium and had an idea. She grabbed
Fiona's hand and changed direction.

"Come on! Back the other way! Quickly!" she shouted.

"Where are we going?" Ella yelled.

"The podium! It's our only chance!"

India battered her way through the crowd, fending off flailing hands
and elbows, never relinquishing her grip on Fiona. She couldn't see the
horses anymore, but she could hear them and knew they were closing in.
The front of the podium was draped with an enormous banner emblazoned
with the words, votes for women now! India knew it had been constructed
just for the rally. She hoped it was a jerry-built job.

The push to fiee the podium had opened up space around it. India
finally broke through the crowd and ran the last few yards to the
structure, pulling Fiona along with her. She grabbed the bottom of the
banner, lifted it, and found what she was hoping for--no wooden
sheathing, just a cross-hatched maze of posts and beams.

"Crawl inside!" she shouted. As Fiona did so, India reached back for
Ella--but Ella wasn't there. She searched the crowd frantically, then
spotted her struggling in the arms of a constable several feet away.

"Behind you, Indy! Behind you!" she screamed.

India turned and saw the horse, black and looming; she saw its huge,
frightened eyes far too close to her own. It reared. She raised her
arms, trying to shield herself, stumbled backward, and fell to the
ground. The horse whinnied; its metal shoes crashed down against the
cobbles. They seemed to be everywhere at once, a thousand slashing
hooves all around her. India curled into a tight ball. A hoof came down
on her thigh; she screamed. She rolled to her right, trying to get out
from under the animal, trying to get to the podium, but it was too late.
There was a blinding explosion of white inside her skull. And then
there was nothing. Nothing at all.

"Jesus, Frankie, what the hell happened?" Sid Malone asked, looking
at the scores of women in the receiving area of the Whitechapel police
station. "The Harrods white sale get out of hand?"

"Some suffering women's something or other," Frankie said, gingerly touching his fingers to his swollen eye.

"Make sense, will you?"

"I don't know, guv. Something to do with suffering. They had a rally about it and it turned into a Donnybrook."

"Suffrage, you git. The beak's sending all these women down? Where's he going to put them?"

"He's only keeping the ringleader. Mrs. Pankhurst, she's called. He's
let-ting the rest go. Just giving them their clobber back now. Held 'em
overnight. One of the screws down the men's cells said they didn't even
take names. Beak just wanted to give them a scare. A wee taste of the
nick."

"Wonder if it'll work. Never seems to have any effect on you," Sid
said. He'd gotten word a few hours earlier that Frankie was arrested the
night before for brawling. Again. None of his men had been around to go
after him, so Sid had had to go himself, and trips to the nick did not
make him happy.

"Sorry, guv."

"Who was it this time? Donaldson inventing things again?"

"Madden's crew."

Sid's ears pricked up at this. "Where?"

"Wapping. In the Prospect of Whitby. Two of them sitting there bold
as brass, drinking and having a laugh and ordering everyone about. I saw
red, guv. Couldn't help meself. They ain't laughing now."

"Big Billy with them?" he asked.

"No."

Sid nodded. Maybe it had just been two wild lads on a spree. Maybe.
That's what Billy would say when he asked him about it. And he would ask
him. There'd be apologies, promises never to let it happen again. And
it would be bollocks, every last word of it. Sid knew that Billy Madden
wanted the East End. He'd probably gotten wind that Freddie Lytton was
after the Firm, probably thought their days were numbered. Sid would
have to keep his ear to the ground. Send the lads out to the pubs. See
if anyone else had been nosing around where they shouldn't be.

"They charging me?" Frankie asked.

Sid shook his head.

"Who'd you put the frighteners on?"

"No one. A few quid in the right hands and suddenly nobody saw nothing. Money talks, Frankie. Remember that."

"I will. Thanks, guv," Frankie said. He looked relieved and a little
disap-pointed. Negotiations based on words and money held little allure
for him. He liked the drama of intimidation, the crack of knuckles
against bone. He was still young, though. He'd learn.

There was a sudden commotion in one corner of the room. Sid turned to see what was going on, then frowned.

"It's that flippin' Devlin," he said. "Let's leg it before he takes a picture of us and we have to smash his camera again."

"He already saw me and couldn't have cared less. Word has it a couple
members of the quality got nicked at the rally along with all the
tarts. Wants to do a story on fine ladies slumming with the riffraff.
Dodgy morals

of the upper class mething like that." Frankie shrugged into his torn,

...so

bloodstained jacket, then took a comb from his pocket and raked it
through his hair. "I like the sound of dodgy morals, me. Can you imagine
stuffin' it to some randy duchess? Makes me hard just thinking about
it."

"Spare me, Frankie, will you?" Sid said, heading for the door.

"Heard your friend's mixed up in it."

"What friend?"

"The lady doctor."

"Dr. Jones? She's here?"

"That's what I heard."

"Bloody hell, Frankie. If Devlin finds her, she's done for."

"How do you mean?"

"He'll make her part of his story. Make her look bad. Land her right in the shit."

"So what, guv? What's it to us?"

"A lot. To me, at least. Come on."

"Fuck's sake, Sid, I'm starved! And there's a nice pub right round the corner."

Sid didn't even hear him. He had to find India. He made his way
through the crowd of women, some standing, some sitting. Some looked
bored, as if the inside of a police station was nothing new to them.
Others looked dazed. He saw torn blouses, crumpled hats, bruised faces.

And then he saw India. He didn't recognize her at first. Her face was
bloodied. The neck of her blouse was open. Its collar was stained with
more blood. She was with Ella Moskowitz. The two of them were bent over a
third woman. Sid saw India lift her skirt, tear a strip of fabric from
her petticoat and use it to bind up a jagged cut on the woman's hand.
That fig-ured. The two of them helping hard-luck cases when they should
have had sense enough to get out of there while they could. Sid saw
Devlin. He was only a yard away, sniffing, circling, closing in. It was
too late. He was nearly on her.

Sid backed away. "Forget it," he said to Frankie. And then India
turned toward him and he saw her face, saw her resoluteness and
determination, her heart-breaking innocence. She was tired and dirty, he
could see that, yet he knew she would stay in this grim, stinking
place, tearing up her clothing, until every last wound was bound.

"Oi!" he suddenly boomed. "Annie! Mary! I've been looking all over
for you two. Get yourselves up out of this and get back to work!"

India blinked. Ella looked at him as if he'd gone mad. Sid gave a sharp nod toward Devlin. Ella's eyes widened.

"Keep your hair on, guv, we was just leavin'," she said. "Wanted a
bit of a holiday, we did. Hard work being on your back all day, ain't
it?" she added, elbowing the woman next to her. They laughed bawdily.

"Two of yours, Malone?" a male voice said. It was Devlin. "Thought you were a businessman."

"I am. These are me business partners. Two waitresses from the Taj."
Sid looked at India as he spoke. Her mouth was open. He chucked her
un-der the chin and closed it.

"Waitresses, eh?" Devlin said, smirking.

"Aye, and always happy to serve. Aren't you, girls? Mr. Devlin here's
got himself a brand-new camera and he's awfully fond of it. Be a shame
if it got broken like his last one did."

"Relax, Malone. It's not you I'm after. Got some bigger fish to fry.
Word has it the MP's flanc�got picked up. Spent the night in here with
all the drunks and brasses. Would make a good story, that, what with
election ru-mors hotting up and all. �MP Doxie's Liberal Ways'...
something like that."

"You're a right wordsmith, Dev," Sid said. He turned India's face
away from Devlin's toward his own, making a show of examining the ugly
gash on her temple. He saw that she'd gone pale. "Get this cleaned up,
Mary. It's bad for business," he said, warning her with his eyes to keep
quiet. "You sure the bird's here, Dev? What's her name?"

"Jones, I think," Devlin said. "She's a doctor. Works for Edwin
Gifford on Varden Street. A somber old Puritan, him. Bet he'd sack her
if the story ran. Might make a good follow-up. That or an interview with
Lytton. After his lady friend costs him the election."

"You're all heart."

Devlin shrugged. "Not my lookout. I have papers to sell. You know her, Malone? Know what she looks like?"

"I'm afraid not. We don't run in the same social circles, me and the MP."

"No, I don't suppose you do." Devlin frowned. He watched Sid lick his
thumb and rub at the dried blood under India's eye. His own eyes
nar-rowed. He studied her face.

Sid smiled at him. "Interested, Dev? You'd never know it from looking
at her, but this one's a right goer. Ain't you, luv?" he said to India.
He took her chin, lifted it, and kissed her mouth. He licked his lips
when he finished, as if savouring a bite of beefsteak. "You want a bit
of that, you come round the Taj," he said, winking.

"I'm a married man," Devlin said priggishly.

"All the more reason," Sid replied. Then he clapped his hands. "All
right, no more skiving. There's work to be done. Ta-ra, Dev," he called
over his shoulder.

Devlin grumbled a reply and moved off. Sid quickly escorted India and
Ella out of the station. As soon as they were in the street, Ella
kissed Sid's cheek and thanked him. "I've got to run," she said. "Me
mum'll be worried to death. 'Bye, India. See you tomorrow."

India didn't reply. She was looking at the ground.

"You all right?" Sid asked her. "That's a bad cut."

She raised her head. Her eyes were blazing. "How dare you?" she said, her voice shaking with rage.

Sid was taken aback. He'd expected her gratitude. "How dare I?" he echoed.

"Yes. How dare you?"

"How dare I what? How dare I save you from having your picture
splashed all over Devlin's rag? How dare I save your bloody job? And
likely your bloody engagement, too? Wonder what Freddie would make of
his fianc�mixing with whores. Brawling like a common criminal. Wonder
what his voters would make of it."

"I wasn't mixing with prostitutes, I was--"

"Doesn't matter. That's how the papers will tell it."

"You went too far, Mr. Malone. You shouldn't have said what you did.
You shouldn't have kissed me. It was highly improper. I imagine you
enjoyed yourself immensely, but--"

Sid snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

India looked so hurt that he immediately regretted the remark. He was
about to say so, when he heard laughter. It was Frankie. He'd forgotten
all about him.

"Frankie, see Ella home, will you?"

Frankie looked at Sid, then at India. His eyes darkened. He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something.

"Now," Sid said.

Frankie nodded curtly and trotted off in the direction Ella had
taken. Sid looked at India again. At her torn clothing. At the jagged
cut on the side of her face.

"How'd that happen anyway?" he asked.

"Horse," she said tightly.

"You're lucky it wasn't worse."

"Very."

Christ, why were they at each other again? Sid wondered. They could
never talk without rowing. Not at Ko's. Or in the hospital. Not at the
Bark. And not here, either. All he'd wanted to do was help her. To make
things right for her. Couldn't she see that?

"Sorry for interfering Dr. Jones," he finally said. "My mistake." He
touched the brim of his cap and made his way through the milling crowd.

"Mr. Malone, I ...wait lease wait..." India said, but he didn't hear her.

"Malone!"

Sid looked around at the sound of his name and spotted Devlin
hurrying down the stairs with his camera. "Malone, you tosser, you!"

He turned back to India. Her eyes were fearful. She looked like a trapped animal. "Can you run in your boots?" he shouted.

"Yes!"

"Then for fuck's sake, woman, do so!"

"Come on, it's not far now," Sid urged India.

They'd been running flat out for ten minutes, but they still hadn't man-aged to shake Devlin.

"Malone, wait! I just want to ask a few questions!" they heard him yelling, only a street away.

India stopped. "Mr. Malone," she wheezed. "It's all right. I'll talk
to him. I can't go any farther. I can't. I just won't let him take a
picture."