Page 16 of Courier of Death
It wasn’t too much of an insult. Mrs. Bates seemed to be an aloof sort, and Leo suspected hers wasn’t the only name the woman couldn’t hang on to. In her middle thirties or so, she had the appealing features of a much younger woman. Tall with a full bosom, narrow waist, supple, unlined skin, and glossy blonde hair.
“Ah yes, I remember now. You are the woman from the morgue.”
Leo couldn’t quite tell if Mrs. Bates was disapproving. It sounded more like an observation than a judgment. She decided not to waste time discovering which it was.
“I am here alone tonight, as Miss Brooks was feeling unwell,” Leo said, moving on.
If Dita ever wished to confide in any of the WEA ladies about her former beau, that would be her choice. However, Leo imagined it would be a struggle for anyone to claim connection to a police constable who had been planning to bomb Scotland Yard. Even Dita.
“It is just as well for your friend,” Mrs. Bates said with a heavy sigh that lifted her generous bosom with theatrical flair. “Sir Elliot isn’t coming.”
“The guest speaker?” Leo asked with a twinge of disappointment. It was immediately followed by hope that the meeting might disperse early. She felt a little guilty, but it had been a very long day. As fiercely as she believed in the rights ofwomen in politics, she also longed for something to eat and a chance to put up her feet.
“A messenger just arrived with the news. My sister-in-law is quite wounded,” the other woman said, her eyes searching the room for Geraldine Stewart. “She was assured of Sir Elliot’s support.”
Her eyes came to a rest, and Leo followed the direction of her gaze. Mrs. Stewart and her husband stood within the entrance to an adjoining room. She was a formidably tall woman of about thirty years. Unlike some of the women she’d met at the WEA meetings, Mrs. Stewart hadn’t been put off by Leo’s work. In fact, she’d seemed impressed by it. She had the slightly unnerving habit of maintaining unblinking eye contact while in conversation, though now, with her brow knit in distress, she didn’t appear so intimidating.
Mr. Stewart took his wife’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. It was an intimate display. One of support and mutual concern for the disappointing turn of events. The last few meetings Leo had attended, he’d been present as well.
“Mrs. Stewart is fortunate to have a husband who supports her cause,” Leo said.
The topic of women’s suffrage, in general, wasn’t popular among men. For the bulk of history, men had been accustomed to leading the world of business, education, and politics, all of which seemed to revolve solely around them, with women relegated to being their caretakers as wives, mothers, sisters, or daughters. However, there were changes afoot, with more and more women beginning to enter the workforce and delaying marriage. Much like herself, she supposed.
“Geraldine captured herself a man of superior sensibility,” Mrs. Bates agreed. “Porter truly is an exception to his sex.”
Porter Stewart stood a half inch shorter than his wife, but that in no way made him diminutive. He was polished and self-possessed, with a pencil mustache and a benign grin. A striking man by every account.
Mrs. Bates gave another sigh, though this one was of a different variety. “It is why I doubt I shall ever remarry.”
Leo shifted her attention from the Stewarts and peered at Mrs. Bates. She wasn’t certain how to respond to such a statement, though it would be rude or dismissive to say nothing at all. She parted her lips to offer a banal “I hope that isn’t so,” but a rising commotion cut her off.
Twisting in her seat, Leo witnessed the throng of well-dressed ladies parting for several blue-uniformed Metropolitan Police officers. Detective Inspector Tomlin was at the head, his expression fixed in a pugnacious glower. Stunned, Leo got to her feet as Tomlin came to a stop in the center of the room. He was close to the row in which Leo stood, though he did not seem to see her.
“I am looking for Mrs. Geraldine Stewart,” he said loudly.
Mr. Stewart stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this, officers?”
“Mrs. Stewart. Where is she?” Inspector Tomlin reiterated.
“I am right here,” she said. “As my husband has just inquired, why have you and your men come?”
The inspector looked her over, his scowl deepening. Then, he signaled to the uniformed officers. They surged toward the WEA leader.
“Mrs. Stewart, I’m placing you under arrest in connection with the bombing at Scotland Yard yesterday afternoon and the death of Police Constable John Lloyd.”
Gasps of alarm fired off throughout the room. Leo’s jaw went slack as the constables reached for Mrs. Stewart.
“This is madness!” she cried.
Her husband came forward to block them. “I demand to know who you are, sir, and what evidence you have to make these wild accusations against my wife.”
“Step aside, or I will place you under arrest as well for obstructing an officer of the law in his official duties,” Tomlin shouted as more panic and confusion rumbled around the sitting room. A few ladies near the back pushed each other to flee the meeting altogether.
Mrs. Bates bumped into Leo as she shuffled past her in the row of seats. It jolted some sense into her, and she raised her voice to be heard above the din.
“Inspector Tomlin!”
He cocked his head at the sound of his name but was busy gesturing for the constables to put their suspect in handcuffs and to block Mr. Stewart from intervening.
