Whitechapel Conspiracy

“Of course he does!” Daniel said angrily, his face flushed, his eyes hot. “That’s a stupid thing to say!” His voice was raw with emotion. His sister had challenged everything he loved.

At another time Charlotte would have told him very quickly about his language; now she was too conscious of the tremor in his voice, the uncertainty that prompted the retaliation.

Jemima was stung, but she was terrified that what she feared was true, and that was far more important than dignity.

Charlotte turned to her daughter. “Of course he wants to come home,” she said calmly, as if any other idea were not frightening, only silly. “He hates being away, but sometimes doing the right thing is very unpleasant and means you have to give up some of the things that matter most to you for a while, not forever. I expect he misses us even more than we miss him, because at least we are all together. And we are here at home, and comfortable. He has to be where he is needed, and that is not nearly as clean or pleasant as this.”

Jemima looked considerably comforted, enough to start arguing.

“Why Papa? Why not someone else?”

“Because it’s difficult, and he’s the best,” Charlotte replied, and this time it was easy. “If you are the best, that means you always have to do your duty, because there is no one else who can do it for you.”

Jemima smiled. That was an answer she liked.

“What sort of people is he chasing?” Daniel was not yet willing to let it go. “What have they done?”

This was less easy to explain. “They haven’t done it yet. He is trying to make sure that they don’t.”

“Do what?” he persisted. “What is it they are going to do?”

“Blow up places with dynamite,” she answered.

“What’s dynamite?”

“Stuff that makes things blow up,” Jemima supplied before Charlotte had time to struggle for it. “It kills people. Mary Ann told me.”

“Why?” Daniel did not think much of Mary Ann. He was disinclined to think much of girls anyway, especially on such subjects as blowing people up.

“ ’Cos they are in pieces, stupid,” she retorted, pleased to turn the charge of inferiority back at him. “You couldn’t be alive without your arms and legs or your head!”

That seemed to end the conversation for the time being, and they went down to breakfast.

It was well after nine, and Daniel was building a boat out of cardboard and glue, and Jemima was sewing, when Emily arrived to find Charlotte peeling potatoes.

“Where’s Gracie?” she said, looking around.

“Out shopping,” Charlotte replied, abandoning the sink and turning towards her.

Emily looked at her with concern, her fair eyebrows puckered a little, her eyes anxious. “How is Thomas?” she said quietly. There was no need to ask how Charlotte was; Emily could see the strain in her face, the weariness with which she moved.

“I don’t know,” Charlotte replied. “Not really. He writes often, but he doesn’t say much, and I can’t see his face, so I don’t know if he’s telling me the truth about being all right. It’s too hot for tea. Would you like some lemonade?”

“Please.” Emily sat down at the table.

Charlotte went to the pantry and returned with the lemonade. She poured two glasses full and passed one across. Then she sat down and told Emily all that had happened—from Gracie’s excursion to Mitre Square to Tellman’s visit last night. Not once did Emily interrupt her. She sat pale-faced until finally Charlotte stopped speaking.

“That is far more hideous than anything I had imagined,” she said at last, and her voice trembled in spite of herself. “Who is behind it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “It could be just about anyone.”

“Does Mrs. Fetters have any idea?”

“No … at least I’m almost certain she doesn’t. The last time I was there we found Martin Fetters’s papers and it seemed he was a pretty ardent republican. If Adinett were a royalist, and part of this other terrible thing, and Fetters knew it, then that would explain why Adinett killed him.”

“Of course it would. But how can you pursue that now?” Emily leaned forward urgently. “For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, be careful! Think what they’ve done already. Adinett’s dead, but there could be any number of others alive, and you don’t have any idea who they are.”

She was right, and Charlotte had no argument against it. But she could not let go of the thoughts, the knowledge that Pitt was still in Spitalfields, and men who were guilty of monstrous crimes were going unpunished, as if it did not matter.

“We must do something about it,” Charlotte said quietly. “If we don’t at least try, who will? And I have to know if that’s the truth. Juno has the right to know why her husband was murdered. There must be people who care. Aunt Vespasia will know.”

Emily considered for a moment. “Have you thought what will happen if it is true, and because of what we do it becomes public?” she said very gravely. “It will bring down the government …”

“If they connived at keeping it secret then they need to be brought down, but by a vote of no confidence in the House, not by revolution.”