A Death for a Cause by Caroline Dunford Page A

said Bertram, tapping my hand lightly and withdrawing his own. (Note: This appeared to be closest he dared to slapping my hand. In some ways Bertram is surprisingly wise.) ‘I see that nothing I say will deter you from your course and frankly, if Fitzroy wants to keep you in that cell I’m not entirely sure what I can do about that without striking the cad. Not that I wouldn’t, if I needed to,’ he added.
    I gave a faint smile. ‘That will not be necessary. Although I was technically absent when the murder was likely committed until a doctor has been able to determine, by which I mean guess, the time of death, I must still be a suspect and it would be awkward for all concerned if I was removed from the scene.’ I put my head on one side, musing. ‘I imagine that Fitzroy is currently engaged in checking whether or not I had any connection with Maisie.’
    â€˜Good God! You think he would suspect you?’
    â€˜He is thorough. Besides, even you asked me.’
    Bertram made a number of gruffling sounds like a bear hunting for honey, which I took to be an apology. 27
    Finally he said, ‘What can I do?’
    A glimmer of an idea formed at the back of my mind. I already had Richenda out in the field, as it were, researching matters I could not attend to inside my cell, so why not use Bertram as well? But I knew the task I would set for Bertram would be far less to his taste. ‘The man who died in the fire, Wilks, was a member of some elite – er – clubs. If I can get from Fitzroy the name of his favourite haunts perhaps you could be so good as to check them out and see how he is remembered?’
    Bertram brightened at that. ‘That certainly sounds like something I could do. I would be happy to help.’
    I felt certain that Bertram’s mood would change when he learnt the true nature of clubs I wished him to investigate.
    We parted on good terms and I returned to the cell, feeling both weary and so nervy I was wide awake. Again I was escorted by the sergeant, who was overly keen on restraint. As he passed a fellow guard I heard him hailed as ‘Givens’. It was a name I intended to mention to Fitzroy should he show any sign of wanting someone to expend his ire upon. The man was a beast. Not only for the names he called me, but he left bruises on my upper arms that were quite unnecessary as I was not resisting.
    The mood in the cell was sombre. Sergeant Givens thrust me forward, but did not then leave. ‘Right, ladies , your stockings. Let’s be having them.’ As one the women in the cell turned towards him. I imagine each of us looking as astonished as the other. I could not see for I too was staring open mouthed at the sergeant. His lips curved into a sneering smile. ‘Or do you need any help?’ he asked.
    â€˜Outrageous’, came the clear, sharp tones of the woman, I now knew to be Martha Lake.
    I heard the sound of skirts rustling and turned to see that Mary Hill, her back now turned towards the sergeant, was obeying his orders.
    â€˜You can’t ask us for ’em!’ growled Abigail Stokes, as vicious as any tiger in an Indian jungle. 28
    â€˜Yes, I bleedin’ can,’ retorted the Sergeant. ‘Should have been taken off you when you were taken in, but what with you lot murdering each other it got forgot.’
    â€˜Murder!’ said Constance. ‘I thought that poor young woman had died of natural causes.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s right. One goes blue in the face from nat-u-ral causes,’ said the hateful sergeant, mimicking her. ‘Choked, she was, and our doc reckons a stocking would just about do it.’
    â€˜It really is better just to give him what he asks,’ said Mary, holding her now removed stockings out to the sergeant. I saw they were badly torn. ‘He will only fetch reinforcements to carry out his orders if we refuse.’
    â€˜Nonsense,’ said Martha. ‘The man