*It is beautiful.'

People were applauding and the band began to play a *Lily Bolero', I think.

*And so are you.'

Oh, Edward, you were the beautiful one.

I held the ring to the sun. It did not glitter but it shone all the brighter for that.

*Shall you be in for lunch?' my guardian asked so suddenly that I jumped.

20.

The Name of the Game The train was pulling in when I arrived, and windows were dropping for heads to peer through and hands to reach out and twist handles. A slender figure in a blue coat and bonnet was disembarking at the rear of the train and I was hurrying towards it when I heard a voice cry, *March,' and turned to see Harriet Fitzpatrick climbing down two yards behind me.

*I have not fallen on quite such hard times,' she said and, as the smoke thinned, I saw that I had been approaching a shabby old woman from a third-cla.s.s carriage.

Harriet laughed and took my hands and kissed me. *Why, March, I should hardly have recognized you from the mouse I left here a month ago. You are quite the fashionable lady now. Clearly London suits you. I a.s.sume it is me you have come to meet. Oh, I do love that little coat. We must have a drink together and we must have it now. How is the famous Mr Grice? Run along, porter. I do not need you and shall not tip. All my friends and enemies were simply emerald with envy when I told them I had met his protegee. You must tell me some thrilling stories about him. I am quite exhausted from inventing them.' All the time she was talking, Harriet had slipped her arm through mine and was propelling me on to the forecourt and through it, back on to the road. *Oh fish. The sun is out and I did not think to bring a parasol.'

*Do we need a cab?'

*We can walk it quite easily,' Harriet said. *Where did you get that sumptuous dress and what is that colour called? I am so out of touch, living in the wilds of Warwickshire.'

*It came from a shop on Regent Street that was recommended to me by Mr Grice,' I said. *The lady in the shop described it as dusty rose satin.'

*What a clever name and how it complements your complexion. You do not call him Sidney?'

*No,' I said. *He is very correct.'

*Then he is either a pompous a.s.s or helplessly in love with you,' she told me, *and, from the way you did not colour when you mentioned him, I should say the former. Oh, how disappointing. I had hoped he would have made you his mistress by now. How I could have entertained my tea-circle with that story. But do not worry, I shall anyway.'

*Really, Harriet,' I said, but she had suddenly stopped and paled. I took her hand. *Whatever is the matter?'

*That is the second lady I have observed today wearing white lace,' she said. *Please tell me it is not the style for I look ghastly in white, as if I have been decked out for my coffin.'

*That is a dreadful thing to say,' I told her, trying hard to keep a serious face, *but no, I do not think it is in fashion.'

Harriet squeezed my hand and said, *Then I am sorely tempted to tell my friends that it is.'

We crossed the road and turned right.

*Why, this is where I live.' I indicated up Gower Street. *Why do you not come in for tea?'

Harriet stopped. *Is your guardian at home?' she asked.

*I think so.'

*Then I shall not,' she said. *I expect he is fat and bald, and I shall be unable to disguise my disappointment.'

*He is not.'

*But I shall still refuse your invitation.' Harriet pulled me on. *Heroes are best imagined. I wish I never met mine every day of my life. So now we must make a little detour to avoid being seen.'

We carried on to the bottom of Tottenham Court Road and turned up it and then left into Beaumont Place, and along it into Huntley Street and a neat little house with a green-painted door.

*Is this a friend's house?' I asked.

*No, but it is a friendly house.' Harriet tugged the bell. *Three quick rings. Remember that if you should come here again.'

The door was opened a crack and then fully by a slender middle-aged lady in a long red gown. *Twinkle.' She threw out her arms. *Come in. I see you have a companion.'

*Violet, this is Eve,' Harriet said as the lady put out her hand to greet me.

*Any friend of Twinkle's is welcome here,' she said and turned back to Harriet. *Go through. n.o.body else has arrived yet and I have one or two things to attend to, but I am sure you will make yourselves at home.'

Harriet led the way into a cosy sitting room and sat me on the chintz sofa.

*Why Eve?' I asked.

*It was the first name that came to my head.'

*But-'

*n.o.body uses their real names here.'

Harriet took the stopper off a cut-gla.s.s decanter on the sideboard and poured two generous tumblers, handing me one as she sat beside me.

*What sort of a place is this?'

Harriet laughed. *Don't be alarmed. You have heard of gentlemen's clubs; well, this is a ladies' club. We meet. We talk. We dine. It is a sanctuary from men.' She clinked my gla.s.s. *And goodness knows we need one. Oh, Bombay, my favourite. Cheerio.'

*But why the secrecy?' I asked.

Harriet sipped her drink and said, *Can you imagine the unwelcome attention we would get if our existence was made public a the men who would hang about outside a the innuendos? Now, tell me everything. Is your guardian kind to you?'

I took a large drink. *Sidney Grice is not kind to anybody.'

*Does he abuse you?'

*No. He is aloof and cares only for money and his work.'

*Doubtless he is arrogant and overbearing too.'

*Yes, and he does not approve of alcohol.'

*The man is a monster.'

*And he will not let me smoke.'

*You have just described Mr Fitzpatrick perfectly,' Harriet said, *and probably every man you will ever come across. Men are not like us. They are made of stronger but cruder materials.'

*My father was not severe.'

*Then you must miss him dreadfully.' Harriet put her hand on mine and let it lie there.

We put our gla.s.ses on a low rectangular table covered in red cloth.

*Have you heard of the Ashby case?' I asked.

*The Whitechapel Wife Killer? Who has not? In Rugby we talk of little else. Yet another triumph for Sidney Grice, it would seem.'

*I believe William Ashby is an innocent man,' I said, *but I do not know what to do.'

Harriet was silent for a moment.

*The first thing you should do is have another gin and the second is to put your hair up.'

*But what of William Ashby?'

*You cannot help him.' She took a few loose strands of my hair and placed them behind my ear.

*It is all so horrible,' I said. *I can hardly bear to be in the same room as my guardian, let alone stay in his house.'

*But where would you go and how would you support yourself?'

*I could find somewhere. I can typewrite.'

Harriet stroked my hand. *The gutters are choked with girls who can typewrite.'

*But he will have William Ashby executed.'

*Have you considered that Mr Grice might be right?' Harriet asked. *He is, after all, hugely experienced in these matters. Besides, if William Ashby is innocent, he will surely be acquitted. That is what the judge and jury are for.'

*You do not know how my guardian can distort the truth,' I said, *and William Ashby is such a gentle person. He could never have been so savage.'

*You met him?'

*When he was being interrogated.'

Harriet went to the sideboard and recharged our gla.s.ses.

*If you had seen how wretched he was when his wife died,' I said.

*Perhaps he was filled with remorse.'

*No,' I told her. *It was in his eyes. The real murderer is still free. I know it. There must be something I can do.'

Harriet handed me my gla.s.s and sat down close to me.

*Nothing,' she said. *We are women. We can do nothing.'

21.

The Trial Monday 23 June is marked in my journal as the start of the twenty-sixth week and the sixth full moon of the year. It was also the first and only day of the trial of William Daniel Ashby.

The courthouse was full and many disappointed sensation-seekers crowded the halls of the Old Bailey Criminal Courts in hope of news or even catching a glimpse of the man the press had branded a notorious murderer. It was said a s.p.a.ce had already been prepared in Madame Tussauds' Chamber of Horrors and that the museum's agents were busy in the public gallery making sketches for his effigy. Inspector Pound had reserved seats for Sidney Grice and me in the front row on the left-hand side of the court next to the aisle. Mrs Dillinger sat on the right at the far end of the row, still in mourning, and accompanied by a cherubic priest. She nodded gently to me but did not glance at my companion.

William Ashby was brought in by two police constables and sat on a bench in the dock, aged and shrunken dreadfully in the few weeks since I had first met him. He was wearing a black suit. *They will take his tie away when he goes back to his cell,' Sidney Grice whispered. *Nothing upsets them more than a man making his own noose.'

William Ashby rose, entered a plea of Not Guilty and sat again. He coughed spasmodically but the judge refused the request of his lawyer, Mr Treadwell, for an adjournment.

*If we postponed hearings every time a convict had a spot of gaol fever we should never get anything done,' Mr Justice Peters said.

*With all due respect, my lord, my client is not a convict.'

*That remains to be seen.' The judge waved for him to be seated.

William Ashby was called first and cut a shambling figure as he hobbled to the witness box. His face was bruised. We learned later that he had had a fall, pushed down a flight of stone steps by a housebreaker. His voice was hoa.r.s.e and wheezing and he kept having to clear his throat, and his eyes were puffy and red and made him look a little shifty.

He stuck to his story, neither adding nor retracting any details, and a.s.serted his innocence quietly under the cross-examination of Sir Robert Finebray QC, but the case against him was strong and William Ashby's version of events fell apart under the weight of Inspector Pound's observations, as outlined for him by my guardian. The final question seemed a little odd to the judge. Did William Ashby ever frequent the Duke of Marlborough public house?

*No, sir. I prefer the company in the Black Boy.'

For a moment there seemed to be some hope. Professor Latingate's demonstration went wrong. His crystals reacted to three different solutions, but it transpired that his a.s.sistant had accidentally contaminated them with a cut finger.

And then the final nail was hammered in. I hardly recognized Sir Randolph Cosmo Napier as he took the oath. He stood erect and clean-shaven apart from a magnificent pair of waxed and curled moustaches. His clothes were tailored and decorated with a gorgeous red silk cravat, and his manner was authoritative. He had fallen on hard times, he admitted openly, and the suit had been bought for him, but a gentleman was always a gentleman and a gentleman's word was his bond. Even Judge Peters sat a little straighter as he heard the evidence. Sir Randolph had met William Ashby a number of times.

*Seemed a nice young man. Bought me a drink once in a while.'

*Did he ever mention his wife?'

*Never,' Sir Randolph said, *except for the last time I saw him.'