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She shot out a hand before Miss Decima could argue.

‘By which I mean, that you are a supporter of the women’s suffrage movement, if not the WSPU per se. I hope that you will find the wherewithal to place your personal feelings about our Society to one side in order to concentrate, instead, on the perilous circumstances in which we all find ourselves.’ She folded her hands on her lap. ‘There are, at present, several dozen women under incarceration for the unfortunate events of last night. There are three further women who are being hunted throughout London, to be charged with the murder of an officer of the law. I, too, am facing charges, and I cannot hope to stay hidden forever. Sadly, we have only a few days before the situation becomes even more grave than it already is.’

Miss Decima said nothing. Mrs Pankhurst carried on, as if reading her mind. ‘One of the benefits of my reputation is having friends in high places. I contacted one of them early this morning and have been made privy to, upon the condition of the greatest secrecy, the government’s plans over the coming days. How familiar are you with the 1689 Bill of Rights?’

Miss Decima raised an eyebrow. ‘As much as most.’

Mrs Pankhurst smiled. ‘It is an antiquated piece of legislation, one rarely referred to nowadays, but one which has upheld the laws of our country for over two hundred and twenty years. As a keystone of the British legal system, it can be invoked as and when required. One article of the bill states that no army may be formed without parliamentary consent –’

Miss Decima barked with laughter, cutting her off mid-sentence. Mrs Pankhurst didn’t like that; she carried on, a touch flustered.

‘You see where this is heading. The government is keen to display strength and stability while all the eyes of the world are upon us for the coronation. They are also under pressure to take decisive action following their loss of seats in last year’s election, which – as I’m sure you are well aware – was blamed on their “weak” handling of the WSPU. I have been informed that they will call a surprise meeting of Parliament this week, during which they will announce a series of emergency public safety measures.’ Her face darkened with indignation. ‘They will declare that the WSPU is not a society but rather a self-defined militia. They will argue that the demonstration last night was nothing less than the assembly of an armed force, inciting its members to open rebellion against the state. They will claim that any women attending the meeting with items on their person which might be construed as weapons – knitting needles, letter openers, hatpins! – possessed them with the express intention of causing harm. And they will argue that the death of that police officer was the direct result of the formation of this militia.’

She was good at talking – born for it, really – but my head was spinning. I could see the newspapers now: fifty thousand women marching in formation through the streets of London; the riot outside the Hall; the smashed windows; a police officer executed not a minute’s walk away … It wasn’t hard to make it sound exactly as she was describing it.

‘The proposals would be laughable, were their consequences not so grave,’ she continued. ‘The Society will be shut down, its followers arrested, its meetings terminated, and I shall find myself tried for crimes against the state. The government’s decision will, of course, be proved to be completely illegal. I have already instructed Christabel to begin assembling the case against it. But that will take many months, during which time the WSPU will be unable to raise any funds, and public opinion will no doubt swing against us. By the time the dust has settled, our reputation will be in tatters and the Society will be more or less destroyed. I’m sure you understand the wider implications that this will have for the female suffrage movement, should the government’s plans go ahead.’

Miss Decima said nothing.

Mrs Pankhurst brushed some dust off her dress that wasn’t there. ‘You understand the gravity of the situation, then. In a matter of days, the cause that we have fought so long and so hard for will be destroyed. My source informs me that, given the arrangements required – and given that Parliament will not be able to sit on Thursday, due to the coronation – the emergency public safety measures will be announced as soon as Friday morning.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘The speed of their decision is rather convenient, do you not think? Almost as if they were searching for an excuse.’

‘Indeed,’ said Miss Decima, with a touch of impatience. ‘So tell me, Mrs Pankhurst, what exactly do you wish me to do about it?’

Mrs Pankhurst drew herself up again. ‘I wish to engage you, Miss Stockingham. I wish you to use the uncommon abilities for which you are so renowned and clear the names of the three women currently wanted for murder. I wish you to find the real killer and solve the case before the government can announce these emergency measures. Naturally, you shall be recompensed handsomely for your services.’

I glanced at Miss Decima out of the corner of my eye. She had been desperate for a case worthy of her talents, and this was surely it. But her face didn’t so much as display a flicker of excitement or interest.

‘On what grounds,’ she said, pronouncing each word like an accusation, ‘do you believe these women to be innocent?’

Mrs Pankhurst steadied her gaze. ‘I do not believe anything, Miss Stockingham. I am certain of it. I refuse to accept that the slaughter of that poor boy was anything other than a monstrous attempt to unjustly frame the suffragettes for murder, discredit the work of the WSPU and undermine our cause for good. The very fact that the Women’s Coronation Procession was targeted – the culmination of decades of work, and the greatest gathering of suffrage supporters yet – should tell you everything you need to know. There are innumerable organizations in this country who are hostile to our supporters and our members –’

‘Mrs Pankhurst,’ said Miss Decima curtly, ‘if you are suggesting that the church-attending ladies of the Women’s National Anti-Suffrage League would conspire to commit murder –’

‘They do not come close, Miss Stockingham, to the nature of the organizations known to us,’ replied Mrs Pankhurst darkly. ‘You may trust my word that there are groups in this country with intents so diabolical, and powers so remarkable, that I believe they would stop at nothing to destroy us. And, if I am being perfectly frank with you, Miss Stockingham, I would include the Metropolitan Police Force in their number.’

My blood went cold at that. I was no fan of the police – being wrongly arrested tends to do that to you – but I still believed that they were there to protect us. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

Miss Decima, as usual, didn’t seem at all surprised. She simply leant back in her chair and smiled. It was the most cheerful I’d seen her since we’d arrived.

‘Goodness! Such an imagination you have, Mrs Pankhurst. Let me follow your association of ideas: you believe that the police would slaughter one of their own – that the British government itself would conspire to commit murder – in order to disband your Society, rather than face the far more plausible explanation which confronts you?’

Mrs Pankhurst’s face was slowly turning to stone. ‘I would rather you speak clearly, Miss Stockingham. Conjecture suits neither of us.’

Miss Decima didn’t like that, not one bit. She was used to steamrollering people without them arguing back. She leant forwards in her chair.

‘Mrs Pankhurst, during your leadership of the WSPU, you have frequently, and without shame, referred to it as a military organization. You have called your activities “campaigns”; your demonstrations “battles”. Your daughter Christabel made that more than clear in her speech last night. Let me see if I can remember the highlights: “We are here tonight a conquering army … We have only to march forward now into the promised land … Forward, then, forward, and conquer …”’

It was always amazing to watch Miss Decima’s memory at work. Sometimes I wondered if she remembered every conversation we’d ever had. Mrs Pankhurst’s face was growing stonier and stonier.

‘We are an army,’ she replied, ‘inasmuch as the women in it stand up and protest against injustice towards them. But we have never once incited our members to commit violence against people. Our efforts are focused on property, and with good purpose. If the government of this country cares more about a pane of glass than the safety of a woman forced to endure the feeding-tube –’

‘I am not one of the congregation at your rallies, Mrs Pankhurst,’ Miss Decima snapped. ‘You need not lecture me on the intention of your actions. I speak only of their consequences. You have spent years encouraging your members to commit criminal damage in the name of your cause –’

‘Because the vote must be taken, and not petitioned for,’ Mrs Pankhurst replied instantly. ‘Decades have been spent politely arguing in dusty village halls with people who never once had the slightest intention of listening to us. Once all civil means of protest are exhausted –’

‘You must choose hooliganism over reason?’ Miss Decima fired back.

‘Between equals, reason is always preferable,’ said Mrs Pankhurst, ‘but you and I are both perfectly aware, Miss Stockingham, that the men and women of this country are not equal. Far from it. To pretend otherwise is to delude yourself.’