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‘What, then, do you think of that coincidence?’ Mrs Ripley announced, glaring at Miss Decima. ‘Do you still believe that the WSPU and their destructive ideals had nothing to do with this? That Lavinia and her fellow killers weren’t trying to sever that poor boy’s head from his body? Well?’ She turned to me. ‘Well?’

She was waiting for a reply.

‘Well?!’

I opened my mouth.

26

Monday, 19 June, 12.21 p.m.

‘That was certainly eventful,’ said Miss Decima.

We were making our way back across the Gore in silence. Or I was silent, at least.

‘The speed you displayed!’ said Miss Decima, full of admiration. ‘You leapt out of that chair like a puma. Cleared that desk in less than a second! I wish you were so fleet of foot when I asked you for something, though I’d probably cut the bit where you were violently sick into that vase. Good thing she had such a massive one so close to hand.’

‘I’d really rather not talk about it, Miss Decima.’

‘I’ll bet you wouldn’t!’ she muttered. ‘Safe to say, we’ve burned through a second invitation to Queen Alexandra’s House – not that we’d want one. I couldn’t stand to suffer another second of Mrs Ripley’s poorly developed rhetoric masquerading as common sense. The next time I want to hear a violent outpouring of semi-digested slurry, I’ll just give you another evening off and –’

‘Do you want to know what I found in Lavinia Welford’s room, or not?’ I snapped.

She smirked. ‘Do go ahead.’

I told her everything. The hatpins; the ribbons; the missing knife; Theodora Gussett; the woman in black.

‘Theodora Gussett must have been the older woman that I saw on the day of the murder,’ I explained. ‘And the woman in black – the one that Lavinia went to meet – could have been the third woman in their trio. But listen to this, Miss Decima: Flora said that the other students have seen a woman dressed all in black, standing in the Gore. Apparently they even saw her last night. It can’t be the same woman, can it?’

Miss Decima sucked her teeth. ‘Hmm. Murderers do often return to the scene of the crime. The more important question is whether this “woman in black” is also our “veiled suffragette”. The one your beggar saw sneaking into our road on Saturday morning.’

I frowned. ‘But then – why would she wear a veil? She wasn’t wearing one when Flora saw her.’

Miss Decima didn’t reply – she was staring distractedly at something ahead. I followed her gaze and realized it was the statue on the quad. ‘Stop for a moment, please, Stephen.’

I kicked the brakes. Miss Decima looked the statue up and down, her eyes darting over every inch of the surface. ‘Tell me, Stephen. What do you see?’

My spirits lifted. We were back to proper detective work, after that unfortunate interval. ‘It’s a statue of Prince Albert, Miss Decima.’

This statue was different to the great golden one seated in the park at the front of the building. This one was much smaller, and had the Prince Consort standing on a tall plinth in military uniform, facing away from the Hall.

‘Quite,’ said Miss Decima. ‘It’s the Albert Exhibition statue, commissioned to mark the Great Exhibition of 1851, which Prince Albert did a great deal to bring about. So why did the three suffragettes target it?’

I glanced around. ‘Because it’s hidden around the back of the Hall, Miss Decima. They were less likely to be caught.’

‘Perhaps. But I suspect that this is not the only reason. What else do you see in this statue?’

I looked down. ‘There are some figures holding up the plinth at the corners …’

‘Women,’ said Miss Decima. ‘Four women, each one representing the continents. Europe, Asia, Africa, America.’ She pointed to each in turn. ‘One man, held aloft by four women. Those women represent what he owns, what counts as his dominion. Just as England stands above the colonies, so, too, do men stand above women.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘The three suffragettes didn’t just choose this statue because of its location: it was chosen for what it represents. The world is stacked upon the unseen labours of women, and this is the most they can hope for in return. A decorative detail at the base of a statue that was built for a man. Step outside the roles expected of you – virgin, mother, nursemaid – and you will have everyone to answer to.’ She sighed. ‘You need only observe the sheer vehemence of the public’s response to this crime to see that fact laid bare. A male killer would never receive the same degree of hatred and outraged abhorrence, no matter how despicable his crimes. It is astounding to me how women like Mrs Ripley are unable to see that.’

I wanted to argue with her – to say that an innocent man had died, and murder was evil and inexcusable no matter the reasoning behind it – but then I thought about what Flora had told me about Black Friday. Suddenly all the principles that felt so sure and certain two days ago, when I’d stood outside in the smoking gallery, didn’t feel quite so steady any more.

‘Halloa!’

I turned. Someone was scurrying across the quad towards us, glancing over their shoulder, like they were worried about being spotted. It was Flora, her face flushed.

‘I’m so glad I caught you both!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Halloa! Miss Decima Stockingham, I take it? Flora Gifford.’