Robin Paige: Death in Hyde Park

“Poetic justice, if you ask me,” Charles said, folding the paper and putting it beside his empty plate. He picked up his coffee cup. “The law wouldn’t let them go, so they took the law into their own hands.”

Kate attacked her eggs. “How did it happen?”

“According to The Times, the van was on its way back to Holloway Prison, when both men suddenly shed their handcuffs, overpowered the guard who had been locked in with them, and knocked him senseless. When the van reached the prison, the rear doors were unlatched, the guard was unconscious, and the prisoners were gone. The guard was not seriously injured, but he wasn’t able, apparently, to provide any useful information about the escape. The Times says that the police are seeking a Russian girl.”

Kate looked up, her eyes widening suddenly. “A Russian girl?”

Charles nodded. “It seems that she was involved in an odd commotion that occured in the yard outside the Old Bailey, when the men were being put into the van. The police are speculating that she managed somehow to get her hands on the keys and pass them to one of the prisoners. They’re questioning the guards.”

Kate leaned forward, her eyes intent. “Charles, that Russian girl-she was Charlotte Conway!”

Charles stared at her. He could feel his jaw dropping. “You saw what happened?”

“Not exactly.” Kate sat back, picked up her toast, and began to spoon marmalade on it. “Nellie Lovelace and I were standing on the steps outside the courtroom after the verdict was announced, trying to hail a cab. Adam came out and stood on the steps, not far away. We saw him at the same moment that he saw a Russian girl in the crowd and began to call Lottie’s name. Then he rushed down the steps after her. She was headed in the direction of the Old Bailey yard.”

Charles’s lips tightened. “You’re saying that Adam Gould was involved in the escape?” If true, that was unfortunate. He could be charged with rendering aid to escaping convicts, and this time, Savidge probably wouldn’t be able to get him off.

“Not Adam,” Kate said, shaking her head. “He couldn’t catch up to the girl. The sidewalk was very crowded, and she had a head start.” She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “But someone else may have been involved in the escape-someone we both know.”

Charles regarded her. He wished that Kate wouldn’t play guessing games. “Who?”

Kate put down her cup. “Jack London.”

“I don’t believe it,” Charles said firmly. “Why would Jack London be involved in an escape attempt? This matter has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh, yes, it does,” Kate said, half-smiling. She had the air of someone who is deliberately spinning out a mystery and loving every moment of it. “He’s in love with Charlotte Conway.”

Sometimes his wife was almost maddening, Charles thought. He put his hand on her arm. “Enough, Kate,” he said sternly. “Don’t make things up. Tell me what you know. Tell me the facts. ”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “There aren’t any facts, my dear. In something like this, there are only guesses and suppositions.”

“Blast,” Charles said softly. That’s what he got for marrying a novelist. He sighed and capitulated. “All right, Kate. Tell me your suppositions.”

“They aren’t all mine-but I’ll try. Nellie Lovelace supposes that she is carrying Jack London’s child. Last night, as we stood on the steps, she saw Charlotte, dressed as a Russian girl, and London with her. She supposes that the two are staying together, in London’s room in the East End. She also supposes that London is in love with Charlotte, because he spoke of her with great admiration. He seemed to be quite enchanted with her, according to Nellie.” She paused. “Now, hearing your tale about the escape, I’m guessing that Charlotte Conway and Jack London somehow worked together to free those men.” She smiled regretfully. “No facts, I’m afraid. Only suppositions and guesses.”

Charles swallowed, hardly knowing where to begin. “Nellie Lovelace is carrying Jack London’s child?”

“She’s not sure,” Kate said quickly. “And she told me in confidence, so perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. But it does explain why she wants so desperately to talk to Lottie.” She glanced down at the gold watch on her lapel, pushed back her chair, and stood up. “I must leave now, Charles. I promised to pick Nellie up in half an hour, so we can go to the East End and look for Lottie.”

“The East End.” Charles frowned. “Is that why you’re dressed like a Salvation Army matron?”

“Exactly,” Kate said. “And if I’m late, I’m afraid Nellie will go charging off on her own, without me.” She bent over and kissed him. “I hope you have a good day, my very dear.”

Charles stared at her departing back. “More coffee, Richards,” he said at last. “Black, please.”

Richards’s sniff, he could have sworn, was sympathetic.

Charlotte Conway had just finished tidying up the two beds when there was a quiet rap at the door. Frowning, she went to it and put her ear against it. Who could be knocking? No one but Jack knew she was here.

“Lottie,” a voice whispered urgently. “It’s Nellie Lovelace. I know you’re in there, Lottie, so let me in!”

So surprised that she didn’t take time to think, Lottie opened the door and stepped back. “Nellie, what are you-” She stopped, feeling herself go rigid with shock. “Lady Sheridan!”

“Hello, Miss Conway,” Lady Sheridan said, entering the room. She was dressed in a very plain gray suit and wore no jewelry. She glanced around, her eyes lingering on Jack’s typewriter. “What a cozy little room. I hope you won’t mind if Nellie and I come in for a visit.” Without waiting for an answer, she went on, in a light tone, “I always enjoy seeing other writers’ work in progress. I’m sure that Mr. London won’t mind if I have a look.” She went over to the table and picked up the top pages of Jack’s typescript, turning her back.

Lottie put her fists on her hips. “What can you possibly mean, coming here, Nellie?” she hissed. “Somebody might have seen you, or heard you walking up the stair. And if it’s Jack you want to talk to-”

“I didn’t come to talk to Mr. London,” Nellie said loftily. “In fact, we-Lady Sheridan and I-lingered on the street to be sure he was gone. We saw the Palmers leave, as well,” she added. “The house is empty. There’s no risk of our being overheard.”

Lady Sheridan put down the manuscript pages and turned around. “We know what happened last night, Charlotte,” she said quietly. She pointed to the red babushka draped over the head of Lottie’s bed. “You were wearing that, and an embroidered apron when you and Jack London went into the Old Bailey yard. Somehow, the two of you managed to slip a key to the prisoners. They freed themselves and-”

“They’ve escaped?” Lottie cried, nearly beside herself with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad! We weren’t sure the plan would-” She stopped, suddenly suspicious. “How do you know about this?”

“Nellie and I, and Adam Gould, saw you on the street outside the Old Bailey,” Lady Sheridan replied. “This morning, Lord Sheridan showed me the Times story. The two men bashed the guard on the head and went out the back of the van. It was unlocked when the driver arrived at the prison, and empty, except for the guard.”

At the mention of Adam, Lottie’s heart gave a little lurch. “Did Adam see what happened?”