Preparation for my new enterprise had not only included the study of English law but also toxicology, ballistics, criminalistics, cryptology and psychology. I had sat through endless trials at the Royal Courts of Justice and the Old Bailey, and followed random people in the street on five occasions. Although challenged by my prey four times, I was now proficient at it. My new equipment included a magnifying glass, a Powell and Leland microscope, a gimlet, a gem, binoculars, a torch kit, a Swiss Army knife, and a gun licence (but no gun). I had acquired a hollow bangle that could hide a supply of narcotics, a cane with a secret compartment for maps and the like, and I had applied, using a male alias, to join a few London clubs that might be useful, including the Press Club, the Carlton and the Alpine Club (which I'd done accidentally thinking it was the Athenaeum). I'd lined up a handful of newsboys and taxi drivers as possible narks, and experimented with picking locks. Already a fluent speaker of Russian, Romani and Swahili, I had started to learn Polish, German and Greek. I was prepared properly this time. Success was assured.
Dolly Butler
As I watched the activity outside I thought about what Etta Lemon had said about suffragettes’ hats. Everyone was in their Sunday best, and what a menagerie the women’s headgear was, along with their feathery parasols, muffs and boas. Plumage fluttered by, in all colours, some natural but mostly dyed, and different sizes, lengthened or wired. Some hats were so immense that the women looked like standard lamps, so top-heavy they might overbalance. I wasn’t one for over-adornment myself, but the hat I had treated Caroline to was an abundantly plumed affair. I had thought it so grand, sitting on the hall table, next to my new top hat and bowler. She enjoyed parading up and down the hall in it and catching sight of herself in the mirror. I would sit on the stairs and watch her, delighting in her grace and beauty.
Dolly Butler
It being a Monday, I had grappled with the laundry and used bed linen. I handled it gingerly, knowing what had taken place upon it, or not knowing, but finding all sorts of pictures popping into my head unbidden. I felt obliged to sniff it – and the towels and flannels – in order to establish what bodily fluids might have been released upon there, although I confess I have a limited knowledge of the range of possibilities. I know that men have some sort of discharge, but do ladies? I imagined it might involve blood as that is what is commonly produced from a female, although that does not involve contact with another person. As I lifted the linen to my nose, I smelt only the faint odour of Lady C’s 4711 cologne, although her flannel yielded a more pungent scent. I brought it to my nose several times to try and work out what it was. I was sure I had smelt it before somewhere.
Maggie Fisher
