City of Lies Page 8

  There it was again. “What’s a buckle gag?”

  Mrs. Bates shuddered again. “It’s a device they use on insane people to keep them from screaming or biting.”

  Elizabeth winced at the thought. “I guess she didn’t shut up.”

  “No, she didn’t. She demanded her right to see an attorney, and Whittaker had her taken away.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “No one knows.”

  Elizabeth doubted that very much. In a place like this, someone always knew something. “I’ll find out.”

  She got wearily to her feet and strolled as nonchalantly as she could over to where some of the colored prisoners sat in a group. They eyed her warily, so she tried a smile. They didn’t return her smile, but they didn’t turn their backs, either.

  “What you want, miss?” one of them asked. She was a little older than the others, and they probably considered her their leader.

  “The warden took one of the suffragists today, Miss Burns.”

  “The one with red hair,” she said with a nod.

  “Yes, that’s right. Do you know what happened to her?”

  “I do.”

  She’d expect some kind of payment for the information. “I don’t have anything to offer you in return. I was hoping that you’d help out of kindness from one woman to another.”

  The woman smiled, showing a missing tooth and little humor. “When did you folks ever do a kindness for us?”

  “When women get the vote, it will help you, too. It will help all women.”

  They all grinned at that, and one even chuckled aloud.

  “You ain’t never gonna get the vote, miss. Might as well give up on that.”

  Elizabeth returned her grin. “Then help us because you feel sorry for us.”

  “Didn’t think I’d ever feel sorry for no white ladies, but you folks is kinda sad, ain’t they, girls?” The others nodded, enjoying themselves at Elizabeth’s expense.

  Elizabeth was perfectly willing to amuse them if she got the information she wanted. “Miss Burns?”

  “They put her in the DT ward. You know what that is?”

  Elizabeth shuddered. She knew only too well. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Elizabeth was sure she would.

  She hurried back to where Mrs. Bates waited. Anna had joined her, and they both watched anxiously as she crossed the room to them.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Bates asked, seeing Elizabeth’s expression.

  Elizabeth sank down on the floor beside her chair. “They say he put her in the DT ward. Do you know what that is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s where they treat prisoners with delirium tremens.”

  “What’s that?”

  Elizabeth went cold at the memory, Jake’s mother screaming in terror . . . “It’s what happens when somebody who drinks a lot stops suddenly. They get the shakes and start seeing things that aren’t there. I guess that happens to some prisoners when they’re locked up here and can’t drink anymore.”

  “So they’d probably put them in straitjackets.”

  “And buckle gags,” Anna said in outrage. “But she’s not crazy, and she doesn’t have the delirium tremens. They can’t do that to her!”

  Mrs. Bates gave her a sad smile, as if to say they most certainly could, and of course they already had. They could do anything they wanted.

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth against the rage boiling within her, the rage that had made her want to beat Mrs. Herndon and club Whittaker over his stupid head and shoot Thornton right between the eyes.

  “Betty Perkins! Which one of you is Betty Perkins?”

  Elizabeth’s rage evaporated as she looked up at the female guard walking slowly around the room, staring each of the prisoners in the face.

  “Come on, Betty. Somebody’s paid your fine. Just speak up and you can leave,” she coaxed, looking Elizabeth right in the eye.

  Gooseflesh rose on her arms, but she stared the woman down until she turned to Mrs. Bates for a reaction. Then she tried to glare at Anna, but the girl had already gotten up to start spreading the word about Miss Burns, so the guard moved on.

  “I don’t understand,” Mrs. Bates said. “Why don’t they know who this Betty Perkins is? They certainly took every bit of information about all of us that they could. They must know who all their other prisoners are, too.”

  Elizabeth could have explained it, of course, but she said, “Maybe she didn’t use her real name.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  Elizabeth tried to imagine being so innocent that she couldn’t think of a reason to lie about her identity. “Maybe she’s ashamed to be in jail and doesn’t want her family to find out.”

  “None of the suffragists are ashamed to be here, so it can’t be one of us.”

  “Is that true, ma’am?” a girl sitting on the other side of Mrs. Bates asked. She was one of the regular prisoners, a white girl with a sharp, thin face and hair the color of poppies growing in black at the roots.

  “Is what true?” Mrs. Bates asked.

  “That this Betty Perkins isn’t one of you ladies.”

  “I’m sure she’s not.”

  Elizabeth got gooseflesh again as the idea formed in her mind. She leaned around to see the girl better. She had a gleam in her eye that told Elizabeth she might be bold enough to take a chance. “Why do you ask?”

  The girl shrugged and made a face she must have thought looked innocent. “Just curious.”

  “I guess this Betty Perkins isn’t one of the regular prisoners, either.”

  “Oh no. Who’d miss out on a chance to get out of here? Except for you ladies, I mean.”

  Elizabeth returned her innocent look. “Why don’t you tell them you’re Betty Perkins, then?”

  Mrs. Bates frowned. “That would be dishonest.”

  Elizabeth didn’t bother to remind her that the girl was already in jail, for heaven’s sake, and the girl herself didn’t seem at all bothered by the prospect of some more dishonesty. “Now, that’s a thought. But do you think they’d believe me?”

  Elizabeth pretended to consider the question. “They might, and then you’d be out of here.”

  “But what if they don’t?”

  “Then you’re no worse off, are you?”

  “Are you sure that’s wise, Elizabeth?” Mrs. Bates asked. “She might get in trouble.”

  “I can’t get in much worse trouble than I’m already in,” the girl said. “And this could get me out of it.”

  “Yes, it could,” Elizabeth said. “If they want to know why you didn’t speak up before, tell them you didn’t want to give your real name because you didn’t want your family to know you’d been locked up.”

  The girl gave Elizabeth a shrewd glance that saw more than Mrs. Bates ever would. “Thank you kindly, miss. You’re a good one.”

  Elizabeth nodded and watched her scurry over to the guard, who gave her an earful for putting them to so much trouble finding her, and then the two of them left the room.

  “That was very clever,” Mrs. Bates said, although she didn’t sound like she entirely approved. “However did you think of it?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth lied, giving Mrs. Bates her most innocent face. “It just seemed logical, and a kindness,” she added quickly, “to help another female escape from this place.”

  Anna hurried back over, saving Elizabeth from any more inquiries. Plainly, she had some news.

  “They said Mr. O’Brien was here today.”

  “Who did?” Mrs. Bates asked.

  “One of the guards told Julia. She felt sorry for her. For all of us, I guess.”

  “Who’s Mr. O’Brien?” Elizabeth asked.

  “He’s our attorney.
What was he doing here?”

  “The guard didn’t know. She just said he came, and I guess they wouldn’t let him see us, but there’s more. Miss Burns has started a hunger strike, and Mrs. Lewis has joined her.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  O’Brien smiled at their eagerness as they met him at the door. “I found a friendly judge.”

  “Thank heaven,” Mrs. Young said.

  “You got the writ?” Gideon felt the first stirrings of hope that his mother would soon be free.

  “Yes. All we have to do is find a deputy to serve it, and we can force the warden to present the prisoners in court.”

  “When can we see them?” Miss Morey asked.

  O’Brien’s smile vanished. “Not today, I’m afraid. Warden Whittaker made it clear to me that he is determined not to let us in unless a judge orders him to.”

  “But what about the writ or whatever it is?” Miss Morey asked.

  “The writ will only get us before the judge,” Gideon said. “Whittaker will know that, I’m afraid, and besides, it’s Friday evening. Even if we find someone to serve Whittaker today, the soonest the judge can hear the case is Monday.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Young said.

  “Which is why I’m going to ask Mr. Bates to take you ladies back to Washington,” O’Brien said.

  “I won’t go back until I see Tilly,” Mrs. Young said.

  O’Brien frowned. “Please be reasonable. I can’t leave you ladies here overnight, and I don’t want to have to worry about your comfort while I’m trying to take care of everything else.”

  Gideon sighed out his frustration. “Surely, I can be of some assistance to you.”

  “Not here, but if you were back in Washington, you might be able to put some pressure on the right people.”

  “I suppose I could go see Mr. Tumulty again and tell him what’s happening here,” Mrs. Young said.

  Miss Morey nodded her agreement. “We can also find some friendly reporters to do a story. If nothing else, we may be able to shame President Wilson into releasing them.”

  The guard cleared his throat. “I’ll be glad to drive you folks back to the train station.”

  They all glared at him, but he only shrugged.

  “We must let everyone at headquarters know our situation,” O’Brien said to Gideon. “I need you to make sure these ladies get back safely, and I may need you to use your legal skills in Washington. You’d be doing me a great favor.”

  Gideon thought of his mother in that workhouse and wanted to put his fist through the wall, but he managed to swallow his fury. O’Brien was probably right. Staying here wouldn’t help the prisoners, but he might do some good back in the district. “It will be my privilege to escort you ladies back to Washington.”

  Mrs. Young sighed in defeat. “If only I could leave these clothes for Tilly.”

  “You can give them to her yourself on Monday,” Gideon said.

  • • •

  Hunger strike.

  Elizabeth rolled the idea around in her mind. A few days ago, it would have been unthinkable, but that was before she’d eaten the food here.

  “I think we should do it,” Anna said, rejoining Elizabeth on the floor beside Mrs. Bates’s chair.

  “What would a hunger strike accomplish?” Elizabeth asked.

  “It’s an ancient tactic used by the powerless against the powerful,” Mrs. Bates said.

  Anna nodded. “In Ireland, if you had a grievance against someone, you’d sit on their doorstep and fast until you’d shamed them into giving you justice.” Her eyes practically glowed with the enthusiasm of the fanatic.

  Elizabeth knew better than to trust that enthusiasm. “How could starving to death shame somebody else?”

  “The rules of hospitality were very strict in olden times,” Mrs. Bates said. “Allowing someone to die on your doorstep was a great dishonor.”

  “Somehow I doubt Whittaker cares about his honor,” Elizabeth said.

  Mrs. Bates smiled. “You’re probably right, but President Wilson can’t allow forty respectable women to die in prison just because they marched in front of his house.”

  “He can’t allow even one of us to die,” Anna said. “Think of the scandal.”

  “We may not even have to go through with it,” Mrs. Bates said. “If Mr. O’Brien was here today, we know he’s working for our release. They might let us go tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to get out tomorrow. She didn’t want to get out at all, not with Thornton waiting for her. “Would we all have to do it?”

  “None of us have to do it,” Mrs. Bates said. “It would be completely voluntary.”

  Voluntary, my foot. Elizabeth saw the fanatic’s gleam in Mrs. Bates’s eye, too. She also saw the disapproval. A true suffragist would gladly starve for the cause. She glanced at Anna and saw only disappointment in her frown.

  “Don’t you want to do it, Elizabeth?” Anna looked as if somebody had just told her there was no Santa Claus.

  For a few seconds, Elizabeth couldn’t breathe. What was wrong with her? She didn’t care what these women thought of her, so why did their disappointment sting so badly? “It’s not that . . .”

  Elizabeth looked back at Mrs. Bates, oddly desperate to get back in her good graces, but Mrs. Bates was already smiling at her. “Oh, I see. Anna, Elizabeth isn’t thinking of herself. She’s thinking of you.”

  “Me?” Anna smiled at Elizabeth, too, inordinately pleased about something.

  “Yes, and so am I. You’re already painfully thin, my dear. Even just a few days without food could make you quite ill.”

  Elizabeth was almost too surprised to take advantage of Mrs. Bates’s mistake.

  Almost.

  “She’s right,” Elizabeth said. “You shouldn’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

  Anna took Elizabeth’s hand in both of hers. “You are a true friend to be so concerned, but I couldn’t possibly sit by while the rest of you made such a sacrifice.”

  “Why not? If we shame them into letting us go, it doesn’t matter if one of us starved or all of us.”

  “It matters to me.”

  And Elizabeth could see that it did. She turned back to Mrs. Bates. Surely, she could talk sense to Anna. The girl wouldn’t last more than a few days without food.

  “You must swear to me that if you become ill, you will start to eat again,” she said instead. Elizabeth wanted to smack her.

  Anna smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

  She was a much better liar than Warden Whittaker.

  • • •

  Oscar Thornton had dressed carefully this Sunday morning, but not because he was going to church. Going to church was a waste of valuable time. Oh no. He had something much more important to do. He was going to see Miss Betty Perkins this morning. It would be the last time he saw Miss Perkins, and it would be the last time she saw anyone at all, so he’d dressed for the occasion.

  Fletcher and Lester would have taken charge of her at the train station down in Virginia, and they would escort her here, to his hotel. Lester’s telegram had estimated what time they would arrive, and when Thornton checked his gold pocket watch, he saw it wouldn’t be long now. His hand trembled a bit with the thrill of anticipation. No one cheated Oscar Thornton and lived to tell the tale.

  A woman’s shrill voice raised in protest broke the silence. What the . . . ? He’d told them to keep her quiet. He hurried over and threw open the door. As he’d expected, Lester and Fletcher stood there with a woman between them, but the woman was not Betty Perkins.

  “Is this him?” she asked, glaring up at him balefully.

  The door across the hall opened and a curious face peered out.

  “Get her inside,” Thornton said, standing back so they could enter.

  Fletcher gave the woman a shove and she st
aggered across the threshold. “Hey, watch what you’re doing!” she said.

  “Shut up,” Fletcher said.

  Thornton closed the door behind them. “Who the hell is this?”

  Lester gave him a disgusted look. “Betty Perkins.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I know, but that’s who they released from the workhouse after we paid the fine.”

  The girl was looking around the suite, obviously impressed. “This is all right. I wouldn’t mind staying here myself.”

  Thornton turned on Lester, furious. “If you knew it wasn’t her, why did you bring her here?”

  “I thought you’d like to hear her story.”

  “It’s a good one,” Fletcher added.

  Thornton ignored him. He studied the girl with distaste, taking in her garishly red hair, her cheap dress and worn shoes. “All right, young woman, what’s your story?”

  “My name is Betty Perkins, and I’m real grateful you got me out of that workhouse.” She tipped her head and batted her eyes in a disgusting attempt at flirtation. “Want me to show you how grateful I am?”

  “No.”

  This time she blinked her eyes in surprise. “These other two fellows wasn’t so particular.”

  “I’m sure they weren’t,” Thornton said, glaring at them. They refused to meet his eye.

  “Tell him what you told us, about how you got out,” Lester said.

  She sighed, obviously bored with the story. “They’d been coming around for a couple days, calling out for Betty Perkins. They said somebody’d paid her fine and she could go, only nobody ever owned up to being this Betty Perkins.”

  Thornton turned to Lester. “Don’t they keep track of who they’ve got locked up there?”

  “They told us they didn’t have no Betty Perkins in there. She must’ve used another name when she got arrested.”

  “Why didn’t you just go in and look for yourself?”

  “They won’t let anybody in to see those women. No visitors at all, not even if we paid.” He said to the girl, “Tell him the rest.”

  “So last night, the guard comes around calling for Betty Perkins again, and this girl says to me why don’t I tell them I’m Betty Perkins and they’ll let me go.”