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them. Introductions were made and Seamie learned that Max von Brandt—German and from Berlin originally, but currently living in London—was Dr. Harriet Hatcher’s cousin and had been sent by Harriet’s anxious mother to fetch her.
    “Have you found her?” Joe asked him.
    “No, but I did see the warden briefly, and he told me that Harriet and several other officers from the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies are being held elsewhere in the prison.”
    “Why?” Joe asked.
    “He said it was for their own safety. He told me that he’d had to separate officers of Mrs. Fawcett’s group from those of Mrs. Pankhurst’s. There were some harsh words between them, apparently, and he feared further hostilities would take place. He said they would be released shortly, but that was an hour ago and there’s still no sign of them.”
    Joe, frustrated, wheeled himself over to a harried wardress to try to find out more. Max went with him. Katie continued to interview marchers and scribble notes. Seamie and the Reverend Wilcott attempted to make polite conversation. The reverend knew Seamie’s name and asked about his adventures in Antarctica. Seamie learned that the reverend headed a parish in Wapping and that his daughter Jennie, who lived in the rectory with him, ran a school for poor children in the church.
    “It’s also a de facto soup kitchen,” the Reverend Wilcott explained. “As Jennie always says, ‘Children who are hungry cannot learn, and children who cannot learn will always be hungry.’ ”
    As Reverend Wilcott was talking, a gate at the far end of the receiving room was opened and a group of dazed and weary-looking women walked through it. Seamie recognized his sister immediately, but his relief at seeing her soon turned to dismay. Fiona’s face was bruised. There was a cut on her forehead and blood in her hair. Her jacket was torn.
    As the women entered the receiving area, a cheer went up from their fellow marchers—those who had been released but had refused to leave. There were hugs and tears and promises to march again. Joe and Katie hurried to collect Fiona. Seamie followed them. Women’s voices swirled around him as he made his way across the room. Seamie didn’t know most of the women, but he recognized a few of them.
    “God, but I need a cigarette,” one woman said loudly. Seamie knew her. She was Fiona’s friend Harriet Hatcher. “A cigarette and a tall glass of gin,” she said. “Max, is that you? Thank God! Give us a fag, will you?”
    “Hatch, is that a cigarette? Have you got an extra?” Seamie knew that voice, too. It belonged to Maud Selwyn Jones, the sister of India Selwyn Jones, who was married to his and Fiona’s brother Sid.
    “You all right, Fee?” Seamie asked his sister when he finally got to her. Joe and Katie were already on either side of her, fussing over her.
    “Seamie? What are you doing here?” Fiona asked.
    “I was at home when your message arrived. I accompanied Katie.”
    “Sorry, luv,” Fiona said.
    “No, don’t apologize. I’m glad I came. I had no idea, Fiona. None. I . . . well, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
    He was upset to see the marks of violence on her. Fiona had raised him. They’d lost both parents when she was seventeen and he was four, and she’d been both sister and mother to him. She was one of the most loving, loyal, unselfish human beings he had ever known, and to think that someone had hurt her . . . well, he only wished he had that someone here now, right in front of him.
    “What happened?” Joe asked her.
    “Emmeline and Christabel happened,” Fiona said wryly. “Our group was marching peacefully. There were crowds there, and police constables, but very little heckling or baiting. Then the Pankhursts showed up. Christabel spat at a constable. Then she lobbed a rock through a pub window. Things went downhill from there. There was a great deal of shouting. Fights broke out. The publican’s wife was furious. She