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were the wardresses force-feeding a prisoner?”
    “Do you not read the London papers, Mr. Finnegan?” Jennie asked. There was an edge to her voice.
    “Indeed I do, Miss Wilcott,” Seamie replied. “But they are hard to come by in New York, Boston, or Chicago. To say nothing of the South Pole. I only returned to London a month ago.”
    “Forgive me, Mr. Finnegan. For the second time. It has been a very trying day,” Jennie said.
    “Once again, there is nothing to forgive, Miss Wilcott,” Seamie said. He turned toward her as he spoke. Her eye was horribly swollen. He knew it had to be very painful.
    “It was a fellow suffragist the wardresses were force-feeding,” Jennie said slowly. “One who’d been arrested for damaging Mr. Asquith’s carriage. She’s been in prison for a month now and is in the process of starving herself.”
    “But why would she do that?”
    “To protest her imprisonment. And to call attention to the cause of women’s suffrage. A young woman starving herself to death in prison makes for a good news story and elicits a great deal of sympathy from the public—which makes Mr. Asquith and his government very unhappy.”
    “But surely you can’t force a person to eat if she doesn’t wish to.”
    Jennie, who’d been looking straight ahead as she walked, turned her head, appraising him with her good eye. “Actually, you can. It’s a very dreadful procedure, Mr. Finnegan. Are you sure you wish to know about it?”
    Seamie bristled at her question, and at her appraisal of him. Did she think he couldn’t handle it? He’d handled Africa. And Antarctica. He’d handled scurvy, snowblindness, and frostbite. He could certainly handle this conversation. “Yes, Miss Wilcott, I am sure,” he said.
    “A female prisoner on hunger strike is subdued,” Jennie began. “She is wrapped in a sheet to prevent her from flailing and kicking. Of course she does not wish to cooperate with the wardresses, or the prison doctor, and so clamps her mouth shut. Sometimes, a metal gag is inserted between her lips to force her mouth open and she is fed that way. At other times, a length of rubber tubing is forced into her nose and down her gullet. Needless to say, that is very painful. The doctor pours nourishment through the tube—usually milk mixed with powdered oats. If the woman is calm enough, she can breathe during the procedure. If she is not . . . well, if she is not, then there are difficulties. When the allotted amount of milk has been fed, the tube is removed and the woman is released. If she vomits it up, the doctor begins again.”
    Seamie’s stomach turned. “You were right, Miss Wilcott,” he said, “it is a dreadful thing.” He caught her glance and held it. She knew a great deal about the procedure. He shuddered as he guessed the reason why. “It’s been done to you, hasn’t it?” he asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was not the sort of thing one asked a woman one had only just met.
    “Yes, it has. Twice,” Jennie said, unflinchingly. Her frankness surprised him.
    “Perhaps we should find a pleasanter subject to talk about with Mr. Finnegan, my dear,” the Reverend Wilcott said gently. “Look! Here we are. Out of the lion’s den and into the light. Just like Daniel.”
    Seamie looked ahead of himself. They’d come to the end of the long stone passageway and were now outside of the prison. He saw that his family had preceded him to the street. Darkness was coming down and the streetlamps were glowing.
    Fiona was sitting on a bench, her eyes closed. Katie sat next to her scribbling in her notepad. Joe, Seamie guessed, had gone off in search of the carriage. The street had been filled with carriages when they’d arrived, and his driver had not been able to park in front of the prison. Harriet Hatcher, standing next to the bench, had found a fresh cigarette. Max and Maud were with her. Maud was laughing throatily over something Max had just