Free Move Your Blooming Corpse by D. E. Ireland

against the violence condoned by the Pankhursts. I’ve also written articles for Votes for Women . Sadly, most days fighting for the cause is like watching a slow trickle of water.”
    â€œAh, but water brings life to the least expected places.” Pickering shook out his linen napkin. “How did you get involved in the organization so young?”
    While Sybil explained how she’d joined the WFL, Higgins tucked into a second helping of grilled tomatoes and fried mushrooms. Eliza split open a Bath bun and slathered on orange marmalade.
    â€œI met Sylvia Pankhurst during a class at the Royal College of Art. She then introduced me to her sister Christabel and the WSPU group.”
    â€œWere you ever force-fed in prison?” Eliza asked. “I’ve read about that.”
    â€œNo, Jack paid my fine to release me. He explained in great detail what force-feeding was like, and I lost my nerve.” She smiled at him in gratitude. “Writing articles is mischief enough. Also he made me promise not to get arrested again.”
    â€œI had to promise him not to chase down murderers after what happened at the Drury Lane.” Eliza gave her cousin a stern look. “Although he forgets that the murderer was chasing me.”
    â€œI’m only trying to keep both of you out of trouble,” Jack protested. “Even if I’m having little success at it.”
    â€œSpeaking of murder, is there anything new about the Diana Price investigation?” Higgins asked the detective.
    â€œWe discovered Hewitt’s revolver was never fired. Our expert at the Yard is checking the pitchfork for fingerprints.”
    â€œSuch a gruesome end.” Pickering sipped from his teacup.
    â€œAccording to the coroner, Miss Price was struck on the right cheek, which left a visible bruise. We believe she fell back and hit her head against the stable wall. That was a minor injury, however. Only a slight concussion. The killer used the pitchfork to make certain she was dead.”
    Eliza looked horrified. “Did you learn anything about Harold Hewitt?”
    Jack nodded. “He’s the eldest son of the late Charles Archibald Hewitt, who was a deputy lieutenant of Herefordshire and a justice of the peace. His father died two years ago. The family has an estate at Hope End, although Hewitt’s lived in both Canada and Switzerland. And he’s a forty-year-old bachelor.”
    â€œI knew it.” Higgins snapped his fingers in triumph. “How odd that both our given and surnames begin with the letter ‘H,’ and we’re the same age as well.”
    â€œHe also stayed at the Kingsley Hotel in Bloomsbury the night before the race,” Jack went on.
    Sybil set down her fork. “The hotel near St. George’s church? That’s where Emily Davison’s funeral took place before the procession.”
    â€œProbably not a coincidence,” Eliza said. “He must have watched the funeral at some point, or even paid his respects at the church. Did you read the diary Harold Hewitt was carrying? Was anything interesting in there?”
    â€œOh, quite a bit. Strange things like ‘all the pretty girls but none for me.’ Hewitt is a religious fanatic,” Jack added with a hint of exasperation. “It was torture having to read his ramblings. He hates horse racing, that came through loud and clear. He’s also a Fellow of the Zoological Society and an anti-vivisectionist.”
    â€œAn anti what?”
    Sybil answered Eliza’s question. “It’s a term for people who oppose surgical experimentation on animals. As a Quaker, I also believe such scientific practices are inhumane. Did Hewitt write about his support for women’s rights? He carried our flag, after all.”
    Jack shrugged. “He mentioned attending Miss Besant’s lecture in an early entry, but I haven’t finished reading the diary yet. Remember that Hewitt is not the