Justine looked as awkward in her suit as she had in women’s clothes, and Mary suspected that she would look just as awkward in anything she wore. But Catherine looked perfectly natural. Once she was wearing a sack suit with a four-in-hand tie, she could have passed for any of the clerks who worked in the city, hurrying to their offices or home from them. She put a cloth cap on her head and pulled it low over her eyes.
DIANA: Why do women have to wear such rotten clothes? I mean, you’ve got the chemise, and then the corset, and then the corset cover, and that’s before you’ve even put on the shirtwaist. What’s the point?
BEATRICE: Clothing is one means of enforcing women’s social and political subordination. That is why we must support Rational Dress . . .
CATHERINE: Are you seriously going to have an argument about this in the middle of my book?
BEATRICE: Our book, as you keep reminding us. And I know you agree with me, Catherine. You have criticized women’s fashions many times in my hearing.
CATHERINE: Yes, but I don’t wear those ridiculous Dress Reform outfits either. How are they any better? Women should just wear men’s clothes. They’re easier to move in, more hygienic . . .
JUSTINE: Men’s clothes aren’t made for a figure like Beatrice’s. It’s different for us, Cat. But even I, who have no claim to beauty, can see the elegance of Beatrice’s gowns. We do not all wish to be masculine, you know.
DIANA: I do. Anyway, I’m the only one of you who keeps my hair short.
CATHERINE: Your point being?
DIANA: That if you really wanted to dress like a man, you’d cut your hair too.
MARY: What, pray tell, is the point of this argument? Catherine can wear whatever she likes and be a man one day, a woman the next. You all know perfectly well that dressing as a woman can be an effective disguise. It can be useful, being overlooked and underestimated. No one expects a woman to pull a pistol out of her purse. . . . Although I do wish you’d grow your hair back, Diana. It’s so pretty when it’s long.
DIANA: Sod off, sister.
When they were all buttoned and hatted and gloved, Catherine consulted a pocket watch she had found in one of the waistcoat pockets. “The circus performance will end in about ten minutes. I suggest we go out through another of the tents and try to blend into the crowd. We’ll follow the customers leaving the circus, through Battersea Park and across the bridge. Then you’ll need to lead us, Mary, since Justine and I don’t know where to go.”
“But my books!” said Justine. “Must we leave everything, Cat?”
Catherine looked at her with concern. “You know we can’t take anything, not now. Especially books! It’s impossible, but these men smell like . . . well, maybe I’m wrong. We’ll send for our things later. Lorenzo still owes us for the last fortnight, remember. And Mary, you’d better tell me your address.”
“11 Park Terrace,” said Mary. “Near Regent’s Park. If anything happens, meet us there.”
Catherine nodded, then once again parted the curtains to the other side of the tent. They followed her through into what must have been Justine’s side, since it contained a particularly long cot. In contrast to Catherine’s side, it was immaculately neat. Then they passed under the cloth wall of the tent, lifting the cloth and stooping underneath, darting as quickly as they could to the tent next to it, only a foot away. From tent to tent they passed, under and through. All the tents were empty except the Zulu Prince’s. He was sitting on his bed, reading the book Mary had seen on his stool. When Catherine saw him, she said, “Clarence, don’t tell anyone we’ve been here, will you?”
He nodded and said, “Sure thing, Whiskers,” in what was clearly an American accent.
Finally, when there were no more tents to pass through, Catherine looked out through the tent flaps. “Any moment now,” she said.
“I think we would be safer if we split into two groups,” said Mary. “They’re expecting five. What if we’re two and three?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” said Catherine. For the first time, she glanced at Mary with respect. And about time, thought Mary. Catherine could order them around for now, but she had no intention of letting that continue past the immediate situation! “We can meet—where?”
“Let’s cross the bridge—the Chelsea Bridge, I mean—and meet at the other end, by the embankment. And the groups should be different from the ones we came with.”
“All right,” said Catherine. “You and Beatrice take Justine. I’ll go with Diana.”
Diana again! Why did Catherine want Diana with her? For a moment, Mary forgot that she should have been grateful to get rid of Diana for a while. After all, Diana was her sister, wasn’t she?
“Good luck with that,” she said, more sarcastically than she had meant to. “We’ll go first. I think I can hear a crowd.” She lifted the tent flap and stepped outside. Beatrice followed right behind her, but Justine still hung back. Mary waved for her to follow. Justine sighed and stepped out of the tent, blinking in the sunlight. Then they were all walking together across the grass of Battersea Park. The circus performance had just ended, and the audience was streaming out into the cold, damp afternoon. Well, this was spring in London, after all. They blended into it as best they could, Mary whispering to Beatrice, “Remember to walk like a man!” It was easy to follow the crowd across the grassy lawns of Battersea Park and onto the Chelsea Bridge. Once, she had to grab Justine’s sleeve to keep them from getting separated, but otherwise their progress was easy. At the other side of the bridge, within sight of Ranelagh Gardens and the Royal Hospital, they strolled as though enjoying the day, then leaned on the embankment.
“Can you see them?” asked Beatrice.
“Not yet,” said Mary. But she had not seen anyone following them either, so that was good, wasn’t it? And then she saw them: Catherine and Diana, moving as quickly as they could through the crowd on the bridge, dodging costermongers and mothers with children. “Come on,” she said. “We need to get back to the bridge.” What had happened? Certainly, Catherine wasn’t trying to blend into the crowd any longer.
“They found us!” said Catherine, panting and out of breath, when they met at the northern end of the bridge. “Look, you can see them. There and there!”
Mary tried to follow her pointing finger. And then she saw him, the beggar who had been leaning against one of the houses. He was moving through the crowd, still hunched over as he had been that morning, with an oddly stooping gait. She could not see the other.
“Get Justine to safety as quickly as you can,” said Catherine. “They’re following by scent, not sight. You see, they’re not even looking this way. If you take a cab, they’ll lose your scent and keep following us. Diana and I can lead them on a chase through London.”
“Why should Diana go with you?” said Mary. “She’s the youngest of us, and my sister. I want her safe as well.”
“Because I can dodge in and out of crowds as well as Catherine, and the rest of you can’t,” said Diana. “Come on already! They’re getting closer.”
“I don’t know if I have enough change for cab fare,” said Mary.