No Greater Love (16 page)

‘Better to have us rule over heathens than leave them to the Germans or Frenchies,’ Barny shouted, waving excitedly through his pipe smoke.

‘It’s all the same, man,’ George said, leaning forward. ‘The ruling classes all over Europe are scrapping for more land. It makes no difference to the working man. What we need to do is unite with our comrades in other countries and fight for our rights.’

‘You mean with Frenchies and the like?’ Barny exclaimed, his eyes popping.

‘Aye, wherever workers are being exploited, ‘George nodded. ‘Strength in unity.’

‘That’s bloody treason. I’ll have nowt to do with Frenchies. We beat them at Waterloo - the Fighting Fifth, Wellington called us - my old regiment.’

‘That was a hundred years ago,’ George said, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Makes nee difference!’ Barny shouted, then went into a coughing fit.

Maggie rushed forward and slapped her uncle on the back.

‘Are you all right, Uncle Barny? I’ll get you a drink of water.’ She threw George a severe look. ‘Could you not keep your speeches till after tea, George Gordon?’

George flushed and got to his feet. Seeing Jimmy peering in at the door with the jug, he beckoned the boy over.

‘Pour your uncle a glass quickly, lad,’ he instructed and handed the glass to Barny himself. ‘Get that down your neck, Mr Dodds. It’ll do you more good than water.’

Barny seized the glass and drained it, belching hard as he finished.

‘Frenchies indeed,’ he muttered. ‘Another one, Gordon!’ he ordered, holding the glass out to George.

George obliged, grunting, ‘At least it’s stopped your imperialist ranting for a minute.’

Barny’s bleary round eyes bulged in astonishment and Maggie thought he was about to take another fit. Instead he started to chuckle.

‘By, he’s a blunt bugger, your George,’ Barny said to Maggie. ‘You might just survive around here, son,’ he laughed and jabbed George playfully with his cork leg. ‘Maggie, get George a glass and we’ll get stuck into this here jug while I tell him what’s what.’

Maggie did so without protest, thankful that George had so far escaped being thrown out of the house. The men continued their argument and Maggie could not remember seeing her uncle so animated for years. Usually he slouched in an amiable half-inebriated state, burbling about past glories and being ignored.

Tea was served by a fraught Susan who kept eyeing the clock on the mantelpiece and glancing towards the door. George drew Mabel’s approval by paying for another jug of beer, which Jimmy volunteered to fetch for him. He came back with the foaming jug and plump Tommy Smith, which set Maggie praying that they would say nothing about the encounter at the rowing club.

Barny was in such good humour by the end of tea that he produced his fiddle and they pushed back the furniture to dance. Halfway through the second dance, Susan rushed from the parlour at the sound of heavy steps on the back stairs.

‘It’s Richard!’ she cried in relief. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Started the party without me, I see,’ he teased and staggered in clutching a large wooden box.

‘What is it?’ Helen demanded. The women crowded around him in curiosity.

‘A gramophone,’ Richard announced with a flourish of his hands. ‘Bought it today - just for my special girls.’ He winked at Helen and put a familiar arm round Susan’s shoulders.

‘For us?’ Susan gasped. ‘It must have cost a packet.’

‘A gramophone; look, Mam!’ Helen squealed ‘Does it play anything?’

Richard opened the lid and produced a record from its sleeve. ‘A bit of ragtime, eh, girls?’

Helen clapped her hands together in excitement, though Susan looked apprehensively at her mother and aunt.

They all watched, spellbound, as Richard placed the record on the gramophone and wound it up with a golden handle. It crackled and hissed and then the pulsating piano music filled the room. The older women looked quite dumbfounded, Granny Beaton removing her ear trumpet in fright.

Richard caught Helen round the waist and swirled her into a polka. She threw back her fair ringlets and giggled with joy. Maggie caught Susan’s pained look and felt vexed with Richard. He was toying with both her sisters and turning them against each other in the process. Glancing at George, she saw him fixed in his seat with the boys at his feet, looking unimpressed by Richard’s extravagant gift. Without thinking, Maggie stepped forward, pulling Helen away from Richard.

‘You dance with me,’ she ordered her sister. ‘Richard, it’s Susan you should be showing how to polka.’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ Aunt Violet sniffed.

Maggie ignored Helen’s petulant face, giving the hesitant Susan an encouraging nod. With relief, Maggie saw her mother push Susan forward.

‘Gan on, hinny, dance with Richard,’ she wheezed, her face flushed with beer and bonhomie. ‘And you keep your eyes off our Helen,’ she told the Londoner in her forthright manner. ‘She’s too young for courtin’.’

And so Richard had little choice but to dance with Susan, which he did with a good grace, Maggie noticed. For the rest of the evening it was Susan who had his attention and they played and replayed the one record until a curious Mary Smith appeared from downstairs looking for her son. At this point, Violet said it was time to get Barny home.

‘I’ll walk with you up the hill,’ George offered at once. Maggie knew he thought nothing of Richard Turvey or his flashy music machine. The two men had ignored each other all evening. She regretted that there had been no opportunity to dance with George to her uncle’s fiddle music which had got George’s feet tapping before Richard’s dramatic entrance.

‘Perhaps you’d like to gan for a walk tomorrow afternoon?’ George asked Maggie quietly at the door.

‘Aye, that would be canny,’ Maggie answered at once. There had been no word from Rose yet of a further meeting with Emily Davison, so what harm was there in spending an hour in George Gordon’s company?

When he had gone, Maggie felt suddenly tired and was thankful when her grandmother shooed the others out of the parlour, saying she was needing her bed. She brushed the old woman’s hair and helped her climb onto the high bedstead, tucking her in.

Granny Beaton touched Maggie softly on the cheek. ‘You’re well matched, you and the Gordon boy.’

Maggie blushed furiously. ‘Granny! We’re hardly courting.’

Her grandmother smiled. ‘You both have strong beliefs and you’re not afraid to speak your mind.’

‘Aye,’ Maggie laughed. ‘He’s just as good at upsetting me family as I am.’

Granny Beaton patted her chin like a child. ‘That’s as maybe. But he’s a kind man too - he knew your uncle needed a good blether. Aye,’ the old woman sighed wistfully, ‘I’m thinking your father would have liked him.’

‘Me Da?’ Maggie whispered. She so rarely allowed herself to think of her dead father that it came as a sharp pain to be reminded of him now. It was a bitter-sweet thought that George and her father might have been friends.

‘Aye, lassie,’ Granny nodded and Maggie saw her milky half-blind eyes water. ‘He was a man of principles too, right enough.’

Maggie leaned forward, swiftly kissing the old woman, and hurried from the room.

***

‘I blame you, Alice!’ Herbert berated his elder sister. ‘Felicity won’t listen to a word I say any more. You’ve filled her head full of nonsense about the rights of women and now she just does as she damn well pleases.’

They sat in his study drinking brandy while the sound of laughter from the terrace made Alice impatient to be released. She found these lectures from Herbert so tedious and wondered why she allowed herself to be bullied into his private den. It was hardly a study, Alice thought, glancing once more at the modest bookcase of unread books. Most of the walls were covered in antlers and stuffed animal heads, trophies of his African honeymoon. Poor Tish, Alice thought, in tow behind her new husband as he shot a trail of wild beasts across the African plains.

‘How on earth am I responsible for Poppy Beresford overstaying her welcome?’ Alice sighed.

‘It’s your fault Felicity only wants female company these days,’ Herbert said petulantly.

‘As opposed to yours?’ Alice murmured drily.

Herbert’s fleshy round face coloured. ‘There’s something damned unhealthy about this friendship. Poppy’s manipulating my wife and you’re doing nothing to stop it. You could do - Felicity would listen to you.’

‘Oh, Herbert, you are ridiculous. You make it sound like some sort of conspiracy. Felicity and Poppy are old friends and I have absolutely no right to tell either of them what to do.’

‘You do if it’s affecting the family,’ Herbert said, his expression now hurt. ‘Tell her it’s time Poppy went back home to Beresford.’ He swilled the brandy round in his glass and emptied it in one.

‘Like a dutiful wife,’ Alice teased.

‘Exactly,’ Herbert nodded, scratching his fat chin and trying unsuccessfully to push a finger between his starched white collar and bulging neck. ‘She’s been hanging around my wife for weeks.’

‘They’re old school friends,’ Alice reminded him. ‘You should be glad Tish has someone to keep her company while you’re out shooting.’

‘I don’t shoot all the time!’ Herbert cried defensively. ‘You would think I did nothing else the way you go on - just like Felicity.’

Alice put down her brandy glass and stood up, her patience gone. It was always the same when she visited; tossed like a tennis ball between her brother and sister-in-law as one tried to gain advantage over the other. How tedious their marriage seemed; all they did was bicker.

‘Don’t go,’ Herbert ordered. ‘This business must be settled.’

Alice sighed and flopped down again. ‘Two minutes to put your case,’ she warned him.

‘They do everything together,’ Herbert continued his complaining, heaving his bulky body out of the leather armchair and crossing to the brandy decanter. ‘I’m made to feel an outsider in my own house - not to mention the bedroom.’

‘That’s enough, Herbert,’ Alice protested, feeling embarrassed. ‘I don’t see that Felicity will take a blind bit of notice of what I say. She’ll probably tell me to mind my own business. I’m not sure you’re not just imagining the whole affair anyhow.’

‘No, I’m not. Speak to her for me,’ Herbert pleaded.

Alice felt reluctant. ‘If it’ll stop your incessant complaining...’

‘It will,’ Herbert promised. ‘Get rid of Poppy Beresford and I’ll do anything for you.’

For a moment, Alice was reminded of the eager young boy who used to follow her around Hebron House, irritatingly unable to amuse himself with a book or a game. When he was small she had been moderately fond of her brother, but he had grown into a bumptious bore who bragged about his good shooting and drank and gambled to excess. Yet it amazed her how often he still seemed to get his way and how too often she capitulated to his demands, in the hope of being left alone.

‘Anything?’ Alice asked, glancing at his empty desk, noticing how even the blotter was unmarked.

‘Absolutely, Alice,’ Herbert said, waving an expansive hand.

‘I want to sit next to the Prime Minister at the launch of
Courageous
,’ she answered, fixing him with a determined look.

‘Oh God!’ Herbert exclaimed. ‘How did you know about Asquith?’

‘Mama.’

Herbert groaned. ‘I can’t let you sit next to the Prime Minister and risk you turning the launch into a spectacle for your wretched suffragettes. Father wouldn’t allow it.’

‘You and I could persuade him,’ Alice insisted. ‘I merely want the opportunity of talking to him in a civilised manner over a civilised lunch. What is the harm in that?’

Herbert sank another brandy. ‘This meeting is important for me now I’ve decided on a career in politics. You promise there won’t be any unseemly goings-on?’

‘There’ll be no public protest,’ Alice agreed. ‘After all, I don’t want to sabotage the launch of a Pearson ship either.
^’

Herbert looked dubious.

‘Only I can guarantee to keep the local suffragettes in order,’ Alice said persuasively.

‘Very well,’ Herbert answered with reluctance.

‘Good,’ Alice said triumphantly and headed towards the door. ‘And I shall deal with the wayward girls.’

Alice escaped thankfully into the fresh chill air of the terrace, below which Felicity and Poppy were playing croquet in the dark. She watched them tripping over their gauzy evening dresses, feeling a pang of sadness that she had agreed to curtail their happiness. But she had wrested a valuable prize from Herbert, she would have a chance to do verbal battle with arch-enemy Asquith. He alone seemed to stand between women and their suffrage; even his own Cabinet had come round to their way of thinking. Felicity’s personal happiness would have to be sacrificed to the greater goal of women’s freedom.

All week she looked for an opportunity to catch Felicity by herself, but Poppy Beresford was never out of earshot. Alice began to sympathise with her brother, for it seemed he had not exaggerated his wife’s obsessive companionship with her old friend. Alice watched more closely. The young women would get up early and play tennis together before breakfast. After eating a huge amount of kedgeree and toast they would disappear off on bicycles with a picnic lunch or take a rowing boat out on the lake her father had created and swim from the far shore. One day they golfed, another they went for a hike. Always, Felicity pre-empted Alice’s attempts to join them.

‘I know you hate long walks, Alice darling. See you at tea!’

Or Poppy would drawl, ‘I’d love to see you at work in your darkroom - perhaps you’d show me its mysteries when we get back tonight?’

Her exclusion was subtle, Alice thought with admiration, but complete. Felicity appeared to have no time for her husband’s family. Lady Arabella chose to ignore the situation and spent her time on shopping trips or visiting her aristocratic neighbours, while Lord Pearson escaped to London and the House of Lords.

Alice tackled her father about the situation before he went and was dumbfounded by his breezy reply.

‘Herbert should stop bleating and take a mistress if Felicity chooses to keep him out of the bedroom. He’s got his heir.
^’