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Authors: Janet MacLeod Trotter

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BOOK: No Greater Love
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‘Papa!’ Alice was scandalised. ‘You make women sound like commodities.’

‘Marriage for people of our class is a business contract,

her father said brusquely. ‘Felicity has kept her side of it by bringing a dowry and producing Henry, so how she chooses to spend her hours of boredom is her business. Herbert - who is quite happy to spend Felicity’s fortune as well as his own - should remember that.’

Alice looked at her tall, distinguished father, still handsome with his iron-grey hair and jet-black eyebrows over keen brown eyes, and wondered if he kept a mistress in London.

‘What a depressing picture of marriage,’ she grimaced.

‘Well, be thankful you’ve escaped that fate,’ Lord Pearson smiled.

‘I’d not sign away my liberty to any man,’ Alice answered with spirit. ‘Wives have no more rights than servants. But once we women have the vote, we’ll change all that.’

Her father snorted. ‘Poppycock! You’ll not get the vote in my lifetime - I at least agree with Asquith on that. Women have no place in politics.’

‘We’ll win our rightful place, Papa, and you know it.’ Alice advanced on him. ‘You can stand like Canute and posture, but the tide will turn. There are countless able women whose talents are being wasted by the stubborn prejudice of men like you and Asquith. You know very well I would have made a better heir to Pearson’s than Herbert.’

Her father laughed shortly. ‘Yes, Alice, you should have been my son. You’ve the brains for both of you. God got it wrong.’

‘No, Papa,’ Alice said fixing him with a challenging look, ‘you can’t blame it on God. It’s English law that dictates that Herbert inherits rather than me, and laws can be changed by men like you.’

Lord Pearson threw up his hands in submission, ‘Alice, that radical tongue of yours will get you into Parliament or prison - I’m not sure which.’

Alice smiled, enjoying shocking her father. Kissing him goodbye she asked, ‘You’ll come and stay next week at Hebron House?’

‘With pleasure,’ Lord Pearson nodded and strode from the room.

Alice finally saw her chance at the end of the week. Herbert went off to a neighbouring estate where the fishing and the hospitality were equally abundant, grumbling at Felicity’s protestations that she was unwell and could not accompany him. Lady Arabella, who was attracted by the host’s card table, said she would accompany him instead as Lord Pearson was to remain in London for several more days. As Alice suspected, Felicity made a dramatic recovery shortly after her husband left.

‘Let’s take the boat out,’ Felicity suggested.

‘What a good idea,’ Alice answered quickly. ‘I’d like to take some photos from the far end of the lake. Perhaps Henry would like to come too. I’ll suggest it to Nanny.’

‘Oh, Henry,’ Felicity said, unsure. ‘He’s so clumsy with boats.’

But Alice was not going to let her evade taking her son this time. She had observed all week how little attention Henry got from either of his parents and how he showed off to try and gain their approval.

‘We can all swim,’ Alice answered pointedly, ‘so there’s nothing to worry about.’

To Alice’s disappointment, the day did not go well. Henry was over-boisterous in his excitement at being invited and soaked them all with the oars before they reached the picnic spot. Felicity was fretful, Nanny petrified and Poppy bored. Alice did her best to jolly the party along with an improvised game of cricket, but Felicity decreed that she was feeling unwell again and made them return early.

She did not appear at dinner and Alice and Poppy dined alone. Suddenly it occurred to Alice that it was Poppy Beresford that she should be speaking to rather than her wilful sister-in-law. But Poppy evaded her suggestion of taking coffee in the drawing room and retired upstairs to read. Alice stood by the blazing fire in the huge stone inglenook fireplace which echoed the orange sunset through the long casement windows. She fumed to think how she had been outmanoeuvred all week. Two brandies later, she decided to go up to Poppy’s bedroom and confront her.

The staircase was drowned in umber half-light from the glass-domed ceiling and all was quiet as Alice ascended. Taking the landing to the left which led to the guest quarters, she thought she heard a door open somewhere behind her, but when she turned there was no sign of anyone. Unsure of Poppy’s exact room, Alice knocked tentatively on the end door which was slightly ajar.

‘Come, my love,’ a soft voice invited her in.

Alice pushed open the door and peered curiously into the darkened room, aware of a pungent burning smell. The curtains were drawn back to allow the remnants of the sunset to suffuse the room with a purplish light. For a moment she thought the room was empty, then gasped in shock at the figure smoking on the chaise longue. Poppy was stretched out naked on the gold brocade with only a cashmere shawl draped across her lower body. Her feline features were tipped towards the window, caught in the fading light. But at Alice’s stifled exclamation, she turned and sat up like a startled nymph, pulling the shawl to cover her breasts.

‘Good God, you are having an affair!’ Alice remarked, still astonished that Herbert’s suspicions had been confirmed.

‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ Poppy said, drawing on her cigarette, once more composed.

‘I -I suppose it is,’ Alice stammered, feeling ridiculous in her formal pearl-grey dress. ‘I feel as if I’ve walked into some French farce.’

‘There’s nothing farcical about our relationship.’ Poppy was defensive. She stood up defiantly, crossed to the unlit fire where she stubbed out her cigarette and picked up a Chinese robe which she wrapped about her nakedness. ‘Spying for Herbert, are you?’ she accused.

‘I wasn’t spying,’ Alice said indignantly. ‘I knocked and you answered. I’ve been trying to speak to you or Felicity all week, but you’ve deliberately avoided me.’

‘What do you want to know?’ Poppy asked tensely, lighting up another cigarette.

‘You can’t stay here any longer,’ Alice said, determined to be business like.

Poppy dropped into a yellow brocade chair. ‘Felicity doesn’t want me to go. I’ll stay as long as she wants me here.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘And you’re going to tell me what is?’ Poppy blew smoke at her.

‘Yes.’ Alice was brisk. ‘You’ve come between Felicity and Herbert. Your relationship with Tish - you don’t seem to realise the upset it’s causing.’

‘Who’s upset apart from dreary old Herbert?’

Alice felt annoyed. ‘He may be dreary to you - but he’s still very fond of his wife.’

‘Fond? He’s fonder of his damned hunting dogs!’

Alice tried a different tack. ‘What about your husband?’

Poppy let out a harsh laugh. ‘John doesn’t care a fig what I do or where I go, just as long as I put in the odd appearance at diplomatic functions. He tells everyone I go north for the air, for my delicate health.’

‘Well, I’m sorry you’re not happy, but that’s no reason to make things difficult for Herbert.’

Poppy clenched her cigarette and glared. ‘Good God, do you Pearsons ever think of anyone but yourselves? You haven’t the first idea about being stuck in a loveless marriage. But I know I’m the only person who can make Tish happy. We’ve always been close, ever since school. We love each other! But I don’t imagine you would understand that because you seem incapable of love. What good are all your great causes if you can’t feel love?

Alice flinched under Poppy’s scornful look, winded by the accusation. Was she really so unfeeling? Did she not care passionately for her fellow suffragettes and would she not do anything for them if asked? A small voice of dissent niggled at the back of her mind. She hadn’t supported Emily in her desire to protest at the launch, the voice taunted her; she’d prefer her to demonstrate far away in Epsom than in her father’s shipyard. It struck Alice forcefully that she was a Pearson first and all else was secondary. That’s why Poppy Beresford had to go before a scandal broke to harm the family, Herbert’s political career, the business.

Controlling her anger, she said, ‘A scandal would be harmful to both you and Felicity. Until the rights of married women are improved, you are both dependent on your husbands for your survival. Remember that.’

‘You’re threatening me, aren’t you?’ Poppy said, agitated.

‘I’m pointing out the facts.’

To her embarrassment, Poppy began to sob. Alice hesitated, not knowing whether to try and comfort the distressed woman. She must not weaken now, the situation was far too volatile to allow Poppy Beresford a reprieve.

‘I’ll arrange for you to be taken into Newcastle tomorrow. I think it best you should be gone before Herbert and my mother return.’

Poppy gave her a murderous look through her tears but did not protest. Alice turned and fled from the twilit bedroom. She rushed downstairs again, calling for Rosamund. Leading the eager poodle out of the house, she escaped into the chill gardens, willing the darkness to swallow up her revulsion and shame at what she had done.

In the morning, she watched from her mother’s upstairs drawing room as the footman loaded up one of her father’s cars with Poppy’s cases and strapped a trunk on the back. Rosamund barked nervously at the signs of travel. Finally, Poppy appeared with an ashen-faced Felicity at her side. They walked arm in arm, until Poppy disengaged her friend gently and kissed her farewell. Alice looked away but heard Felicity crying as Poppy closed the car door. Suddenly Alice could bear the anguish no longer and raced downstairs to comfort her sister-in-law as the car rolled away down the drive. Alice held out her hands.

‘I’m sorry, Tish, but I promised Herbert ...’

Felicity flinched as she came near. ‘You’ve taken away the only person I’ve ever loved, truly loved,’ she said in a flat voice, ‘and I can never forgive you.’ She turned away and hurried up the stone steps, disappearing into the mansion without a backward glance.

Alice felt herself going cold inside. She had chosen Herbert’s side against Felicity although she was much fonder of her sister-in-law. Put to the test, she would always support her family and its business, she realised now. But she knew by doing so she had created an enemy in Felicity.

Alice hurried upstairs again to prepare her own swift departure, yearning to be back once more in Newcastle among people who did not despise her.

Chapter Nine

The buzzer blared the afternoon release. Maggie, emerging in relief, caught sight of Rose Johnstone waiting for her and her heart sank.

‘The meeting’s tomorrow,’ Rose tersely told Maggie outside Pearson’s towering iron gates.

‘Not here,’ Maggie hissed, glancing at an inquisitive Eve Tindall.

‘Then where?’ Rose answered impatiently. ‘I haven’t seen you for three weeks. You’ve not been to the office, you’ve not been on the streets helping - ’

‘Shh!’ Maggie ordered. ‘I’ll come with you now to the park where we can talk.’ She raised her voice. ‘See you in the morning, Eve.’

Her colleague nodded and they were soon separated in the flood of workers pouring out of the factories. They walked in silence at Rose’s brisk pace until they gained the entrance to Daniel Park. Maggie thought how tame and orderly its flowered borders looked compared to the open meadows she had walked with George this past month. The thought made her glance guiltily at Rose, as if she could guess the reason for her truancy from newspaper selling.

Rose sat down abruptly on a park bench and Maggie followed suit like a meek schoolgirl.

‘I’ve even been to your home,’ Rose said ‘Susan told me you were courting, that you didn’t have time for the movement anymore.’

‘That’s rubbish.’ Maggie was indignant. ‘Our Susan just likes to stir up trouble for me.’

‘So you’re not courting George Gordon?’ Rose asked.

Maggie blushed. ‘We’ve been out together, to concerts and that. He likes Mozart and he reads history and poetry.’ George’s breadth of interests had been a revelation to Maggie. His words echoed in her mind, ‘One day, lass, Mozart and Handel will be for all the people, not just those born with money. When the workers run the world, we’ll throw the concert halls open to everyone with lugs to hear.’

‘So should I tell Emily Davison that you’re too busy to meet her with all this cultural activity?’ Rose was scathing.

‘Don’t be daft. The movement comes first.’

Rose gave her a searching look from behind her spectacles. Suddenly she put out a hand and covered Maggie’s.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said more gently. ‘It’s none of my business if you’re courting this lad. I’ve just been feeling left out and sorry for myself. If you’re happy, then so am I.’

‘I am happy,’ Maggie admitted, ‘but I’ve been selfish cutting myself off from you and the others these past weeks. I haven’t let myself think about it.’

Rose sighed. ‘You don’t have to go ahead with whatever scheme Miss Davison has planned for you. No doubt it’ll be dangerous. There are others who can undertake the task. I don’t want you risking everything when you’ve worked so hard to get where you are and support your family the way you do. If George can offer you happiness and security, I won’t blame you for taking it’.

Maggie was surprised by Rose’s words and allowed her thoughts to drift for a moment. It would be so easy to fade away from the movement now. She was content in her job, earning enough money for small luxuries above their basic needs, and it would mean no more carping from her family about her involvement in politics. Above all, there would be nothing to stand in the way of her blossoming friendship with George; she could quietly cut the cords of loyalty that bound her to this futile cause for women’s suffrage. For was it not futile? Had George himself not told her that the only way to improve the lot of working women was to empower working men who would look after their interests?

Seduced by such thoughts, Maggie’s gaze strayed across the park, aware of the families enjoying the sunshine, picnicking in the fresh air while their children played with hoops and gourds. For the first time she entertained the idea of a husband and children of her own one day. Then, with a start, she realised that the man walking past her, grumbling at his wife, was familiar. He was berating her for some domestic imperfection, while she followed, her face resigned.

BOOK: No Greater Love
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