No Greater Love (8 page)

‘We want a volunteer,’ Alice Pearson was speaking again. ‘Someone prepared to make a dramatic gesture that will splash our cause across every newspaper in the land.’

‘We think the Derby at Epsom is where we must demonstrate,’ Emily joined in. ‘The King and Queen will be present, it’s a God-given opportunity.’

‘One of us will make a protest as the King’s horse goes past - brandish one of our banners,’ Alice continued. Maggie sensed a hushed tension among the dozen women present.

Emily added, ‘And we’ll fight on, sisters. God will give the victory!’

‘Here, here!’ said Jocelyn and approval rippled around the room.

‘I have been in contact with our sisters in London,’ Alice said, ‘and they agree that the volunteer should come from the north; she is less likely to be recognised or detected. Are we all in agreement that this is the course of action we should take?’ She swept them with her brown-eyed gaze.

There were murmurs of assent, but Rose tugged on Maggie’s arm and whispered, ‘We can’t take part.’

Maggie, hardly able to contain her excitement at the idea, looked at her friend in astonishment. ‘Of course we can.’

‘No, Maggie, can’t you see—’

‘Do you wish to say something, Rose?
^’
Alice spoke across the room. ‘If so, we’d all like to hear it.’

Rose flushed deeply but answered in her clear schoolroom voice. ‘I’m sorry, but Maggie and I cannot take part in the protest. We have to work for our living; we cannot afford to take off to Epsom. It’s not just the expense, but the time. We’d lose our jobs. As you know, I’m a teacher and Maggie is, well, she’s a secretary in one of Pearson’s workshops.’

Alice nodded in sympathy. ‘I quite understand. Such sacrifice would be unnecessary. As a matter of fact, I was going to propose our sister Emily for the task. She has courageously agreed to have her name put forward but of course it must be put to the vote.’

Maggie felt indignant at her friend’s intervention and the way in which she had been so quickly excluded from the plot.

She stood up. ‘I don’t care if I do lose me job,’ she said with spirit. ‘Pearson’s aren’t the only employer around here. I’ll find summat else, more than likely. I want to do something important for our cause, not just handing out bits of paper on a Saturday afternoon. I’ve got the bottle to do it I’d throw myself under the hooves of the King’s horse if I had to,’ Maggie said with vehemence.

Alice was taken aback. ‘There’s certainly no need for that,’ she answered with a nervous laugh, looking more closely at the diminutive young woman with the ill-fitting hat. There was raw defiance in her slim face. She had dismissed this working-class girl as some lame duck of Rose Johnstone’s, who was probably only good for handing out newspapers in the rougher parts of town.

‘Maggie, you can’t,’ Rose intervened again. ‘It’s all very well being full of high ideals, but your family depends on the wage you bring in. There are others here who can undertake the protest - I think Miss Davison is an excellent choice.’

‘Quite so,’ Alice agreed quickly, keeping the uncomfortable thought to herself that Maggie might also be out of her social depth among the London WSPU. ‘My dear, we do appreciate your fervour,’ she smiled at the eager young woman before her, ‘and we shall find plenty for you to do locally. Now, are there any other proposed names?’

Maggie sat back down, livid with Rose and with Alice Pearson’s patronising manner. She watched as the others shook their heads and then voted unanimously for Emily Davison to take on the task. She sat in the seat next to Maggie, quietly composed, an air of fatality clinging to her pale face.

Suddenly Maggie was gripped with foreboding for her; she sensed danger like a powerful smell hanging in the room.

Slowly Emily stood up. ‘Thank you for choosing me,’ she said. ‘I consider it a great honour to be able to strike this blow on behalf of womankind.’

Soon afterwards, the meeting broke up and Rose and Maggie followed the others out, not speaking to each other. Out in the fresh air, Maggie was about to berate Rose for her interference when Emily Davison came hurrying out after them.

‘Miss Beaton,’ she called, ‘I would like to talk to you at greater length. Perhaps we could meet at Miss Johnstone’s one evening soon?’

Maggie and Rose exchanged surprised looks. ‘Of course,’ Rose said, ‘I’d be pleased to have you.’

‘Why do you want to speak to me?’ Maggie asked her warily, suspecting this well-spoken woman was just patronising her too.

Emily flashed a smile. ‘Because you’ve got a strong dose of north country spirit, my girl, and that’s just what’s needed for a plan of mine.’ She glanced over her shoulder and added hurriedly, ‘I can’t speak of it here but I really do need to talk to you soon. It’s of the utmost importance to the cause. Can I rely on you, Miss Beaton?’

Maggie answered without hesitation, ‘Aye, of course you can. I’ll do anything for the movement.
^’

Emily Davison fixed her with bright eyes. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that.’

Once more, Maggie had a fleeting premonition of disaster like a tiny shiver across the shoulders, and she suspected that whatever happened to this fearless woman, it would change her own life too.

***

The following weeks dragged by with no word from Emily Davison and Maggie could hardly concentrate on her office work at Pearson’s. She was increasingly reprimanded by her superior, Mr Roberts, for typing errors and was impatient for the end of each day when she could escape the dirty little office in Number 12 workshop.

Two older women worked with Maggie in the same shop’s office for ten shillings a week, having replaced a man who had been paid one pound for his clerical services. One was a timid woman called Mary Watson who rarely spoke but the other was a keen-eyed Yorkshirewoman, Eve Tindall, whose foreman husband had secured her the job.

‘What’s bothering you, lass?’ Eve finally asked during their daily half-hour tea break. They sat in the office, for there was nowhere else for them to go, while the men from the factory vanished to the nearby public house. ‘Your mind’s not on your work. Isn’t that a fact, Mary?’

Mary Watson did not look up from her penny romance or acknowledge that she had been spoken to.

‘Nowt as queer as folk, and nowt as strange as that one,
^’
Eve said, shrugging and turning back to Maggie. ‘Is there trouble at home?’

Maggie was cautious, knowing how Eve liked to know everything about everybody. The secretive Mary Watson drove Eve Tindall to distraction.

‘No more than usual,’ Maggie grimaced, thinking of Helen’s petty bitching towards Susan over Richard Turvey. So far he had called on neither of them and the mounting suspense was proving unbearable to both.

‘It’s all this business about the suffragettes then?’ Eve guessed. ‘By, there’s been some terror going on - burning down cricket pavilions and setting fire to trains. Whatever next!’

Maggie, too, had read about the spate of militant acts that had flared up around the country after Mrs Pankhurst’s arrest. ‘Taking action is the only way of getting through to these people,’ she answered.

Eve gave her a shrewd look over tiny oval spectacles. ‘You mixed up in some trouble?’

Maggie shook her head and slurped at her tea.

‘You know summat, don’t you?’ Eve said excitedly, whipping off her spectacles and leaning closer.

‘Don’t be daft, I’m just a foot soldier who sells newspapers. I’m not going to know what the big guns are up to.’ Maggie tried to keep her voice unconcerned.

Eve breathed hard on her glasses and rubbed off dust particles that plagued their cramped workspace. ‘There’s devilment afoot and you know about it, Maggie Beaton. You can’t fool me with your butter-wouldn’t-melt looks.’ She leaned closer still, her large bosom squashing on the table top. ‘Now are you going to tell Auntie Eve all about it? You know I wouldn’t tell a soul,’ she whispered.

Maggie leaned towards her and hesitated. She was aware that Mary Watson had not turned a page of her book for several minutes, though she still pretended not to listen.

‘Do you really want to know?
^’
Maggie asked in a loud whisper. Eve nodded vigorously. ‘Well, if you join the WSPU you’ll find out everything!’ Maggie grinned.

‘You minx.’ Eve sank back in disappointment.

‘Why don’t you?’ Maggie laughed. ‘It needs sensible ordinary women like you to broaden the campaign. There are too many women hostile to the cause.’

‘That’s because it’s just a load of toffee-nosed madams who have nothing better to do with their time than chain themselves to railings.’ Eve snorted.

‘Rubbish!’ Maggie replied at once. ‘If ordinary women like you and me sit back and pretend it’s got nothing to do with us, then men are always going to decide how our lives are run, can’t you see that? They aren’t going to just give up power and hand us freedom on a plate, we have to fight for it.’

Eve looked dubious. ‘My Barry says politics is men’s business anyway. He says the working man can look after our interests better than we can ourselves,’ Eve said, jamming her glasses back on her stubby nose. ‘And I think he’s right.’

Maggie thought fleetingly of the arrogant George Gordon and felt a surge of annoyance that a woman should be echoing his views. It was men like Gordon who talked women into believing they had no worth beyond the kitchen hearth.

‘Well, that’s what working men with a bit of power always say,’ Maggie retorted. ‘I can’t believe someone with your nous can accept such nonsense, Eve! You shouldn’t believe everything Mr Tindall says without question, you know.’

Eve pursed her lips in offence and Maggie wondered if she had gone too far. Mary Watson turned a page noisily.

Maggie gave a sigh of frustration. ‘Sorry, Eve,’ she recanted hastily, thinking of the small jovial foreman who was active on behalf of his union members. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude about Mr Tindall.’

‘No, well, we’ll speak no more on’t,’ Eve huffed ‘Let’s just say we have differing views on what’s seemly for women.’

Maggie shook her head as she cleared away their cups, disheartened by the thought that it was often women themselves who seemed to be the greatest obstacle to their own advancement.

***

Susan was happiest on those rare occasions when she and her mother sat quietly by the kitchen stove, the tea plates cleared and their stomachs pleasantly full. So many times she had gone to bed in Gun Street with hunger cramps and not been able to sleep for thought of food and memories of the well-stocked larder in Sarah Crescent. But since Maggie had been working for Pearson’s, there was always jam with her homemade bread and meat three times a week and strong refreshing tea in the pot.

‘Please God, don’t let our Maggie do anything daft and lose her job,’ Susan prayed every night, her greatest fear being that her headstrong sister would come to a sorry end with all this politics.

But this Friday evening all was tranquil. Susan sat embroidering a handkerchief while her mother sorted through a pile of clothes for tomorrow’s trip to the quayside market and Jimmy lay stretched in front of the fire reading a battered comic of Tommy Smith’s. Maggie had taken Granny Beaton for a walk up the hill to Daniel Park, gifted by Lord Daniel Pearson to the city, while Helen had gone with her noisy friends to see a moving picture about a ragtime band which she said was ‘all the rage’.

Susan quelled her feeling of resentment as she .thought of her contrary youngest sister. Helen could delight everyone with her easy chatter and broad smile but she could be very waspish towards her family if she did not get what she wanted. It had always been that way, Susan sighed; Helen loved to question her authority and make her look foolish in front of others. Susan tried to love her like she loved the others, but Helen didn’t seem to want her love.

And now the spectre of Richard Turvey rose between them.

Susan suspected Helen had seen him around the town while she was at home keeping the place in order. For all she knew, Helen might be seeing him this evening, yet she was only seventeen and too young to be courting. If only the engaging Richard would pay her more attention, she would soon show him what a model wife she would make. But although he had been pleasant towards her when she visited Aunt Violet, he still had not called to see her as he had indicated he would.

‘Penny for them,’ Mabel said, watching Susan’s troubled face and thinking once again that her eldest looked too careworn for twenty-two.

‘Nothing, Mam.’ Susan blushed and bent to pick up the sewing that had fallen distractedly from her hands.

‘You should have gone for a bit of fresh air with our Maggie,’ Mabel chided. ‘You look that peaky.’

‘I’m on me feet all day, Mam,’ Susan smiled. ‘I’d rather stop here with you and Tich. Anyway, Maggie and Granny just talk about politics or Granny’s past life, and I cannot join in.’

Mabel laughed ‘Aye, they’re clannish, that pair, when they get going.’

‘Doesn’t it worry you, Maggie getting mixed up with these suffragettes?’ Susan asked, frowning again.

Mabel shook out a crumpled lilac linen dress and sucked in her sagging cheeks. Maggie’s radicalism did worry her though she knew to say so would only make her daughter more determined. She had so many hopes for her dark-haired girl, seeing her as the one with the intelligence and drive to lift them finally out of their poverty. Maggie was the one who would look after the family when she’d gone, Mabel thought, because she was the breadwinner. If she had had any influence on Maggie, it was to instil in her the determination not to be dependent on a man for a living. Susan and Helen could not think further than marriage; they were no more farsighted than she had been as a girl. But she had encouraged Maggie to study and learn and make her own way in the world, because her education and skills would be their best guard against poverty.

‘Maggie can look after herself,’ Mabel answered stoutly.

‘But what if she got arrested at one of her demonstrations?’ Susan persisted. ‘We couldn’t manage without her wage again.’

‘Aye,’ Jimmy piped up excitedly. ‘She told me she’d be proud to gan to gaol for the cause.’