Suffragette Girl (6 page)

Isobel was thoughtful for a moment. ‘How much do you know about the background to the movement?’

‘I’ve read about it in Gran’s newspapers. I don’t think she ever guessed that I knew exactly where Bowler put them in the barn to be burned after she’d thrown them
out. I used to sit in the hayloft and devour every word. I know that Millicent Fawcett formed the National Union of Women’s Suffrage in the 1890s, but she only believed in peaceful protest
and, whilst she did get a few Members of Parliament to support them, most MPs believed that women wouldn’t understand the workings of Parliament sufficiently well to be able to
vote.’

‘That’s right.’ Isobel’s tone became scathing at the insult. ‘And Parliament stubbornly refused to debate the subject of women’s emancipation.’

‘So,’ Florrie went on, anxious to prove to Isobel that she knew exactly what she was getting herself into, ‘Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst, who wasn’t prepared to wait years and
years, formed the Women’s Social and Political Union in 1903. Her followers were – and are – prepared to resort to violence to get themselves noticed to further the Cause.’
Now she frowned. ‘But couldn’t violence have the opposite effect? I mean, chaining themselves to railings and smashing windows: doesn’t that tarnish their credibility as
serious-minded women?’

Isobel stared at her for a moment, a flicker of doubt in her expression.

Hastily, Florrie sought to reassure her. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for anything that will work – believe me.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to
work out why it’s become necessary to resort to such tactics. I want to understand, that’s all.’

‘Talking hasn’t done much good. So our motto is “Deeds, not Words”. Membership is only for women.’ Isobel chuckled. ‘So even the Hon. Tim here can’t be
a member.’

He peered round the edge of his newspaper. ‘Ah, but I am an
“honorary”
member.’

The two girls groaned at his pun.

‘Did you know that Emmeline and her daughter, Christabel Pankhurst, were imprisoned in 1908 for inciting a rush on the House of Commons?’ Isobel went on. ‘One woman actually
reached the Chamber and declared that she’d made her first speech on the floor of the House.’ Her eyes shone. ‘I’d love to do that. To stand up in front of all those old
fuddy-duddies and tell them what’s what.’

‘No, that was before I started taking a real interest.’

‘Of course, it’s not just in Britain that the cause for women’s suffrage is being fought. There was an international convention held in London in 1909 and an American woman
chaired it. I wasn’t there, but Lady Leonora has told me all about it. Then two months later she was involved in demonstrations outside Parliament and Number Ten. There were over a hundred
women arrested that day and Lady Leonora was one of them.’

‘Arrested? Lady Leonora?’ Florrie was appalled and yet fascinated at what she was hearing. Then she remembered what Isobel had told her previously. ‘Was that one of the
occasions she went to prison?’

‘Yes,’ Isobel waved her hand nonchalantly. ‘And we’ve got to be prepared for that, too, Florrie dear.’

‘I never realized it would involve – well – someone of Lady Leonora’s position actually going to prison.’

Isobel laughed. ‘It’s a great leveller, this suffrage business. All classes of women are involved.’

‘So what’s been happening recently?’

Isobel’s face sobered quickly. ‘We’ve been burning pillar-boxes, setting off false fire alarms, breaking windows in city-centre stores. There’ve been more arrests.
Nowadays, those arrested normally go on hunger strike in prison. Marion Dunlop started it first, I think, and because the authorities were afraid she’d die in custody, they released her. So,
after that, all the suffragettes who were imprisoned tried it.’

‘As a way of getting out of prison, you mean?’

Isobel laughed wryly. ‘If only! No, the authorities brought in force-feeding.’

Florrie nodded and said soberly, ‘Yes, I’ve read about that too. It sounds ghastly.’

‘It is, and quite dangerous. We all think that Mrs Pankhurst’s own sister died as a result of being force-fed in Holloway. She didn’t die
in
prison,’ Isobel
added hastily. ‘Oh no, they minded that didn’t happen, but she died soon after her release and we all think that was what caused it.’

‘I see,’ Florrie said thoughtfully. This was no longer a ‘lark’. This was serious stuff – deadly serious. Violence that resulted in imprisonment, and the dire
treatment she might receive there.

‘And I think I should warn you I have the feeling that activities are going to escalate. We’ve tried peaceful demonstrations.’ She smiled. ‘And not so peaceful ones.
We’ve lobbied the House of Commons, written to MPs and refused to be counted in the Census of 1911. The government dangled the carrot of the Conciliation Bill that would give the vote to
property-owning women, but then kept putting it back. Promises – that’s all we ever get. But you know all this, Florrie, I’m sure, if you’ve read your grandmother’s
newspapers.’

‘Some of it,’ Florrie murmured.

‘So,’ Isobel ended, ‘are you willing to do whatever it takes?’

Her fine eyes alight with the fire of battle, Florrie whispered, ‘Yes – oh yes, I am.’

Tim lowered his newspaper. ‘You do realize, don’t you, that involvement with us will more than likely wreck your chances of being presented at court? I mean, are you
really
sure that’s not what you want?’

Florrie laughed. ‘It’s little more than a marriage market. Oh great fun, I’m sure, but no – it’s not for me.’ She sighed. ‘Mother and Father will mind
dreadfully, but I don’t think Gran will.’ She chuckled. ‘I doubt she was ever a debutante.’ But she said no more about that. She didn’t want to divulge her
grandmother’s secret to anyone, not even to Isobel and Tim, though she had a feeling that the Richards knew all about Augusta’s lowly beginnings. The scandal of Nathaniel Maltby
marrying his mother’s lady’s maid must have been talked about at Bixley Manor. ‘So, no, it doesn’t worry me if “high society” doesn’t want to know
me.’

‘Funnily enough,’ Isobel remarked, ‘Lady Lee hasn’t been ostracized by her aristocratic friends.’

‘Not yet,’ Timothy murmured and turned a page of his newspaper noisily.

The two young women glanced at each other. He’d not been as deaf to their chatter as they’d thought!

‘Here we are,’ Timothy said, as the train slowed and drew into the London station. ‘Get your things together, girls. Now, where’s your man, Isobel? He
should be here to meet you. Ah, I see him. He’ll sort out the luggage from the guard’s van. Come along.’

They were caught up in the flurry of travellers alighting from the train and carried along the platform towards the waiting manservant.

‘Miss Richards – how nice to see you again.’

‘And you, Lambert,’ Isobel said. ‘Is all well?’

‘Yes, miss. I’ve got a hansom waiting just around the corner for you, miss. The boy’s holding the horse. Him an’ me’ll see to all the luggage an’ bring it
along later.’ His glance went to Florrie.

‘Ah yes,’ Isobel said. ‘Miss Maltby will be staying with me for a while. Her trunk is labelled. And could you take the Hon. Tim’s to Lady Smythe’s?’

Florrie chuckled inwardly. It seemed that Timothy was known to one and all as ‘the Hon. Tim’.

‘Very good, miss.’

As Lambert moved away to summon a porter to help him retrieve the luggage from the guard’s van, Isobel led Florrie out of the station and round the corner, Timothy following in their
wake.

‘Good afternoon, Joe,’ Isobel greeted the young boy holding the horse’s head.

‘’Af’noon, miss,’ he grinned. ‘Can I ’elp yer?’

‘We’re fine. You’re doing a grand job there.’ She paused and stroked the nose of the patient horse. ‘Now, old fellow.’

Then Timothy handed the two young women into the vehicle and squeezed in beside them. They travelled through the busy city streets and came to an elegant terrace of Georgian town houses. The cab
halted in front of the tall, narrow house three doors from the end of the street.

‘Welcome to number six Chalfont Place,’ Isobel cried, climbing down. Lifting her skirt, she went up the steep steps leading to the white-painted front door with its gleaming brass
knocker. The door opened and the Richards’ town-house butler gave a little bow.

‘Welcome home, Miss Isobel,’ he murmured.

‘Thank you, Meredith.’ Isobel stepped into the hallway and explained at once about her guest.

‘Lucy has prepared a guest room, Miss Isobel, and Cook has dinner ready for seven thirty.’

Isobel glanced back at her fiance standing on the top step. ‘Will you join us, Tim?’

‘Not tonight. I’ll go to my club. Mother is holding a meeting later.’ He smiled. ‘I’d better make myself scarce.’

Isobel nodded and her eyes sparkled. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

Tim nodded, raised his hat in farewell and ran lightly back down the steps.

As Meredith closed the front door, Isobel began to show her guest around. She waved her hand towards two doors directly in front of them. ‘That’s the morning room, Florrie, and
that’s the library.’ She laughed. ‘A grand name for a rather small room that we use as a study, but the walls
are
lined with shelves of books. The drawing room and dining
room are on the first floor and the main bedrooms on the second floor. The servants’ quarters and kitchens are in the basement through that door.’ She indicated a door at the side of
the staircase. ‘The upper servants’ bedrooms are on the third floor and the rest sleep in the attic bedrooms.’ She smiled. ‘We only keep a skeleton staff here. Just enough
to look after me – and any guests, of course. Gervase rarely stays long in town. He’s happiest at home. Now, come along upstairs. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up after
that train journey . . .’

A few moments later Isobel was flinging open the door to a luxurious bedroom. ‘This will be your room. And Lucy – my maid – will look after you too. Now, is there anything you
need, my dear?’

‘I don’t think so, Isobel. It all looks perfect.’

‘You’ll hear a bit of noise from the street below – even through the night. You’ll not be used to that at home.’

Florrie smiled. Far from being disappointed, she felt excited to be here in the hustle and bustle of the city.

‘I’ll see you at dinner then.’

As the door closed behind Isobel, Florrie looked about her. The bedroom was furnished in the Regency style. In fact, from what she had seen so far, the whole house appeared to be. The bed,
perhaps once a four-poster, now merely had a headboard with drapes above it on a pole attached to the wall. The dressing table was satinwood inlaid with ebony and the chest of drawers and wardrobe
matched it, as did the cheval mirror standing in the corner.

There was a tap at the door and a young maid peered around it nervously. ‘Miss Isobel said I was to ask you if you would like me to unpack for you, Miss Maltby?’

‘You must be Lucy?’ Florrie smiled at the girl, who nodded. ‘No – I’ll see to that myself, thank you. But I would like a bath about six, if it’s no
trouble.’

The young girl smiled and stepped further into the room. She crossed to a door near the bed. Florrie had presumed it led to a cupboard, but as Lucy opened it, she saw that it was a marble
bathroom.

‘My very own bathroom,’ Florrie exclaimed. ‘I hadn’t expected that. Thank you, Lucy.’

‘I’ll come back just before six and run it for you, miss, if . . .’

But Florrie put up her hand. ‘Oh, no need. You must have plenty to do.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, miss. But if you want anything, just press the bell at the side of the bed.’

As she descended the stairs just before seven thirty, Isobel was waiting for her in the hall. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. ‘There’s a meeting at Lady
Leonora’s at nine. Maybe you heard Tim mention it. Would you like to come?’

‘Oh yes, please.’ Florrie hadn’t expected things to start happening so quickly.

At five minutes to nine, after they had dined together seated at one end of the elegant mahogany table, Isobel and Florrie set off with Lucy accompanying them, to walk to the
next street running parallel to their own. A maid, who greeted Lucy affectionately and bobbed a curtsy to Isobel, opened the door of Lady Leonora’s house.

‘None of that tonight, Betsy,’ Isobel wagged her forefinger playfully at the young girl. ‘We’re equals – remember.’

The girl laughed and blushed a little. ‘I’ll try, Miss Richards.’

They were ushered into a large room.

‘This was once used for balls and parties and soirees, but now it’s used for our meetings,’ Isobel whispered. ‘Come, let’s find Lady Leonora. She’s dying to
meet you. I’ve told her all about you.’

They threaded their way through the room, crowded with chattering women. Florrie looked about her. There were grandly dressed women in silks and satins, sporting huge hats with purple, white and
green ostrich feathers. Then there were smartly dressed women who, Florrie guessed, would be the wives or daughters of professional men. Their dress was not so elaborate but nonetheless elegant.
And then, just as Isobel had hinted, there were young women dressed in drab garments as if they’d come from the city back streets. All, it seemed, were welcome in Lady Leonora’s grand
home. Florrie glanced over her shoulder and saw that Lucy was following closely and behind her came Betsy, still in her maid’s uniform but quite at home amongst the gathering. Here she was no
longer a maid, but a suffragette.

Briefly, Florrie wondered what ‘little Beth’, as Augusta called her, would make of all this. But her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival in front of Lady Leonora, who
stretched out both her hands to Florrie as Isobel made the introduction.

‘My dear, I am so very pleased to meet you. And how is your grandmother? I had a letter from her only the other day.’

Florrie’s eyes widened. ‘From Gran – I mean – Grandmother, Lady Smythe?’

Lady Leonora laughed. She was, just as Isobel had said, a very handsome woman and her son was indeed like her. Her black hair was piled high on her head in the style of a fashionable Edwardian
lady and her use of cosmetics was skilful and discreet, yet to her definite advantage. Her exquisite silk gown proclaimed her position in society – a position that she was determined to use
to further the cause of her own sex. She leaned towards Florrie and grasped her hands. ‘Your grandmother and I are old friends and we write to each other regularly. She knows exactly what
you’re getting yourself into, my dear. Have no fear on that score. And please – call me Lady Lee. Everyone does.’