Suffragette in the City (7 page)

“I did no such thing,” I retorted, finding my voice at last. “It was an unfortunate accident. I had no intention of throwing myself on anyone, least of all Mr. St. John. And as for your sister, my lord, I did not wrench her from your house—she willingly attended a meeting with me. Furthermore, I find your insinuations offensive and boorish.”

I would have continued along similar lines, but a consideration of my less than blameless role in the evening’s events, not to mention Helena’s strained, pale face, caused me to bite back anything else I might say.

“Isn’t it clear, Harold?” The countess’s voice had a barbed quality that made me flinch. “She has taken our dear Helena to one of those anarchistic suffrage gatherings! I knew this would happen—I could tell at once what sort of person she was. This is what comes from allowing women of her low morals to mingle with decent people. Helena, dear, are you hurt in any way? Those women are so rough, there is no telling what they might have done to you. Come, child, let me look at you.”

Griffin
stood outside of the circle of light with his arms folded across his chest, a shadow on his face leaving his expression unreadable. He watched us, saying nothing until Helena turned to him with her hands held wide in a gesture of distress. Walking forward, he put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him. He faced his brother and sister-in-law,  the symbolism of his stance clear—he would support Helena against any further attack. Relieved and warmed at the example of brotherly love, I felt it an opportune time for my withdrawal. Excusing myself in a low voice, I turned to leave.

“Young woman,” a voice trumpeted across the hallway, stopping me in mid-step.

I turned slowly at the earl’s harsh voice. His face was red with fury.

“Let there be no misunderstanding whatsoever concerning my feelings in this matter. I forbid you to see Helena again. I forbid you to meet her. I forbid you to have any further contact with her. She is young and innocent, and I will not have you dragging her down to the level your type inhabits. Women such as you ought to be flogged and placed in prison with the whores, where you belong.” 

I stood still, my gaze on Griffin as he comforted his sister. His head was bent close to hers as she clung to him, sobbing quietly into his chest, and in a most inexplicable burst of emotion, I wanted to be in those arms, I wanted to be the one who was comforted. Instead, I stood alone and unprotected against the earl’s attack.

“I have no qualms in consulting with the police over your behavior. It is shameless and godless, and if I had my way—”

A low growl broke in. “That’s enough, Sherry.”

“I have a great deal more to say, and I’ll thank you to stay out of this, Griffin.”  Lord Sherringham’s voice cut through me like a knife. “You may not be aware, madam, but I am currently very much taken up with the foolish topic of suffrage at the House of Lords. Your offensive and reprehensible behavior is more proof of just how dangerous is the idea of giving women the vote. You may be assured I will remember your actions when discussing the issue with my fellow peers.”

“I see no reason why you should,” I said, stung into a response. “It is quite apparent from your rude and insulting comments that you have already made up your mind against women’s suffrage.”

“Of course I have,” he snapped. “It is a ridiculous subject, one no decent man would even consider.”

“Stop it!” Griffin roared.

The volume and tone of his voice were surprising in their intensity. He turned to me and said in a voice thick with fatigue, “My apologies for my brother’s rudeness, Miss Whitney. Thank you for accompanying Helena home.”  He looked down at her tenderly, then up at me with a faint smile.

Silence filled the hall as I turned towards the door, the familiar numbness that I associated with the aftermath of one of my father’s rages leaving me silent as I left the house. I gave the cabby my address automatically, and rode in an unthinking state until I arrived at home.

Chapter Seven

A restless night dawned into an equally restless morning. Exhausted, I lay in bed and watched the sky lighten from indigo to a soft blue-grey as I considered the matter that consumed my thoughts.

“Let us look at it from a strictly analytical point of view,” I told Annie when she brought me my morning tea.

“If you like, miss, although I’ve often found that affairs of the heart can’t often be analyzed.”

“Hmm. Well, we shall try. You will admit that I have been unusually sheltered during my years with Father.”

“That is true, miss.”

“With no one who could even remotely be considered a suitor.”

“Very true.”

“Thus it’s perfectly reasonable that this attraction I feel for Mr. St. John is simply my mind reacting to the pleasures to be found in the company of a man who you have to admit is devastatingly handsome.”

“Mr. St. John?” Annie appeared to consider it. “I haven’t seen him, but if you say so, then he must be.”

“It is merely a brief and mild infatuation, no more,” I said as I slipped on my dressing gown.

Annie made a noise somewhat resembling a stifled laugh.

“And everyone knows that an infatuation of the brief and mild variety is best treated as if it is any other minor physical affliction—I will ignore it and it will go away on its own.”

“Is that so?” she asked, handing me my brush.

“Yes.” I was tired but resolute. I would forget about Griffin and concentrate on more important things.

Following that plan, I tended to some correspondence, then settled down with my typewriting machine, and prepared to transcribe my notes from the prior evening. I looked around the desk, but could not find my notebook. Frowning, I tried to remember what I had done with it. The horribly memory of the night before returned with a sick feeling in my stomach. “Oh, blast! The attack. I forgot all about it.”

Due to my emotional state after returning home from the Sherringham’s, I had neglected to report the assault to the police. Annoyed at the distraction, I dutifully placed a telephone call to the local police station and explained the situation. While waiting for a constable to stop by and take my report, I went upstairs to locate the notebook.

“Annie, have you seen my notebook? The one with the brown leather cover?”

“No, miss, I haven’t. Would it be in your bag?”

I pulled my head out from where I had been peering under the bed and sat back on my heels. “No, it’s too big for that. I thought it might have fallen out of my skirt, but I can’t find it. You didn’t take it out of my skirt pocket, by any chance?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Hmmm.”  I chewed my lip again in thought. “It must be in my coat. Have you seen . . . oh, good heavens!”

The sudden, horrible thought came to me that I was no longer in possession of my coat—I had given it to Helena the night before when her own had been ruined. I raced downstairs to locate the coat I had brought home. I had a vague memory of throwing it into the corner of the hall because of its stench.

My sister’s household staff is nothing if not efficient…no coat was lying anywhere in the hall. I went through the green baize door, hoping Mullin would know of its whereabouts. “Mullin, did you find a coat I left in the hall last night?”

He looked up from polishing a particularly ugly silver fish knife. “Yes, miss, I did. It seemed to be soiled, so I sent it to Smith. I hope I have not acted expeditiously.”

“No, not at all,” I said over my shoulder as I flew down the stairs to the basement. Smith was the laundress who came in three days a week to do our laundry. Luckily today was not one of her days. With a muted groan, I lifted Helena’s pink coat from the pile of garments.

“Oh—damn!” I swore out loud as I surveyed the offensive item, checking to be sure the notebook had not magically appeared in its pockets.

Every moment the notebook resided in Lord Sherringham’s house, the more opportunity he would have to stumble across it and read the notes I had so thoroughly taken. Sick at the thought of him becoming privy to the Union’s plans, I hurried up the stairs, leaving the coat behind.

 “The constable is here,” Mullin told me, interrupting my unhappy meditation.

I met him in the sitting room and succinctly gave him details of the assault, keeping Helena’s participation in the events out of the narrative.

“You ought to know better than to walk about by yourself at night, miss. It’s not like you was still in the country,” he lectured me.

“Am I correct in understanding, Constable Merrywhite,” I asked politely as we strolled out to the front steps to enjoy the sunny morning, “that it is unsafe for anyone to walk through this area of London at night?”

I gestured at the pleasant scene in front of us. Across from the house was a small square presently inhabited by a nanny whose two charges skipped alongside a pram, and an elderly gentleman who hobbled before them, waving his stick in greeting to a passing motor. On a bench facing the house sat a man in a brown checked suit and bowler. It was peaceful, serene, and utterly lacking in any threatening elements.

“It’s not wise for you to be walking anywhere at night by yourself, miss.”

The man on the bench looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. After a few moments he stretched, stood, and with a disinterested air, sauntered off down the block.

“How very odd…” I murmured.

“Not odd so much as unwise,” the constable corrected.

“No, I meant...never mind.” I thanked him for his advice and time, and returned to the house to consider the problem of the missing notebook. I had just settled down to write a note to Helena when I was summoned to the telephone.

“Cassandra, my dearest, I was hoping you would be home so I might call on you around tea time. I have an important subject to discuss with you.”

“Freddy, you are incorrigible. Your important subject wouldn’t happen to be one of a matrimonial nature?”

“My dear, your suspicious mind! Can a dearly loved cousin not visit without being expected to propose?”

I smiled. “In your case, I sincerely doubt it. I am engaged this afternoon, Freddy, so you won’t find me at home. What, if it wasn’t marriage, did you wish to discuss?”

 “Your happiness, dearest cousin,” he sighed dramatically.

“Freddy—”

“You know how devoted I am to you! It is not my own passionate feelings that I am considering. No, it is your welfare that is uppermost in my mind. I want to save you from the grief your life as a spinster must give—unloved, unwanted, moving from relation to relation in the fruitless quest for a home…”

“In other words, you want to save me from a life like yours,” I interrupted, laughing. “Thank you for the tenth proposal. Consider it denied.”

“My dearest, my own, think of what I offer! Position, a husband who worships you, protection—”

I wondered idly if I had told Cook to prepare chicken for dinner.

“Protection,” he repeated, his voice silky, “from all sorts of evils. With myself at your side, you would never need worry about your personal safety.”

“I don’t worry about my personal safety now, Freddy.”

“But you should, Cassandra. If you continue your connection with the suffragists, you must surely expose yourself to all sorts of violent elements, and I know how you abhor violence.”

“Freddy—” I protested, growing uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Beside Emma, Freddy was the only other person who knew what extreme lengths my father’s fury had often taken.

“Fairest one, I do not wish to cause you pain by reminding you of the unpleasantness of the past, indeed, it is my intention to shield you from ever having to experience such atrocities again. You must see, however, if you continue to pursue your work with the Union you run the risk of becoming involved in unwholesome situations.”

“Unwholesome? Freddy, you exaggerate.”

“Have you read the morning papers? There was a demonstration in Manchester last night. Three women were hospitalized with broken bones after the crowd assaulted them.”

I was silent, unsure of what to say.

“Cassandra, I have seen you beaten and bruised time after time, and was unable to do anything about it. I will not allow you to put yourself in such a position again.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that I had no choice in the matter of my father’s abuse, but I knew he hadn’t really meant to imply that I had
allowed
myself to be beaten. “Thank you for your concern. I can only promise you that I am using the utmost caution, and have every intention of continuing to do so. Now if there is nothing else, I really must go.”

“Cousin—”

“Good bye, Freddy,” I said firmly, and gently rang off.

It was noon when I sat down again to write Helena. I was not altogether sure if the note would reach its intended recipient. Lady Sherringham seemed the type of person who would feel no qualms about interfering with Helena’s mail. I was in the library, chewing on the end of a pen and staring at a blank sheet of writing paper, wondering what to say to Helena, when visitors were announced.

“I will never get this blasted note finished at this rate. Who is it now—”

I took the card Theodore the footman offered, and leaped up with an exclamation of joy. I almost trampled the poor lad so quick was I to run down the stairs, flinging open the door to the drawing room, and saying, “Helena! I am so glad you brought my coat. I was about to write to you to request it. You will never guess—”

Griffin
stood by the window. My heart jumped unreasonably, and suddenly there was no air in my lungs. He turned and looked at me curiously.

Helena
held out her hands as she approached, kissing me cheek as she said, “Please forgive us, dear Cassandra, for calling without notice. I hope we haven’t disturbed you.”

I looked at her elegant tweed walking suit with cream satin waistcoat, then down at my new dark green day dress with black corded piping and sighed to myself. No matter how new my clothes, Helena always succeeded in putting me to shame.

“Not at all,” I said weakly. I offered my hand to Griffin; he took it and looked at it as if it were something faintly unsavory, then released it and turned away.

I wondered what it was about him that had caught my unwilling fancy. Once I had thought him pleasant in appearance, but nothing more. But now I looked on his features—his nose a shade too pronounced, his jaw set with a firmness that belied obstinacy, his eyes perhaps a little too far apart—and my heart beat with a rhythm it had never adopted for anyone else. If only I could shake myself of this unreasonable interest in the man. Perhaps if I was to indulge myself in a carnal relationship with him, my ardor would cool.

I was considering just what form a carnal relationship might take when I realized that Helena was looking at me expectantly. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down.”

Helena
stood her ground. “I must first unburden myself and beg your forgiveness.”

“Beg my forgiveness?” I asked with confusion, amused by her dramatic air. “What on earth have you done to me that you need to be forgiven?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed to be having a hard time speaking. I looked at Griffin helplessly. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, sunlight from a nearby window casting a halo over his hair. His face was inscrutable as he watched his sister.