Wayward Winds (11 page)

 18 
Society

Even in the modern times of 1911, the majority of the country's aristocracy measured the passing of every new year by the events and functions of the English social calendar. Though the newly powerful business class of which her husband was a part paid such things little heed, Martha Rutherford was no businesswoman.

Like most of her breed, the wife of Amanda's father's cousin loved the
old
ways of society.

Martha Rutherford's mother had been a social climber of sorts, not too successful it is true, but sufficiently to have passed on to her daughter the hunger for that level of society fated to remain forever just beyond their family's reach. She had long ago made peace with her station in life. It did tend to get dreary, however, when everyone vacated the city each fall for the north and west. When overhearing dames and ladies in conversation, poor Martha found herself longing for an estate like Heathersleigh. How fashionable it would be to leave London for one's country villa when Parliament adjourned in August, and then return to the city for the winter and spring social seasons.

Though not titled like his cousin, Gifford Rutherford was of sufficiently ancient name and certainly of sufficient net worth to give himself and his wife the necessary prestige to move about with ease in the lower echelons of society. These days wealth had
nearly
as much to do with one's rung on the ladder of status as did title. On that score Gifford's standing was secure enough. He could have bought
any five country estates he had wanted. But without title, people talked. The snubs were not particularly subtle toward those who tried to appear more
landed
than they had a right to be. Invitations dried up, conversations cooled. Better to be rich
without
an estate than to pretend. Money was useful as far as it went. But there were some circles into which not even a fortune could buy.

Gifford had already pushed propriety ever so slightly with his purchase of Lord Berkeley's former home on highly fashionable Curzon Street only a quarter mile from Park Lane. Eyebrows had gone up around Mayfair at the time, but most accepted the fact on the basis of what everyone recognized as the changing mores of the modern age.

In years gone by, self-respecting English “gentlemen” had little in the way of occupation to bother with, other than making sure the income from their estates came in on time. The diversion of sporting events was what really got the blood going. The year's social events in London originally came to be associated loosely with the schedule of the House of Lords, whose members anticipated their adjournments no less than schoolchildren awaiting holiday. Their recesses were scheduled for the precise purpose of enjoying those sporting events.

The
real
business throughout the fall months was the hunt. It wouldn't do to have to attend to politics when the foxes were running and the hounds must be after them, and when grouse and pheasant and deer were plentiful.

Grouse season opened in mid-August, when Parliament adjourned. Everyone who was anyone headed north, either to their own “grouse moor” in Scotland, or to that of an acquaintance. Those who weren't fortunate enough to have a lodge in Scotland retreated to their lodges elsewhere in the country. Partridge season began in September, the pheasant season in October, and on the first Monday of November at last came the traditional opening of the fox season.

After the weather turned too cold for such outdoor pursuits, only then did the lords and their ladies think of locking up their hunting lodges and vacating their country estates and returning to London to prepare for the opening of Parliament. A modest round of winter social functions followed.

The height of the London social season opened, however, a few months later, after the return of Parliament from its Easter break and another brief visit to the country. Throughout spring and early
summer the city witnessed a constant round of parties and horse-racing events, when the intent of the ladies was to be seen in their newest dresses and finest jewelry.

This was the time of the year when the new crop of maturing young ladies was officially presented to society. Fathers and young men throughout London used the occasion to survey the landscape for the most suitable matches. When the reign of Queen Victoria was at its height, young girls throughout the empire dreamed of nothing more than being presented at the royal court as the most exciting possible debut of all into this magical world of balls and beaux.

The annual exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art came in May, and was usually the first major gala event of the season. A whirlwind of dinners and balls, parties and breakfasts, followed. The Derby and Ascot came in either May or June, followed in July by the Henley Regatta and numerous cricket matches. As the summer progressed and the weather warmed, talk between men gradually turned toward the grouse, and between the women to what new engagements the season had witnessed and who they were planning to visit in the fall. For when August arrived, it would be time for the whole year's cycle to begin all over again.

 19 
Amanda's Coming Out

The wife of Gifford Rutherford did not care for the twentieth century's modernism. The new informality and equality between the classes, not to mention between the sexes, was not for her. If the fabric that held society together broke down, where would England be then?

And voting—heavens!

In Martha's eyes, the idea of women wanting to vote was much ado about nothing. Who could possibly care about voting! Let the men handle the world's affairs and good riddance.

For Martha Rutherford, Amanda represented a link to the social circles she had once longed to be part of, yet who had only been familiar with its lower portions. Nor had she had a daughter of her own, a fact which hadn't helped propel her higher. To be able to take the girl under her charge would give Martha grounds to insert herself into the very middle of it, and now to a greater extent than her
own
position had previously justified.

Amanda was, after all, the daughter of a Knight Grand Commander. Her father's standing as lord of the manor of Heathersleigh did not quite make him a peer. But it was certainly far more title than Gifford could lay claim to. Along with Charles' high parliamentary reputation, and the fact that Amanda would be two or three years older than most of the year's new debutantes . . . Martha had no doubt that within weeks Amanda would be the talk of London.

It might even turn out in her favor that she had waited so long to come out. It would add to the interest shown her. And
she
would be there at Amanda's side!

Amanda's reasons for wanting to be part of the glamorous society scene were not so very different from her cousin's. All her life she had dreamed of attending a ball on the arm of her father. They had talked about taking London by storm. He had then shut himself off from all that in favor of his religion. And she had been shut out of it in the process. She had hoped coming to live with the Pankhursts would involve her in the life of her girlish fancies. In reality she spent more time in streets than in ballrooms. Now all at once Cousin Martha had made it possible to rekindle those former dreams.

Martha and Amanda Rutherford, an unlikely pair, each had a large store of personal hopes as together they entered into the round of social events during the remainder of the spring of 1911. Both were caught up in shopping and fittings and plans. Amanda's spirits rose higher than they had been in a year. As her name began to circulate, new invitations began to pour in.

Martha's husband Gifford watched it all with amused satisfaction. He shrewdly appeared now and then, carrying himself with detached fatherly demeanor. He would imperceptibly deepen Amanda's dependence upon him for her newfound and rapidly climbing social standing. He was willing for the perception to spread among their associations, though nothing was
said
—the girl must not hear it prematurely—that Amanda and his son Geoffrey had an “understanding” as to how things were between them.

Mrs. Pankhurst saw a change in Amanda immediately. Most days now, instead of participating in rallies and protests, Amanda was off to Curzon Street to spend the day with Martha. If she felt torn between her two worlds, she did not show it. Mrs. Pankhurst was wise enough in the ways of the world, however, to recognize the advantage one such as Amanda represented. Her value was based on the fact that she was the daughter of Sir Charles Rutherford, not because Amanda brought one more foot soldier into the ranks. A thousand young women in England would have given anything to live in the Pankhurst home. All the while, however, it never dawned on Amanda that had she been the daughter of a commoner, the invitation to take up residence with them would never have been extended in the first place.

Therefore, Mrs. Pankhurst said nothing about Amanda's fling with society. She could bide her time for the present in order to keep so great a prize safely within the ranks of their cause.

Amanda knew far less of the world than she thought. Thinking herself sophisticated in the ways of adulthood, she yet remained oblivious to the many motives swirling like an invisible dust cloud about her. Imagining that she held the reins of her fate in her own hands and had stepped with maturity into her stature as a woman, in many respects she was merely a pawn in a larger chess game with a growing range of players. Unknown to her, another was already watching for the opportunity to stealthily make use of this particular pawn in a far higher contest already under way.

She despised the fact that her father had prevented her from attaining her most cherished ambitions. Sir Charles Rutherford, however, occupied the vital and pivotal center from which many of these wheels in Amanda's life turned. It was because of
him
that people were interested in
her
. Though Amanda perceived it not, it was the power her father represented which was opening the doors now before her.

They were doors that would lead for a little while to her pleasure and satisfaction . . . but ultimately to her danger.