A Woman's Place

by Maggie Ford

  As if to emphasise her decision, Connie dropped the spoon down into the saucer and picked up her cup, draining the half-cold liquid in several large gulps as if her life depended on it, then slamming the cup back down on to the saucer enough to have cracked it across.

  She was weeping openly now, tears falling into the empty cup. ‘I don’t know what to do. Even after all that’s happened, I miss being at home. I’ve never been on my own before.’

  Eveline came to herself with a start. ‘First thing in the morning,’ she said, now in control, ‘you must find George and tell him what’s happened.’

  She saw Connie look up with near terror in her hazel eyes. ‘What if it frightens him, off, telling him what I’ve done, all that worry I’m putting on him? I can’t go back home after what’s happened.’

  ‘He’ll still want you if he’s all you say he is.’

  ‘But with his mother to look after, how can I heap this on him too?’

  ‘If he loves you.’

  ‘He does. But I can’t burden him with this. Imagine turning up and telling him I’ve nowhere to live. He’ll think I’m asking him to take me in.’

  Eveline needed time to think. ‘You can’t stay in a hotel in this state,’ she said. ‘Not on your own. Have you got any money?’

  She could imagine Connie running off without thinking, hardly a few shillings in her purse. Connie shrugged despondently, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, becoming aware that people were looking at her.

  ‘I can draw from my bank account.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday – banks are closed.’

  Connie wasn’t listening. ‘My father gives me an allowance, though I expect that will stop now. I’ve a few pounds on me and my cheque book, but it’s being away from home all on my own that’s frightening.’

  ‘You’re not on your own. You’ve got George. Go and see him tomorrow.’

  She looked so dejected that Eveline found herself debating all sorts of ways out for her other than being all on her own in a strange hotel. She was aware the WSPU had hostels for young women coming into town from afar, but Connie would still be spending a night alone and in her present state, that was unthinkable.

  On a sudden whim she said, ‘Look, come back with me. My gran might be able to put you up for the night, then in the morning we can think more clearly. You can share my bed. It’s a double.’

  She saw Connie become attentive but had she been too hasty with her solution, not stopping to think what Gran might say to her bringing home a stranger and asking for her to be put up as well?

  ‘My Gran lives across the street from my parents. I’m lucky I had her to go to. She’s a wonderful person. She understands what the suffragettes go through and what they are fighting for.’

  It was said with pride. Gran was as sprightly as she’d been fifteen years ago and exceptionally modern for one of seventy, unlike most people of her age, who dwelled in the past. Even though she loved to tell stories of her past life, she was strong, resourceful, calm in a crisis and ready to face up to anything. Her motto was, ‘Don’t ever let today’s problems get you down, ’cos by next year they’ll all be behind you and be replaced by another lot!’

  Eveline often felt quite envious that she wasn’t more like her, though Mum in moments of annoyance towards her often accused her of being too much like your blooming grandmother! Gran being a stubborn old devil, she and Mum had never been able to see eye-to eye. She couldn’t help smiling, wondering if that was why Gran had taken her under her wing, to show her disapproval of Mum taking her father’s side against their child.

  Eveline gravely regarded her grandmother as the door opened. ‘Gran, this is my friend, Constance Mornington.’

  Quickly she explained Connie’s predicament while her grandmother regarded the girl as though able to see into her mind. She was like that – she discerned things others failed to.

  There was a lot of wisdom behind the way she looked at most things, seldom shocked by this modern world. Where most women of seventy clung to their dark bonnets, she moved with the times; her figure was trim and upright, she’d wear a fashionably large hat and Eveline suspected her of secretly using tinted rinses to temper the grey hair, even occasionally a false piece coyly known as a transformation.

  It was good to see someone of her age still caring enough to want to look young. She could have walked alongside any of the older suffragettes, just as brisk, plucky, resolute and unafraid.

  Gran had switched her gaze back to her. ‘Well, if your friend is going to stay, you’d best both come in.’

  Having sized up the situation, she’d already assumed Connie’s stay could be a long one but didn’t seem at all put out and again Eveline felt that stir of envy, but one that also held a lot of love.

  The young woman had the look of someone utterly lost, of someone spoiled by a sheltered life, now suddenly on her own and totally unable to deal with it.

  Victoria Ansell smiled to herself. Trust Eveline to assume responsibility for someone else’s problem. With her kind heart she always had been one for strays, so to speak. She’d lost count of the bedraggled cats Eveline as a child had brought to her door, the mangy creature cradled in her clean pinafore.

  ‘Gran, can it have something to eat? It looks starved. Mum won’t let me bring it upstairs or into the shop. Just a drop of milk or something?’

  She always managed to find food, as with old and young heads together they’d crouch on her kitchen floor to watch the frail creature drink and eat whatever was placed before it. Sometimes it left, having filled itself up, or stayed for a day or two if poorly, being cared for before being sent on its way. No pets were allowed in these dwellings other than a canary or linnet. Sometimes it died, was wrapped in newspaper and consigned to one of the dustbins in the yard that separated one row of Waterlow Buildings from another, Eveline intoning a childish and tearful prayer over its tin grave.

  After she turned seventeen there were no more stray cats; her mind became focused on higher things, stray boys mostly, and cats had taken a bit of a back seat. Victoria missed those days. It was nice having her here again, comforting.

  She’d got used to living alone, hardly noticed it until Eveline came to stay, making her realise that she had been on her own. But eventually the girl would go back home, once her parents forgave her as in time they must, leaving her to feel lonelier than she’d ever been since Herbert died.

  She could recall when this letting had been a bustling place; her brood, four girls, three boys, filling these three rooms, the boys in one bed in what was now her back parlour, with a curtain to separate it from where everyone ate. The girls all shared one bedroom, she and Herbert occupied the other, very often with a baby in a cot and the next youngest in the bed with them.

  She had been nineteen when she’d had her first child; one by one they’d married and left home. Two sons were dead now, the youngest killed in the Boer War, the other from pneumonia. The third lived in New Zealand with his family – she heard from them once a year. Two girls were also dead, both in childbirth. The grandchildren, with kids of their own, she seldom saw. Life was like that; they go off, one by one, forget. The Ansells had never been all that close-knit, not like some East End families with family parties for every occasion – their sing-songs could be heard most Saturday nights all the way down the street.

  Only three of her brood were still living. Her daughter Hilda had moved up north years ago, to Yorkshire with her husband, and hadn’t been down this way for years. She might write occasionally; she usually forgot her mother’s birthday but sent a Christmas card. Hilda’s three children, also with kids of their own, except the youngest, didn’t know her though they knew their paternal grandparents who lived with them. And there was Dora to whose husband, Len, Herbert had handed over the shop, and who lived over the road. But for the little she saw of her, she might as well be living in Yorkshire too.

  At least Dora’s Tilly, married last year and now expecting, and Fred, married
two years ago with a little boy, visited now and again, and for that she should be grateful. But for now she had Eveline all to herself. It was like a breath of fresh air and she’d begun to feel ten years younger.

  ‘Sit yerselves down,’ she said to the two girls. ‘Tell me what’s the matter.’

  She waited as both exchanged glances from beneath their enormous hats, the newcomer distinctly embarrassed. What was she embarrassed about? She didn’t strike Victoria as being in the family way. When a woman is in that condition it would show at a glance, even in the early stages – by the eyes, a certain glow. But this haunted look had something to do with a man, she was sure. Victoria took a guess. Trouble at home because of it perhaps, and she’d been told to leave. Victoria took stock of her: well dressed, well spoken too, she noticed when the girl had hesitantly returned her greeting, the sort of person you wouldn’t be afraid to have staying in your home.

  She was on the verge of coming to a conclusion when Eveline began, ‘It is all right, isn’t it, Gran, putting Connie up? We won’t be no trouble sharing my bed? Just for tonight until she gets herself together.’

  Just like the cats.

  Victoria smiled at the girls. ‘For as long as she needs to.’

  Why had she said that? Was it the bleak look that at those words had instantly changed to a grateful smile of relief, that pretty face lighting up?

  ‘So long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with your friend,’ she said to Eveline.

  Eveline shook her head. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said readily, the other giving such a smile of acquiescence and relief that Victoria felt her old heart go out to her.

  As for herself, she felt a gladness that she’d not experienced in years, now that her home was once more filled with youth and all its exuberance.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘It’s all arranged.’ Connie’s eyes were shining. ‘We’re to be married in three weeks, the eleventh of December. The banns are being called at St John’s this Sunday.’

  Impulsively, Eveline flung her arms about her. ‘Oh, Connie, I’m ever so pleased for you. You and George deserve every happiness after what you’ve been through.’

  George’s mother had passed away quite suddenly at the beginning of October. He’d no doubt loved her, probably remembering a time when she had been young and healthy, but as a sick woman who, Connie said, had been steadily losing her wits this past year, her death had nevertheless released him from the responsibility of caring for her.

  When he had proposed to Connie not long afterwards, she had readily accepted but had refused to live anywhere near Perivale.

  ‘Nothing would ever persuade me to live within a hundred miles of my parents after all that has happened,’ she told Eveline. ‘Besides, my friends are here, those who helped me when I needed it most. Who would I know if I went elsewhere to live?’

  Connie had changed little since coming to live in Bethnal Green, still a lady in many ways, not given to making new friends easily. But a liveliness was beginning to seep through that her upbringing had probably tried to smother as being too unladylike. She’d persuaded George to give up his landlord-owned house and come to live nearby. He, like the easy-going man he was, had consented, finding himself a modest room in a nicer part of this area, Cambridge Heath Road not far from Victoria Park.

  Being nearer to him had helped her through the trauma of her family’s cruel rejection though sometimes Eveline saw moments of pensiveness and guessed she’d never forget what they’d done. George, though, was the best thing that could have happened to Connie.

  ‘I don’t want to go too far from here to live,’ she’d said. ‘George has had a small rise in salary so he has put down three weeks’ rent on a fourth-floor flat in Corfield Street, not too expensive but bright and sunny.’

  That was the next road to Gran’s flat. Parallel to the block in which she lived, Eveline would practically be able to lean out of the back room window and wave across the wide central yard to Connie. But she would miss their time together at Gran’s.

  She meant to continue living with her grandmother if she was happy with that. Although her family had come round to her going back home, she liked it here. It did give them more room at home and Gran did seem to like having her around.

  ‘It gives me something to look forward to, you coming ’ome for me to cook a meal for. I didn’t realise just how lonely it was ’ere until you came ’ere to live. I do enjoy your company, my dear.’

  ‘It won’t be for ever though,’ Eveline told her. ‘One day I’ll be married too and having a place of my own.’

  A stir of envy had caught her when Connie had told her of George’s proposal. She’d heard nothing of Larry since the day he’d closed the door on her. Sometimes her heart would feel so heavy it was as if she had a lump of lead inside her. She tried not to admit it, but she was growing anxious when September and October came and her period hadn’t. Now, mid-November had arrived and another period had been missed. Gran was giving her looks.

  When nothing happened that first time, she’d really believed it could only be due to her bad experiences in prison. Gran had been ready to believe it too.

  When again nothing happened last month, she finally told in more detail what she’d previously been unable to put into words: the two days of forced feeding, the shock of it, the pain not only to her throat but deep inside her chest cavity, the feeling that her eardrums had been ready to burst, her diaphragm burning as though it were on fire, the faintness that had followed, and the sense of having been totally violated.

  Seeing the anger and revulsion on her grandmother’s normally serene face as she recounted it all, Eveline had again convinced herself that her ordeal had to have left its mark, physically, as it was doing on other women who were at this moment being returned to prison, twice and three times over, to suffer the same ordeal when refusing to eat, their health sometimes being ruined by it.

  She’d read in the papers that questions were being asked by some members of parliament, but with the People’s Budget considered to be infinitely more important, forced feeding was constantly being pushed to the back.

  She continued to take comfort that if some women’s health was being affected, perhaps hers too had been. But the real reason for that second missed period was now making itself only too apparent with feelings of sickness in the mornings and her breasts growing tender to the touch, and Gran’s concern was beginning to take a different path.

  ‘If you really think there’s something gone wrong inside you,’ she said in a tone that wasn’t as sympathetic as it had once been, ‘you’d best see a doctor in case some real damage ’as been done.’

  A visit to a doctor was becoming imperative. It confirmed her worst fears; she was pronounced to be three months pregnant. The news had her in tears being held tightly to her grandmother’s thin bosom.

  ‘You’re going to ’ave to sort this out with that chap you was seeing. He’s going to ’ave to do right by you. You don’t need to be told what a silly-billy you’ve been, child.’

  Gently she rocked Eveline as though she were indeed a child. ‘No need for your mum to know yet. Time enough when you can’t hide it any more. That’ll be a while yet if you keep your corset laces a bit lightish.’

  The new style of healthier corset, said to be kinder to the figure, giving a shape known as the ‘S’ bend, would hide any bulge quite a bit longer.

  ‘Your mum’s already shown you the door so not much she can do over this and no point upsetting ’er at this stage. And you never know, the young man might do the right thing and marry you before you show.’

  Eveline had her doubts but said nothing. She’d told no one she’d not seen Larry from that day she’d called on him.

  ‘What if he don’t want to do the right thing by me?’ she ventured, already visualising him backing out in alarm. On this occasion she’d break her vow, go and see him. Gran was usually right and in desperation she took comfort from that. Perhaps, when he saw her distress
, his love might be rekindled. She could only pray it would.

  ‘What if he don’t?’ she put the question again.

  Her grandmother held her at arm’s length to look into her eyes. ‘If you think that could be the case then I don’t think much of him. But there are ways of not … well, you know … I mean of not having it. I don’t trust them women what set themselves up to ’elp such as them in your straits, but …’

  She paused, not wanting to mention the word abortionist. To say it outright would offend her delicate sensibilities, even though her granddaughter had already been indelicate enough to get herself in these straits.

  The significant pause brought an immediate flush of humiliation and shame to Eveline’s cheeks, more than if it had been said outright. Frantically she shook her head. ‘Oh, Gran, I couldn’t do anything like that. I couldn’t!’

  Tears welled afresh in her eyes as once more she took refuge in Gran’s arms. She knew that tomorrow she had to see Larry. Where else could she turn? One thing she knew: she couldn’t face anything so abhorrent and sordid as subjecting herself to the probing and other unspeakable things she’d heard was done by those women her gran had spoken of – so awful that Gran had even broken off mid-sentence. The thought of rejection by Larry, and having to resort to what Gran was proposing, was making her feel physically sick.

  Looking at the two young women, none would ever have believed it was Connie’s wedding day. The thought came as Victoria helped the girl into her wedding dress. Every now and again she glanced towards Eveline. Both girls were as subdued as if they were going to a funeral.

  If nothing else, Connie should have been excited about her bridal gown, which had a cream alpaca fitted bodice with a chiffon yoke and a front panel to the skirt with a pleated waistband, quite formal in a way except for the trimming of white Honiton lace, which matched her veil. Somehow, formality suited her tall and slender regal stature, befitting her good upbringing. Contrasting with the gleaming white, Eveline’s bridesmaid’s gown was pale heliotrope chiffon that at least helped to bring some brighter highlights to her quite ordinary dark brown hair and light brown eyes.