The Scandalous Suffragette

by Eliza Redgold

  He left the hall. To distract herself from their forthcoming conversation, and from the heat still warming her cheeks, she gazed again around the hall. It was beautiful. Even its age and shabbiness couldn’t disguise that. The evening sun that came through the diamond-shaped window panes lit the room in a golden glow, even though no fire or lamps were lit. But it would be draughty, she guessed, in the cold of winter.

  As she drew closer, she saw that the old oak table was highly polished. So, too, were the tall silver candlesticks upon it, with white wax candles in them, unlit. In spite of the obvious age of the Manor, there was not a sense of neglect. Adam had said there were not many staff, but they evidently worked hard. She wondered how much of that was to do with Adam’s obvious love for his home. From the way he had leapt down to open the gate for the coach driver, he was clearly thoughtful towards his staff and they doubtless respected him in turn.

  Behind the table hung a faded tapestry, depicting a hunt. It showed a similar stag to the stained window upstairs. Moving closer, she examined it. She was deeply interested in women’s handiwork. Why, the stitching was exquisite, but it needed repair, in places. She ran a gentle finger over it. A cloud of dust emanated at her lightest touch.

  ‘That tapestry is believed to have been hand-worked by a Beaufort.’

  Adam’s voice came from behind her.

  She swung around.

  He lifted the silver tray he carried. ‘Gatekeeper and now butler.’

  She smiled. She liked the side of Adam Beaufort she was seeing at Beauley Manor, but her stomach remained tight with nerves.

  He propped the tray on the table. ‘I hope you won’t be averse to some champagne and sandwiches.’

  Violet looked down at the tray of food. They weren’t the kind of sandwiches she expected to be served. Instead of thin, delicate quarters without a crust, thick slabs of bread encased orange slices of salmon and green curls of cress.

  ‘In Manchester we call sandwiches like those doorstops,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

  He looked perplexed.

  ‘Sandwiches that are so big you can keep doors open with them,’ she explained, wishing she had held her tongue.

  To her relief he laughed. ‘These ones might even keep the Beauley doors open. Forgive my handiwork. The cook has gone to London. Unfortunately my instructions have not been followed with regard to our meal, in the excitement of the wedding, no doubt.’

  He moved around the table to stand beside her. He seemed to carry the scent of the woods around Beauley Manor on his skin.

  ‘May I?’ He indicated towards the light satin coat she still wore. ‘Since I am playing butler.’

  He’d removed his dark frock coat and his necktie, too, leaving only the wine-coloured waistcoat and a pristine, cuffed white shirt, revealing his strong throat. She’d not seen that part of his body before. She tried not to stare. ‘Thank you.’

  He shifted behind her, his presence even more acute. With suddenly fumbling fingers she undid the pearl buttons at her bodice that held the coat together and shrugged it off. Without touching her, he stretched his arms around to lift it from her shoulders. Only his warm fingers brushed hers as her he took it away.

  He laid it over one of the carved chairs and pulled out another for her.

  She sank on to the chair with a sense of relief as he lit first one, then another of the tall white candles.

  He shook the match to blow it out. ‘Parts of Beauley are still to be converted to electricity.’

  Violet hid her surprise at the information. By the tightening of his jaw made evident in the flickering candlelight, she suspected it was another expense his father had spent at the gaming tables instead.

  A cork popped. Adam poured the champagne into round, flat glasses and passed her one. ‘What shall we toast on our wedding night? Perhaps you would care to make it.’

  Violet raised her glass.

  ‘To women’s suffrage,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Indeed.’ He, too, raised his glass, the dent playing in his cheek. ‘And to Beauley Manor. Let us toast our respective causes.’

  He touched his glass to hers. As he did so, their fingers brushed again.

  Violet took a gulp of champagne.

  Silently he passed her the plate of sandwiches. Both the bread and the salmon was fresh. It tasted delicious.

  ‘I was hungrier than I thought,’ she said between mouthfuls.

  ‘I thought you may be.’ He, too, finished one sandwich and then another.

  ‘Would you care for another glass of champagne?’ he asked.

  Violet shook her head. She couldn’t wait any longer. Plain speaking was always best. ‘At the church. At the end of the wedding ceremony...’

  Adam laid his champagne glass on the table. ‘Did you want me to kiss you?’

  Her face flushed again.

  ‘I hadn’t considered it beforehand.’ Yet she had almost kissed him, she had to admit to herself. It had seemed so natural.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s why I didn’t.’

  The wooden legs of his chair scraped across the tiled floor as he pushed it back. Going to the window he pulled the curtains across the glass, leaving the room in darkness, except at the table, where the pool of candlelight reflected the silver candlesticks in the polished top.

  Violet stared at the stag on the tapestry. In the flickering light it seemed almost to move as fast as her beating pulse.

  He returned to his seat. With only the candlelight now to see by, his expression was more difficult to discern. ‘I have no dispute with our marriage of convenience. The terms suit us both well. But it might be prudent if we discuss further the practicalities of keeping our physical contact to a minimum.’

  Violet gulped. ‘Oh.’

  He reached for his glass. ‘We must avoid...entanglements.’

  She drew a breath. ‘Entanglements...?’

  He drank again, more deeply. ‘It seems insensitive to discuss the subject on our wedding day.’

  ‘We agreed to plain speaking,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Indeed.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps it will make it easier if I explain more fully why our current arrangement will suit me.’

  Violet nodded. She wanted to know more about him, very much. Beauley and its owner were beginning to fascinate her.

  His eyes darkened. ‘I grew up in this house, as you know. But there are certain aspects of life at Beauley I wish to leave behind. My parents had a volatile marriage, exacerbated by my father’s drinking and gambling. There were constant quarrels, angry arguments, that took place right here in this hall. I have no wish to witness such scenes in my life ever again.’

  He spoke with detached control, but Violet could sense the profound sense of unhappiness reined in by his dispassionate words. Suddenly, she could picture him as a young boy, listening to his parents rage at each other.

  ‘It must have been terrible for you,’ she said with compassion.

  He shrugged. ‘It was a difficult environment for a child, certainly. There was constant tension, with the threat of unpleasant scenes, or worse. That’s why it is so important to me that we be honest and open with each other.’

  Her stomach lurched. She wished she’d been able to be more honest with him at the hotel, about delivering the letter. But she’d had no choice.

  ‘For years, the whole of Beauley Manor has been in chaos,’ he went on. ‘It is something I abhor. My goal now is to bring security and stability to the family, to the estate.’ He slid aside the candle to look directly into her eyes. ‘There’s another matter to consider that we have not discussed. We have no idea how long we might have to wait until women get the vote. We must have a way out.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she gasped. Her racing pulse seemed to thud to a halt.

  He reached f
or his glass. ‘If our circumstances change, we need to be able to release each other with the minimum of unhappiness.’

  Violet stared at him in shock. ‘You’ve considered how we would release each other from our marriage?’

  ‘In theory,’ he said, after a draught of champagne. ‘Of course. It is certainly not my intention to do so. I made a vow today and I intend to honour it.’

  ‘So do I,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘Even so. We do not know what the future holds. We both entered this arrangement with our eyes open, but we must be aware of the possible dangers.’

  Violet looked down at her plate. One of her doorstop sandwiches was still unfinished. She pushed the plate away. Her appetite had disappeared. ‘It seems I have been somewhat naïve,’ she said after a moment.

  He set down his glass, his fingers firm around the stem. ‘We’re in uncharted territory. Marriages of convenience don’t come with a handbook.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I suppose I ought not to have kissed you, when you made your proposal.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he drawled, ‘I’m very glad you did.’ His unexpected smile took the tension from their conversation as he toyed with his champagne glass. ‘You were right to assess our, ah, compatibility. But as we do not know how long our terms of agreement must last, it’s important we consider all the eventualities. It would be irresponsible not to do so.’

  Violet reached for her own glass of champagne and finished it in a gulp. She wished now she had accepted his offer of a second glassful. ‘The day will come when women can vote. Soon. I’m sure of it.’

  He shrugged. ‘We can’t predict anything. Until then, we must take no risks. I will respect the terms of our agreement, in word and deed. Entirely.’

  ‘That sounds very sensible,’ she said.

  Adam nodded. ‘It seems a logical way to move forward. It’s for the best.’

  Violet held out her glass. ‘I think I would like some more champagne, after all.’

  * * *

  Violet slipped the tin of Floral Creams under the lace-edged pillow. She always kept some chocolate fondants in her bedroom, in case of hunger pangs in the night. Not always under her pillowcase, it was true, but tonight, she wanted to have them close by. She felt oddly in need of some familiar reassurance and she didn’t fancy having to find her way to the cellar kitchens of Beauley Manor.

  She smoothed out the pillowcase. Like the rest of the manor, the pillowcase had seen better days, but it was beautifully laundered. The feathers were flattened and the lace was full of holes, but the linen, the pillowcases and the sheets were of good quality, the kind that would last.

  A massive, carved four-poster bed, curtained with faded red-and-gold brocade, dominated the room. An unlit stone fireplace, browed with a chimney piece that appeared to be a single tree trunk, faced the bed.

  At one end of the room were a chest of drawers, pitcher and basin, and two massive wardrobes that still would never fit all the garments in her trunks.

  She snapped open the brass catches of one of her leather trunks and threw back the lid, rummaging to find her nightgown and peignoir. The rest of her matching luggage, two even larger trunks and four suitcases emblazoned with her new initials, V.R.B., were beside it. Their brass and leather gleamed. In spite of the size of the room, they took up a sizeable portion of the wooden floor.

  She held up the nightgown before laying it on the bed. The sheer fabric was so light it could balloon into the air, as Violet had demonstrated at one of her trousseau fittings, to her mama’s protestations. It was made of the finest lawn, so diaphanous her shape could be made out beneath, but not enough to be too revealing if she did not wish to be so. Embroidered white on white, it had fashionable half-sleeves and tied with a ribbon under the bust. The peignoir that covered it was longer and looser, wrapping over the sheer bodice.

  They were made to be seen by a bridegroom on a wedding night, but they would not be seen by hers.

  Violet glanced towards the oak double doors adjacent to the window.

  Beyond those doors, in the connecting room, was Adam. It was extraordinary how strongly she could sense his presence, even through the heavy wooden doors. Or perhaps she was being fanciful.

  His side of the room, which she had seen only briefly, was of a similar size to hers, with another large bed, though without the wooden posters. It was sparsely furnished with heavy oak furniture. She realised a stone fireplace set into the same wall as the connecting doors also served his side of the room.

  She wondered what he was doing. Was he, too, staring at the closed doors?

  She dragged her attention away from the doors and moved to look out of the window. Their bedroom was at the back of the manor and she could see little now, in the darkness. The garden at the rear had not been fully tamed, Adam had told her, when he showed her the bedrooms and explained how their rooms connected. There was a river, too, and a wooded path that led to the marshes beyond, he’d said, before leaving her alone for the night. From the other side of the door, the key had turned in the lock. It was for her sense of privacy, she was sure, but it made her feel surprisingly alone and, to her consternation, a little frightened.

  She lifted her chin. There was nothing to fear in the manor. It had been a long day and now she was in a strange environment. That was all. With a sigh she pulled closed the curtains. The fabric was ancient, possibly hand-stitched. She examined it more closely. As downstairs, the work was magnificent, but somewhat worse for wear.

  Slipping off her satin shoes, thankfully undamaged by their run through London, she trod the wooden floor on her silk-stockinged feet.

  Opposite the four-poster bed was a dressing table. It was clearly a woman’s piece of furniture and it struck an unusual note in the room. It was far more modern than the rest of the heavy oak fixtures. Made of a light, golden wood, its curves were highly polished. In front of it was a round pink-velvet stool.

  Violet stood in front of the mirror, she untied her silk sash and let it fly, like a banner. It floated to the floor in a silk ribbon of white, purple and green. The embroidered violets lay as if in fallen snow.

  ‘Did you want me to kiss you?’

  Adam’s words rang in her head.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you. That’s why I didn’t.’

  Rapidly, she unbuttoned the pearls that held her sleeves closed at the elbow. It was difficult to undo the buttons at the back and front without help.

  She glanced towards the connecting door.

  No entanglements.

  She was surprised at the complexity of emotions his comments at dinner had raised in her. She’d married him knowing that their relationship would be platonic, to begin with at least. Of course, it was sensible to avoid further physical contact. Yet she could not deny her attraction to him. It had begun at the ball, with that heavenly waltz, though she’d managed to quash it. And then, that kiss...

  Her fingers faltered on her bodice. That kiss had awoken sensations that she hadn’t anticipated, sensations that seemed to pull her closer to him, even as common sense pushed her away.

  She must not allow her attraction to her husband to become a distraction. Through their marriage she had gained her freedom. It was fortunate that the terms of their agreement suited them both so well. As Adam had said, it mustn’t be put at risk.

  Finally, she managed to release all the pearl buttons. Removing the dress with care, she stood in her camisole and busked corset that cinched her waist into the fashionable, S-shaped hourglass. Some called it the health corset, though Violet had always found it as uncomfortable as any other.

  Next she removed her white-silk waist petticoat, letting it form a circle of lace and ruffles at her feet.

  Stepping out of the pile of ruffles, she pulled out the velvet dressing-table stool. It twirled as she spun it and sat down. The seat was a trifle unsteady, but the tri-mirror r
eflected her from the front and both sides. Her eyes were bright, larger in her face than usual, and she could see the tension around her mouth.

  She ran her finger over her lips.

  ‘Did you want me to kiss you?’

  The question came again.

  She hadn’t known the answer to his question when he asked it.

  Be honest, she told her reflection in the mirror. She’d expected him to kiss her, stood in front of the altar, after they’d been pronounced man and wife.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you. That’s why I didn’t.’

  She rubbed her fingers on her scalp. Her head hinted at an ache. Too much champagne.

  With the release of a few hairpins she loosened her hair. It tumbled to her shoulders. She reached instinctively for her hairbrush, but it wasn’t on the glass table top. It must be in her trunk.

  Kneeling in front of it, she delved inside. No hairbrush. With a groan at its weight, she pulled out one of the other, larger trunks and threw back the lid.

  With an enormous crash, the trunk vanished in a cloud of dust.

  Violet shrieked.

  * * *

  Adam heard Violet cry out from the next room from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He’d shrugged off his waistcoat, unbuttoned his shirt and was now pulling off one of his boots.

  At the sound of her voice he slid the boot back on and leapt to his feet.

  ‘Damnation.’ The key jammed in the lock of the connecting doors. It hadn’t been used for years. His mother had taken a separate room, which she still occupied, a long distance from her husband years before.

  He slammed his foot against the wood, gave the key a sharp turn and wrenched it open.

  Violet, her face streaked with dust, stared up at him from across the room. She knelt near the bed, leaning over what appeared to be a huge hole in the floor.

  ‘What the blazes!’ Adam rushed to her side, seized her by the shoulder and hauled her back from the jagged wooden edge. ‘Get back!’

  He tugged her to safety. Shivering with fear, she clambered to her feet.