He clenched his jaw. Her response to him earlier, or, rather, her initiation of further exploration, had brought him to his senses. He wouldn’t make love to her in the river, though God knew he’d wanted to. No. He wouldn’t make love to her at all. That was their agreement.
‘It ought not to have happened,’ he said evenly. ‘It’s important we stick to the terms of our agreement. I told you I could control myself and I can.’
‘It wasn’t only your fault,’ she said quickly. ‘It was mine, too.’
She moved a step closer.
The solar door flung open.
They sprang apart.
Jane rushed in. ‘Oh, Adam, Violet! I have bad news.’
‘Is it Mama?’ Adam asked. With some kind of miracle he kept his voice offhand as he retrieved his whisky glass and sat down.
Jane nodded. ‘She’s much worse. She’s not going to be well enough to attend the garden party. Certainly, she says she cannot give the opening speech.’
‘That will be a relief to her, I dare say,’ said Adam.
Jane giggled. Then she wrung her fingers together. ‘Who will open the party? Will you do it, Adam?’
‘There’s no need for me to do it.’ Adam glanced over the rim of his glass at Violet. ‘We have another Mrs Beaufort on hand. Violet can open the garden party.’
‘What?’ Violet exclaimed.
She’d moved away, back to her sewing basket, the image of composure, but he knew better. Her cheeks, always tell-tale, were pinker than usual.
‘You’re perfectly capable of welcoming the people from the village and all the local dignitaries to Beauley Manor, aren’t you?’ Adam enquired.
Violet shook her head, sent her chestnut curls rippling. ‘It ought not to be me. How about you, Jane?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jane laughed. ‘I could never give a speech.’
‘Then Arabella.’
‘What about Arabella?’ Her elder sister-in-law had come into the solar, behind Jane.
‘Would you like to make the opening speech?’ Violet asked.
‘If Mama is unable to attend the garden party, then it is Violet’s role to play hostess,’ said Arabella.
‘But this is your home, Arabella.’
Adam glanced at Violet. He’d noticed how thoughtful she was to his mother and sisters. By rights Violet ought to have the higher status. As his wife, Beauley Manor belonged to her now. Yet she was always careful not to take up any role that Arabella might think was hers.
‘You must have attended many garden parties here at Beauley. You ought to give the speech,’ Violet continued to address Arabella.
‘Certainly not,’ his sister replied crisply.
Adam glanced at Violet. ‘Well?’
‘Will the local Member of Parliament be there?’ she asked, unexpectedly.
‘Burrows?’ Adam queried. He knew the man, but hadn’t warmed to him. ‘I expect so.’
Violet lifted her chin, the gesture he’d come to know in her as a sign she’d come to a decision.
‘I’ll do it,’ she announced. ‘I will give the speech.’
‘Excellent.’ Adam stood. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll go and find my dinner.’
They hadn’t discussed what had happened in the river. But perhaps it was just as well.
Chapter Twelve
‘Why took ye not your pastime? To that man
My work shall answer, since I knew the right
And did it; for a man is not as God.’
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: ‘Love and Duty’ (1842)
‘What a perfect afternoon for a garden party!’ Jane pulled the drawing-room curtains wide. ‘Why, the clouds have completely cleared up. Look at the sunshine!’
Violet stood by her sisters-in-law at the bay window. The garden, dappled in sunlight, did look glorious with its array of summer flowers. Roses, peonies, irises, delphiniums and foxgloves created a blaze of colour. White-wicker garden chairs and tables and seats had been placed on the lawn and at the other end she could see the croquet hoops had been laid out. The local regiment band had already arrived and they could hear the faint toot of a horn and a blare of a trumpet from where they were getting ready to play.
Along one side of the lawn, stalls had been set up for the ladies’ bazaar, to sell handiworks to raise funds for the parish. Long tables for refreshments were ready and the kitchen staff were smoothing out the long white tablecloths, laying out plates, tea cups and tea spoons that glinted in the sun. A Punch and Judy puppet show was ready for the entertainment of the children. Later, there would be a treasure hunt and running races. By the bandstand a white tent had been put up and a small wooden podium had been set up, ready for the speeches to be made before the fête opened.
‘It’s like a fairy land,’ Violet said. ‘Or a knight’s tournament.’
Adam came up behind her. She felt his presence, even before he spoke.
‘There’s no tournament today,’ he said. ‘Only cricket in the next field.’
‘I suppose you’ll score a captain’s innings, as usual,’ Arabella said with a rare, indulgent smile at her brother.
Adam shrugged. ‘The gardeners have done well. I’ve just been out working with them.’
‘Butler, cook and gardener?’ Violet queried, over her shoulder.
‘Indeed,’ he drawled.
They looked at each other, then looked away.
‘It’s the new fashion to have a whole garden in one colour,’ Violet said hurriedly, seeking a safe topic of conversation. ‘To have an all-white garden, or some other shade.’
‘Would you like that?’ Adam asked her, unexpectedly.
‘Perhaps,’ she replied. ‘There are certain colours I like very much.’
He cast an appreciative look at her dress. She’d had it made especially for the garden party. Of a light, gauzy cotton, trimmed with white lace, it was gathered at the waist with a green sash. ‘You look like a violet today.’
‘The shade is mauve,’ she replied, flustered by the effect of his regard. ‘It’s very fashionable.’
‘And perfect for this afternoon,’ said Jane, with a quick smile at Violet.
‘Mama is fond of mauve. It’s a shame she is unwell,’ said Arabella.
‘It gives Violet a chance to open the garden party,’ Adam said.
‘Look, people are beginning to arrive!’ exclaimed Jane.
‘I’d better go outside.’ Adam headed for the door.
‘Are you nervous about your speech, Violet?’ Arabella asked.
Violet’s stomach turned over.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never spoken in public before.’
‘Please remember you are representing the Beaufort family,’ said Arabella, haughtily.
Jane gave her a wink.
The night before, after they’d discussed the opening speech for the garden party, an idea had blazed in Violet’s head and she’d beckoned Jane over to the sewing basket. They’d worked quickly and made it just in time.
Now, Adam had left the room. Violet had intended to confide in him about her plan for the afternoon, but there was no need, she decided. They hadn’t exactly been avoiding each other since what had happened in the river, but they had both been keeping a safe distance.
No entanglements. Freedom. That was her goal. And this afternoon, if all went to plan, she would take a big step towards it.
Her stomach lurched.
* * *
Violet strolled across the lawn, wending between the chairs and rugs, nodding and smiling. ‘Good afternoon. Good afternoon.’
‘Good afternoon, madam.’
‘Good day, Mrs Beaufort.’
The sun blazed down. Thank goodness she had her parasol and such a wide-brimmed hat. It was white, but to match her frock it had been trimmed with mauve ri
bbons.
By the podium she saw Adam standing with a small group, his dog Beau beside him. Taller than the rest, he wore a blazer over his white flannel trousers and shirt, ready for cricket. For a moment she experienced a strange sensation, as if they had been together at Beauley for many garden parties before. She shook her head as if to clear it. What a fanciful notion.
Beau leapt towards her with a bark of welcome as she approached. She gave the dog a quick pat.
As she reached Adam he gave her a slight bow that tilted his Panama straw-boater hat. His eyes gleamed as she stared at the small violet that adorned it on one side. For a moment it was as if they were the only two people in the garden, in spite of the crowd.
Violet smiled.
So did Adam. A long, slow smile.
The vicar coughed.
‘There are people here this afternoon I would like you to meet.’ Adam recovered smoothly. ‘You know the vicar, of course.’
‘We’ve already met at church on Sundays.’ Violet shook hands.
The vicar bowed slightly. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Beaufort. A perfect afternoon for it.’
‘And this is Mr Burrows, our local Member of Parliament,’ Adam said.
‘How do you do.’ She held out her gloved hand to the portly man. He appeared hot in his dark three-piece suit.
He shook her hand. ‘How do you do, madam.’
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.’ How convenient. She had planned to make a point of seeking him out and discussing the matter of her unanswered letter. ‘I have a great interest in politics.’
The man jerked back his head. ‘Not a matter for the ladies, is it?’
‘To the contrary,’ she replied, startled. ‘It is very much a matter for the ladies. An urgent matter.’
The M.P. appeared to snort.
‘A lot of nonsense going on these days,’ he muttered.
Violet bit back a retort. Hold your fire, she told herself. Hold your fire.
She turned to Adam. ‘It must be time to open the garden party, is it not?’
He glanced at her intently, then at his pocket watch. ‘Indeed. Shall we get started?’
‘Indeed.’
Violet snapped her parasol shut.
* * *
On the podium, Violet adjusted her hat. Her hands were perspiring; they felt clammy in her lace gloves.
Amid applause from the crowd, Adam stepped forward beside her. ‘Welcome, once again, to Beauley Manor for our summer fair. I’m delighted you are all able to be here in what has been a tradition for so many years. In the past, the garden party has been opened by my mother. Today, I’m pleased to welcome my wife, the new lady of the manor, to open the festivities.’
Adam stopped and took a breath so deep that Violet wondered if he was feeling unwell. The moment passed. He held out his hand, indicated for her to stand beside him.
Violet marched to the front of the podium. Her legs were unsteady, but she held her head high. In the crowd she could see Mr Burrows, the M.P., Arabella and also Jane, who stood towards the front, as they had arranged.
Adam gave her a smile of encouragement. It strengthened her to speak, even if he didn’t know what she was going to say. Now she wished she had taken an opportunity to tell him the contents of her speech, but it was too late.
She took a breath and began.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Thank you so much for coming this afternoon to Beauley Manor. My husband and I are glad to welcome you here on such a glorious summer day.’
As she said the word husband, she happened to glance at Adam. A look had come over his face, such a look as she had never seen before, a combination of pleasure and pride in her calling him by that title. It took her aback.
She cleared her throat. She supposed she had never said the word husband before and he had never heard himself described by it, but she hadn’t expected his reaction. He was usually so guarded, so controlled. For a moment, she hesitated to continue her speech. But she had to. She must.
‘I hope that there will be the usual merriment, fun and games today and I look forward to giving out the prizes this afternoon.’ She smiled at the children who were seated on the grass in front of the podium. ‘First, I would like to bring your attention to a more serious matter.’
She gave a nod to Jane, who stepped out in front and unfurled the suffragette banner in its stripes of purple, green and white. A gasp came from the crowd.
‘Today, there is injustice in our land,’ Violet continued. ‘It is an injustice that affects every woman who is present here. It is an injustice that affects every man whose wife, mother or sister does not have the opportunity to be an equal to him. It is an injustice that affects every girl and boy whose mother does not have a fair say in shaping her children’s future. This injustice is clear and simple: women cannot vote.
‘Women have no voice in this land without the vote. They cannot send their representative to Parliament. They cannot call for justice. They cannot call for peace. They cannot call for equality. They cannot call for change. They cannot call for laws to be made that will ensure their homes are safe, that their families have better lives. Because they cannot vote.
‘Justice must be done. It must be done now, in this new twentieth century. No longer will women be silenced. No longer will we give up our liberty.
‘Join me, as we raise our banners, our arms, and our voices. Give women suffrage!’
Violet raised her right arm in a gesture of freedom. ‘Votes for women!’
‘Votes for women!’ Jane responded fervently, lifting the banner higher. The gold-edged letters glinted in the sun.
‘Votes for women!’
‘Votes for women!’ A few voices came from the crowd, but there was no applause.
On shaking legs Violet stepped down from the podium.
Jane’s eyes were shining as she clutched the banner. ‘Oh, Violet, you were marvellous!’
Violet looked up at Adam, where he stood, still on the podium. The expression on his face when she’d called him her husband, that combination of pride and pleasure, had quite vanished. A stony coldness had taken its place.
Her heart sank.
‘How dare you!’
A rough hand on her arm sent her hurtling around, her ankle twisting in the soft grass.
‘Mr Burrows,’ she gasped through the pain.
‘How dare a woman speak of such things!’ The M.P.’s eyes bulged, his face was bright red. ‘How dare you!’
His fingers, still clutching her arm, dug through her sleeve.
Adam leapt from the podium, sending his straw boater flying. His voice was low, yet so sharp it seemed to form a blade. ‘How dare you, Burrows. Unhand my wife.’
Mr Burrows stared at Adam, then at Violet. With a coarse expletive he released his fingers from her arm as if he were a dog dropping a bone.
Adam turned to Violet. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in an undertone.
She rubbed her arm and nodded.
‘Beaufort!’ Burrows demanded. ‘You can’t say you support these—suffragettes!’
‘I support my wife,’ Adam said through gritted teeth. ‘She is mistress of Beauley Manor and any offence caused to her is an offence to me.’
Mr Burrows spluttered. ‘But we’re members of the same party! You know our policy for dealing with such women. They’re a disgrace.’
‘The disgrace is your poor manners,’ Adam replied swiftly. ‘I suggest you compose yourself, sir, and stop creating a spectacle.’
‘It’s women making speeches that’s the spectacle! To use a garden party for political purposes. It’s disgusting.’
Violet found her voice. ‘And I suppose you have never used a social occasion for political purposes, Mr Burrows?’
The M.P.’s look of contempt took her breath away. ‘I r
efuse to discuss politics with a woman.’
‘I suppose you think women don’t possess the intelligence to do so? You are quite wrong. Women have all the intelligence to participate in the government of our country.’
His fists clenched, the M.P. thrust himself towards her, his chest puffed out like an irate cockerel. ‘How dare you presume to lecture me, you, you...’
Beau leapt up, barking sharply.
Adam pulled back the dog’s collar. His voice remained low, but penetrating. ‘I would ask you to control yourself, Burrows. If you cannot be civil to my wife, I suggest you leave Beauley Manor. Now.’
The M.P. almost spat with rage. ‘With pleasure. I wouldn’t want to stay where there are such goings on. You’ll regret allowing your wife to make a show of herself, Beaufort.’
One of Adam’s hands was a fist, the other balled tight around Beau’s collar. ‘It’s you who will regret it, sir, if you ever lay another finger on my wife.’
The M.P. stuck out his chest, then backed away after a glance at Adam’s clenched fists. He gave Violet another glare before he stamped away.
Jane stared after him open-mouthed, the banner still in her hand. ‘Well, I never. What a horrible man. You did right to stand up to him, Violet.’
Violet turned to Adam. His expression was impenetrable.
She reached out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t expect such a reaction.’
Ignoring her outstretched hand, Adam retrieved his Panama boater from the grass.
‘Didn’t you?’ he asked curtly. ‘I might have warned you, if you’d chosen to confide in me. We’ll discuss it later.’
The violet fell from his hat.
* * *
Violet watched from the window as the last of the wicker chairs and tables were put away. The sun had gone down and the evening air had chilled. She pulled her shawl around her.
The garden party had been endless. What was supposed to have been a delightful afternoon had been marred by her awareness that Adam hadn’t joined her side on any further occasion after she’d made her opening speech. He’d kept his distance, as he made the rounds of the lawn, ensuring he conversed with everyone present. He was popular, she realised, watching the women smile at him and the men eagerly shake his hand. He had an ease that drew people to him. She realised she could make out his voice among the crowd, and particularly his laugh, as he joked with some of the local boys as they tied their legs together for the three-legged race. She’d given out the prizes for the races and treasure hunt, admired the handiworks at the stalls, chatted and smiled, all the while miserably aware of Adam’s avoidance of her. He’d gone to play cricket in the end and scored a captain’s innings, so Jane had reported. She’d heard the shouts, but hadn’t lingered too long to watch.
The Scandalous Suffragette Page 15
