Summer's End

by Amy Myers

  What was not under discussion, Caroline realised ruefully, was Caroline’s twenty-second birthday which fell in ten days’ time on the 27th. Birthdays in their sprawling family occurred so frequently that they were not major events, but some effort was usually made to signify that on the whole the rest of the family was pleased that their relation had arrived in this world. This year the Rectory seemed to be dancing furiously round a maypole on which Caroline’s string had somehow become misplaced as the music grew faster. Reggie hadn’t forgotten, of course. Caroline wriggled a toe luxuriously. They’d agreed to go boating on the river in a Henley regatta of their very own, or else to the seaside, and she was looking forward to it, especially since neither Father nor Mother had yet suggested any need for a chaperone, despite the changed relationship between herself and Reggie. Although she relished this pleasure to come, she nevertheless felt her nose to be slightly out of joint, however hard she tried to straighten it.

  Perhaps now she would contemplate life, even the world. Together both presented, she decided, a set of concentric circles, spinning independently with little or no reference to each other. Closest and most precious was her own circle with Reggie, the one they’d spin in for the rest of their lives. Encircling it was that of the Rectory and Ashden, and this, although it included Reggie and her, was complete in itself. Outside it, rarely touching it directly, was a bigger circle, the world Father read about in The Times every day, a world which chillingly grew worse each day and, unlikely as it seemed, threatened civil war in Ireland. That would be terrible, and almost as if Kent and Sussex were to declare war on each other. What tragedies and problems it would bring where families were divided between Catholic and Protestant, between Ulster Volunteers and National Volunteers, both arming themselves as the Government tried to push the Home Rule Bill through with the temporary exclusion of six of the northern counties to appease the Protestants. Poor Mr Asquith seemed to be doing his best to please everybody and ending up pleasing nobody. She tried to translate this into Ashden terms, by imagining her father and the minister so bitterly divided over the parish council that they came to blows outside the Norville Arms. It would never happen, of course. Every issue could be discussed and settled, Father believed, where there was common desire for peace, and so it must in Ireland, surely. Perhaps the King could do something – though she was forced to admit he was doing his best to ignore the other big issue: women’s suffrage. There’d actually been a bomb found in the church of St John the Evangelist in London on Sunday, the fuse had even been lighted when it was found.

  Outside the British Isles, there was yet another circle spinning around, that of the world outside Britain, which touched them even more rarely, only when the Empire needed help or protection. Events like the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria at Sarajevo in Bosnia the day after Reggie’s twenty-fourth birthday dance were terrible, but that circle did not collide with theirs. Their duty here was to do well by Ashden and their own path in life. But if that were so, Caroline wondered, why had that bird of freedom fluttered within her when she attended a suffragette meeting in Tunbridge Wells with Tilly and Penelope a few days ago? She had wanted to go to London and attend one of the rallies at Kensington Town Hall, but her chief interest – to see the Pankhursts – was frustrated by Mrs Pankhurst still being in Holloway, and planning, if released, to go to France to join her daughter Christabel and to recover her health. The Tunbridge Wells group, she knew from the local newspaper, was very active, very militant, and she was taken aback by the obvious pride in her aunt’s voice as she talked almost non-stop on the railway journey to Tunbridge Wells.

  ‘McKenna said in the House last month that the public had four suggestions as to what to do with us: let us die if we refuse to eat, deport us, treat us like lunatics – or give us the vote. That coward informed us he will do none of these, but it is obvious the country is with us – the vote it must be.’

  It hadn’t been obvious to Caroline. Bravely though the speakers had addressed their audience, their reward had been a shower of rotten eggs from men and women. It was only afterwards that Penelope had casually mentioned that there was a non-militant group in the town, with some prominent members, including a novelist; Caroline resolved that she would attend one of their meetings in the Victoria Hall in Southborough. Not now, for all-important at the moment was her engagement. Much as she tried to ignore it until Reggie’s planned announcement at the wedding, it was proving impossible. It coloured everything, for in the middle of her own personal circle was a deep, deep happiness that crystallised into Reggie.

  ‘Caroline.’

  At the unexpected voice, she sat up, blinking into the sun with surprise. It was Patricia Swinford-Browne, looking even larger than usual in a yellow muslin dress complete with mustard-coloured sunshade.

  ‘I expect you wonder why I’ve come skulking through the bushes,’ Patricia continued cheerfully.

  ‘It does seem somewhat strange.’

  ‘I like you,’ Patricia said unexpectedly. ‘May I sit down? The rug will do. We’ll share it.’ Patricia lowered herself cautiously to the rug and sighed. ‘I loathe this weather.’

  ‘Your skin doesn’t suit it, that’s all.’ Tactful and correct. Patricia had the kind of complexion that erupted eagerly into spots and rashes, and grew excited at the faintest ray of sun.

  ‘I don’t know why. I throw everything from pigswill to arsenic on it. I’m Mother’s despair.’

  ‘I suppose you want to talk about the wedding?’ Caroline enquired, since Patricia seemed hesitant to continue.

  ‘To escape from it would be nearer the truth. It’s a race who will drive me mad soonest, Ma with her constant wailings, Robert with his happy smile, or your sister with her “anxious-to-please” helpfulness. But in fact I came to give you a warning. Promise me you’ll never tell.’

  At this childish plea, Caroline stopped feeling defensive about Isabel and began to feel rather sorry for Patricia. ‘I won’t without your permission.’

  ‘You won’t get that. Pa would kill me. It’s about your aunt. She’s going to burn a church down.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not yours,’ Patricia reassured her. ‘Missenden in Kent, it’s near Goudhurst. The vicar is a pal of McKenna’s and he gave a sermon about the place of women in the home and how we’re all inferior beings. On Sunday he’s going to preach God’s word on what to do with lunatic females.’

  ‘But my aunt burn a church?’

  ‘They’ve burned others,’ Patricia replied. ‘It’s property, isn’t it? Anyway, the point is that Father’s found out somehow. I heard him talking to the Chief Constable. They’ll all be arrested, and your aunt will go straight back to Holloway. You did know she’d been in stir, didn’t you?’ Patricia produced her slang with relish.

  ‘Yes,’ Caroline said shortly. ‘Now tell me why you’ve come.’

  Patricia was taken aback. ‘I thought you’d want to prevent her going.’

  ‘Yes, but why you? Are you a suffragette too?’

  ‘Hell’s bells, no,’ Patricia informed her elegantly, ‘much as I approve of your aunt. I hate The Towers, you see, and every so often I have to kick it. I’ll probably have to stay there. The kind of men who appreciate my charms would be seen off as a son-in-law by Pops with a boot in their rear, the kind of men who think my money would compensate for having me thrown in too I would see off with a boot in their rear, and as for true love, well, no Prince Charming’s going to come running after me with a glass slipper, is he?’

  Caroline was appalled at Patricia’s matter-of-fact diagnosis of her future, and said so.

  Patricia shrugged. ‘They only care about Robert. Once they saw they’d bred an ugly duckling, they left me to waddle about on my own. If you get any information on how to turn into a swan, you might let me know. I’ve tried mercolised wax on my face – Ma said I’d been let loose from Madame Tussaud’s. If I became a suffragette I’d terrify Asquith into giving us the vote.’
r />   ‘Are you sure you aren’t tempted to join them?’

  ‘Quite sure, thanks, Caroline. If it came to a choice between soapbox and suds at the kitchen sink, I’d choose the suds.’ She paused. ‘I hope it doesn’t, though. There must be something else I could do.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline firmly, taken aback by Patricia’s mournfulness. ‘But you must look for it. It won’t come waltzing up The Towers’ drive looking for you.’

  Patricia giggled. ‘It’s more likely to be ragtime if Ma and Pa throw me out, as I gathered happened to your aunt. You’d better hurry, by the way. Father’s already galloped off in the Daimler wielding his tomahawk.’

  Full of anxiety about Aunt Tilly, Caroline hastily thanked her, and raced back to the house. There was no sign of her aunt though the Austin was in the garage, which relieved her greatly. Surely Tilly would have driven, not gone by train, if she were going to Goudhurst?

  Nevertheless, she sought out her mother. ‘Where’s Aunt Tilly?’ she asked her mother as casually as she could.

  ‘She went up to London earlier to the theatre, and she’s staying overnight with a friend. Why?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Caroline’s heart sank. Theatre? Friend? Patricia’s story could possibly be true. Her aunt had shown no signs of knowing the Tunbridge Wells group well – in deference to the promise Father had extracted from her, Caroline supposed. Or it might be genuine; her aunt belonged to the London groups. Should she tell Father about it? No, came the answer. He couldn’t reach the church any more than she could, and the very idea of his sister burning a church would appal him. There was only one thing to be done …

  ‘If this is some wild goose chase …’ Reggie said threateningly as he cranked the Lanchester’s starting handle.

  ‘You’ll what?’ Caroline could have cried with thankfulness at Reggie’s reasonably unreluctant agreement, especially since he could not bring his beloved Perry, as it was only a two-seater. He had been forced to bribe the Ashden chauffeur into turning the other way while he checked the battery was charged and sneaked his parents’ motor-car out.

  ‘Point out your reputation is hardly going to be improved.’

  ‘I never thought of that.’ Caroline was amused. ‘I told Mother I was going to see you anyway, so she won’t worry.’

  ‘Suppose the Lanchester breaks down and I can’t return you till morning? It has been known.’

  ‘Oh, Reggie, what a good idea. You’ll have to marry me then, and even your mother couldn’t refuse. Do let’s break down.’

  ‘We’ll have your Aunt Tilly with us. That will put a stop to your dastardly plans, woman. You’ll be in the back seat, so my virtue is going to be quite safe – unfortunately.’

  ‘That’s better. You’re smiling.’

  ‘Getting your crazy aunt out of scrapes is more fun than listening to Daniel drone on about the mysteries of the East.’

  It was strange to be driving so far alone with Reggie in the hot warm evening, just the two of them side by side, sailing through villages she’d heard of but never seen, passing inns and public houses full of light and noise, and the warm smells of the countryside in between as dark began to fall. She watched his long slim hands on the wheel, thought of them caressing her yesterday, his hands against the light chiffon on her dress, and wondered how anybody could be unhappy in this world with such wonders of love within it. Soon when they were married there’d be no chiffon between them, no underclothing, perhaps not even a night-dress, nothing between those hands and her skin. Perhaps too nothing between her own hands and Reggie’s body. Her chest suddenly tight, she tried to imagine it and felt herself blushing.

  ‘I told you you should have worn goggles.’ Reggie glanced at her. Belatedly she realised the dust on the road was sweeping into the open motor-car and stinging her face.

  ‘We’re here now.’

  Caroline shivered as the Lanchester drew up some thirty yards from the church. It was out of sight, but their noisy arrival could hardly have gone unnoticed in this peaceful still night. The church was a little way from the village centre surrounded by yew trees. Somehow she sensed the presence of other people, though there was no one to be seen. At least there was no sign of the police – or William Swinford-Browne. Would he come? Was he here, lurking in this twilight, waiting his moment? She took a deep breath, as she jumped from the motor-car and ran to the church porch, Reggie close behind her. There were others to be saved besides Aunt Tilly, she had to remember – though that depended on how one looked at it. Perhaps all of the suffragettes would be only too glad to have the police come, to be arrested, or in Tilly’s case, be re-arrested under the Cat and Mouse Act. Their object of publicity would be achieved either way. It suddenly occurred to her that it might not be easy to persuade Aunt Tilly to come home.

  Reaching the porch door, Reggie shouted: ‘Miss Lilley, come out.’

  ‘It’s me, Aunt Tilly.’ Caroline supported him, checking the bushes lining the approach to the church.

  ‘How on earth did you get here, and why?’ Tilly emerged not from the bushes, but from the church itself, flushed and very angry. She seemed a stranger. Surely this wasn’t the same woman who read Alice in Wonderland to her as a child?

  ‘What’s more important,’ Reggie interrupted, ‘is how you’re getting back.’

  Caroline rushed to the church door. ‘All of you, wherever you are. The police are on their way.’

  There were three of them. Cloaked figures emerged, unalarmed, undaunted, waiting impatiently for this situation to be resolved. Aunt Tilly was obviously the group’s leader.

  ‘We must hurry then,’ Tilly said grimly. ‘We should have something to show them. This for instance.’ She gestured to what one of the group was holding – a tin canister with strings and straps attached to it, and something trailing from the top. ‘Over five pounds of gunpowder,’ she added triumphantly as Reggie made an unsuccessful grab at the tin.

  ‘You can’t stay. You’ll be arrested. And you can’t, you can’t let that thing off.’ Caroline was appalled.

  ‘Why do you think I’ve come? To give up now?’ Tilly snapped.

  ‘But this is a church.’

  ‘And you told the police?’

  ‘No!’ Caroline felt outrage.

  Tilly said impatiently, perhaps an apology in her own way, ‘For all I know your feelings on churches outweigh those towards an aunt.’

  ‘Or yours to a brother.’

  ‘If so forced. And I am.’

  Surely this could not be her beloved Aunt Tilly, saying these terrible things? Caroline tried again, while Reggie argued with the rest of the group.

  ‘You must come with us, Aunt Tilly. It’s Swinford-Browne who has arranged for you to be re-arrested. He might even come himself. Do you want to be humiliated before him?’

  Tilly paused for a moment, taken aback. ‘The cause is more important. What is one more prison sentence? Mrs Pankhurst has been imprisoned countless times, myself only thrice.’

  ‘Because it would mean Swinford-Browne winning.’ Caroline was getting desperate. ‘It would be defeat for you, not victory. He’d have got what he wanted. You can’t want that to happen.’ For a moment she thought she’d convinced her aunt, but she was wrong. Tilly ran back into the church to join her fellows.

  ‘Have you any thought for Caroline and what she’s risking by coming here?’ Reggie shouted angrily after her.

  ‘It is of less importance than the cause,’ Tilly shouted. ‘I’m going to light a fire that all will see.’

  ‘You blasted well won’t,’ Reggie yelled at her, then turning to Caroline: ‘Crank up the Lanc.’

  She stood bemused for a second, then ran for the motor-car, aware of a scuffle behind her. She turned briefly to see Reggie gripping a struggling Aunt Tilly firmly by the arm and slamming the church door behind him in the face of would-be rescuers. He then picked up Aunt Tilly bodily – no mean feat for she was a tall, strong-boned woman – and stumbled after Caroline towards the Lanchester.
Like an automaton Caroline seized the starting handle, cranking furiously. She’d never done it before, and could only pray that the gods that ruled motor-cars would smile on her. Reggie tumbled Aunt Tilly into the passenger seat – fortunately without the bomb – but once he had taken his hand away from her mouth, the noise and struggles began. Mercifully the engine responded, and somehow Caroline managed to scramble into the back seat as the Lanchester began to roar down the lane. It was some few minutes before they passed a police van and a Daimler on the Goudhurst road speeding in the opposite direction, and Caroline shrank down out of sight. Turning back, she could see a thin spire of smoke above the trees, and a little later a fire engine chugged purposefully past them.

  ‘You can remove your arm, Caroline. I am not foolish enough to leap from a moving motor-car,’ Tilly remarked drily. Caroline obeyed; she had not been aware that her hand was gripping her aunt’s arm so tightly still.

  ‘I take it you approve of your future husband’s masterful habits?’

  ‘I will not have Caroline –’ Reggie began.

  ‘Caroline does have a voice of her own, does she not?’ Tilly interrupted. ‘Or are you proposing to control her mind as well as body when you marry her?’

  Before Reggie could reply, Caroline said clearly, ‘I believe Reggie was right to have brought you away.’