Alexa tutted angrily. ‘The girl has no tact.’
‘Her heart is in the right place, even if her tongue is undisciplined. And as a matter of fact, she was trying to pay me a compliment. Margaret had taken her to see the model housing estate I’ve had built on some land I own in Whitechapel. Kate approved in particular of the sanitary arrangements there, but what really drew her praise was the discovery that because the rents are low, my income has been reduced by building the new houses. For that sacrifice, I gather, I may be allowed to enjoy the possession of Blaize and Glanville House for a little longer without a guilty conscience.’
‘We must hope, then, that Kate never goes to Russia,’ said Alexa. ‘I’ve never seen so many jewels as those on display every night at the Mariinsky in Petersburg. The men, with all their Orders, gleam just as brightly as their wives and daughters do in tiaras and necklaces. It may be that the hundreds of grand-dukes and princes and counts and all the rest of them are benevolent enough to the people who work their estates and provide their huge incomes, but it would take a good many model housing estates, I should think, to justify a single one of those diamond necklaces in Kate’s eyes.’
‘She must naturally have been influenced by the conditions in which she was brought up. I understand it was a community organized to be self-supporting on a basis of mutual help, with her father as a kind of benevolent despot.’
‘Yes, you’re right. She has no quarrel with a paternalist order of society, in which some command and others obey, as long as any benefits are distributed throughout that society. But I suppose that before she came to England she had never seen poverty of the kind which London reveals. It’s to her credit that she’s shocked by it. Margaret has had to be quite stern with her, though, telling her that for the time being she must concentrate all her energies on studying and passing her examinations.’
‘That must have been why she didn’t come to the suffrage meeting at my house, although she had expressed interest in it. And talking of suffrage, I take it that your friends have told you of the developments which took place while you were abroad, and our hopes of the Conciliation Bill.’
‘I would prefer not to talk of suffrage,’ said Alexa.
Lord Glanville was disturbed both by the tone of her voice and by the manner in which she turned away so that he could not see her face. ‘Has something happened?’ he asked.
‘Yes, something has happened.’ Alexa made an attempt to laugh. ‘I’ve made a promise, and now I regret it. You’ve often told me how much you disapprove of the more extreme actions of the Franchise League, and how unwise you think me to be involved with them. You are quite right, of course – you have always been quite right. I’ve allowed myself to become too deeply involved, and now there seems no way to withdraw without humiliation.’
‘But even the League is surely not foolish enough to plan anything this year! Every section of the suffrage movement has agreed to a truce – an end to all forms of militant activity until the Conciliation Bill has been considered in Parliament.’
‘There are different definitions, I suppose, of militancy. Processions and demonstrations are still to continue, are they not? What the League has in mind will not cause any physical harm to anyone. But all the same –’ Her voice trailed away. She was frightened, he realized; and the knowledge increased the protective love which he felt for her.
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s a secret,’ she said. ‘I promised . . .’
‘You surely don’t think I’d betray you.’
For a moment longer she hesitated. Then she turned back to face him, clearly relieved by the opportunity to discuss her anxieties.
‘There’s to be an unusual kind of demonstration,’ she said. ‘Not a mass meeting. No speeches. Just one person singing a very special song.’
‘The one person is yourself, I take it. Well, that certainly doesn’t sound too militant. Where are you proposing to sing this song?’
‘In Westminster Abbey,’ said Alexa. ‘In the middle of the Coronation service.’ Lord Glanville’s incredulity must have shown clearly on his face, for she hurried to defend herself. ‘There will be nothing subversive about the song, nothing at all. It’s a kind of hymn, in fact, and sung to a hymn tune. But the words are intended to remind King George, as he takes the oath, that half his subjects are women and that he has responsibilities towards them as well as to the men.’
‘My dear Alexa, you cannot possibly –’ Lord Glanville was horrified, and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. ‘For a start, you would never be allowed inside the abbey on Coronation Day. And even if you were to gain admittance, you would be arrested as soon as you began to sing.’
‘There’s a peeress who is sympathetic to the cause,’ said Alexa. ‘I mustn’t tell you her name. But it was her idea in the first place. She wished to make the gesture herself, in fact, but she has no voice; she wouldn’t be heard. So instead, she is prepared to make her invitation and her robes available to me. And I shall be in the middle of a block of peeresses. It will be a little while before anyone realizes what is happening, and a little longer before anyone will be able to force a way through to me. Outside the abbey, other women will be distributing leaflets bearing the full text. It will be printed in the newspapers the next day. Even if King George doesn’t receive the whole message at once, it will reach him eventually.’
‘Have you considered what the penalties are likely to be, Alexa?’ Lord Glanville was aghast.
‘There’s no law that I know of which makes it a crime to sing a hymn in a place of worship.’
‘I doubt whether that will prevent the Home Secretary from drawing up charges. Women are being sent to prison merely for trying to push their way into the House of Commons. But this – I’m no lawyer, but I’m sure that if the authorities can find no simple offence, they will invent a complicated one. Sacrilege, for example, or blasphemy if the words of the hymn in any way justify it. For all I know, it may even rank as treason or sedition to create a disturbance in His Majesty’s presence. You will certainly be sent to prison.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Alexa. ‘I realized that when I agreed to do it. Obviously I couldn’t expect a prison sentence to be a pleasant experience, but when so many of my friends have accepted the risk, I didn’t think I ought to shirk it. I still don’t think so.’
‘But a few moments ago you mentioned that you had come to regret what you promised. Why is that, if nothing has changed?’
‘Something has changed.’ Alexa began to walk up and down the room in an agitated manner. ‘It changed some time ago, but because I’ve been abroad I was slow to discover it. When I promised to sing, I was prepared to endure a spell as an ordinary prisoner. What I didn’t know was that it has now become a point of honour for all imprisoned suffragists to go on hunger strike. If I were to refuse to do so, I should earn the contempt of all my friends in the movement. Well, I wouldn’t even mind starving if it could be of any help. But then I learned something else – that every hunger-striker is forcibly fed. And do you know how that is done, Piers? I’ve had it described to me, and I can tell you. They put a steel gag into your mouth and open it until your jaws are wide apart. Then they force a large rubber tube down your throat. It chokes you until you retch and vomit: they hold your head and wait and then push the tube down even further before at last the food is poured down. You struggle, I’m told, you can’t help but struggle because the choking robs you of breath; and the result is to leave your chest aching and your throat raw.’ She had worked herself up into tears, and now buried her head in her hands, trembling with the effects of her own imagination. ‘I can’t do it, Piers. My voice is the only asset I have in the world. If I lose it, I have nothing. I’m thirty-three years old. I can’t expect to be beautiful for very much longer, but there’s no reason why my career shouldn’t continue for a long time yet. I can’t take the risk of having that tube forced down my throat, but I shall be mocked for a coward if I withdraw altogether from what I’v
e promised.’
‘Is that so important to you?’ he asked.
‘Yes. What respect would you, or any other man, have for a soldier who deserted in the middle of a battle? I shall be ashamed for the rest of my life. But I can see no way out.’
‘Calm yourself, Alexa.’ He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her towards him so that her head was pressed against his chest. He could feel her panting, almost sobbing, and for a moment his grip tightened. But caution warned him not to frighten her still further by embracing her with the passion which he longed to show. He stood for a long time without moving, until her breath gradually steadied itself and she was able to raise her head.
It was not the first time, he remembered, that they had held each other for comfort in just such a manner. On the very first day of their acquaintance Alexa had clung to him for protection against his own brother. And later, in Heidelberg, he in turn had sought consolation in his grief for his dying wife. On neither of those two occasions had he expected Alexa to appreciate his emotions. But now she was older, an experience and sophisticated woman. As soon as she had emerged from the tangle of her own feelings, she would become conscious of his.
She knew them already, in fact. More than four years had passed since the moment on the ballroom terrace at Blaize when he had asked her to marry him. On that occasion he had misjudged her mood completely. From the proud stiffness with which she held her head, the sparkle in her eyes, the vivacious gaiety with which she held the attention of everyone in the room, he had recognized her excitement as that of a woman demanding to be loved. Perhaps he had been right in that, but quite wrong when he hoped that his was the love she wanted to attract. Now, if he was very careful, he might be able to make a second chance for himself.
This time his hopes were more rational. He could not pretend that Alexa loved him. It would be enough, he told himself, if she would agree to marry him. But to approach without frightening her required a delicacy difficult to achieve when his emotions were in such a state of turmoil. He held his breath, approaching in silence what seemed to be the most important moment of his life.
Behind him, the door opened. The butler had come to announce the serving of dinner. Lord Glanville took one hand away from Alexa’s shoulders and flicked his fingers in a gesture of dismissal. The butler hesitated, interpreted the instructions rightly and withdrew without speaking. As the door closed behind him, Alexa lifted her head and forced herself to smile. Glad after all of the interruption which had lowered the emotional temperature, Lord Glanville smiled back.
‘Let me tell you,’ he said, ‘the story of Lady Constance Lytton and Miss Jane Warton. For I have a suggestion to make.’
3
Throughout the centuries the story-teller has had the power to calm and control an audience. Lord Glanville could see that Alexa was startled by what must have seemed to be a complete change of subject; no doubt it was curiosity that helped her to accept it.
‘I’ve never heard of Jane Warton,’ she said. ‘Lady Constance’s name is familiar, of course. I know that she sympathizes with the militant movement. But I’ve always understood that her health was too uncertain for her to take any active part in it.’
‘Sit down and let me tell you what happened while you were in Russia,’ said Lord Glanville. ‘Jane Warton was arrested in Liverpool for throwing stones. As a matter of strict fact, she was so anxious not to hurt anyone that she wrapped the stones in paper and merely dropped them over the hedge belonging to the prison governor, but that was enough to earn her a prison sentence. Like the rest of the women arrested, she went on hunger strike, and was forcibly fed on eight occasions in exactly the horrific manner you have just described. She has a weak heart, and it’s feared by her brother that permanent damage may have been done to it. That’s half the story.’
‘Where does Lady Constance Lytton come into it?’ asked Alexa.
‘Some weeks before Jane Warton’s imprisonment, Lady Constance was arrested in the same way, in Newcastle. Like Miss Warton later, she went on hunger strike. The authorities were highly embarrassed to discover that they had in their charge the sister of an earl. No attempt was made to feed her forcibly. Instead, she was released from prison. The point of the story is that Lady Constance Lytton and Miss Jane Warton are the same person.’
It was easy to see that Alexa was still puzzled. ‘I see the point, but not the relevance,’ she said. ‘Has this anything to do with me?’
‘I told you that I had a suggestion to make, and it’s this. You’re proposing to go to Westminster Abbey disguised as a peeress, dressed in robes you are not entitled to wear and using an invitation not addressed to you. But there’s another way. You could go genuinely as a peeress, wearing your own robes and entitled to your own seat. There would be no charge of impersonation or unauthorized entry. You would still undoubtedly be arrested for causing a disturbance; you might well be imprisoned. But no prison officer would dare to assault you in the way which forcible feeding entails. Not only because of the publicity the case would arouse, but because the Home Secretary would be well aware what the effect on his own political career might be. I may not be a member of the government, but my voice is not without influence in the House of Lords. He would think twice before he offended me in such an unsympathetic cause.’
Slowly Alexa rose to her feet again. ‘What are you saying, Piers?’ she asked incredulously; although she must have known the answer.
‘Once before I offered you everything I had to give -my name, my fortune, myself. They were of no interest to you then. Now I’m making the offer again, because you could find that my name at least might serve a useful purpose.’
Was it his imagination, or did he see a flash of pleasure in her eyes? He held his breath as he waited for an answer. The silence continued for a long time, encouraging his hopes to rise. Last time he had asked her to marry him, she had hardly seemed to listen, flinging a brusque refusal from the depth of some private unhappiness which her vivacious manner earlier in the evening had given him no chance to anticipate. But today there was a warmth and softness in her expression which must surely be to his advantage. It came as all the more of a shock when at last she shook her head.
‘Do you expect me to take your name only to degrade it? Piers, you are kind and generous – yes, and ingenious too – but you haven’t allowed yourself time to think what you’re saying. Your name might protect me, but in return for your kindness you would hear it read out in court, attached to a criminal charge.’
Disappointment silenced him briefly, but he could not prevent his hopes from feeding on what was surely a trace of regret in her voice. Perhaps all she wanted was to be convinced that she would not do him too much harm by accepting his proposal. Lord Glanville applied himself to reasonable argument.
‘I don’t agree, as you know, with the methods of the militant campaign.’ He spoke calmly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to discuss the political situation when his heart was pounding with anxiety. ‘I wish that I could persuade you to join me and support the constitutionalist approach. This is another point you might consider. If you were to marry me, even your most fervent friends might accept the necessity for you to conform, publicly at least, to your husband’s known views. There would be no shame in using marriage as an excuse for withdrawing from your undertaking.’
‘My own views are as well known as yours!’ Alexa exclaimed. ‘I see no reason why a woman should alter her opinions to conform with those of her husband.’
‘You interrupted me too soon.’ Lord Glanville recognized that he had made a mistake and hurried to correct it. ‘I said that I didn’t approve of the militant methods. But obviously I agree with the eventual aims. What I was trying to indicate was that it would cause me no embarrassment to hear my wife’s name linked with those aims, even in court. Marry me, Alexa.’
For a second time she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Piers, but it’s out of proportion. Marriage is too im
portant to be traded for such a small thing as a temporary humiliation. I know already that I shan’t be able to face the forcible feeding. But no doubt I shall be able to invent some diplomatic illness at the last minute. I shall be ashamed for the rest of my life, but it will be no more than I deserve for being so impetuous. I’m truly sorry, but I can’t accept your offer.’
It was a moment of complete humiliation. To hear Alexa reject his love would have been bad enough. But when he could offer her an arrangement entirely to her advantage and found that she still regarded marriage to him as too high a price to pay, he was bound to feel a bitter sense of rejection.
Except for that mistaken moment during the ball at Blaize, Lord Glanville had never deceived himself into believing that Alexa loved him. Her attitude now only confirmed what he had always accepted, but it was enough to make him desperate. This might be his last chance to hold her to his side, for it seemed all too likely that his proposal had already bruised the fragile friendship with which he had been forced to content himself during the past few years. If the damage had been done, there could be no harm in testing whether a higher offer would be more successful.
‘If you need a more positive inducement, I can offer that,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘An opera house of your own. I know you’ve always wanted one, however small. We were talking of it earlier today. If you marry me, I’ll give you that for a wedding present – the tithe barn, converted to your own specifications. And however much money you need to run it.’
‘Really, Piers! What do you take me for?’ Alexa exclaimed, and the fierceness of her anger startled and dismayed him. Obviously he had misjudged her mood, but he could not understand how. Half an hour earlier she had been frightened and depressed, drained of all her usual vitality as though, for the first time since she became an adult, life had grown too much for her to manage alone. Five minutes earlier she had seemed warm and affectionate, tempting him to take the initiative in what had immediately been revealed as a bad mistake. Now the colour flooded back into her cheeks and her eyes flashed with their familiar fire as she attacked him.
The Lorimer Legacy Page 32
