The Princess and the Suffragette

by Holly Webb

  “No.” Lottie set her candle on an old wooden packing case that seemed to be Sally’s bedside table. “Can I sit down?” she asked, waving at the bed.

  Sally’s mouth worked, as though she wanted to say no, but in the end she shrugged crossly and moved up. “You can’t stay for long. What if the missis comes up here?”

  “Miss Minchin? Does she?”

  “She might. What are you here for, miss? What do you want?”

  “I tried to talk to you before – I’ve been trying for days. Have you been avoiding me? You leave lighting my fire until you’re sure I’m not in my room, don’t you?”

  A mulish look came over the girl’s face. “Why ever would I do that, miss?”

  “Because you don’t want to talk to me. Because I saw you at the procession. And now I’ve come up here so you have to. I want to talk to you about the Suffragettes.”

  “Don’t know nothing.”

  “You do!” Lottie cried angrily.

  “Shhhhh! Hush, miss, for heaven’s sake. You will have the missis up here.”

  “Then tell me,” Lottie hissed. “Or I’ll shout. What was that you were wearing, when I saw you at that coronation procession? I saw you taking it off. It was a Suffragette ribbon, wasn’t it? Purple and green and white.”

  Sally shrugged. “Might have been.”

  “Where did you get it? Did you know about the Suffragettes? How did you? Have you ever been to any meetings, or … or whatever they have?”

  Sally stared at her.

  Lottie flushed and dipped her head. “I just want to know,” she murmured. “How else can I find out?”

  “Read a newspaper, like the rest of us!”

  “But I can’t! Don’t you see? We aren’t allowed – we only read what we’re given. Books for school – even if someone sends one of the girls a novel, she has to show it to Miss Minchin to make sure there’s nothing – you know – improper.”

  Sally snorted, and Lottie decided that meant yes.

  “We only go out on walks with Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia. When am I supposed to buy a newspaper? Please tell me, Sally. Where did you get the ribbon?”

  “I bought it. On one of me afternoons off. I went to the shop.”

  “There’s a Suffragette shop?” Lottie squeaked. “An actual shop you can buy things in?”

  “’Course there is. More than one. WSPU shops.” She saw Lottie’s confused frown and sighed elaborately, obviously enjoying the chance to be superior. “The Women’s Social and Political Union. Suffragettes. I goes to the shop in Kensington. In Church Street. They sell all sorts – most of it too expensive for the likes of me. Books, a lot of books. China – like pretty tea sets, in the colours. Jewellery, even. Posters…” She darted a sideways glance at Lottie. “Here.” She crawled over the narrow mattress and reached down the side where the bed-frame was pushed up against the wall. “I has to keep it hidden, in case someone comes up here nosing.” She looked back, smirking a little at Lottie. “Like you.”

  “I won’t tell,” Lottie promised eagerly. “What is it?”

  “Took a lot of my wages, this did,” Sally said, her face taking on an almost reverent look. She drew out a long roll of paper and laid it on the bed between them, unrolling it so that Lottie could see it was a poster, which more than covered the narrow bed.

  A girl was standing in a grey doorway, wrapped in a checked shawl that was drawn over her head instead of a coat and hat, her face pale and pinched with cold. She was staring at a sign that said, Factory Acts Regulations for Women, and underneath her was written, They have a cheek. I’ve never been asked.

  Lottie examined the poster, not wanting to say to Sally that she didn’t understand what it meant.

  “You’re supposed to put them up for people to see.” Sally stroked the paper lovingly. “But I can’t. Can you imagine the missis if I put it up in the schoolroom?” She snorted.

  “I don’t know if any of the girls would know what it means,” Lottie said slowly.

  Sally looked round at her, her eyes narrowing. “You mean you don’t?”

  “Not properly,” Lottie admitted. “I’m sorry. I wish I did,” she assured the older girl. “Can’t you explain it to me?”

  Sally eyed her, half-incredulous. “I suppose. But … well. All right. She’s a factory worker – maybe a weaver, I don’t know. And she’s looking at the poster about these new laws that are meant to be about protecting her, but no one ever asked her what the laws should be. What she needs protecting from. Because laws are made in parliament and women don’t get to vote for who’s in parliament. You see?”

  “Yes.” Lottie nodded humbly. “Does everybody know this sort of thing?” she asked, pleating Sally’s thin blanket between her fingers. “I feel like I should too.”

  “You should. But it isn’t your fault. I never knew much about it while I was at Barkingside. The Girls’ Village, I mean. Here. Get up a minute.”

  Lottie scrambled off the bed and watched, surprised, as Sally rooted under the mattress. She drew out a thin newspaper and handed it to Lottie.

  “There. You can borrow it.”

  Lottie read the cover. “Votes for Women. Do you buy this every week?”

  “Most weeks, if I can. Depends if I can get to the shop. Sometimes there are lady sellers too.”

  “On the street?” Lottie couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

  Sally nodded. “I couldn’t do it. The things you hear people say.” She shuddered. “The lady who stands outside the ABC tea shop – men walk past her and whisper swear words, and other things. Things you’re too young to hear about.” She lifted her nose in the air and looked down it at Lottie.

  Lottie sniffed. She didn’t really know what Sally meant, but she wasn’t going to let on. “Who is under sentence of death?” she asked, looking at heavy black headline of the newspaper.

  “Mrs Napolitano. She killed her husband because he kept hurting her – he even stabbed her nine times, with a knife! The courts say that don’t make no difference. The WSPU’s campaigning for her to be reprieved.”

  “But if she killed someone,” Lottie tried to argue.

  “To stop him killing her! She was defending herself.”

  “I suppose…” Lottie peered a little worriedly at the small print of the paper. It looked difficult. But clearly Sally was able to read it. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I … I could help you pay for it? I have pocket money.”

  Sally’s face hardened. “I can pay for it myself.”

  “I didn’t mean to say you couldn’t – I only wanted to help.”

  “It’s mine. I don’t have much, but I have this. You better look after it,” Sally added, her brows drawing together in a surly frown. “I want it back.”

  Lottie sat curled up in bed, holding the newspaper as close as she could to her oil lamp. Although the seminary had gas lighting, it was only in the main rooms and the corridors. The pupils still had to rely on lamps. She was determined to read all of the paper. Even just the bit that she’d read so far seemed to be storing itself up inside her. There was a sort of warm glow in her chest, an angry little fire that she was feeding. It had been lit first by her father’s dismissive comments in the letter about her birthday. She had been so hurt by his refusal to visit that she had wanted to do anything, anything to spite him. She had been curious before about Sally and her ribbon, but she might not have done anything about it if it hadn’t been for the letter – and perhaps the procession too. The plaintive music and the solemn, determined faces of the marching women had pulled at something inside her. She couldn’t forget.

  Paying Papa back wasn’t a very worthy reason to start supporting the cause, Lottie realized. But surely that didn’t really matter? “My birthday money,” she whispered to herself suddenly, looking at an advertisement for soap. The paper had advertisements all the way through for Votes for Women tea and scarves and ribbons. “Papa said to buy myself some pretty trinket, so I will. Sally said that the shop h
ad jewellery. Papa’s money can go to the Suffragettes, even if I can’t do anything else.”

  Miss Amelia came out of Miss Minchin’s sitting room, drawing on her gloves. She smiled at Lottie, and Lottie smiled back, relieved that Miss Minchin hadn’t decided to come herself. “Have you decided where you would like to go to buy your present, Lottie? Perhaps Selfridges – such a lovely grand place. A little far, but we could take a cab. Your father has been most generous.”

  Lottie tried not to wrinkle her nose. Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia had interpreted her father’s instructions on a suitable gift for a young lady as a new work box. It was an expensive present, quite clearly, made of walnut and stocked with embroidery threads and all sorts of ribbons and gewgaws, as well as pretty silver scissors, and a strawberry pincushion. Lottie couldn’t think of anything she would have liked less. She intended to spend the smaller amount of money he had sent for her own shopping not quite so suitably.

  “Could we go for a walk along Church Street, Miss Amelia? There are lots of very pretty shops there. I’d like to look in the windows – I really don’t know what I want to buy.”

  Miss Amelia deflated slightly – she had clearly been looking forward to some more exciting and luxurious shopping – but she nodded. “Of course, dear. You’re quite right, I’m sure we will find something there. We’ll still take a cab, I think, it must be quite half an hour’s walk.”

  Sitting in the cab, Lottie eyed Miss Amelia from under her hat. She was considerably less frightening than her older sister – so much so that the older girls hardly listened to her at all. Looking at her, Lottie couldn’t help wondering if she actually enjoyed being at the seminary. Perhaps she would prefer to have married and had children of her own? Or, given how excited she was about shopping, perhaps she would have liked to own a little shop? A hat shop. Lottie smiled to herself.

  “You look happy, Lottie.” Miss Amelia patted her hand. “Are you planning your purchases?”

  Lottie nodded. “Miss Amelia, one of the other girls told me that there is a WSPU shop in Church Street.” It was true – Sally was a girl, after all. Lottie smiled hopefully at Miss Amelia. She might as well sound her out. Miss Amelia might need some softening up to the idea.

  “WSPU?” Miss Amelia faltered.

  “Yes. The Women’s Social and Political Union shop. I was told it has some very fashionable scarves, and even jewellery. I thought I might look there for a present. Would you mind?”

  “I don’t know, Lottie. I’m not sure if that would be appropriate… The Suffragettes have behaved in the most shocking way – they keep shrieking at dear Mr Asquith, the prime minister, you know, and they are always doing the strangest things, chaining themselves to railings and getting arrested. I really don’t think we can allow ourselves to be associated with women such as Mrs Pankhurst and her daughters – they’re so … so dramatic.”

  Miss Amelia sounded almost wistful, Lottie thought. She meant dramatic to be an insult, but there was a deeper longing in her voice. She’d had the least dramatic life of anyone.

  “Oh, please, Miss Amelia. I only want to look for a scarf. Or perhaps a brooch, or maybe a bag. What do you think? Should I buy a brooch?” Lottie opened her eyes wide, and gazed up at Miss Amelia innocently.

  “I suppose the colours are very pretty,” Miss Amelia murmured. “I do love purple…”

  “Oh, yes,” Lottie agreed, trying to keep too much excitement out of her voice as her thoughts tumbled and whirred. Miss Amelia knew the Suffragette colours, then. She was definitely interested – just a little. “And it’s so pretty with green. Like flowers, I think. I do hope the jewellery won’t be too expensive, Miss Amelia.”

  Miss Amelia looked out of the smeared window of the cab and nibbled at her bottom lip. “Your father has sent you plenty of money,” she murmured at last. “You needn’t worry about that.”

  Lottie squeezed her hands together, trying not to smile too widely.

  They left the cab at the end of the street and walked slowly along, admiring the shop windows. Lottie coveted a pair of dancing slippers, rose pink with silver bows on the front. She had to tell herself firmly that she was only looking to throw Miss Amelia off the scent. She didn’t want them – even though they were so pretty, and her old dancing shoes were faded… How would Papa ever know what she had bought anyway?

  “Would you like to go in and enquire about the slippers, Lottie?” Miss Amelia encouraged.

  “No…” Lottie said reluctantly. “No, I think not. After all, they’d have to make them to fit and I want to be able to take my present home today, Miss Amelia.”

  “Of course, dear.” Miss Amelia sounded as though she was smiling, and Lottie pressed her lips together as she took one last look at the slippers. It had been a silly, spoiled child’s thing to say, but still. Everyone insisted on treating her as though she was a baby, someone who couldn’t possibly understand anything. She might as well make use of that.

  As they were looking into the front of a stationer’s, Lottie noticed that the WSPU shop was just a little further down the street. She could see the painted words Votes for Women above the windows. She strolled on as aimlessly as she could, pausing a moment to glance at the pharmacist’s display of fancy soaps, and then stopped in front of the windows she wanted. They were so full of posters and newspaper cuttings that it was hard to see inside. Lottie shuddered, her eyes caught by an image of a woman being held down by prison wardresses, while a doctor forced a tube into her throat. Sally’s paper had mentioned the heroic women recently released from prison, and that many of them had been forcibly fed, but Lottie hadn’t properly understood, she hadn’t imagined it like that. The woman was fighting – struggling so hard that she had kicked off her shoes – and one of the wardresses was tying her legs to the chair.

  Lottie stepped back, almost turning to hurry down the street to Miss Amelia, but then the door of the shop opened and a woman came out, a neat parcel in her hand. She nodded and smiled at Lottie, and Lottie noticed the enamel brooch on the lapel of her jacket – a flag in purple, white and green.

  She smiled back a little shakily and peered through the window at the display behind the posters. It was an odd mixture. Jars of homemade jam were piled up next to books and pamphlets and boxes of tea. There were even board games, something a little like Snakes and Ladders, Lottie thought, trying to get a proper look at the squares on the Pank-a-Squith board.

  “There you are, Lottie!” Miss Amelia hurried up, out of breath.

  “I was just looking in the windows, Miss Amelia. May we go in?”

  Miss Amelia looked around the street nervously, and Lottie understood that she didn’t want anyone who knew her to see her going into the shop. “Very well,” she whispered, darting forward and struggling with the door. “Oh! Goodness!” She scrabbled at the handle, her eyes watering.

  “You need to pull it,” Lottie said, gently shooing Miss Amelia inside. She seemed to calm down a little once she was out of sight of the street, blinking in the cool dimness of the shop.

  “Good morning,” called the woman behind the counter, smiling at them, and Lottie smiled and greeted her back, since Miss Amelia was still snuffling and red-eyed, like a rabbit.

  “Look at this pretty blouse,” she murmured, lifting the lacy cuff to show Miss Amelia. She’d only been saying it to distract her, but the blouse was very pretty, all frills, just the sort of thing Miss Amelia liked. It was also rather oddly normal.

  “Is it … does it say on it…” Miss Amelia whispered, eyeing the blouse fearfully.

  “No, I don’t think it says ‘Votes for Women’ anywhere. It’s just a nice blouse.”

  Lottie left Miss Amelia admiring the lace and went to look at a tray of badges. There were enamel flags like the one the lady she’d seen earlier had been wearing, but she couldn’t buy anything like that – not to wear at the seminary. Even though Sally had told her that the shops sold all sorts of things, Lottie was surprised at some of the items for sale. She
wasn’t sure who would want to buy their children a purple and green Suffragette kite.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” The lady behind the counter was leaning over and smiling at Lottie.

  “I wondered, do you have any brooches?” Lottie asked hopefully. “I have some birthday money…”

  The shop assistant lifted out a tray from under the counter, full of glittering jewellery set against dark red velvet. “Something like this?” she suggested, showing Lottie an amethyst brooch, glowing purple, and surrounded by tiny white seed pearls and a band of green enamel. “One of the local jewellers makes us a selection. I can tell you where the shop is, if you don’t see anything you like here.”

  “That brooch is very pretty, Lottie,” Miss Amelia murmured. The charm of the lacy blouse had worn off and she kept glancing worriedly at the windows, as though she expected to see her sister sailing by. “Choose quickly, dear. We should get back.”

  Lottie nodded. “May I have this, please? Do I have enough?” She still didn’t know exactly how much Papa had sent for her, but it must have been quite a lot, judging by the work box. He seemed to be happy to pay to keep her out of his way.

  Miss Amelia dug around in her bag for the money, almost dropping the change in her nervousness. “There! Give it to me to put away safely, Lottie.” She tucked the little leather box into her bag. “Now we really must go. Good morning,” she said firmly to the assistant, ushering Lottie out in front of her. As they hurried up the street, she kept looking behind her, as if the lady from the shop might be chasing after them, shouting something incriminating.

  “Sally! Sally, look!” Lottie beckoned, hissing at Sally from her bedroom door. “Come and see.”

  Sally glanced round shiftily – so much like Miss Amelia that morning that Lottie pressed her hand to her mouth to hide her laugh. The maid hurried over to her, dusting her hands on her apron.

  “What? I got fires to do.”

  “I went to the shop – I spent the money Papa sent me for my birthday.” Lottie held out the little box, the brooch sparkling in the evening sun that streamed through the landing window. “He would be furious if he knew. Isn’t it funny?”