by Holly Webb
“I climbed out of the window – your old window – and across the roof.” Lottie slumped into the pretty flowered armchair, her limbs suddenly shaking as what she’d done sank in.
“My father is here,” she told Sara. “He’s come to take me away from Miss Minchin’s. I couldn’t bear it, so I escaped.”
“But … but … you wanted him to come.” Sara kneeled beside Lottie’s chair, rubbing her cold, scratched hands. “You always said so. You hated that he never saw you.” Sara sighed. “I used to envy you, that you had a father at all.”
“He lied to me – for years. My mother’s still alive. She’s been alive all this time and writing to me. I found her letters in Miss Minchin’s desk, heartbroken letters. She kept writing even though she knew I’d never answer, that I probably never even saw the letters. I won’t go back to him.”
“Oh,” Sara whispered. She was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly, “Lottie, I don’t know if Uncle Tom will hide you. He’ll say you should go home to your father.”
“I’m not asking him to. Or you. Not for long, anyway. Just … just don’t tell Miss Minchin that I’m here, when they come to ask. Please. I didn’t come in the front of the house, no one knows I’m here but you. And the monkey. All you have to do is let your parlour maid or Ram Dass say that I’m not here.” She looked up at Sara pleadingly.
Sara smiled at her, very slightly. “I won’t do anything.” She held up her hand as Lottie began to plead again. “Lottie, they know that you aren’t here. They won’t ask me, will they? So I shall stay here in my sitting room and know nothing at all.” She frowned. “I wonder if I have one of my old dresses, somewhere. That one is only fit for the ragbag now.”
“You should tell Mr Carrisford to keep his roof cleaner.” Lottie giggled wearily. “I don’t think even your outgrown dresses would fit me, but it doesn’t matter. Sally is packing me a bag. She said she’ll sneak round to the kitchens later. I’m sure Miss Minchin will be here asking questions first, don’t worry. No one will have to lie.”
“Sally? The maid that you were with when I found you chalking the pavement?” Sara looked worried. “Lottie, it was hardly fair to bring her into this, she will get into the most dreadful trouble.”
“She brought me!” Lottie protested. “She was the one who knew all about Suffragettes. I only did it to make Papa angry – at first. And this afternoon it was Sally who came and warned me about him.” She laughed sadly. “He’d told me he was taking me out to tea. I expect that actually the cab would have gone straight to the station. Sally heard him talking to Miss Minchin.”
“What will you do? I wish you could stay here, but once Uncle Tom finds out what has happened, I know he’ll say we must tell your father where you are.”
Lottie reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the torn sheet of newspaper – the one thing she had brought with her. “This is my mother,” she explained simply, handing it to Sara, and pointing at the furthest figure.
Sara read the caption underneath. She looked from the photograph to Lottie and back again, and nodded slowly. “She does look like you. Are you going to try to find her?”
“I’m sure they must know her at the WSPU offices,” Lottie said eagerly. “One of her letters said something about writing from there. I think she must work for the WSPU. Maybe it was my mother wanting rights for women that made her and father separate. I didn’t have a chance to read all of her letters and I couldn’t take them with me in case Miss Minchin saw they were gone, but she talked about not being able to be herself and not wanting to be only a wife and mother.” She saw that Sara was looking doubtful. “You must see! What if someone said that you couldn’t possibly become a writer, because you’re a girl?”
Sara laughed. “Uncle Tom would defend me to the last – but he still doesn’t think I should be able to vote. He thinks it should be enough that he votes for me. I don’t know, Lottie. I … I respect your mother, fighting for her principles, being brave enough to be sent to prison. I think women are clever enough to understand about the world, of course I do. And if we’re to work like men, why shouldn’t we vote like them? But smashing windows, and setting buildings on fire … I can’t understand how that can be right.”
“That’s what Sally said. But my mother – Mamma – she was trying to give a petition to the prime minister. She didn’t hurt anyone.” Lottie sat up straighter. “And even if she had, I would still want to see her and talk to her. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Sara squeezed her hands tighter. “Of course. I’ll help you find her, I promise.”
A faint clanging sound echoed below and Lottie flinched. The front door bell – it was almost certain to be Miss Minchin, come searching for her. She turned wide, panicked eyes on Sara, who patted her hands comfortingly, and then crept to the door. She opened it, the door swinging back without a creak on well-oiled hinges, and beckoned to Lottie, and the two girls leaned around it to listen.
“No, ma’am.” Lottie could hear the surprise in the parlour maid’s voice. “No, Miss Sara hasn’t had any visitors at all today.” A pause, and Miss Minchin’s voice, too far away to hear the words from out on the front step, but obviously irritated. “Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, ma’am. She hasn’t been here. Yes, ma’am. If we see her. Good day.” The parlour maid shut the door with a crisp bang, and Sara and Lottie could hear her muttering to herself. Miss Minchin had clearly not troubled to be particularly polite.
Sara closed the door carefully, and they breathed a sigh of relief. “I wonder if she believed Lucy?” Sara murmured. “We’ll have to be careful. Sit down, Lottie. I’ll order some tea – I can drink out of my tooth mug, I don’t mind. Oh!”
Lottie jumped out of the armchair as a soft knock sounded at the door, and Sara pressed her finger to her lips, and waved her towards the other door, which led to her bedroom. Lottie darted inside and waited, her heart racing. What if Miss Minchin hadn’t trusted Lucy? Perhaps it was her father on the other side of the door?
“Come in!”
Ram Dass opened the door and bowed solemnly to Sara. “Missee Sahib,” he murmured. “Young lady is here to see you.” Then he stepped back, and ushered Sally into the room, white-faced and miserable-looking, and carrying a brown-paper parcel.
“Thank you, Ram Dass.” Sara waited until he had closed the door, and then came forward, smiling at Sally. “Did you come round the back of the house? Oh, and those must be Lottie’s things. She’s very lucky to have you helping her, she can’t keep on wearing that pink dress, it’s completely ruined.”
Lottie burst out from behind the bedroom door. “What’s the matter? Have you been crying?”
Sally shook her head. “No. Only a little bit anyway.” She hugged the parcel to her grubby coat. “This isn’t yours, it’s mine. Miss Minchin found me packing up your dress and washing things and she worked out that I’d warned you. She sacked me. No references. I’ve got my wages, but I’ll have to spend it on a train fare back to Barkingside. If they’ll take me. And I couldn’t bring anything of yours out of the house with me.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Lottie shook her head. “Oh, Sally … I thought you’d be safe. Sara was right – she said I should never have dragged you into this. I’m sorry.”
Sally shrugged. “Didn’t have to help you, did I? It was me that got caught.”
“Did anyone see you coming in?” Sara asked, pushing the chair from her little writing table over by the armchairs. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, miss. And no, I’d swear to it. I waited on the other side of the square till it was all clear.”
“I will be able to find you a new place, I’m sure.” Sara told her. “You can stay here till we do. I promise I’ll find something.”
“Or we could talk to Miss Bailey from the WSPU shop,” Lottie suggested suddenly. “She might be able to find somewhere they didn’t mind you being a Suffragette. So you wouldn’t have to keep sneaking around.”
“
What about you, then?” Sally asked. “I saw Miss Minchin marching along the road to look for you – I ducked down the area steps on one of the houses on the other side so she wouldn’t see me.”
“Lucy told her I hadn’t been here. Did you see my father, Sally? Is he still at Miss Minchin’s?”
“No. He stalked out looking like a thundercloud, about half an hour after Miss Minchin came here.” Sally sniggered. “She must have had to tell him that she hadn’t a clue where you were.”
Sara frowned. “He’s probably worried. I wonder if he will call in the police.”
“I should think he’s just furious.” Lottie found that she had wrapped her arms around her middle and made herself put them down, folding her hands neatly in her lap, a picture of ladylike behaviour. “He will definitely be furious. But I don’t care.” She looked down at her torn, stained dress, and sighed. “Sara, can I borrow something to wear after all? I think we should go to Lincoln’s Inn now. As soon as possible.” She squeezed her hands tight. Her father couldn’t suspect that she had found out his lies, surely? But there was nowhere else to look for her. “I have to find my mamma before he does,” she said suddenly. “Before he bursts in on her, demanding to know where I am.” She looked pleadingly between Sally and Sara. “Will you come with me? Please?”
“’Course I will.” Sally nodded, and Sara sprang up.
“I’m going to order the car. Uncle Tom bought the same model that we took to … to the races.” Her voice dropped a little. “Then I’ll come back and find you a dress. You two can nip out of the door into the alley at the back of the house, and when I see you walking along, I shall tell the chauffeur to pick you up. We are going shopping in the Strand, that’s perfectly respectable.”
Lottie stood by the desk, holding out the photograph, trying not to let the clerk in front of her see that she was about to cry. She felt childish and silly enough as it was, in Sara’s too-long, too-tight dress.
“Would it be possible to show someone else?” Sara asked politely. “Some of the other ladies?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t allow you to go traipsing round the office.” The clerk shook her head. “We’re very busy.”
“Please!” Lottie gasped, brushing her hand across her eyes, but the telephone was ringing and the clerk began to speak into it hurriedly. She didn’t even bother to wave them away.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Sara whispered, putting an arm around Lottie’s waist and smiling at Sally as she found her doing the same thing. They drew Lottie out into the entrance hall together.
“What if I never find her?” Lottie hiccupped. “I haven’t anywhere to go! I can’t stay with you, you can’t hide me upstairs, it’s stupid. I can’t bear to go back to Miss Minchin and my father now. He’ll never let me out again! I’ll never see either of you. Miss Minchin will have told him that you’re a terrible influence, Sara, even if he doesn’t work out where I was.”
“It’ll be different tomorrow,” Sara suggested soothingly, as they came out on to Kingsway and she looked up and down the road for the car. “They were busy. We will find someone who knows her, Lottie. And if necessary I shall hire a private detective,” she added suddenly. Then she smiled at Lottie’s shocked face. “Why not? I’m sure we can find one, the newspapers are full of advertisements.”
“It’ll come right,” Sally whispered, but Lottie gasped and tore herself out of their hold.
“What is it?” Sara cried, and she tried to catch Lottie’s hand, but Lottie was already racing away down the road.
“Her father,” Sally said grimly, nodding towards a cab that had pulled up just short of the WSPU offices. “She was right, he did come after her. We’d better follow her.”
“Lottie, come here,” her father called, marching down the street towards Sally and Sara. His face was scarlet, and clearly he was hideously embarrassed to be shouting after his daughter in one of the busiest streets in London.
Lottie looked back at him, and then darted out across the road, between two horse-drawn delivery carts.
“Lottie, no!” Sally shrieked, dashing forward, but it was too late. The car swerved, the driver yelling out in horror, and Lottie tried to dodge, but she couldn’t get away. Sally and Sara clutched at each other and watched as the front wing caught Lottie a glancing blow, flinging her into the road.
“Lottie! My god.” Lottie’s father strode into the middle of the street, where the driver of the car was climbing out. “What were you thinking? That’s my daughter!”
“She … she ran in front of me…” the man stammered. “I couldn’t stop in time. I’m so sorry – but she was … she was just there…”
“Better get her out of the road, sir,” one of the cart drivers suggested, as Sara and Sally threaded their way through the cars and drays. “Cause another accident, all piled up here like this. You watch out, missy,” he added, fending off one of his horses from Sara.
“Yes…” Lottie’s father bent down, scooping her up. Sally pressed her hand against her mouth as she saw Lottie limp and sagging in his arms.
“Her head is bleeding,” Sara murmured anxiously, as they followed him to the edge of the road. “Is she breathing?”
Lottie’s father glared at her as he laid Lottie on the pavement, and a small knot of people began to gather. “You are the girl Miss Minchin told me of! You encouraged her in all this – and I suppose you had your servants lying for you!”
Sara drew herself up straighter, and stared at him, her grey-green eyes sharp as stones. “Yes, I lied. One lie. How many have you told to Lottie, over the years? Do you know why she ran away from you? She’d discovered the truth, that her mother had been alive all this time, and you had separated them. And now you have chased after her and terrified her so much that she may never see her mother after all!” She ran her hand over Lottie’s face and pulled off the silk motoring scarf she was wearing, using it to blot the bleeding cut on her cheek.
“What rubbish…” Mr Legh said feebly, glancing back at the men standing over him and Lottie. “I’m sure she will be perfectly all right. She’s breathing, look. And she has always had the very best of care. Lottie is just a spoiled little girl – and she has been under a bad influence.”
Sally looked up from where she was kneeling next to Lottie’s head and snorted. “You can’t have it both ways.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr Legh asked, his voice full of outraged stiffness. “And who, exactly, are you?”
But Sally half stood up, staring past him, her mouth dropping open. “Miss Sara, look!” She pointed down the street, and Sara turned.
“Is that her?” She looked at the photograph, torn and dirtied now, but still clutched in Lottie’s hand.
“That photograph,” Lottie’s father snarled. “Is that how she knew?”
“She’d dreamed of her mother for years,” Sally told him. “She knew that there was something not right. Lottie would have found her mother somehow, however many times you lied to her.”
“I will not let that woman near my daughter!” Mr Legh’s face had grown so red, that one of the carters put a hand on his arm, clearly worried that he was about to collapse in a fit of rage.
“Too late,” Sally muttered, her lips curving in a smile of grim triumph.
Mr Legh wheeled around and hissed, like a tea kettle. “You!”
The woman approaching Lincoln’s Inn House saw him and recoiled, her face going white. “Harry … you followed me here? What on earth do you want now? Is this another vile ploy from your lawyers?” Then her eyes travelled over the little group – the driver of the car, the two draymen, Sara and Sally, the whispering passers-by – and then the pathetic little heap of dusty blue cloth between them all. “Good gracious, what happened? Harry, did you knock a child down? Have you sent someone for a doctor? Is she very badly hurt?” Her face seemed to grow even whiter as she hurried closer, crouching down beside Lottie. She stretched out one hand, not quite daring to touch Lottie’s bright hair.
&nb
sp; “It’s her,” Sally said. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We came to look for you, she was sure she’d find you here, but we couldn’t get properly inside to ask.”
“There have been so many people trying to attack the offices … we have to be so cautious…” Lottie’s mother murmured, but it was obvious that she was speaking almost at random. She had eyes only for Lottie. She slipped one hand under Lottie’s shoulders, lifting her so that Lottie lay in her lap. “Oh, my darling…” She looked up at Sara and Sally. “You came with her to find me?”
“She was running away, ma’am,” Sally explained, looking sideways at Lottie’s father. “He was going to take her out of the school and back home with him. She’d not seen him for a good many years and she was desperate. She told me she belonged to no one. You see, she did truly believe that you had died, but still she dreamed of you. She told me the dreams.”
“What was she doing, talking about our family affairs to a servant?” Mr Legh demanded, puffing up red again. “I will have that Minchin woman prosecuted. It seems my daughter has been abandoned to find her companions below stairs.”
“Is that all you can say?” Sara’s voice was full of disgust. “If you cared for Lottie at all, you would be running to fetch a doctor to her!”
“Poor little love,” one of the draymen muttered. “Torn away from her ma.”
“Seems like someone should be fetching the police and all,” the other driver agreed.
“What?” Lottie’s father shouted. “This is ridiculous! Good god, can we not take her inside, away from all these gawking idiots?”
“Of course,” Lottie’s mother said swiftly, and she looked hopefully up at the two carters. “Would you mind helping me? I don’t think I can lift her easily and I don’t want to risk jarring her poor head.” She pressed Sara’s scarf close against Lottie’s face, and the man who had called Lottie a poor little love scooped her up, tiny in his arms. “In here, then?” he asked, making for the grand door of the WSPU.
“No!” Lottie’s father exclaimed. “Of course not!” But the man was already walking away, Lottie’s mother at his side, and Sara and Sally pressing close, and Mr Legh was forced to hurry after them.
