Crooked Pieces

by Sarah Grazebrook

  The girl is found. She is fourteen (looks ten. I saw her through the tradesman’s door). The child of some gardener’s groundsman and sister to the bakery boy, so at least she will not get her chest felt by him. Not that she has one, that I could see, and all the luckier for it.

  I am to leave on Saturday when I have finished the dinner plates. Miss Sylvia says she will go with me to my new lodging and then to buy two white blouses and a black skirt which she will pay for, to come out of my first week’s wages. I am sick with exaltation. Today I bought a little book of recipes for Cook. It is plainly writ so I think she will manage. Mostly pies, which she knows how to make anyway, but it was the best I could afford and has a lovely picture of a salmon on the front, its head poking from the pastry and a sprig of dill weed between its jaws, so perhaps she will think of me when she sees it. Inside I have writ: ‘To Cook, who will always be in my thoughts. From Maggie Robins.’

  Miss Sylvia gave me some paper and let me use her coloured pens to make a card for Mr and Mrs Roe. I drew a picture of a house and me with a big bag walking away up the path and inside I writ: ‘To My Kind Master and Mistress. Goodbye. From Maggie Robins.’

  Today (Saturday) I had thought to be the best of my life, but when it came time to leave all I could do was blab. Mrs Roe was very kind and said it was not the end of the world and I would always be welcome to call, and Mr Roe kept humphing and in the end gave me a whole sovereign which was all clammy he’d been pressing it so hard in his palm. I didn’t know what to say for gratitude, so I just curtsied to him and cried some more. Then Mrs Roe said if I didn’t stop, they’d all be at it, including the new girl whose name is Jane and just stood there staring at me like I was a mad thing. Then Miss Sylvia came down and said, ‘If you’re ready, Maggie, we had better make a move.’ I asked if I might just say goodbye to Cook who had gone into her room after dinner and not come out. I tapped on her door and there was a sort of grunting noise, so I called, ‘Cook, it’s me. Maggie. I’m to go directly with Miss Sylvia.’

  I could hear her crossing the room, then she opened the door and said, ‘Gracious, girl, you look half drowned. Be so good as to water the parsley on your way past,’ which made us both laugh. Then I gave her my book and she looked at it and just glared so I was afraid she was offended, knowing how to make pies already. ‘I’ve writ in it,’ I said. She opened it up and frowned all the more. I think she was struggling with the letters. At last she closed it again, nodded. ‘Thank you, Maggie. You had no need to go spending money on me, you know, girl.’

  I said, ‘I know, Cook, but I wanted to.’

  She turned away and picked up a package, wrapped in the paper she lines her tins with. ‘There. Take this. It’s nothing much. Just a bit of idleness.’

  Inside was a perfect knitted blue shawl. The softest, prettiest ever made, I swear. I held it to my face.

  ‘And don’t you go crying all over it, or you’ll have a blue face too,’ she said, all gruff. ‘Now off you go. I’ve things to do with this new girl to teach. Fingers crossed she’s not as dull as you were, Maggie Robins, when you came through that door.’

  She made to turn away but I on the instant just threw my arms round her and hugged her so the air fairly hissed out of her. ‘Goodbye, Cook.’

  ‘Goodbye, Maggie. And you keep yourself dry now on those mad marches you go on, girl. Dry and safe, that’s all I ask.’

  PART TWO

  1906–1909

  I cannot fathom how my life has changed. Scarce a year ago I had not spent one night away from home, if you don’t count when Pa lost his post at the smoke-house and the bailiffs came and threw us on the street for not paying rent. My nan and grandad took us in then, but it was a sore squash. That was when Samuel caught the measles.

  I must not think about those times for they make me sad and I am as happy now as it is possible to be. I have a room – quite the finest room in the world, with blue curtains and a cupboard for my clothes. I cannot bear to lay them in it, for they are so smart and excellent that I will not be parted from them, even for a minute. A black skirt, down to my ankles, made of gabardine, the lady in the shop said, and ‘durable’. My shirts are purest white with a high round collar and buttons (white) all down the front and long sleeves and cuffs.

  When I tried them on, Miss Sylvia inspected me most carefully and said I looked like a proper secretary. She says Mrs Drummond’s typewriter is in the office where I shall be and that I am to be taught how to work it. If she had said I should have a magic carpet I think I could not be more excited.

  Mrs Garrud, in whose house I lodge, is truly kind and jolly. Her husband is somewhat quieter, but very generous in his behaviour. He brought a hammer straightway to fix my window which his wife said was rattling, though I could not hear it, and nods most courteously if he meets me on the stairs.

  I take my meals with the family when I am home. They eat a lot of fish which pleases me for I have heard that fish can grow your brain and I would like so much to be cleverer than I am, for all I have come on a deal since Reverend Beckett’s Bible class.

  Mrs Garrud teaches fighting. She says it is not exactly so, it is ‘self-defence’, but I have seen some photographs of her classes and the students have a mighty ferocious look to them. They wear white floppy coats with the widest sleeves ever, and are bound about in the middle with criss-crossed belts. They have no shoes on, which is just as well because their feet are high in the air as though to kick a man’s head. Some of her pupils are ladies, and she said she would teach me for free if I wished, but I have no floppy coat, which is a shame for there are some heads I would dearly love to kick – the Parliament men’s for a start.

  From my very first day there has been nothing but excitement. Mrs Pankhurst had written to the Prime Minister asking to speak with him and, when this was refused, had gone with several ladies to see him anyway. She had been turned away and told to write again if she wished an interview. This done, she received a reply that he would not see her at all!

  Mrs Pankhurst, on learning of this, stood very still in the centre of the office, her face unmoving, then, with a quick nod of her head, tore the letter into a dozen pieces and flung them into the waste paper basket. ‘We shall see about that. Sylvia, spare me a moment, my dear, if you would be so kind.’ She swept into the next room, Miss Sylvia following. The door was closed. After a few minutes it opened again and they both came out, Mrs Pankhurst looking a great deal more cheerful, her daughter less so.

  Although Mrs Pankhurst is so tiny, it is quite terrifying to see her when she is annoyed. Not that she stamps or shouts or does anything at all, really, but her quiet fury seems to seep into every corner of the building, and all the way to Parliament, for aught I know. I have heard that there are magicians can make people rise into the air and float across a room, merely by the power of their thoughts. I had always disbelieved it up till now, but I truly think if Mrs Pankhurst were so minded, she could make a whole audience take flight. Certainly she can lift their hearts higher than the sky. She has such a warm wise way about her. Even when she speaks to me who knows less than nothing, she makes me feel as though what I say is of importance to her. It is a wonderful skill, I think, to make people feel they matter.

  Miss Sylvia says her mother has decided that another deputation must be sent immediately to the Prime Minister’s very door. Miss Annie composed a letter to our supporters and I copied it out eight times while Miss Kerr, who is the office manager, typed as many again on the machine, and then Miss Lake, her assistant, took over and did twelve! Very pleased with herself she looked, too. I shall ask Miss Sylvia if I may stay late each evening to make myself better on it, for my wrist ached wickedly with all that writing.

  The letter gave notice that all who could, should gather at Westminster Bridge station the coming Friday morning. I went with Miss Annie to meet them and there were above two dozen easily, all chattering and laughing as they were on a church outing, not off to change the laws of England.

&nbs
p; From the station we walked all the way to Downing Street which is not so very smart but has bobbies up and down it like they were guarding a prison. I was glad to see Mrs Drummond already there. She was ribbing the constable who stood outside and for all his frown, I could see he was trying not to laugh. There were several men in hats gathered nearby, all hung about with black boxes. I asked Miss Annie if they, too, were after getting the vote, but she said, no, they were from the newspapers, come to take our picture. This was wonderful indeed, and I was very glad I had on my newest blouse and my hair wound in a coil under my hat. I took to thinking what Cook would make of it if she should see my face on the front page of the master’s journal.

  When we were all arrived Mrs Drummond, Miss Annie and another lady went up to the shiny front door of Number Ten and struck the knocker boldly. After a while an ancient man in black with a white high collar and a very sour face came to the door and asked their business.

  ‘We wish to speak with the Prime Minister,’ said Mrs Drummond and gave him a huge winsome smile which only made him look the mouldier. He went away and was gone for so long that we took to singing ‘Fight the Good Fight’, Mrs Drummond conducting. The bobbies carried on walking about.

  At last two men came to the door and said there was to be no reply from the Prime Minister and with that, slammed the door shut in our faces. One of the ladies started to batter on it with her fist, shouting, ‘Freedom for women,’ loud enough to wake the dead and Miss Annie hopped up on the step of a big black car and began to make a speech. As she did this a bobby pulled the first lady away from the door-knocker, but Mrs Drummond took over and I don’t know what she did, but suddenly the door sprung open and she rushed inside. She came out pretty soon after in the arms of the two cross men, and she, Miss Annie, and the lady with the fists were escorted away by bobbies.

  I thought I had better get back to the office to tell everyone what had happened, but when I got to the end of Downing Street I realised I had no idea which way to go. For someone who has lived in London all her life, I seem to be forever getting lost.

  I waited a few minutes to see if it would come to me, but when it did not I knew I must ask, so I went into a tobacco shop on the corner and said to the man, ‘Excuse me, sir, but would you be so good as to direct me to Lincoln’s Inn?’

  He squinted at me, sort of funny, and said, ‘Why would you be wanting to go there, may I ask?’

  I replied, ‘It is where I work. In an office.’

  I thought that would make him mind his manners but he just plucked at his flabby lips and said, ‘Oh yes? And why should an office girl from Lincoln’s Inn be so far from her desk at this time of day?’

  I drew myself up tall as I could. ‘I have been to call on the Prime Minister, if it is any of your business, sir.’

  He started to laugh then suddenly his face went all purply and he positively roared at me. ‘I know what you are. You are one of those stupid troublesome females that would set wife against husband with all your wicked ideas.’ And, throwing up the flap in his counter, he came charging out at me. I turned and fled, right out into the road and would have been flattened but for a hand catching hold of me and dragging me back on the pavement.

  I was so shaken I could scarcely think what had happened, till a lady handed me my purse that I had dropped and another, the man who had saved me, asked if I was all right. He was a rough sort, and very dirty and I saw that he had a broom in his hand for sweeping up the rubbish. I thanked him greatly and said that I was, at which the tobacconist monster, who was watching from his doorway, called out, ‘You should have left her. We’ve no need of her sort, here or anywhere. Nor yours, for that matter.’ The man looked right angry and I think would have answered him but just at that moment round the corner came a big tall bobby, at which he shuffled away and continued with his sweeping.

  I would have thought the shop man would have scarpered, too, but he just stood there, arms folded. ‘Good day, Constable.’

  The bobby touched his hat.

  ‘If you’re looking for them women, there’s one of them there.’

  The bobby turned to me and I felt a great wobbly thud in my heart. It was the very same one I’d rushed into after the Albert Hall. I looked away fast, hoping he would not recognise me for, besides all else, my sleeve had dirt on it from the road sweeper, and my hair was straggling down from under my hat.

  If he did, he said nothing, but merely nodded to the man and, taking my arm, said in the gentlest voice, ‘Come along with me, miss, please.’

  ‘A night in the cells might knock some sense into her,’ the beast bellowed after us, and I felt a sudden dreadful panic that that was what was intended. We walked along silently for a few moments. It was a big wide road with trees on either side with just the beginnings of blossom. The sky was blue as silk but it could have been darkest night for the sickness and jumping in my belly. I dared not ask where we were bound.

  At last he stopped and looking down at me, all serious, said, ‘This is a long way from Park Walk, miss.’ I stared at my feet. ‘But so was the Albert Hall.’

  I could not believe that he would remember all of that.

  ‘Will you not speak to me?’

  ‘I live somewhere else now, sir,’ I mumbled, thinking he must find me the stupidest girl alive.

  ‘Do you so? But not in Downing Street, I venture?’

  It struck me then he must be stupider than I, but when I looked up I saw that he was smiling so I smiled too.

  ‘No, sir. But very near as nice, to my thinking. Argyle Place, though my work is in Lincoln’s Inn.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it not all offices there?’

  ‘I work in an office.’

  The bobby looked mightily impressed. ‘Do you, indeed? I thought last time I saw you, you were in service.’

  I was not sure how to answer this. ‘Yes… At that time… That is…’ He waited. ‘It was decided with my reading and writing, I would be better occupied in an office.’

  He nodded. ‘Pretty and clever. I am sure you will go far.’

  I could feel myself turning pink like a boiled crab. ‘I know nine psalms,’ I said, as this always cools me down.

  ‘That’s eight more than I do. Perhaps you’ll teach me them some time when you are not busy.’

  I could not see why a bobby should want to learn psalms but as he asked it so civil I said I would do my best if such a time should ever occur. He seemed satisfied with this.

  ‘Well, I must let you get back to Lincoln’s Inn for I am sure your employer feels the want of you, miss.’

  ‘Yes…’

  I know not if he guessed, but without exactly saying, he remarked that his duties took him in that direction and asked if he might walk along with me. I was never so grateful.

  He told me he had been a bobby a year come April. I asked why he had chosen it, thinking it might run in his family, but he shook his head. ‘No. My father thinks it a bad choice. Truth is, all my family do.’

  ‘But why?’ I thought how proud Ma and Pa would be to have a son in the police.

  The bobby shrugged his shoulders. ‘They are Quakers.’

  ‘Is that an illness, sir?’

  He burst out laughing. ‘Some might say so. I don’t think my father would consider it such.’ Seeing my confusion he went on, ‘They do not believe in taking oaths, which you must do to be a constable. You have to pledge your loyalty to safeguard the King and his people against villainy.’

  ‘I can see very little wrong in that,’ I told him. ‘It is a fine thing to protect people from villains.’

  ‘Yes, I think so too. But my father is very set in his beliefs. There are so many things he disapproves of. He doesn’t like music or plays or very much reading, apart from the Bible.’ He sighed. ‘And I do.’

  ‘I do, too.’ I said.

  Soon I began to recognise the buildings about me and knew that we were close. Outside Number Four I stopped. ‘This is where I work.’

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sp; To my horror he took out a pencil and paper and wrote it down.

  ‘Why do you do that, sir?’

  ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘But why? What have I done wrong? Am I to be arrested? Oh, please don’t write me down, sir.’

  He looked at me hard, then gave a quick nod. ‘Very well, miss. But if I have cause to bring you here again, I shall be forced to enquire your name.’

  ‘Oh, yes, no…thank you, sir. Thank you.’

  He touched his hat. ‘Good day to you then, miss.’

  ‘Good day, sir.’ I hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

  ‘And my name’s Fred Thorpe,’ he called just as Miss Kerr opened the door.

  I was much ribbed for being brought back by a policeman. Mrs Drummond, Miss Annie and Miss Miller (with the fists) had been taken to Cannon Row and there made to wait a full hour till word came from the Prime Minister that they should be freed, but even their experience was considered second to my own.

  ‘Fancy! Your very own private escort, Maggie. That’s more than the Prime Minister’s wife has when she goes shopping.’

  I tried to explain that he had been on his way to another duty but this produced still more laughing. Mrs Drummond said she wished her bobby had been half as handsome and Miss Miller said all policemen were ugly on account of they were all violent.

  I had to say then that this was not so, for mine had specially told me he disliked to use a truncheon and had never done so, for all he had often been provoked.

  They giggled some more at this, which I thought pretty foolish for grown women, then Mrs Pethick Lawrence came in with a grand piece of news. The Prime Minister had agreed to receive a deputation in the ‘near future’, so everyone cheered and declared victory was just around the corner.