The doctor’s diagnosis was that Philip was overworked and merely needed rest. Paul hoped that was all it was.
16
Sweated women in the slums, who could not eat; foolish women in the prisons, who would not eat; and wise men in the House of Commons dining cheerfully.
—Gertrude Colmore, Suffragette Sally
JULY 1908
The air in Lilia’s jail cell was stifling and hot. She shifted uncomfortably on the wooden platform bed, her coarse prison uniform damp with perspiration. Her back was hurting, too: it had never been the same since the Parliament Square riot.
The door of her cell opened with a loud banging and clanking, and the familiar black bonnet and holland dress of a wardress appeared.
“Are you awake?” she said. “Come with me.”
Lilia rose unsteadily, her legs not quite ready to hold her. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
The wardress didn’t answer, but led her to another room where she was given her own clothing.
“Am I being released? Why today?”
This question also went unanswered. She had been sentenced to a fortnight in Holloway Prison but had been there only five days. She wondered if her hunger strike had precipitated the early release. Why had they not tried to force-feed her? She was quite sure she could have lasted longer than five days without eating. She didn’t even feel hungry now, only a little disoriented.
Or perhaps the trouble Lilia had caused was the reason for her early release. She had done everything she could to encourage her fellow prisoners: sung “The Women’s Marseillaise,” the WSPU anthem, as loudly as she dared through the night; rapped “no surrender” in Morse code on her cell wall, until women in the adjoining cells had repeated it; whispered encouragement to others in the prison yard when they were taken out for exercise. She’d been yanked away by a wardress and forbidden to exercise with the other prisoners after that, and in protest she’d broken the gas jet in her cell with her shoe.
Despite her many unanswered questions, she was relieved to remove the discolored prison uniform with the broad black arrows that marked her as a second-division prisoner. The suffragettes considered themselves political prisoners, a first-division category, but instead they were treated like common criminals. Conditions were even worse for working-class suffragettes like Mary, who were often put in the third division and made to act as servants for the others.
After Lilia changed into her own clothes, she was led to the large gateway near the entrance and placed in a queue of other prisoners to be released. Mary was there, too, and Lilia exchanged a smile with her as they waited. Two wardresses watched them closely, so they couldn’t talk.
As soon as the main doors were unbolted, the queue of prisoners filed outside into blindingly bright daylight. It was a hot day, but the air outdoors was far less oppressive than in the prison.
Now that Lilia could see Mary clearly, she looked terrible. Her skin had a yellowish cast and she was staggering, almost unable to walk. Lilia went to her side immediately.
“What happened to your leg?”
“It was hurt when I was arrested. A constable bashed it with his truncheon. I asked for a doctor, but he didn’t see me ’til yesterday. He said it was nothin’, just a sprain, but it’s not getting better.”
“Let me help you get home.”
Mary’s eyes darted from side to side and she said, “No, I can’t go home. Where are the others?”
“What others?”
“The ones who meet suffragettes when they get out of jail.” The WSPU usually greeted its released members with a crowd of supporters and a special breakfast.
“They didn’t know we’d be released early,” Lilia said. “I have enough money for omnibus fare. Where would you like to go, if not home? Would you like to come home with me?”
“I don’t want you in danger.”
“Danger? What do you mean?”
“I want to go to St. John’s,” Mary said.
Still puzzled, Lilia said, “The cathedral?”
Mary nodded. “Canon Harris will help me.”
Lilia stared at her. She didn’t think Mary knew Paul apart from their one brief meeting at the Whitechapel House of Mercy. And she expected Mary not to trust clergymen, given her bad experiences with the chaplain at the penitentiary.
“Are you sure?” Lilia asked.
“Aye. He’s helped me before. He’s one of the good ’uns.”
“Very well.” Lilia slipped her arm around Mary’s waist and said, “Lean on me. If you can try to walk a half block or so, we’ll get on the omnibus.”
Once she’d settled Mary and herself into seats on the omnibus, Lilia wanted to ask about Mary’s connection with Paul, but the girl looked so weak and ill that Lilia didn’t want her to exert any undue energy to speak. Truth be told, she wasn’t feeling well, either. Her head felt heavy and she was a bit dizzy.
She was nervous about seeing Paul for the first time since his trip to Ingleford. She especially didn’t want him to see her in this disheveled, dirty state, with the unpleasant smell of the jail still in her hair and clothes. But she reminded herself it was Mary who needed help and who had chosen to seek him out, not herself. She was only there to see that Mary got to the cathedral, and then she could leave.
When Lilia and Mary arrived at the cathedral, they entered through the main doors and paused while their eyes adjusted to the dim light. Mary was a small woman, but Lilia was exerting all her remaining strength to keep her friend upright. They staggered to the nearest pew at the back of the sanctuary.
A portly little man approached them and said, “I’m sorry, but you can’t sit here. The cathedral is being cleaned today.”
Lilia was sorely tempted to give him a lecture on how to treat people in need. It was no wonder modern society had little use for the church, if this man was representative of its staff. But she bit back her retort, for Mary’s sake, and merely said, “My friend needs help.”
The man peered at Mary with bright, beady eyes. “Is she drunk? We don’t want vagrants here.”
“She’s ill,” Lilia snapped. “We must see Canon Harris.”
The man gave her a suspicious look.
“If he’s here, I insist you fetch him at once. I’m Miss Brooke, and he’s a friend of mine. I can promise you he won’t appreciate the way you’re treating us.”
Lilia’s veiled threat seemed to work. The man shuffled away and a few minutes later, Paul strode down a side aisle towards them, his black cassock billowing out behind him.
He looked at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “Lilia? What’s the matter?”
“We’ve just been released from Holloway,” Lilia said. “Mary wanted to come here. Her leg is injured and she’s faint from hunger.”
Paul looked at Mary. “There’s a private room about ten feet away where you can rest. Can you walk?”
“I’ll try,” she said.
Paul and Lilia helped Mary to her feet and each took one of her arms, guiding her to the room he’d indicated. It wasn’t much more than an alcove, with two chairs and a tiny side table; Lilia couldn’t imagine what its usual function might be. But she and Paul helped Mary into a chair and he offered Lilia the other one.
Paul crouched down beside Mary and said, “Shall I send for Mrs. Rutledge?”
Lilia had no idea who Mrs. Rutledge was, but Mary clearly did. “Please,” she replied with a nod.
“Very well. I’ll bring you something to eat, as well.” He stood and turned to leave, but then turned back to give Lilia a searching look. “May I bring you some food, too?”
Only then did she realize how desperately hungry she was. She felt as if a rat were gnawing at her insides. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned with two glasses of water and a small loaf of bread. He set the bread on the side table, then handed one glass to Lilia and the other to Mary.
It was the most delicious, refreshing water Lilia had ever tasted, and it was difficult not to gulp it all down at once.
Paul turned to the table and broke off some of the bread, then handed a piece to each woman.
Mary ate her piece quickly, and Paul said, “You’d better slow down. You must gradually accustom your body to food again.” He spoke and looked at Mary with such kindness and concern that Lilia felt herself softening. They had come to the right place, after all.
The room was very quiet. The only sounds were muffled echoes from other parts of the cathedral: doors being closed, soft-soled shoes shuffling down an aisle, the sweep of what must have been a broom. The peaceful atmosphere surrounded Lilia like an embrace, an indescribable relief after the jarring noises she had been subjected to day and night at Holloway. She looked at what was left of the loaf of bread on the side table. She wished Paul would eat some of it, too. She fancied that if they ate it together, as a sort of spiritual ritual, it would mend the breach in their friendship.
“Is that the bread you use for Communion?” she asked. “It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell your superiors you shared it with heathens.”
He smiled, his face lighting up in the way she remembered so well. She wondered if a person existed who could be immune to that smile.
“Not to worry,” he said. “This bread hasn’t been consecrated. Heathens in need are welcome to it.”
A few minutes later, the little man who had been so inhospitable to Mary and Lilia appeared in the doorway. “Canon Harris, Mrs. Rutledge is waiting at the west entrance.”
“Thank you.” Paul looked at Mary. “How do you feel? A little better?”
“Aye, I think so.” Her face had regained its color and as she rose from her chair, she seemed steadier on her feet. Paul offered her his arm.
Lilia rose and said, “I can help, too.”
“No need, miss,” Mary said. “Canon Harris knows what to do. I’ll see you soon.”
“Very well.”
As Paul guided Mary to the doorway, he glanced at Lilia and said, “Will you wait for me? I won’t be long.”
“Certainly.”
Lilia waited in the little room, feeling strangely bereft. People always needed her and wanted things from her, sometimes to the point of exasperation on her part. But now she was clearly not needed.
When Paul returned, he took the chair Mary had vacated.
“Mary is safe now,” he said. “You needn’t worry about her.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t she want to go home?”
“Her uncle is home and out of prison again.”
This information meant nothing to Lilia, and she gave him a baffled look.
“She lives with him,” he explained. “He’s opposed to her suffrage activities, but he spends a good deal of time in jail for various crimes. Mary is safe when he’s in prison, but when she first joined the WSPU, he beat her so badly that she almost died.”
Lilia felt the blood drain from her face. The water glass she was holding began to shake. Paul took it from her and set it on the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you knew.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Lilia murmured. “I’m her friend.” She tried to remember whether Mary had said anything about her private life, but the only conversations that came to her mind were about the WSPU.
“Perhaps she was ashamed. People often hide their private pain, even from friends.”
“But she told you.”
“I’m a priest. You might be surprised how much people are willing to tell me.” He touched his clerical collar, adding, “Sometimes seeing this is enough to open the floodgates.”
“But Mary had such a bad experience with the chaplain at the White-chapel House of Mercy. I thought she’d avoid all clergymen after that.”
He gave her a wry look. “Not everyone sees us as the enemy, present company excepted.”
“I don’t—” she began, but he smiled, and she realized she had taken his bait. She tossed her head and said briskly, “Who is this Mrs. Rutledge and where has she taken Mary?”
“Mrs. Rutledge oversees a house of refuge nearby. It’s not a penitentiary, so you needn’t give me that suspicious look. There is room for only four guests, so we use it for women and children who are in imminent danger. They can’t stay long, unfortunately, but it offers a temporary place for them to recover from whatever violence they’ve experienced.”
“And Mary has been there before.”
“Yes.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “She sought me out at the cathedral after she was released from the Whitechapel House of Mercy. She remembered my visits there when I was working on the penitentiary project. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t all, Lilia sensed. Paul had never been one to boast about his accomplishments.
“Did you establish this house of refuge?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
“It was so little, given what I wanted to do. Several women have gone from there back to the streets or to male relations who beat them. One has already died from her injuries.” Paul’s lips tightened and he looked away.
“I wish Mary would have told me,” Lilia said, half to herself. “I could have tried to protect her—or kept her identity secret, at least.” Glancing at Paul, she added, “You must hate the WSPU for making Mary’s life even more difficult than it already is.”
“No,” he said firmly. “She has told me how the WSPU has given her a purpose she never had before. And seeing how powerless she is, like so many others in her position, has convinced me how important it is for women to have the vote.”
Lilia was moved, and it was a moment before she could meet his eyes. When she did, she saw that he was looking at her intently, and she raised her hand in a half-conscious movement to smooth her hair. She had pinned it back as best she could in her cell that morning, without the benefit of a looking glass or brush, and it felt tangled and grimy. She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. Those clear green eyes seemed to miss nothing.
“Have you become a suffragist, then?” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I don’t know. You be the judge.”
It was a strange conversation. Lilia wondered how much of the strangeness was in her perception alone—perhaps her weakened state had made her think Paul still cared for her, at least as a friend. Or perhaps the strangeness lay in the setting—they had never been together like this in an almost-empty cathedral.
“Were you and Mary arrested together?” he asked.
“Yes. We were both released early, too. Mary was probably released today because of her leg, but I don’t know why they released me. They didn’t even try to force-feed me, though perhaps I wasn’t on my hunger strike long enough for that. One of the wardresses told me she heard the governor say I’m more trouble in prison than out of it.”
“That’s certainly possible,” Paul said, looking amused.
“My theory is that the prison officials and MPs are worried about the publicity I’ll draw to the Cause. They know I’ll write and speak about everything that happens to me, and I suppose that makes them nervous.”
“I have a theory, too,” he said, “but I don’t think I can share it with you.”
She gave him a quizzical look, but he didn’t elaborate. The cathedral clock began to chime the hour, and he said, “I’m sorry, but I have a meeting. And you’ll want to go home and rest. Will you let me hail a cab for you?”
She assented. As they made their way outside, Paul said, “I’ll check on Mary tomorrow to make sure she’s all right.”
“I should like to see her, too. May I go with you?”
“I’m afraid not. Very few people know about the house of refuge, and if you were to be seen going there …”
“The secret would be out. I understand.”
“I could call on you tomorrow evening, if you like, and tell you how Mary is.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
Once in the cab, Lilia pulled back the curtain to wave to him, but he had already turned back towards the cathedral.
When Paul went to Lilia’s house the following evening, Lizzie greeted him like a long-lost hero, and even Harriet was more cordial than she used to be. She was on her way out but told him she was sorry she couldn’t stay to talk. It occurred to him only after she had left that she probably knew all the details of his failed proposal to Lilia and merely felt sorry for him.
When Lilia entered the parlor where he waited, Paul was relieved to see that she looked much better than she had the day before. He had been more alarmed by her appearance at the cathedral than he had let on. But though she was still too pale, her eyes were bright and she moved with her usual energy.
She surprised him by sitting beside him on the brown horsehair sofa, turning a little to face him so that her knee nearly touched his. She was so close he could smell the distinctive cinnamon-tobacco scent of her cigarettes.
“How is Mary?” she asked.
“She’s better now that she’s eating again, but the doctor went to see her this morning. It turns out her leg is broken and has been for some time.”
“That’s outrageous!” Lilia’s eyes flashed with anger. “The injury occurred during her arrest and the prison doctor claimed it was just a sprain.”
“She’s being well cared for now and can stay at the house of refuge for at least a month. I’ve made sure of that.”
“Thank you.”
“I confess I was worried about you, too, yesterday. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, much better—but yesterday we spoke only of me and Mary. I’d like to know about your life. I heard the old dean of the cathedral died, so does that mean the deanship is yours?”
He hesitated. He didn’t feel like telling the whole painful story again, but she was looking at him with such interest that he ended up relating everything, from his first meeting with Mr. Hirst to his decision not to accept the deanship. Lilia’s dark, expressive eyes never left his face.
When he had finished, she said, “It must have been difficult to decline the deanship when you wanted it so much.”
Impossible Saints Page 18
