Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Of course.’ Florrie’s heart quickened with excitement. She would see Isobel tonight and their plans would be finalized. And next Monday – as soon as that – they would both be on their way to London. And there was something else she hadn’t told any of her family. James was quite right. Isobel had a lover in London, but there was nothing furtive about it. Tonight, at the New Year’s Eve party, she was to announce her engagement to the Honourable Timothy Smythe, son of Lady Leonora Smythe – a well-known figure in London society and an ardent supporter of Mrs Pankhurst and her followers. Lord Smythe, it seemed, indulged his wife and was happy to stay on his Dorset estate.

  Florrie got up from the floor and pulled her brother to his feet. Impulsively, she flung her arms about him and gave him a bear hug.

  ‘Hey, what’s that for?’

  ‘Oh, just – you know,’ she said and her voice was a little unsteady. No one – not even James or her grandmother – knew of her plans. And she couldn’t tell them, not yet. ‘Just because I love my little brother.’

  ‘Hey, not so little now, old thing. I’m taller than you.’

  ‘So you are.’ She gazed at him fondly, as if committing every line of his face to her mind.

  For after Monday, she realized, it might be a very long time before she saw him again.

  Four

  ‘You haven’t told anyone,’ Isobel Richards whispered as she drew Florrie into her bedroom at Bixley Manor and closed the door firmly behind her.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Right. Now – I need to speak with your grandmother tonight and ask her if you can come with me to London on Monday. You’re sure they don’t know about my – um – activities?’

  Pushing aside her grandmother’s remark, Florrie answered, ‘No one’s said anything and I’m sure they would’ve done if they’d known.’

  ‘Mm. I’ve been lucky nothing’s got into the local papers. Not even Gervase knows.’

  ‘What about your fiance? He’s here tonight, isn’t he? Does he know?’

  ‘The Hon. Tim? Of course he does, but he’ll not say anything. He’s a darling about it all. His mother ropes him in to help out all the time. He’s always waiting at the prison gates for her.’

  Florrie’s eyes widened. ‘Prison? Lady Smythe has been to – to prison?’

  ‘Oh yes. Twice,’ Isobel said airily. ‘I think Tim’s very proud of her, though he worries, of course.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet him. He sounds wonderful.’

  ‘He is.’ In the flickering candlelight, Isobel’s eyes shone with happiness. ‘I can’t believe he’s actually fallen in love with me.’

  Isobel Richards could be described as a handsome woman, but never beautiful. She had thick, curly fair hair like her brother. Her eyes were a startling blue, but her nose was a little too long and her chin too square and strong on a woman. But she was nevertheless striking and utterly feminine. She wore the latest fashions and used cosmetics skilfully. That she’d never been engaged or married before the age of thirty-one was her own fault rather than because she’d lacked suitors. She knew her own mind and what she wanted from life, and nothing and no one were going to get in her way. It was her good fortune that she’d found the Honourable Timothy Smythe, who was willing to indulge her eccentricities. They’d met through his mother’s suffragette activities and it was possibly because he was used to – and secretly admired – strong, determined women that he fell in love with Isobel. With her – just as with his mother – he knew there’d never be a dull moment.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think my father will object,’ Florrie mused. ‘I’m not in his best books at the moment.’

  Isobel laughed. ‘Because of my little brother, you mean?’

  Florrie nodded. ‘You’re not angry with me, Iso, are you?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I’d only be angry if you married him when you didn’t love him. That’d be far worse, in my book. No, I admire you for sticking to your guns, though I have to say, I’m sorry not to have you as my sister-in-law. Goodness knows what sort of dithery creature I might get now. Ah well . . . Now, let’s get back to making plans. Are you all ready? Your clothes and everything? Have you any money of your own?’

  Florrie shook her head. ‘Not much, though I think Gran might help out there.’ She bit her lip, not wanting to confide in Isobel that she believed Augusta had partially guessed she was up to something. She was glad that Isobel planned to speak to her tonight. If there was one person she hated deceiving other than perhaps James, it was her grandmother. ‘Do you want me to come with you to talk to her?’

  ‘Best not, I think. Tim and I will look after her at the bonfire and you make yourself scarce. I think – once she’s met Tim – she’ll be happy that you’re going to be well looked after.’ Isobel pulled a face and muttered, ‘Little does she know what I’m getting you into.’

  But Isobel didn’t know Augusta Maltby quite as well as she thought she did.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Timothy.’ The old lady’s eyes twinkled mischievously when Isobel introduced her fiance after the two families had drunk the health of the newly engaged couple. ‘You wouldn’t by any strange coincidence be Leonora Smythe’s son, would you?’

  The young man stared at her. The flickering light from the bonfire shone with a gentle light on the elderly lady’s face, smoothing away the wrinkles and pushing back the years. In the kindly glow she looked – for a moment – like a young woman again. A very beautiful young woman.

  ‘Well, yes – actually – I am.’ The surprise was evident in his tone. ‘How – how did you know?’

  Augusta chuckled. ‘Oh, it’s all right, young man, I haven’t got second sight.’ She leaned forward, confiding a secret. ‘Your name was in the paper when she was last released from prison, and so – was Isobel’s.’

  Isobel gave a startled gasp and her eyes widened. ‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘I didn’t think it’d reached the papers here. Oh botheration!’

  Augusta flapped her hand. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. It didn’t. I order a London newspaper to be delivered to me.’ She sniffed. ‘I like to know what’s going on in the outside world and our provincial newspapers are full of local tittle-tattle that’s of no interest to me.’

  Isobel was suddenly nervous. ‘So – does Mr Maltby know about – about—?’

  ‘Good gracious me, no. No one in our household sees the newspaper except me—’ Her eyes sparkled with intrigue. ‘And possibly Bowler,’ Augusta referred to the Maltbys’ butler, ‘who smuggles the paper up to my room and out again to the rubbish.’ She laughed deliciously. ‘No doubt he reads it, but he’s far too discreet ever to admit it. He followed his own father into the position, you know. I don’t know where I’d be without him. Oh dear, I’m in danger of starting to ramble.’ She shook her shoulders and, turning to Isobel, said briskly, ‘Now, my dear, I understand you’re returning to the city on Monday and I suppose what this is all leading up to is that my wayward granddaughter wishes to go with you.’

  For a moment Isobel stared at her and then threw back her head and laughed aloud. Those nearby looked around curiously. Seeing that she was attracting unwelcome attention, Isobel stifled her laughter. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t, but let’s go indoors. Warm though the bonfire is, my old bones are starting to feel the cold. I think I may have to succumb to your brother’s kind invitation to watch the rest of the proceedings from his study window. Timothy, you may take me in. It’s not often nowadays that I get the chance to take the arm of a handsome young man.’

  Gallantly he held out his arm to her and the three of them made their way steadily over the rough ground of the field behind Bixley Manor towards the warmth of Gervase’s study.

  Settled in front of the window, with only the firelight from the grate to illuminate the room, they could see the bonfire and the fireworks very well.

  ‘Ah,’ Augusta sighed, sinking into Gervase’s deep leather chair. ‘That’s better. I don’t like to give in
to old age, but there are times when one has to be sensible.’ She glanced at the other two. ‘But you two go back now. Don’t miss the fun because of me.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Isobel said, pulling up another chair and sitting down beside her. ‘I’d rather like this opportunity of a chat with you.’

  Timothy, too, sat down. Having asked the ladies if they minded him smoking and received their permission, he lit up a cigar and puffed happily whilst Isobel explained their plans.

  ‘Florrie is desperate to come back with me. She wants to be involved in the suffrage movement, but—’ Isobel sighed. ‘But our families have always been so close and I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset our friendship.’

  Augusta was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well, you won’t upset me, but I can’t speak for Edgar or Clara. He’ll no doubt rant and rave for a while and Clara will shed copious tears and take to her bed for a day or two. But I fully expect that’ll all happen anyway following Florrie’s refusal of Gervase’s proposal.’

  Timothy sat up suddenly. ‘Has she refused him?’

  Isobel nodded. ‘Yes – and rightly so, if she doesn’t love him.’

  The young couple exchanged a fond glance, which Augusta pretended not to notice. ‘Let’s get down to practicalities. Is she to live with you in London, Isobel?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ll certainly do my best to look after her, but I have to be honest with you. If she becomes really involved in the movement, I can’t guarantee that she won’t be caught up in a demonstration or even arrested.’

  Augusta’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘If only I was your age again.’ She patted Isobel’s hand. ‘I won’t try to stop her, but you must promise me one thing.’

  ‘Of course – if I can.’

  ‘You must keep me fully informed of what’s happening. And I mean everything. I don’t want to read in the papers about her being force-fed in prison.’

  Isobel shuddered. ‘I hope it won’t come to that, Mrs Maltby, but yes, I promise. Florrie or I will write to you at least once a week.’

  A deep chuckle came from the other chair. ‘And if they’re both in prison, ma’am, I’ll let you know.’

  They laughed together and Augusta said, ‘Then she can go with my blessing, though what her father will say when he finds out, I dread to think.’

  Edgar Maltby had plenty to say.

  He thumped his desk and sprang to his feet with the agility of a man half his age. Then he marched up and down his study with swift, angry strides, whilst Florrie stood in front of him dressed in her travelling hat and coat. Whilst Isobel and Timothy waited in the hall, Florrie had come to say ‘goodbye’ to her father. Her trunk was already packed and on the back of the carriage waiting on the front driveway. Augusta had wished her well, but her mother had dissolved into tears and begged her not to leave.

  ‘Mother darling, you still have James.’

  ‘But he’ll be going back to school next week. I’ll have no one to talk to.’

  ‘There’s Gran and Father, surely—’

  Clara covered her face, muffling her voice as she said, ‘Your grandmother doesn’t like me. She never has.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, that’s not true. She’s very fond of you. I know she perhaps gets impatient with you sometimes, but – but – well, you could try to be a little more cheerful. Not so – not so downtrodden.’

  ‘But I am,’ Clara wailed. ‘That’s the whole trouble. They’re so strong. You’re all so strong. But at least when you’re here, you stand up to them. I – I don’t feel so alone.’

  Florrie had kissed her mother’s forehead and murmured, ‘Gran will look after you and I’ll write every week. I promise.’

  ‘But you’ll need a maid. And you really can’t expect your grandmother and me to spare Beth.’

  ‘Isobel’s maid will look after us both, I’m sure. Please, Mother, don’t worry so.’ Giving her mother’s cold hands a final squeeze, she said, ‘Now – I have to go and see Father.’

  Clara broke into fresh sobs. She hated family rows and there was going to be one now. She knew there was. Florrie was so rebellious and Edgar would be so angry. She held her breath and, as she feared, only a moment later heard his loud voice from the study.

  ‘I will not have a daughter of mine disgracing herself in such a way. I’m fully aware of what Isobel Richards has got herself into. All this suffragette nonsense.’ He raised his voice to an even louder pitch. ‘And yes, I do know you’re standing in the hallway, Miss Richards, and can hear every word I say.’ He turned to his daughter once more. ‘You’re a sad disappointment to me, Florence. What if your name should appear in the papers? We shall be the laughing stock of the county.’

  So, Florrie thought mutinously, he’s not concerned about my safety, only the precious reputation of the Maltby name.

  The door was flung open and Augusta stood there. ‘What on earth is all the shouting about?’

  Edgar rounded on her, stretching out his arm and pointing at her. ‘This is your fault. I blame you, Mother, entirely. Encouraging Florence’s disobedience. No doubt you were behind her refusing Richards’s proposal. I suppose you want her to marry a stable lad,’ he sneered. ‘To keep up the family tradition.’

  There was a moment’s shocked silence, but Augusta merely smiled and said mildly, ‘If a stable boy was the man she loved, then, yes, I would encourage her. But you’re wrong about Gervase. I would’ve been delighted for her to marry him. He’s a fine young man, but I do agree with her decision, if she’s not in love with him.’

  ‘Love! Bah!’

  ‘Nor have I encouraged her to go to London with Isobel, though I have given her my permission.’

  ‘Your permission?’ Edgar was incensed. ‘What about my permission? Her father’s?’

  ‘Don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy, boy.’

  Florrie almost laughed aloud at hearing her father called ‘boy’. But, she supposed, to his mother he would always be just that. He was certainly acting like a schoolboy in a tantrum now. He stood very still for a moment and his angry gaze rested on Florrie. Then he turned his back on her deliberately and stood looking out of the window. Without turning round again, he said, ‘Go, then. I wash my hands of you. I just hope your brother never disappoints me in this way.’

  For a brief moment, Florrie hesitated, but then her chin rose higher. She turned, kissed her grandmother’s cheek, squeezed the old lady’s hand and left the house without another word being spoken.

  Five

  Aboard the train, the three of them had the carriage to themselves. The two young women sat opposite each other near the window, whilst Timothy, sitting next to Isobel, stretched his legs and disappeared behind his newspaper.

  ‘I’ve sent word that you’re coming and a room will be ready for you.’ Isobel spoke of the Richards’ town house in London. ‘Lady Leonora lives just around the corner so it’s very handy.’ Isobel’s blue eyes sparkled with intrigue.

  Florrie leaned forward, asking softly, ‘What is she like?’

  Isobel put her head on one side as she considered the question. ‘Rather like me, I suppose. Not beautiful and rather manly.’

  ‘Oh, Iso, you’re not manly,’ Florrie said swiftly.

  Isobel laughed merrily. ‘Kind of you to say so, Florrie, but I have been described as “handsome” and that’s usually a word applied to a man, don’t you think?’

  Florrie shook her head. ‘Not always. People talk about a handsome woman quite often.’

  Isobel nodded her head towards her fiance, engrossed in his paper. ‘Tim is very like her, but, of course, on him the family resemblance is perfect.’ She chuckled, quite secure in her own view of herself and not a bit envious of the lovely girl sitting before her. No wonder poor Gervase was besotted with Florrie. ‘Are you coming out this year?’

  ‘It’s what Mother wants – and Father too, I suppose – but it’s not the sort of thing that I’m interested in.’ Changing the subject from debutantes, Florrie said, ‘I’m more interes
ted in what the suffragettes are doing.’

  Isobel was thoughtful for a moment. ‘How much do you know about the background to the movement?’

  ‘I’ve read about it in Gran’s newspapers. I don’t think she ever guessed that I knew exactly where Bowler put them in the barn to be burned after she’d thrown them out. I used to sit in the hayloft and devour every word. I know that Millicent Fawcett formed the National Union of Women’s Suffrage in the 1890s, but she only believed in peaceful protest and, whilst she did get a few Members of Parliament to support them, most MPs believed that women wouldn’t understand the workings of Parliament sufficiently well to be able to vote.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Isobel’s tone became scathing at the insult. ‘And Parliament stubbornly refused to debate the subject of women’s emancipation.’

  ‘So,’ Florrie went on, anxious to prove to Isobel that she knew exactly what she was getting herself into, ‘Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst, who wasn’t prepared to wait years and years, formed the Women’s Social and Political Union in 1903. Her followers were – and are – prepared to resort to violence to get themselves noticed to further the Cause.’ Now she frowned. ‘But couldn’t violence have the opposite effect? I mean, chaining themselves to railings and smashing windows: doesn’t that tarnish their credibility as serious-minded women?’

  Isobel stared at her for a moment, a flicker of doubt in her expression.

  Hastily, Florrie sought to reassure her. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for anything that will work – believe me.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to work out why it’s become necessary to resort to such tactics. I want to understand, that’s all.’

  ‘Talking hasn’t done much good. So our motto is “Deeds, not Words”. Membership is only for women.’ Isobel chuckled. ‘So even the Hon. Tim here can’t be a member.’

  He peered round the edge of his newspaper. ‘Ah, but I am an “honorary” member.’

  The two girls groaned at his pun.