Falling Angels

by Tracy Chevalier

  I am writing this as behoves someone concerned with the moral welfare of your daughter, Miss Maude Coleman. I have only her best interests at heart.

  With respectful concern,

  I wish to remain,

  Yours most sincerely,

  Anonymous

  I shall creep around this evening and slide it under their door. Then I am sure I will begin to feel better.

  NOVEMBER 1906

  Jenny Whitby

  First thing was, the house were filthy. I had to clean it top to bottom, then clean it again. The only good thing about it was I didn’t have time to think about Jack. That and Mrs. Baker was actually pleased to see me again-I guess she’d had her fill of the replacements. Them chars was a useless lot.

  Then there were my bubbies. Every few hours they’d swell and milk would pour out for Jack, right down my front. I had to wear cotton pads and change ‘em all the time, and even then I’d get caught out. Luckily the missus never saw-not that she’d notice anyway. But it happened once when I were cleaning out the coal fire in Miss Maude’s room. She come in and I had to quick hug a pile of linens to me, coal dust all over me and all, and make an excuse to get away. She did give me a funny look but didn’t say nothing. She’s so glad I’m back she’s not about to complain.

  I dunno how much she knows-Mrs. Baker thinks not a lot, that she’s still an innocent lamb. But I don’t know-sometimes I catch her staring at me or her mother and I think: She’s no fool.

  Her mother-now, there’s a strange thing. I come back on my tippy-toes, dreading to see her after how we parted. I thought she’d be awkward with me, but when I arrived she squeezed my hand and said, “So lovely to see you again, Jenny. Come in, come in!” She brought me into the morning room, where a fluttery little woman, a Miss Black, jumped up and shook my hand too.

  “Jenny is our treasure,” the missus said to Miss Black. Well, I blushed at that, thinking she was teasing me. But she seemed genuine enough, as if she’d forgot all about the blackmail.

  “I’ll just settle my things in my room and get started,” I said.

  “Miss Black and I are plotting great things, aren’t we, Caroline?” the missus said like she didn’t hear me. “I’m sure you could be of great help to us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, ma‘am. Perhaps I’ll just fetch you some tea.”

  “Tell me, Jenny,” Miss Black said, “what do you think about woman’s suffrage?”

  “Well, we all suffer, don’t we?” I said carefully, not sure what there was to say.

  Miss Black and the missus laughed, though I’d not made a joke.

  “No, I mean votes for women,” Miss Black explained.

  “But women don’t vote,” I said.

  “Women aren’t allowed to vote, but they should have every right to, the same as men. That is what we are fighting for, you see. Don’t you feel you have as much right as your father, your brother, your husband, to elect who is to govern this country?”

  “Haven’t got none of them.” She hadn’t mentioned sons.

  “Jenny, we are fighting for your equality,” the missus said.

  “That’s very kind of you, ma‘am. Now, will you be wanting coffee or tea?”

  “Oh, coffee, I think, don’t you, Caroline?”

  Them two are together all the time now, plotting against the government or some such thing. I should be pleased for the missus, that she seems happier than before. But I ain’t. There’s something about her don’t seem right, like a top that’s been wound too tight-it’s spinning like it should, but it might just break.

  Not that it matters so much to me now—I got others to think of. The first Saturday I went back to Mum’s I cried when I saw Jack. Only five days away and he looked like someone else’s baby. I’d still a little milk left in me then, but he wouldn’t take it-he wanted the girl across the way who’s nursing him after losing her own. I cried again to see him at her bubbies.

  How I’m to pay her all these months I don’t know. Wish I’d thought of that when I were securing my job here with the missus. Four months ago she’d have given me anything, but now if I asked for better wages she’d probably just lecture me about women suffering. One thing I’ve learned-you’ve to be scared of blackmail for it to work. I don’t think she cares about nothing now except votes for women.

  Here’s another funny thing-the missus is busy acting like nothing happened to her this summer, but someone ain’t forgot. I were putting the shoes out in the hallway, all polished and ready for the next day, when a letter gets slid under the front door, addressed to Mr. Coleman. I picked it up and looked at it. It were in a funny hand, like a schoolgirl writing it on a wobbly chair. I opened the front door and looked out. It were a foggy night and I could just make out Miss Lavinia running up the street before she disappeared.

  I didn’t put the letter on a tray for the master, but kept it with me. Next morning I sat down for a cuppa in the kitchen and showed it to Mrs. Baker. Funny how she and I are friendlier since Jack. She don’t know about the blackmail, but she must suspect as much. She never asked how I got my job back.

  “What would she be writing to the master for except to make trouble?” I said.

  Mrs. Baker studied the letter, then took it over to the kettle and in a minute had steamed it open. That’s what I like about her-she can be horrible mean sometimes, but she’s definite.

  I read over her shoulder. When we’d finished we looked at each other. “How does she know about all that?” I wondered aloud, before I realized Mrs. Baker mightn’t have known about the missus’s predicament.

  But she did. Mrs. Baker’s no fool. She must’ve worked it out for herself.

  “That silly girl,” she said now. “Trying to stir things up.” She opened the door of the range and threw the letter into the flames.

  As I said, she’s definite.

  Edith Coleman

  When she opened the door I thought for a moment that I was dreaming. But I knew very well that I was wide awake-1 am not the dreaming type. Of course there was a smirk on her face to tell me she knew I was surprised.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” I asked. “Where is the char I hired?” I had taken on the running of the house while Kitty was ill and had been hiring chars until we could find a proper maid.

  “I work here again, ma‘am,” the impertinent girl replied.

  “According to whom?”

  “Best ask my mistress, ma‘am. May I take your coat, ma’am?”

  “Don’t you touch my coat. Go and wait in the kitchen. I’ll see myself up.”

  The girl shrugged and I thought I heard her say, “Suit yourself.”

  I wanted to say something but didn’t bother—it was not she I must speak to. Clearly Jenny would not be here if Kitty had not let her come back-behind my back and against my orders.

  I walked into the morning room unannounced. Kitty was sitting with Miss Black, whom I had met briefly on another occasion. I had not thought much of her at the time. She had gone on and on about woman’s suffrage, a subject I find intolerable.

  They both stood now and Kitty came and kissed me. “Let me take your coat, Mother Coleman,” she said. “Why didn’t Jenny take it at the door?”

  “That is what I should like to discuss with you,” I replied, keeping my coat on for the moment-I was no longer sure that I would be staying. It was unfortunate that Kitty was not alone, as I was reluctant to talk about Jenny in front of others.

  “Mother Coleman, you have met Caroline Black before,” Kitty said. “Caroline, you do remember my mother-in-law, Mrs. Coleman.”

  “Of course,” Miss Black said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Coleman.”

  “Will you sit with us?” Kitty asked, gesturing toward the sofas. ‘Jenny’s just brought up the tea and Mrs. Baker has made some lardy cakes.“

  I sat down, feeling very awkward in my coat. Neither woman seemed to notice.

  “Caroline and I have been discussing the Women’s Social and Po
litical Union,” Kitty said. “Did you know that they have opened an office in London just off the Aldwych? It’s very handy for the newspaper offices, and they can lobby Parliament about woman’s suffrage much more effectively from a base here rather than from Manchester.”

  “I don’t approve of women voting,” I interrupted. “They don’t need to-their husbands are perfectly capable of doing so on their behalf.”

  “There are plenty of unmarried women-myself included-deserving of representation,” Miss Black said. “Besides, a woman doesn’t always have the same views as her husband.”

  “In any sound marriage the woman is in perfect agreement with her husband. Otherwise they shouldn’t have married in the first place.”

  “Really? Would you always vote the same way as your husband, Kitty?” Miss Black asked.

  “I would most likely vote Conservative,” Kitty said.

  “You see?” I said to Miss Black. “Colemans always vote Conservative.”

  “But that is only because a Conservative candidate now seems more likely to agree actively to support woman’s suffrage,” Kitty added. “If a Liberal or even a Labour candidate were openly supportive, I would vote for them.”

  I was horrified by such an announcement. “Don’t be silly. Of course you wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not concerned with the political parties. I’m concerned with a moral issue.”

  “You should be concerned with moral issues much closer to home,” I said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” I noticed Kitty spoke without looking at me.

  “Why is Jenny here? I dismissed her in July.”

  Kitty shrugged and smiled at Miss Black as if to apologize for me. “And I hired her again in October.”

  “Kitty, I dismissed your maid four months ago because her conduct was immoral. Such behavior is irreversible, and she is not fit to work in this house.”

  At last my daughter-in-law met my eye. She looked almost bored. “I asked Jenny to come back because she is a very good maid, she is available, and we need a good maid. The chars you hired were unacceptable.”

  Something in her face told me that she was lying, but I did not know what the lie could be.

  “Have you forgot what she has gone and done?” I asked.

  Kitty sighed. “No, I have not forgot. I just do not happen to think it is very important. My mind is on other matters, and I simply wanted to hire someone I knew would work well in the house.”

  I drew myself up. “That is ridiculous,” I said. “You can’t have a girl here who has—” I stopped and glanced at Miss Black, who was gazing at me calmly. I did not wish to mince my words, but it would be unseemly to be so frank in front of a stranger. I did not complete my sentence, knowing that Kitty could. Instead I said, “What kind of example does that set for Maude or my son?”

  “They don’t know of it. They think Jenny was ill.”

  “The moral foundation of this house will be undermined by her presence, whether they know of the circumstances or not.”

  Kitty smiled, which seemed to me to be a most inappropriate response. “Mother Coleman,” she said, “you know that I am so very grateful to you for looking after this house while I was ill. You have been generous with your time and efforts. Now, however, it is time that I took charge of my own house once more. I have decided that Jenny may work for us again, and there is really nothing more to be said about it.”

  “What does my son say to this?”

  “Richard is blissfully ignorant of household matters. That, I believe, is what you taught me about running a house: never worry your husband.”

  I ignored her remark, but I did not forget it. “I shall have to have a word with him.”

  “Do you think he would welcome that?”

  “I think any man would want to know if his house is morally threatened.”

  “Will you stay for tea?” Kitty said it pleasantly enough, but her words implied that she thought I might wish to go.

  I did wish to go. “I will not stay to tea,” I said, standing up. “I will not set foot in this house while she is here. Good-bye, Kitty.” I turned and walked out. Kitty did not follow me, and it was just as well that the impertinent maid was not in the hallway to see me out, or I don’t know what I might have said to her.

  One of the unfortunate consequences of being of what I would call a definite disposition is that occasionally I am caught in a dilemma. I had no qualms about cutting off contact with Kitty if necessary, but I could not say the same for my son and granddaughter. After all, it is not their fault that Kitty is morally lax. However, I was reluctant to involve Richard in what, as Kitty herself reminded me, are women’s affairs.

  Nonetheless, I did feel he should know something of his wife’s impropriety-if not about her decision to take Jenny back, then at least about her friendship with a dubious woman. I invited him over one evening on his own, under the guise of discussing something about his late father’s property. The moment I saw him, however, I knew I would not say a word to him either about Jenny or about Caroline Black. He was glowing, even after a day at work, and I was reminded of how he looked when he and Kitty had returned from their honeymoon.

  So that is how it is, I thought frankly. She has taken him into her bed again so that she can do what she likes outside of it.

  She is no fool, my daughter-in-law. She has come a long way since the day Richard first introduced her to me, a slight, gawky girl from the provinces wearing dresses two years out of fashion. I do not like to play games, and as I looked at my son now, I knew that she had outplayed me.

  Richard Coleman

  This year we will be staying at home for New Year’s.

  FEBRUARY 1907

  GertrudeWaterhouse

  Oh, dear-I have just returned from one of Kitty Coleman’s At Homes with such a headache.

  In January something happened that I had always dreaded might one day. Kitty Coleman changed her At Homes to Wednesday afternoons so that she could attend some sort of meeting in Highgate on Tuesdays. (At least that means she will not be coming to my At Homes!) Now I have felt obliged to go-not every week, I should hope, but at least once or twice a month. I managed to get out of the first few, saying I had a chill, or that the girls were unwell, but I couldn’t use that excuse every time.

  So today I went along, taking Lavinia and Ivy May with me for support. When we arrived the room was already full of women. Kitty Coleman welcomed us and then flitted across the room without making introductions. I must say it was the loudest At Home I have ever attended. Everyone was talking at once, and I am not sure anyone was actually listening. But I listened, and as I did my eyes grew big and my mouth small. I didn’t dare say a word. The room was full of suffragettes.

  Two were discussing a meeting they were to attend in Whitechapel. Another was passing around a design for a poster of a woman waving a sign from a train window that read “Votes for Women.” When I saw it I turned to my daughters. “Lavinia,” I said, “go and help Maude.” Maude was serving tea across the room, and looked as miserable as I felt. “And don’t listen to what anyone around you is saying,” I added.

  Lavinia was staring hard at Kitty Coleman. “Did you hear me, Lavinia?” I asked. She shook her head and shrugged, as if to shake away my words, then made a face and crossed the room to Maude.

  “Ivy May,” I said, “would you like to go downstairs and ask the cook if she needs help, please.”

  Ivy May nodded and disappeared. She is a good girl.

  A woman next to me was saying she had just been speaking at a rally in Manchester and had rotten tomatoes thrown at her.

  “At least it wasn’t rotten eggs!” another woman cried, and everyone laughed.

  Well, almost everyone laughed. A few women like myself were very quiet, and looked just as shocked as I felt. They must have been Kitty’s old friends who came to the At Home expecting pleasant conversation and Mrs. Baker’s excellent scones.

  One of them, less timid than me, finally spoke
. “What is it that you speak about at these rallies in Manchester?”

  The tomato woman gave her an incredulous look. “Why, for women to have the vote, of course!”

  The poor woman turned bright red, as if she herself had been hit by a tomato, and I was mortified for her.

  To her credit, Caroline Black came to her rescue. “The Women’s Social and Political Union is campaigning to have a bill brought before Parliament that would allow women the right to vote in government elections, just as men do,” she explained. “We are rallying the support of women and men all over the country by speaking publicly, writing to newspapers, lobbying MPs, and signing petitions. Have you seen the WSPU’s pamphlet? Do take one and read it-it is so informative. You can place a donation for it on the table by the door when you go. And don’t forget to pass on the pamphlet when you are done-it is really surprising how much life there is in a little pamphlet when you hand it on to others.”

  She was in her element, speaking so smoothly and gently and yet also forcefully that several women indeed took away pamphlets and left coins by the door—myself included, I am ashamed to admit. When the pile of pamphlets reached me, Caroline Black was watching me with such a sweet smile on her face that I had to take one. I could not bring myself to hide it down the back of the sofa as I might have liked. I did that later, at home.

  Kitty Coleman did not take the floor in quite the same way as Caroline Black, but she was still in an excited state, her eyes glittering, her cheeks flushed, as if she were at a ball and had not stopped dancing once. She did not look entirely healthy.

  I know I should not say this, but I wish she and Caroline Black had never met. Kitty’s transformation has been dramatic, and undoubtedly it has pulled her out of the bad way she was in, but she has not gone back to her old self—she has changed into something altogether more radical. Not that I was greatly enamored of her old self, but I prefer that to her present state. Even when she is not at her At Homes with suffragettes everywhere, she still talks incessantly about politics and women this and women that till I want to cover my ears. She has bought herself a bicycle and goes around even in the wind and rain, getting grease marks all down her skirts-if they are not already covered in chalk from all the signs she has been drawing on pavements about meetings and rallies and such. Whenever I find her crouched somewhere with a bit of chalk, I cross the road and pretend not to see her.