‘Not only that,’ she slapped the lectern with a fist. ‘We’re expected to pay taxes on the businesses the new law permitted us to own, but we have no say in how those taxes are spent.’
Another flurry of clapping erupted, louder this time, accompanied by an occasional muted cheer.
Flora listened with growing realization that she had never given much thought to these issues before. As a governess, the cause offered her nothing, but now she was a married woman, one on which William had made a financial settlement which remained hers to spend as she wished, she decided to pay more attention.
Miss Sharp held up a hand for quiet. ‘Our Society has affiliates all over the country with thousands of members, and yet we are no further forward in achieving our cause.’ She gripped the lectern with both hands and leaned forward. ‘Therefore, it’s time for more direct action.’
The cheers grew louder, though an accompanying low murmur and a few bobbing heads in the front row indicated not everyone in the room was comfortable with this idea.
‘What’s she mean, Missus?’ Sally raised her voice above the sudden clamour.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Flora whispered back. ‘But I suspect she’s about to explain.’
‘I’m here to tell you,’ Miss Sharp raised her voice to be heard, ‘that Miss Emmeline Pankhurst advocates a more militant movement. To this end, she and her daughters Christabel and Sylvia have broken away from the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies and formed instead the Women’s Social and Political Union in Manchester.’
‘Another breakaway group?’ a lady called out in a high-pitched, tremulous voice. ‘Is that really necessary? Not to mention unwise.’
‘What exactly do you mean by militant?’ a woman at the rear of the hall demanded.
‘Indeed it is necessary and quite simple.’ Miss Sharp looked at each of them in turn. ‘We hand out leaflets and discuss our demands over tea in drawing rooms with disappointingly little result.’ She clenched her fists on top of the lectern, the tendons in her neck strained. ‘We refuse to be ignored any longer. We must bring our cause right into the heart of the government as well as the general populace, who regard us a bunch of weak-minded idealists.’
‘We understand that Miss Sharp,’ a slight lady with a clear complexion and wide eyes, asked from further along the platform who wore her amber hair twisted into a circular plait on top of her head. ‘Kindly explain to us what Mrs Pankhurst intends to do that we, as a society, are not doing here in London?’
The murmurs began again, while heads nodded and the crowd conducted conversations among themselves.
‘We plan to organize a campaign of civil disobedience,’ Miss Sharp replied. ‘This will comprise holding demonstrations outside public buildings, disrupt political meetings and smash windows in the Houses of Parliament building and the homes of anti-suffrage members. We shall stage hunger-strikes, and-.’
‘Hah!’ This from a stout woman in a flowery hat. ‘Who’ll give a fig if a bunch of women starve themselves?’ Her baritone rumble sent a ripple of laughter through the hall.
‘You’re in too much of a hurry,’ someone shouted. ‘The Liberal party simply needs more time to debate the issue. They’ll come around eventually.’
‘Eventually isn’t good enough.’ Miss Sharp’s narrow cheeks suffused with angry red. ‘We must demonstrate the need for change through our continued presence in the public eye.’ She lifted a fist into the air, and shouted, “Deeds Not Words!”
‘What about our policy of non-militancy?’ the same lady who had spoken before said, her voice calm. ‘The Society has always sought change through official government channels. Through education and communication. We aren’t vandals.’
Miss Sharp twisted her upper body and addressed the lady directly. ‘Then perhaps it’s time we became vandals, Mrs Fawcett if that is how you wish to see it.’
‘Ah, so that’s Millicent Fawcett?’ Flora mused.
Millicent Garrett Fawcett and her husband, Henry, had practically begun the movement. Flora had read somewhere that Henry had been blinded in a shooting accident in his twenties, but he never allowed it to interfere with his career as a Member of Parliament. He had died almost twenty years ago, but his wife continued her quest alone. Flora had always admired her but never imagined she would see her in real life, the heady knowledge making her sit up straighter in her chair in order to absorb every word.
‘Mrs Pankhurst believes we have been passive long enough.’ Miss Sharp was talking again. ‘If we want equality, we must be prepared to do what the men do – fight for it with our fists and the weapons at our disposal. Those who feel the same must do as I do and join the Women’s Social and Political Union.’
‘Don’t like the sound o’ that,’ Sally muttered at Flora’s side.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Flora said out of the corner of her mouth. ‘And judging by the look on the faces of those women on the platform, they don’t either.’
Accompanied by enthusiastic clapping from one section of the hall, Miss Sharp returned to her seat, her position at the lectern replaced by Mrs Fawcett.
Though smaller and softer-voiced than the last speaker, the lady instantly commanded the attention of the hall as she announced notices about the societies’ forthcoming meetings. This was followed by a call for the owner to claim an umbrella left behind at the last gathering, a formal farewell and the location of the promised refreshments, at which the meeting broke up amidst low murmurs of both excitement and dissent.
Flora lingered in the hall, searching faces for the dark-haired woman she had seen the night before, but there was no sign of her amongst the women who drifted to the table with its rows of white china cups and plates piled high with sandwiches, tiny iced fancies, and slices of fruit cake.
‘Can we go in, Miss, I’m starving,’ Sally whispered, eyeing a rapidly forming queue.
‘I’ve no idea how you keep so scrawny,’ Flora said, laughing. ‘Your mind is never off food.’
‘Yeah, well, you’ve never ’ad to go to bed ’ungry.’ Sally’s accent slipped a little, a quirk of hers when she talked of her deprived upbringing.
‘Go on then,’ Flora said.
Without further prompting, Sally joined the short queue that had formed, leaving Flora adrift among groups of all ages including girls, some with enthusiastic smiles, while others retained disapproving scowls. The one common denominator was the presence of flat, enamel badges attached to their coats. A dark red and green circle which sported the same emblem as on the banners around the walls. The brooch the woman outside Prince Albert Mansions had been wearing was of a similar design, but hers was more a piece of jewellery made up of individual coloured stones.
Flora chewed her bottom lip. Was she wasting her time?
Chapter 9
Flora began to wish she hadn’t come as she stood amongst the knots of earnest-looking women, cups of tea held aloft as they chatted and laughed like old friends. She began to contemplate the futility of locating the dark-haired woman amongst all these strangers when a young woman sidled up to her, an enquiring look on her face.
‘Good evening,’ she tilted her head, smiling. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you here before? Is this your first visit to the Society?’ She wore a heather-coloured tailored suit and a white cotton blouse, her mass of frizzy fair hair drawn up into an untidy bun.
Flora instantly recognized her as the lady the porter had unceremoniously thrown out of Prince Albert Mansions that morning.
‘Er-yes. I mean, no, you haven’t seen me before, and indeed this is my first visit.’ Flora rapidly searched for a credible reason for her being there. ‘I was intrigued by your pamphlet, so I came to see what it was all about.’
‘I’m very glad you did.’ The woman switched the pile of papers she held to her left hand and thrust out her right. ‘I’m Lydia Grey. But please do call me, Lydia, we’re all a sisterhood here.’
‘Flora Harrington pleased to meet you.’ She took the d
ainty, gloved hand, surprised at the firm handshake on someone so slight.
‘What did you think of Miss Sharp’s speech, Mrs Harrington?’ Lydia’s expressive hazel eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.
‘Flora, please. Well.’ She hesitated, unsure what was expected of her. Unbounded enthusiasm or sceptical reserve? She opted for the truth. ‘I’m still new to the idea of women’s suffrage, so I need to find out more before I make up my mind. Miss Sharp was very, er—’ she scrabbled for a suitable word but failed.
‘I know exactly what you mean, and don’t look so worried. No one expects you to commit to the cause at your first meeting.’ She crept closer, throwing an almost furtive glance over one shoulder. ‘I’m not at all sure about the idea of smashing windows and setting fire to property, though. It strikes me as counterproductive.’
‘I tend to agree,’ Flora said. ‘The speaker was quite strident, wasn’t she?’ For a moment she had expected to be publicly denounced, but the woman simply smiled.
‘Indeed.’ Miss Grey broke off to acknowledge a buxom lady in peacock blue who swept by before continuing, ‘politicians already think we’re too weak-minded to make important decisions about who governs us. If we start destroying property and shouting slogans in Parliament, it will reinforce their opinion. And suppose someone should get hurt?’
‘Exactly, and women aren’t likely to be any more taken seriously with such behaviour.’
‘Forgive me, but have we met?’ Lydia asked suddenly. ‘You look very familiar.’ She studied Flora’s face for several seconds before her eyes widened in pleased recognition. ‘Oh, I remember now. You were in the lobby of that apartment building in Knightsbridge where I delivered the leaflets.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I do apologize for the porter’s attitude. He was quite rude and I told him so.’ Flora scrutinized two late arrivals, but when neither was familiar, she turned her attention back to her companion.
‘Don’t worry about that.’ Lydia waved a hand. ‘I’ve encountered far worse treatment. A butcher in Wilton Street threw a ham bone at me last week.’
‘Really?’ Flora gaped. ‘That’s quite dreadful.’
‘Not as dreadful as women being treated as if we possess no more sense or intellect than a pet dog.’ She paused, a tiny frown beneath her brows. ‘You appear to be looking for someone. May I help?’ Her childlike expression was so alluring in its sincerity, Flora felt a stab of guilt that she was about to mislead her.
‘This may sound odd, but I cannot recall the name of the lady who first told me about the Society. I had forgotten about it until I saw your leaflet, which is what brought me here. What I do remember was the charming brooch she wore.’ Flora indicated the enamel badge on Lydia’s lapel. ‘Similar to your own, but fashioned of red and green coloured stones which might be precious, but I couldn’t be sure.’
Lydia's tinkling laugh interrupted her. ‘That sounds like Evangeline Lange. She’s one of our most staunch supporters and that brooch of hers is quite distinctive. She had it made specially. Are you one of her recruits?’
‘In a way, yes.’ Flora stumbled on the lie, her heartbeat quickening at the sound of the name; the same one Mr Crabbe had used. Was this Evangeline Lange the victim in the alley?
‘I’m a friend of Evangeline’s.’ Lydia wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, colleague actually. We both teach the daughters of gentlemen at Harriet Parker's Academy in Lowndes Square.’
‘Is Evangeline here this evening?’ She gave the room another sweeping glance.
‘No, not yet.’ Lydia's eyes clouded. ‘Which is unusual, because she’s always early for these meetings. I said she was keen, didn't I?’
‘You did.’ Flora fervently hoped Evangeline might still appear, proving her suspicions were wrong. Besides, even if she was the same woman, Flora had seen Miss Lange walk away down Knightsbridge with her own eyes, so why would she return to Old Barrack Yard?
‘Did you come alone, Mrs Harrington?’ Lydia asked.
‘I beg pardon? Oh, no, I brought my maid with me.’ Flora pointed out Sally, who had gained the front of the queue and was busy loading her plate.
‘Very wise.’ Lydia lowered her voice. ‘However, as this is your first meeting, you are probably unaware that maids and companions wait in the anteroom next door.’
‘I’m sorry, that did not occur to me.’ Flora cast a worried look at Sally who balanced a cake on top of an already high pile of sandwiches.
An air of hypocrisy existed among these women, all of whom referred to themselves as a sisterhood and yet the gulf between the classes was starkly evident. Women’s Suffrage concentrated on obtaining rights for those who owned property or had an income. It occurred to Flora her with some irony, that had she still been a governess, she too would probably be consigned to the servants’ room.
‘We don’t all bring maids, of course,’ Lydia said without a trace of envy. ‘However, we tend to arrive in groups, for safety as well as to maintain our respectability. There have been some unpleasant incidents in the streets between society members and the public at times. She pressed Flora’s arm in a gesture intended to be reassuring. ‘You’ll know next time.’
Flora nodded, not sure if there would be a next time.
‘Dear me!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘Here I am, chattering away, and you don’t even have a cup of tea.’ Before Flora could say that it wasn’t necessary, that she was about to leave, Lydia approached a lady at the table who stood guard over a large teapot, returning with two brimming cups complete with tiny spoons and a single sugar lump balanced on each saucer.
‘There you are. It’s not exactly Earl Grey, I’m afraid but it’s hot and wet.’ Lydia broke off at the sound of a raised male voice at the other end of the room where a tall man in a black overcoat had appeared at the door and appeared to be arguing with Miss Sharp.
‘I know she’s here,’ the man shouted. ‘I demand you bring her to me.’
A young woman tried to calm him with a hand on his arm but he threw her off, his demand repeated. A second lady intervened in an attempt to calm the situation as heads turned in their direction and a low muttering began.
The man refused to be assuaged. His brows drew together in angry frustration as the ladies kept repeating that the person he sought was not there. ‘It’s disgraceful that you should encourage a respectable young woman to be out at all hours in such company.’
More uneasy murmurs circled the room until a fair young man strode towards them and took the older man to one side. After a brief, whispered conversation, the angry man seem to wilt. He stopped talking, and after several meek nods, he allowed the younger man to escort him from the room.
‘What on earth was that all about?’ Flora sipped from her cup, intrigued but not alarmed.
‘I have no idea, though it’s somewhat of a coincidence. You mentioning Evangeline, I mean.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Well, that man who was shouting the odds just now is her father. And the young man who seemed to be the only one who could calm him was Harry Flynn, her fiancé.’
‘Indeed?’ So her father was expecting her to be at the meeting too? And judging by his demands, he had no idea she wasn’t there. It seemed Flora wasn’t the only one concerned for Evangeline’s welfare.
‘Maybe that’s the reason she decided not to turn up this evening,’ Lydia said. ‘If she has had a disagreement with Mr Lange about the society, maybe she simply wished to avoid a scene?’
Harry Flynn had returned to the room alone and had immediately attracted a crowd of eager young women around him. His fair hair gleamed and his handsome face sported a wide, ‘it was nothing,’ grin. Flora wasn’t sure whether she liked him or not as he gave an air of being altogether too sure of himself.
A worm of unease crept up Flora’s spine as he bathed in the effect he had on the ladies. Or perhaps he knew more about Evangeline’s fate than her father or her friends? ‘Her fiancé doesn’t look at all worried.’ Flora nodded in his direction.
/> ‘Harry?’ Lydia’s brows rose. ‘I suppose you’re right, which is odd as he told me earlier she would be here. Or maybe she knew Mr Lange would arrive and make a scene, so she’s keeping away.’
‘I didn’t think of that.’ Flora hoped she was right. ‘Are there many gentlemen members in the Society?’
‘A few, although I suspect some attend in the hope of meeting young ladies.’ At Flora’s enquiring look, Lydia smiled. ‘Young men are intrigued by the idea of independent, strong-minded women, especially those who don’t blush if a man so much as glances at them. You must know the sort.’
Flora did know, she was married to one. Bunny always told her he loved the fact she thought things out for herself instead of accepting whatever she was told. Instinctively, she glanced down at her left hand, relieved her wedding ring was concealed beneath her glove. She didn’t want to have to explain her circumstances, especially if this was to be her only foray into the suffragist cause.
‘Does Evangeline have many admirers?’ Flora recalled the glossy dark hair and full mouth of the woman she had seen only briefly. Hardly a face to go unnoticed in any company.
‘Not since she met Harry.’ Lydia’s voice dropped again. ‘Though between you and me, I believe Evangeline is having second thoughts.’ Her eyes flew open and she flushed. ‘Oh dear. How indiscreet of me. We've only just met, and I’m already blurting out matters of a private nature. Do forgive me.’
‘You can trust me not to betray your confidence.’ Flora hoped Lydia’s attack of conscience wouldn’t discourage her runaway tongue. ‘You and Evangeline are close friends?’ She still clung to the hope Evangeline was alive and safe somewhere, but deep down she didn’t quite believe it herself. Her father aside, Evangeline should have been at the meeting.
‘She tells me everything. Well, almost. Her father disapproved of her working as a teacher, and, as you just witnessed, he likes the idea of her being a member of this society even less.’
‘I should imagine that’s difficult for her, not to mention restricting.’ At Lydia’s puzzled frown she went on, ‘I mean, if I was afraid of upsetting my family I might become secretive about my movements.’
A Knightsbridge Scandal Page 8
