Miriam’s face was dark with rage. ‘How dare you!’
Kitty straightened up, but kept her eyes on the array of glass jars and bottles on the dressing-table top, knowing that at any moment one might come hurtling in her direction. ‘Oh I dare, miss. I dare right enough.’
‘Don’t think you have any kind of hold over me, Kitty Clegg, because if you ever – ever breathe a word I’ll have you arrested for slander.’
‘I gave you my word and I’ll keep it, miss, to my dying breath.’
Kitty bit her lip. She was on the point of telling Miriam that Jack had guessed the truth, but then she stopped herself. It was better that Miriam did not know that they were now both at the mercy of Jack’s volatile temper.
But Miriam’s thoughts, too, had turned to Jack. ‘I hear you’re living with – him.’ Watching her, Kitty saw a brief flicker of jealousy in the girl’s eyes as she asked, ‘Is he going to marry you?’
So Miriam did have feelings after all and Kitty marvelled, not for the first time, at the hold Jack Thorndyke seemed to exert over women.
‘I don’t think he’ll ever marry anyone,’ she said slowly, remembering how Miriam herself had once said that the father of her child was ‘not the marrying kind’. By the look on her face, Kitty could see that Miriam was remembering it too.
‘But we have,’ Kitty went on, trying to blot from her mind those first difficult months, ‘settled down quite nicely together. And he – he is very proud of his son.’
‘Is he? Is he really?’ Miriam’s voice was a tremulous whisper and, as she raised her fine, green eyes, Kitty was startled to see the glimmer of tears in them.
Kitty was unsure exactly what she had come here for or what she was supposed to do. Automatically she began to help Miriam with her clothes, without being asked to do so, and when she picked up the dress lying on the bed and scurried away down the back stairs to press the creases from it, Miriam made no demur.
‘It’s the latest fashion, Kitty,’ Miriam told her, preening herself before the long mirror. Then she pulled a moue at her reflection. ‘Mind you, the women at the meeting I’m going to this afternoon take little interest in clothes or their appearances.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘One or two of them look like scarecrows. But I don’t see why I can’t have a little fun. Surely one can look one’s best and still be a campaigner for the Cause.’
Meeting? Campaign? Cause? The new words rang in Kitty’s mind, indeed they sounded alarm bells. She opened her mouth to warn her young mistress, for despite what had happened, she still thought of Miriam Franklin as precisely that. But then Kitty clamped her lips closed. Instead she said, deliberately casual, ‘May I come with you, miss? I know I’m not in me maid’s uniform, but I’ve got me good black coat with me and—’
But further wheedling was unnecessary. ‘Of course you can come, Kitty. We’re all sisters in the Cause. There’s no class distinction.’ She glanced at her gold watch. ‘But look sharp if you’re coming, because we’ve a good way to walk.’
Walk! Kitty’s amazement was complete. She had never known her mistress to walk anywhere. Not back home. Ride, yes, on horseback, but failing that she had always demanded that Bemmy should drive her or that the pony and trap should be made ready for her. But walk? Never!
Miriam was waiting in the hallway for Kitty, tapping her foot impatiently. In her hand she carried what looked suspiciously like a broom handle with a cloth wrapped around it.
‘Come along, Kitty. I don’t want to be late.’
Another surprise. Miriam had never been on time for anything in her life, yet now she walked swiftly along the city pavements turning up one street and down another, obviously knowing exactly where she was going. And she was walking so fast that Kitty had to take little running steps to keep up with her. The day was grey and a light drizzle was beginning to fall, wetting the pavements so that they reflected the shapes of the buildings above them.
‘Where – where are we going, miss?’ Kitty panted.
‘You’ll see,’ was all Miriam would say.
The meeting was in a tumbledown warehouse in a dingy street. Kitty, wide-eyed, looked about her. The whole assembly was made up of women. Not one man was present. On a makeshift platform of crates at one end of the building, three women sat together. As one of them rose, the chattering fell silent and all eyes turned towards her. Above Kitty’s head a loose board rattled, punctuating the speaker’s words. The rain, heavier now, clattered on the tin roof and a steady drip came through a hole and fell on to Kitty’s neck, running down and making her shiver.
The woman was dressed in a wide-brimmed hat, a long dark skirt and a matching, close-fitting short jacket trimmed with braid. The white blouse beneath it had soft, white ruffles at the neck. Well, she doesn’t look like a scarecrow, Kitty thought, but then her musings were brought abruptly to a halt by the commanding presence of the slight figure of the woman on the platform. Her voice, though a little strident, was nonetheless compelling and Kitty found herself beginning to be swept along on the tide of fervour emanating from the audience. Then she shook herself and muttered, ‘Politics! What do I know about politics? Or want to?’ Then she glanced at Miriam. The girl’s face was a study of rapt attention. Her green eyes were bright with excitement, her lips slightly parted as if in breathless wonder.
Kitty pulled at her sleeve. ‘Miss, miss. We should go. This is no place for you. What would your mother say? And Sir Ralph? You’re a guest in his house, don’t forget. You really shouldn’t be getting involved—’
‘Shut up, Kitty,’ Miriam hissed. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d thought you were going to turn all good-goody on me.’
Close by, one or two heads turned and whispered, ‘Ssh.’
Briefly, as if aware of the slight disturbance, the speaker glanced in their direction and Kitty felt her face redden. She had no wish to make a scene, but this was no place for her young mistress. And now she realized just why Edward had asked her to come to London. This was the ‘wild crowd’ he had meant. These were the suffragettes.
The speaker’s voice was rising to a crescendo and all around the room banners were being unfurled and held aloft. Miriam was unwrapping the fabric from the pole she held and then Kitty saw the writing on it: ‘Votes for Women’. And the assembly took up the cry until it became a chant. The three women on the platform now each wore a sash crosswise over their bosoms. They stepped down and marched into the centre of the throng, through the rickety double doors and out into the narrow, grimy street. With one accord the gathering fell in behind them, marching along with their banners held high and their chant echoing through the damp streets.
Kitty caught hold of Miriam’s arm, determined not to be separated from her as she was jostled along with the mass. ‘We shouldn’t be here, miss,’ she began again, desperate to separate Miriam from this gathering which she could visualize becoming an unruly mob. A shiver of fear ran through her as she remembered the master ranting about these women chaining themselves to railings and Edward telling her about the one who had thrown herself beneath the King’s horse. There was no knowing what might happen and, with Miriam’s erratic temperament, there was certainly no guarantee that she would not allow herself to be swept along into all sorts of madcap schemes.
Kitty, in strange surroundings and among people with whom she had no affinity, wished fervently that Edward, or even Mr Guy, was with them. She was out of her depth and could handle neither Miss Miriam nor this situation.
Then she remembered how she had pleaded to become Miss Miriam’s personal maid, how she had vowed that whatever happened, she could handle the wilful girl. She recalled the difficult times they had had in York and Harrogate and how firm she had had to be then.
It was the same silly girl she was dealing with. Despite the trouble she had got into, Miriam Franklin had still learned no common sense. Perhaps, Kitty thought wryly, common sense was not something you could learn. Maybe you were born either with it or without it. Strength flooded ba
ck into her. It was up to her, Kitty Clegg, yet again.
With a sudden movement, she reached across and wrenched the pole carrying the banner from Miriam’s grasp. Caught unawares, Miriam let go and though she made a futile grab at it, she was too slow and Kitty had flung it to the ground where it was quickly trampled upon by those following them.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Miriam began, but already Kitty had clamped her hand firmly on the girl’s arm and was pulling her to the side of the band of marching women. ‘Let go of me this minute.’ But Kitty clung on and while Miriam was no weakling, she was no match for Kitty whose years as a kitchen maid, and, more recently, working in the fields alongside Jack, had strengthened her arms and her grasp. So Miriam resorted to kicking and Kitty felt the toe of Miriam’s boot strike her shin. She gave a yell of pain. Then, thrusting her face close to the other girl’s, she said, ‘Stop that, miss, else I’ll kick you back.’
For a moment, their faces close together, they glared at each other but then, as if remembering the time that Kitty had pulled her hair in retaliation, Miriam made no further attempt to kick. Instead she continued to wriggle, vainly trying to twist herself free of Kitty’s hold.
A woman passing close by, her banner still held aloft, shouted, ‘Wait till we get there, girls, then you can start a riot.’
At once Miriam stopped her struggling and Kitty saw her eyes widen. ‘A riot?’ Miriam said, looking at Kitty. ‘That’s not what they’re going to do, is it?’
Grimly, Kitty said, ‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised, miss. Come on, let’s get away from here. You’ve been to your meeting, now let’s go home.’
‘But Kitty, I . . .’ Miriam’s protests were half-hearted now and, beneath her grasp, Kitty felt the girl’s resistance slacken. She allowed herself to be led along the street in the opposite direction, away from the march.
Once, Miriam glanced back over her shoulder with a little regret, Kitty thought, but then, as they walked along, she said, ‘Kitty, you – you won’t tell Guy or – or Sir Ralph about this, will you?’
‘Of course not, miss. There’s no harm done, thank goodness, so there’s no need.’
They walked the rest of the way back to Sir Ralph’s house in silence, but Kitty was thinking, How many more secrets must I carry for this silly, headstrong girl?
Thirty-Five
At breakfast the following morning, it was splashed across the headlines of the newspaper.
‘Just listen to this.’ Sir Ralph, sitting at the head of the table, shook his paper. ‘ “Violent scenes broke out today between suffragettes and the police as the latter sought to re-arrest Sylvia Pankhurst whose appearance is in direct defiance of her current licensed release from a three-year prison sentence . . .” ’
Kitty, helping to serve breakfast, held her breath. Any moment she expected an outburst. At the Manor, she could well imagine Mr Franklin’s voice raised in outrage. ‘Silly women! A pity they haven’t something better to do. They should be caring for their husbands and families, not involving themselves in matters that don’t concern them.’
She glanced at Miss Miriam sitting demurely to one side. The girl was calmly eating her kipper, but, Kitty noticed, she kept her eyes fixed upon her plate. Only the slight trembling of the fork she held betrayed her feelings. Kitty turned away to hide her smile, knowing how sorely tempted Miriam must be to make some sharp retort to Sir Ralph. She was relieved that the girl was actually refraining from doing so and only Kitty knew what a supreme effort that must be costing her.
To Kitty’s surprise, Sir Ralph was shaking his head sadly. ‘What a pity they feel obliged to take such action. I’m sure it does their cause no good. No good at all, and yet, because of the blinkered view of our “House of Men”, what else can they do.’ It was a statement rather than a question, but at his words Miriam lifted her eyes.
‘You sound as if you have some sympathy – or at least understanding – for these women, Sir Ralph?’
The man was an older edition of his son. His fair hair was now silver, but the eyes were just as gentle as Guy’s, though there was a trace of sadness in their depths that never quite disappeared even when he smiled. He was tall and thin, and carried himself with an air of distinction. He smiled now at Miriam. ‘I do indeed. And in my own quiet way I have been trying to further their cause in the House, but . . .’ his smile broadened, ‘I don’t go in for riots. I’m getting a little old for that kind of action.’
Kitty felt her heart sink as she saw the sparkle of triumph in Miriam’s eyes.
Back in her room, Kitty watched as her young mistress marched excitedly up and down its length. ‘I can hardly believe it. To think that someone like Sir Ralph, a Member of Parliament, is actually on our side. I was so sure he’d be like my father. Old-fashioned and arrogant, thinking all women are good for is to look after the home and bear children. Oh Kitty, you mark my words, our day will come. And if we’ve people like Sir Ralph on our side, it will come all the sooner.’
Kitty moved forward and began to make the bed. ‘Yours might, miss, but I doubt very much whether the likes of me will ever get the vote.’
Miriam swung round. ‘Whyever not? That’s defeatist talk, Kitty. Why shouldn’t you have the vote? You’ve as much right to vote for the way your country – and your life – is governed as anyone else.’
Kitty bent and smoothed the sheet with the palm of her hand. ‘How can I vote for summat I don’t know owt about, miss?’
A puzzled frown wrinkled Miriam’s forehead. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know anything about it? Don’t you read the papers? Don’t you talk about politics?’
Kitty shrugged. ‘I’ve heard your father talking at the table sometimes and me own dad, well, him and his mates talk about things like that in the pub, I reckon. But never at home. Never . . .’ she glanced over her shoulder at Miriam and added pointedly, ‘in front of women.’
Miriam sat down at the dressing table and asked, curiously now, ‘You mean, your mother and father never talk about such things?’
‘No, miss.’ Kitty plumped the pillows and pulled the counterpane up to cover them.
‘How strange,’ the other girl murmured.
And the thought ran through Kitty’s mind, though she did not voice it aloud, We’re too busy trying to survive in our little world to be thinking about such lofty matters as how the country should be run.
‘How very strange,’ Miriam said again and turned away to admire her reflection in the mirror.
‘Where is she? Where’s Miriam?’ Edward, standing at the head of the stairs, his face creased with anxiety, looked down at Kitty who was carrying clean laundry up from the kitchen below.
She smiled up at him. ‘She’s gone out with Mr Guy. She’s quite safe.’
‘Oh no, she isn’t. Guy came back half an hour ago. Without her.’
Now Kitty stared at him. ‘But – how – how come? I mean, where is she?’
Edward ran his hand distractedly through his hair and pulled in a deep, unsteady breath. Kitty was sure she heard a hint of the tell-tale rasp. Without stopping to think, concerned only for him, she put her hand on his arm. ‘Go and sit down, Teddy. I’ll see Mr Guy and then I’ll go and look for her.’
Edward covered her hand with his own. ‘I’m all right, honestly, Kitty. I can’t let you go out alone in London.’ He smiled at her, though the worry over his wayward sister never left his eyes. ‘You’d get lost.’
Kitty gave a snort. ‘I’ve a tongue in me head. I can ask, can’t I? Go on, do as I say,’ and then, fearing she had been too forceful, she added, ‘please?’
‘Just for a while then, but if – if you don’t find her quickly, then – then I must . . .’
‘I’ll find her. I promise.’
She turned away, feeling guilty at making a promise that she was not sure she would be able to keep. ‘I’m going home tomorrow,’ she vowed as she picked up her skirts and hurried downstairs again to find Guy Harding. ‘I’ve been away from
my little man long enough.’
At the thought of the boy who had wound his way into her heart and taken possession of it, Kitty felt a sob build in her throat. How she missed Johnnie, how she longed to hold him in her arms.
She knocked on the door of Guy’s study and his voice bade her enter. He was sitting behind the wide expanse of his polished desk. Managing to make her voice sound casual, she asked, ‘I was just wondering where you left Miss Miriam, sir. She’s not back yet and me and T— Master Edward were a little anxious. I mean, she doesn’t know the city all that well, and . . .’ She was beginning to babble.
Guy, knowing nothing of the real cause for their concern, said cheerfully, ‘Oh I shouldn’t worry, Kitty. She said she was meeting a friend for afternoon tea in one of the big stores.’ His smile widened indulgently. ‘I’m sure there’s no need to worry, they’re probably spending a small fortune in Oxford Street and have completely lost track of the time.’
Friend? Miriam had no friends in London that she knew of – except the women in the suffragette movement. She swallowed her fear and smiled brightly. ‘Right you are, then, sir. Thank you.’ She bobbed a slight curtsy and backed out of the room. Closing the door quietly, she ran then, on light feet, up the stairs to her room to fetch her hat and coat. She was determined to sneak out of the house by the back stairs before Edward realized she had gone. What a nice man Mr Guy is, Kitty thought, Miss Miriam really doesn’t deserve someone like him.
Minutes later she was walking quickly down the road. At the corner she paused and then asked a road sweeper for directions, but when she arrived in Oxford Street, to her dismay it stretched as far as she could see into the distance. She couldn’t hope to find Miriam even if she was somewhere here, which Kitty rather doubted. It was more likely that the ‘afternoon tea’ was just a story for Guy’s benefit and that Miriam had gone to the old warehouse again.
‘I’ve no hope of finding that either,’ Kitty muttered aloud. She could not even remember the name of the street. She bit her lip, aware now of just how foolish she had been to venture out alone into the big city. But she had wanted to prevent Edward becoming involved.
Chaff upon the Wind Page 24
