A Woman's Place (20 page)

‘Any of you,’ she hurried on, ‘who feel just a trace of sympathy for what we are trying to do, and that includes changing the law to recognise the right of women not to be knocked about at the hands of their husbands, perhaps you’d add your name to the petition my colleague here has ready.’

She indicated Agatha, standing beside her holding the sheaf of lined notepaper. ‘We would be most grateful. We will never stop fighting for the cause – for
your
cause – until the day we die or succeed. Sooner or later it
will
happen – women
will
be given the vote!’

She let her speech die away and there came a thin, somewhat ragged clapping. It was risky to go on too long. The police might be kind and merely move them on their way or they could be awkward and take a delight in making an arrest and it wasn’t worth it. Eveline stepped down quickly from her rostrum, as one or two women had come up to put their names on the petition, and surprisingly a couple of men, the rest dispersing.

As the three began gathering up their belongings, an elderly woman came over to Eveline, who at her approach stood up from manoeuvring the packing case so that two could take one end each when they left. The woman put a blue-veined hand on her arm, her voice hardly above a whisper.

‘Yer not married, are yer, my dear?’ As Eveline stared at her, half annoyed, half surprised, she went on, ‘I ’eard it in yer voice. Them what’s lorst an ’usband don’t ’ave that bitterness in their voices like the ones what’s been left in the lurch by a bloke. I could ’ear it in yer voice.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Eveline snapped, but the woman didn’t flinch.

‘Them what’s widowed,’ she went on, ‘it’s the will of God I s’pose and there ain’t nothink yer can do abart it. But them what’s been done down by a bloke what’s gorn orf elsewhere ter get ’is bit of fun, them’s the ones what feel bitter against what’s bin done to ’em. Look luv, don’t you give ’im the satisfaction. You ’old yer ’ead high and Gawd bless yer. ’Ere, let me sign me name, though I dunno what much good it’ll do, an old gel like me, but it all ’elps, don’t it?’

Adding her name while Eveline continued to stare, the old lady came to touch her arm again as she passed, her voice low. ‘I was like you once.’

That was all. She toddled away, leaving Eveline staring after her wondering what she must have gone through in her day to be branded a fallen woman. Perhaps the shame had been even worse in Queen Victoria’s time. Now old, she still remembered.

Eveline felt her throat constrict, partly for the woman’s unknown life and partly for her own unknown future. She should have drawn strength from her words. Instead she was in danger of breaking down as she helped to lift the packing case ready to take away with them. With her and Agatha at one end, Connie at the other, it wasn’t easy lugging the case back to where they’d got it from, hampered as they were by long skirts, the wind playing with their hats and their suffragette sashes of green, purple and white. Once Connie glanced at her and, seeing the look on her face, tilted her head enquiringly. Eveline forced a smile.

‘The cold. It’s making my eyes water.’

She hadn’t fooled Connie, who knew heartache only too well. Despite being happily married now, her parents’ callous treatment of her still hurt and, aware of the cause of Eveline’s dejection, she looked away. Eveline was grateful yet she felt angry at herself. All this time and the pain of Larry’s rejection hadn’t diminished; in fact it seemed to be getting worse as the time to the birth grew shorter. She’d fought not to think of the consequences her condition held for her, but the old woman’s words had brought it all back.

Back in Gran’s flat she avoided Gran’s eyes, knowing how perceptive they were, and, not stopping to take off her outdoor clothes, announced that she needed to change her library books before they closed. She was off again before Gran could say a word to her. At least she would have a fresh book to bury her face in so as to continue to avoid any scrutiny of Gran’s. With luck it would also help to take her mind off the old lady’s words still revolving around in her head which had provoked this deep shame at being left in her state without a man to give her unborn child his name.

As she hurried off towards the library in Cambridge Heath Road, her heart filled again and again with hatred for Larry until it felt as if it were ready to burst. She no longer felt love for him now, only bitterness that had grown to seep into every part of her, an overwhelming wish to see him suffer all the torments she could think of – fall desperately in love and be rejected as he’d rejected her, have a horrible illness, or an accident, even die.

In the library she ignored novels of love and romance: too close to home. Instead she chose the non-fiction section, looking to something to tax her brain enough to sweep away this awful desolation if only for a while.

A cheery ‘’Ello there!’ made her swing round to see a young man coming towards her. He was so nicely dressed that for a moment she didn’t recognise him. The broad, good-looking features, free of acne, were split almost across by a grin at her obvious confusion.

‘Bert?’

‘Yeah, it’s me. Didn’t know who I was, did yer?’

‘No, not at first.’

‘Well, you see before you a new man. Not at the butcher’s any more.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She lowered the book she held, her own troubles laid aside for the present.

‘Don’t be.’ He lifted a careless hand. ‘Fed up bein’ a bloomin’ runabout. Got meself a decent job now, behind the counter down at Goodham’s Dairies. Nice job, more money, clean overalls, a bit of respect. Mr Goodham says I’m doing well and could be in fer a rise if I keep it up. Calls me Albert, wants me ter speak better too, me being be’ind a counter, so I’m trying hard to watch me aitches an’ all that. But I don’t go ’ome spouting me fancy talk. Me mother’d ’ave a fit, thinking I’ve gone all nancyfied.’

He gave a chuckle. ‘So what’re you doing ’ere in this section of the library? Or should I say
here
’cos you speak quite nice too.’

Eveline made an effort to smile. ‘I was just looking for something just to take my mind off …’

Her smile faded as she realised what she was about to say. She felt her face crease as she fought to control the emotions it was raising afresh. She saw Bert’s grin fall away, replaced by an anxious frown.

Slowly and very gently he asked, ‘Is something wrong?’

It was a simple question but said with such concern that she was in danger of bursting into tears. It felt as if she had known him all her life. But in reality he was only a casual acquaintance and she didn’t want to start breaking down in front of him. She turned away quickly and fumbled in an effort to replace the book in the space it had left. It no longer seemed to fit the gap and in her desperate fumbling she lost her grip and it fell, landing with the flimsy pages spread out and creased.

‘Oh!’ She made to bend down, awkward in her tight skirt.

‘No, let me!’ Bending at the same instant as she, his head caught the wide brim of her hat, tilting it. He shot upright.

‘Oh blast! I’m so sorry.’

Frantically adjusting it, she too straightened up to find herself gazing into his deep brown eyes not six inches from hers, aware of the confusion in them. It was as though a switch had been pulled somewhere inside her head. Without any warning she burst into tears, the pent-up misery held back for so long gushing out.

‘I – I’m not myself,’ she gulped. ‘I – I don’t know what’s got into me.’

She felt a pair of steadying hands take hold of her arms. ‘Something what’s upset yer badly, that’s what’s got inter you.’

He seemed to come to a decision. ‘Look, it probably ain’t none of my business, but you look fair broken up. Let me buy yer a cuppa tea – it might make yer feel better. There’s a workman’s caff across the road what make a part decent cuppa.’

She didn’t really care except to get out of this place, where people were starting to frown at the sound of weeping disturbing the library’s tranquillity. All she could do was make a feeble nod of assent.

With his arm round her shoulders he led her away from the fallen book, her head bowed so that the librarian wouldn’t see her tear-dampened face beneath its large, all-concealing hat.

It was dark outside now. She let herself be guided between the traffic moving along the Cambridge Heath Road on its way home from work or to a Saturday evening out. Though badly lit and three-quarters empty, the cafe was nevertheless brighter and warmer than the darkness outside with its wintry wind. Albert found a table at the far end where in the dingy light few customers would be able to make out her distress.

Leaving her a moment to go to the counter, he came back with two thick brown mugs of steaming sweet tea. ‘Get that down yer, and when you feel better, I’ll take you ’ome.’

He hadn’t asked what the matter was. He merely sat drinking his own tea and gazing about the cafe. She took a gulp of the hot liquid, which instantly scalded her throat and made her give a small choking cough. Albert looked back to her. ‘You orright?’

‘No, I’m not,’ she responded tremulously. She hadn’t intended for it to come out like that.

‘… I’m …’ she began, trying futilely to keep her voice steady but it wasn’t working and the state she was in she knew she was going to tell him why. The words tore themselves from her. ‘I’m in terrible trouble, and I don’t know what to do.’

Moments later she was pouring her heart out to him, about Larry, her belief they would one day be married, the devastation of finding herself deserted when he’d found out what condition she was in, the things he’d said without any feeling except for his own predicament, that when he married it would be to someone of his own class, the way he put it making her feel lower than the women of the streets touting for business.

‘We’re not poor,’ she sniffled. ‘My father’s a tradesman. He spoke as if tradesmen were the dregs of society. I wasn’t interested in his money. I was in love with him. I thought he was with me. But all he wanted …’

She broke off as her eyes began to fill again. With an effort she drew in a determined breath to control her emotions but kept her head lowered so as not to have to look at him directly.

‘All he’d wanted was to use me for his own pleasure. I had no idea that was how he saw me and I’m so ashamed. I know now he was going with another girl or even perhaps courting. And now I’m left in such trouble and I feel so ashamed. I’ve been a fool. I can never hold my head up again. With no father to give a child his name I dread to think what’s going to happen to me, trying to bring it up all alone. And I just don’t know what to do.’

It had all come out in one long desperate gabble and now she let her voice die away.

Albert had said nothing. She looked up to see him gazing across the cafe as if he hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. Perhaps he was feeling embarrassed. She’d made a fool of herself. How could she have let herself say all this to a man she’d only met casually? Her thoughts collapsed into turmoil; she wanted to leap up from the table, thank him for the tea and his time and walk off with as much dignity she could muster. She would never want to see him again.

He was frowning, maybe thinking she was trying to appeal to his good nature for a handout – that type of girl! Wishing the ground would open up and swallow her, she pushed her tea away and was about to get to her feet, intending to apologise for taking up his time, when he brought his gaze back to her.

‘So, what
are
yer goin’ ter do? What about yer family?’

‘Them!’ she burst out fiercely, angry with herself for having opened her heart to him. ‘I don’t
know
what I’m going to do. I do know I shall face up to whatever happens. My family might not want to know me but I’ve got a wonderful grandmother who’ll stand by me.’

‘Grandmothers don’t live for ever,’ he said softly. It sounded to her utterly insensitive. He was staring down into the cooling liquid in his mug. ‘Some day yer could be left ter bring it up all on yer own. But an ’usband, God willin’, can look after a wife an’ family all ’er life.’

Eveline let out a contemptuous hiss. ‘What husband? No man’s going to want an unmarried mother for a wife.’

Albert hadn’t looked up. ‘There’s one what might care to.’

‘Who?’ she challenged, shooting the word at him.

‘Me,’ he said quietly.

Stunned, unable to take in what he’d just said, Eveline stared at the crown of the bowed head. His bowler hat lay on the table beside him and she found herself regarding the wavy, mousy brown hair, darkened a little by Brilliantine in an attempt to straighten its waves. It had a neat centre parting and there was a small pimple on the side of his neck below the right ear. It seemed to absorb all her attention the way people in shock often take in things that bear no relationship to what is happening.

Finding her voice she burst out angrily, ‘Please don’t make a joke of it.’

He looked up. His eyes looked deadly serious, almost sad. ‘I’m not making a joke of anything.’

Confusion swept over Eveline. ‘But you can’t go round saying things like that to someone you hardly know. You can’t do that!’

‘What’ll yer do otherwise?’

‘I don’t know. But if you’re talking about you marrying me – if that’s what you’re saying …’ Even now she wasn’t sure of what she’d heard. She was beginning to feel a fool. ‘If that’s what you’re saying, of course I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because … because I don’t love you.’ Her voice had risen and the few customers were beginning to turn round. Quickly she lowered her tone. ‘I don’t say I don’t like you, but I don’t love you.’

‘Does that matter?’ he asked, his voice shaky as if holding back some sort of emotion.

There came a feeling of panic and words poured from her. ‘It matters a lot. Bert … Albert, if what you’re proposing is marriage. If that’s so, I do appreciate it. You’re a very kind and generous-hearted person and one day you’ll make someone a wonderful husband, but you don’t love me and you can’t expect someone you don’t love and who doesn’t love … I mean who likes you a lot for what you are but shouldn’t be taking advantage of you because she doesn’t love you enough, to accept your offer. I’m very grateful to you and it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, but—’