A Woman's Place (29 page)

‘I’m fine now. I’m over the worst.’ With no help from you, came the thought. ‘It’ll soon go now.’

‘And you could give it to the little’ uns.’

Victoria frowned. That was true, but Eveline and Connie had had the common sense not to attend their suffragette meetings while she’d been down with this cold. Instead Eveline had been popping in to see that she had everything she needed.

Dora had seen her frown deepen and quickly changed the subject.

‘I take it you’re coming to us fer Christmas Day? I expect you’ll be over that cold by then. Christmas is a good three weeks away yet.’

Still rattled, Victoria gave a curt nod at this invitation, as offhand as she could have expected from Dora, a duty, not extended out of any great love. Maybe, as Dora said, she did tend to always want to be in the right, but Dora had no idea she was of the same ilk, had inherited the same streak of stubbornness, though Victoria hoped she wasn’t so unforgiving as Dora and could at least see and sympathise with another person’s point of view.

But yes, she’d go over to Dora and Len’s for Christmas Day, if not quite with a good heart. She’d much rather have stayed in her own flat, all nice and comfortable in front of the fire and not have to make small talk or fear that a chance word could make them both fall out again. Still, it was best to keep the peace and she would try her hardest to be pleasant if Dora got all sharp and nasty over something or other.

Eveline felt concerned for Gran. That cold had lasted right through Christmas and into January. As with many elderly people, something so trivial could easily turn to pneumonia and Gran had come very near to it.

It was February now and she still seemed under the weather. The last thing Eveline dared was ask her to have the children while she and Connie swanned off to meetings. She and Connie had gone back to taking over the care of each other’s children while one went off. It was her turn to go but she’d let Connie go so she could pop over and see how Gran was and if she needed any errands done, taking both children with her, now Gran was no longer infectious.

‘I’m a lot better now,’ she was told. ‘You don’t have to feel you’ve got to come over. I’m not an invalid.’

‘I like coming here,’ Eveline said. ‘You do like seeing Helena, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. Now you’ve come to mention it, I’m quite well enough to take charge of her again when you go off to your meetings.’

But Eveline couldn’t have that. She did miss her help and longed for the day when she and Connie would be able to go to their meetings together every Saturday as regularly as they used to, but it seemed those days were over.

There’d not been any more glorious processions since the summer. In fact autumn had been something of a damp squib, after everyone had been so full of optimism as well, the WSPU even cooperating for a while with the NUWSS in their insistence on non-violent demonstrations.

It hadn’t lasted. When Prime Minister Asquith had made a surprise disclosure in November that the government intended to introduce a Reform Bill – in other words a Franchise Bill – that would not include women but give more men the vote, the WSPU immediately returned to their old militant tactics. Everyone knew Asquith’s disclosure was designed to undermine the Conciliation Committee. Despite caution from Mrs Fawcett of the NUWSS, Mrs Pankhurst of the WSPU declared it open warfare.

Every suffragette, she said, must show by whatever means greater determination to convince government to change its mind. So had begun a spate of shop-window-breaking with its resultant arrests, Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst herself advocating acts of violence that included arson and even the planting of bomb material.

It was a dilemma for Eveline and Connie. Despite feeling obligated to do their bit, they now had their children to think of. If either of them went to prison, how would their children cope?

‘I agree with Mrs Fawcett,’ Connie said as she and Eveline guided the prams between early-evening shoppers in Bethnal Green Road, huddled into their collars and scarves against a chilly February wind. It was already dark at six o’clock; hissing acetylene lamps threw an eerie glow between the rows of market stalls.

Eveline stopped fingering a petticoat she’d have loved to buy but couldn’t afford. They had come out to buy groceries and meat for the weekend, not to gawp at more frivolous things. She shot Connie a look. ‘Mrs Fawcett? How can you? How far has she got with all her peaceful tactics and arguments? At least our union makes people sit up and take notice.’

‘And turns all of them against us,’ Connie retorted. ‘Just as Mrs Pankhurst says. “If the public are pleased with what we’re doing, it means we’re not being effective.” I think she’s wrong. Breaking windows and setting fire to public places is turning the government against the very aims we’re all trying to achieve. I still think the NUWSS is right not to make scenes.’

‘That’s being disloyal,’ Eveline said, deftly manoeuvring her pram through a veritable barrier of shoppers.

Connie followed closely with hers. ‘It’s merely being practical.’

Eveline stopped by the pork butcher’s that wafted an appetising aroma of pork dripping and boiled pigs’ trotters. ‘Then why don’t you leave and join them instead?’ she snapped. ‘I’m going in here for a bit of pork for Sunday.’

‘I’ll come in with you,’ Connie said after a short pause. They left the prams outside, then chose what they wanted, Eveline unable to help noticing that Connie’s selection was a nice piece of loin whereas all her money stretched to was a bit of belly of pork which she would bone out at home and roll into something resembling a Sunday joint.

She had more things to think about than suffragettes right now. They had been striving since before the turn of the century. It was now 1912 and it sometimes felt women might never be given the vote, but she couldn’t worry about that at the moment.

On Monday Albert was going for an interview with a small engineering firm. He’d been studying so hard all this time and she was sure he’d get the job. It wasn’t like these large companies that take only apprentices straight from school. The advertisement had spoken of training and at twenty-two Albert should be just what they were looking for. She could hardly wait for Monday to come.

He came in out of the snow, his broad face wreathed in a huge grin. He bent and planted a kiss on Helena’s little face as she sat on the shabby sofa playing with a rag doll. Two years old in three months’ time, Helena lifted a tiny hand and grabbed his nose.

‘Honk-honk, Daddeee!’ she chuckled in delight as he let her continue to pull at his nose.

‘That’s right – ’onk, ’onk goes the old ’ooter,’ Albert chuckled back. ‘And this hooter’s frozen stiff,’ he added, straightening up to look at Eveline as he took off his jacket, scarf and cloth cap to toss them on to an upright chair. ‘It’s blooming cold out there. Freezing brass monkeys!’

Eveline stood upright and tense, soup spoon in one hand, saucepan in the other, ready to dish up the stew that would warm his body famished by the cold.

‘How did it go?’ she asked. ‘Did they like you? Did you get the job?’

‘As far as I know,’ he said. ‘Said I was what they were looking for.’

‘So you got it then.’ Impatience was consuming her. ‘What did they say exactly? Did they say you could start? Did they say when you could?’

This was wonderful news after all that hard work, all the years of studying, yet he was holding back, having a game with her, tormenting her, holding out to the last minute before she lost her temper with him.

She noticed he’d gone suddenly very serious, his expression turning to one of concern. Without answering he came and sat at the table. She automatically began ladling the stew on to a deep plate while he tore into smaller pieces the bread she had put out for him to dip into the liquid. He was being exasperating.

‘Well?’ she prompted as he put the first morsel into his mouth.

‘Well.’ He swallowed the piece and then stopped eating. ‘Well, there is a snag.’

Couldn’t she have bet her life on it? Nothing ever came easy in this life, certainly not for people like them who worked so hard for a better life for themselves.

‘What snag?’ she queried.

‘Well,’ he said again. ‘They seemed impressed with me, said I was bright and that they’d have no trouble taking me on as a trainee, a pupil. They thought I’d do well.’

‘And?’ she prompted again as he paused.

‘And … I’ll have to be trained of course and you have to pay for the training. It’s quite usual,’ he hurried on before she could say anything, ‘At nearly twenty-two I’m too old to be an apprentice, but they’ll train me and it’s customary to pay for the training. After all—’

‘How much?’ she cut in.

His hesitation should have warned her. ‘It’s just under fifty guineas a year,’ he said finally, adding quickly, ‘But it may only be for a year if I put myself to it.’

‘Fifty guineas?’ she exploded. ‘Where are you going to find fifty guineas?’

‘I’ve been saving hard.’

‘Not enough for that amount. You’ll have to save for a lifetime to get that much together. And what about wages?’

She’d never felt so disappointed. She’d had such high hopes for him and he was bright. He’d worked so hard. He didn’t deserve this sort of blow. No wonder he’d taken a time to tell her. It always came down to money, didn’t it? Work and study as hard as he might, he would never realise his dream. People like him never did; they were trapped, as all poor people were. No chance of borrowing that much, not even from a backstreet moneylender who, despite knowing he would squeeze them dry, had more sense than lend that kind of money to the likes of Albert with no collateral to be seized.

There were her parents, business people, but as business people they knew he could never pay it back. She thought of Connie, who had savings. But they were her savings and she could never ask her to dip into them. She had her pride, and how could she put Connie into the embarrassing situation of having to refuse? They were stuck in their rut and that was that.

‘I’m so sorry for him,’ she told Gran when she went round to see how she was.

She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the conversation had got round to how Albert’s studies were coming along, and it had just come out.

‘He’s worked so hard, night and day, his nose never out of his books.’

Dismally she stirred the tea Gran had put in front of her, her spoon going incessantly round and round, her voice full of bitterness. ‘If he’d been well off he could have gone to college in the evenings and studied properly. But no, people like us are stuck in a hole, no climbing out when no one ever throws you a rope. What chance has he got of bettering himself?’

She thought of Connie’s husband, who had followed his father into the bank, his father having pulled strings for him. No matter that he’d started there in a humble capacity, he was there and on his way up. He and Connie would keep going up while she and Albert would stay right where they were, for ever and ever!

Gran’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘How much did you say it was going to cost?’

‘Fifty guineas a year,’ she answered absently, defeat and acrimony dulling her reply. ‘And if it goes over another year, another fifty guineas.’

‘And what about wages?’

‘Oh, he’d get a wage, but what’s the point? We haven’t got the money. Even if we could borrow from a bank, it’d have to be paid back. No, it’s just pie in the sky. He was so sure he’d be a mechanical engineer one day. Well, that’s all over now.’

Gran stirred her own tea in silence. After a while she said slowly, ‘And say if he
could
borrow it?’ Despite her despondency, Eveline almost burst out laughing.

‘Where from? Banks wouldn’t even look at us. Not even money lenders would for that kind of loan, us with not one scrap of security to pledge against it. So what’s the point of talking about borrowing? We’ve not even got anything worthwhile pawning for that kind of money.’

She thought she had never felt so bitter, not even when that Larry had abandoned her.

‘’Ave you talked to your mum about this?’ Gran was asking.

Eveline came to herself. ‘What?’

‘I said ’ave you spoken to your mum about it?’

‘I wouldn’t humble myself, because I know what she’d say,’ she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Fifty guineas isn’t a few pence, and you just can’t go asking your family to lend that kind of money.’

‘And what if you asked me?’

Eveline looked up sharply and blinked, feeling she must have misheard. But her grandmother was still speaking, and speaking very quickly.

‘What if I lent it to you? You don’t ’ave to pay me back in any certain time and I wouldn’t ask for interest, which is what a bank or other lenders would do so that you’d never finish paying. They know what they’re about, them people. With me, you could just pay me back bit by bit.’

When Eveline found her voice it was sharp with incredulity. ‘I can’t take your money, Gran!’ Surely she couldn’t have that amount around her, not even lying idle in savings.

‘Why not? What use ’ave I got for money at my age, so long as I’ve got enough to get by on?’

‘But it’s your money.’ Eveline fought to push away that sudden prick of eagerness to snatch up the offer that was vying with utter disbelief, hating this almost insidious desire that had crept in. ‘I can’t take your money.’

‘Borrow,’ Gran reminded her, smiling.

‘Not that either.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s your money. I can’t ever even borrow that kind of money off you. No, Gran, I wouldn’t!’

Her grandmother gave a little chuckle, the creasing of her face giving it a younger look rather than adding to her age.

‘Good Lord, child! I’ve just said what good is it to me at my time of life just so long as I’ve enough to see me comfortable? It’s been sitting there doing nothing, just reaping interest, ever since your grandfather died, doing no good to no one. But now it can.’

‘But it’s what you expect to pass on to … I mean, when you …’ She hesitated, fearing to say the word. ‘You know what I mean.’

Gran’s smile told her that she understood exactly what she meant and her expression grew cunning. ‘And ’ow do you know I’m not planning to leave a decent portion of what I’ve got to you anyway?’