Angels at War (18 page)

Emmett was also permitted to write the reply,
relating the exciting news of the arrival of his new brother and sister.

‘She must have gone looking for a job, bored of farm work,’ Amos said.

‘Obviously. Well, she’s never been anything but a nuisance here. Moan, moan, moan, all day long. There are times when I really miss dear old Mrs Rackett.’

What Amos didn’t tell his wife in her present vulnerable state, was that George and Tom had left too, without even serving out their notice, and he really didn’t know why, or how he would manage without them.

The marriage between Lavinia Angel and Jack Flint took place on the first Saturday in May, a perfect day for a wedding. The sun was shining, there was the scent of apple blossom in the air, the bride carried a posy of spring flowers and Tilda and Mary acted as bridesmaids.

Amos gave her away. ‘Well, it’s been a long while in coming but we got there in the end,’ he teased.

Livia smiled, saying nothing, not wishing to give any indication how she felt every bit as nervous as on her first wedding day when she’d called the whole thing off. If she’d been obliged to go through with it in the end, it hadn’t exactly been of her own free choice.

Matthew had returned from Yorkshire the
night before, just as she was locking up the store, and had been shocked to hear her news. ‘You’re
getting married
! Why this sudden decision? Why didn’t you wait till I got back, till we’d had a chance to talk?’

‘There’s nothing to talk about. The decision is made. Besides, I’d no idea when, or if, you were returning, and I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.’

‘Whyever not?’

She’d looked him squarely in the face. ‘Because I’m pregnant. I can imagine how your mother would consider it’s no more than I deserve, since she already sees me as a harlot.’

His mouth had tightened into a thin hard line. ‘Don’t bring my mother into this. She’s as entitled to her views as you are to yours.’

Livia flushed. ‘Yes, you’re right. That was unkind, I’m sorry.’

‘Did it ever cross your mind to wonder what I might think? Did you even care? I thought we had something good between us.’

‘Maybe I prefer to be a wife rather than a mistress,’ she answered, with uncharacteristic sarcasm, and walked away, unable to bear the furious disapproval on his face. Her world, her entire philosophy of life seemed to be crumbling about her ears. Of course she’d considered his reaction, and felt certain he’d want nothing more
to do with her. It was a sobering thought that she was nowhere near as ‘modern’ or free-thinking as she’d imagined. When faced with the prospect of either bringing an illegitimate child into the world or marrying the father, the decision had seemed obvious. Ashamed of her weakness though she might be, yet Livia told herself she was doing the right thing, if only for the sake of her child.

But Grayson wasn’t done with her. He’d caught up with her before she reached the end of the street. Grasping her arm he’d turned her to face him, the light from the street lamp illuminating the fury in his face all too clearly. ‘Is your opinion of me so low? Is the opinion you hold of yourself so low? It’s not too late, Livvy. You don’t have to go through with this. There are other solutions. Jack Flint will never make you happy.’

‘Perhaps your opinion of Jack is too low. He’s a good man, and delighted at the prospect of becoming a father.’

‘But is that a good enough reason to marry?’

‘There are worse.’

‘And better. Doesn’t love come into it?’

‘I do love him, and he needs me.’

‘What do you need?’

She met the challenge of his gaze and something inside of her had cried out with
the pain of it, but nothing would induce her to answer such an inflammatory question, not even to herself. Removing his hand from her arm, she’d turned to go.

‘Don’t do this, Livia. It’s a marriage doomed to fail.’

‘You’re wrong. We will be happy. I’ll make sure of that. Besides, it really is too late to matter now. The invitations have gone out. The wedding takes place tomorrow, and I’m not going to run away this time.’

Nor had she.

‘Hello, Mrs Flint.’

‘Hello, Mr Flint.’ Livia looked up into her husband’s face, radiant with happiness, and told herself that she’d done the right thing. She did love this man, and whatever problems he’d gone through were now in the past. So far as she was aware he hadn’t touched a drink in months. He was a good man, an honest man, and would make a loving husband and an excellent father. Kissing his smiling face, Livia was perfectly sure they’d be happy together.

The honeymoon comprised one night at the County Hotel, most of it spent listening to Jack’s excited plans for the future. He told her how he hoped to soon get promoted at the stocking factory, which would ensure that by the time the
baby arrived, there would be no further need for Livia to work. She listened in silence, trying to shake off a morbid feeling of being trapped, hoist by her own petard. She’d chosen to marry Jack out of love and loyalty, but largely for the sake of her child. Now she must live with the consequences.

But it was good to see him so lively and happy, and Livia made every effort to keep him in that mood. The last thing she wanted was for him to fall back into his bad old ways. She had every intention of being a good wife to him, and if that meant making a few concessions, then she was sure something could be worked out.

For now, life continued as normal. With the best will in the world, and despite being pregnant, Livia wasn’t yet ready to give up the job she loved. Time enough for that later. In any case, she must save every penny she could for the baby.

When she returned to work on the Monday morning, Grayson offered his congratulations in a cool, detached tone, then asked if she wished him to terminate his appointment. ‘I’m sure you’d much rather I leave?’

Livia was startled. ‘Why would I?’

‘You can run this store single-handed. You no longer need me.’

The thought of never seeing Matthew again was too dreadful to contemplate. Livia’s insides
seemed to turn to water as she looked up into his face. ‘Of course I need you. I shall be taking time off for the baby soon. I will want a manager to run this place then.’

‘There are any number of men, and perhaps women too in this new modern world, who could replace me.’

‘But I’ve no wish to replace you. We’ve thrashed out a good working plan to save this business, and I’ve no desire to put the store in jeopardy because of any personal differences between us.’

‘Personal differences, is that what you call them?’ Matthew couldn’t quite come to terms with how bad he was feeling, as if he’d almost had something precious in his grasp and it had slipped through his fingers. Why had he been so stupid as to go away to Yorkshire when he did? Far from enjoying the time and space he’d craved, his one thought had been how quickly he could return to Kendal, and to Livia. What bad luck that he’d been forced to stay longer than anticipated. ‘You jilted me and married a man you don’t even love. A marriage of convenience if ever there was one.’

Colour was high in her cheeks. ‘That’s not true. I love Jack. I’ve loved him for years. In any case, how could I jilt you when you never asked me to marry you?’

‘Perhaps you never gave me the chance, what with all your talk of liberal thinking and women’s rights.’

Livia couldn’t help wondering what her answer might have been if she had given him the chance. Was it true what he said? Had she married Jack for the sake of convenience? Would she have stood a better chance of happiness with Matthew? Oh, but even she, eccentric and Bohemian though she may claim to be, had certain limits and standards. How could she foist another man’s child upon him? Livia could only hope she’d made the right decision. Not that she would allow Matthew to guess these doubts, not for a moment.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she said, ‘If you needed a nudge in order to persuade you, marrying Jack was probably the best decision I ever made. But I shall expect you to continue for the term of your contract, Mr Grayson, which was, I seem to recall, two years with an option to renew for a further one.’

The loss of his name on her lips grieved him more than he could ever express, though his pride wouldn’t allow him to reveal those feelings. ‘As you wish,’ he drawled, sketching a slight, mocking bow. ‘And my offer to buy the business still stands.’

‘Absolutely not!’ The idea that she should give
up entirely on her dream was unthinkable, so far as Livia was concerned.

‘You may find you have enough to occupy you, once the child is born. My offer remains open. I’m happy to help in any way. I always was. You only have to ask.’

And with that enigmatic remark, he sketched a mocking bow and strode away, leaving Livia feeling strangely desolate.

She walked home alone, trying not to dwell on what might have been. A part of her believed he might be right, and she should sell him the store. That would certainly resolve all the problems between herself and Jack. She’d sleep on the idea for a while before making a final decision, but accepting his offer may well give their marriage a much better chance of success.

Livia quashed any doubts she may be privately nurturing about her marriage by immersing herself with fresh energy into women’s franchise, a cause still dear to her heart. She agreed to be on the local committee and to help with organising regular meetings. Today they were in Manchester, persuaded by Connie to attend a rally. There was the usual crowd from the store, including Stella and Dolly. Mercy, too, had volunteered to come with them, which had rather taken Livia by surprise, even as she welcomed her half-sister’s
support. Perhaps the girl had turned over a new leaf following the latest lecture Livia had given her.

She’d tackled Mercy head on, firmly setting down rules before agreeing to offer her employment at the store. ‘I’m sorry if things didn’t turn out well for you with George, but you cannot keep running off like this, leaving people’s nerves in shreds worrying where you are. You may find it hard to believe, but we do all care about you.’

Mercy had pouted, saying nothing, and Livia had heaved a sigh. Really, it was like talking to a block of wood. Fortunately Ella had fully recovered from her ordeal and attended the wedding with Amos, bringing her twin babies with her, so that was one worry off her mind.

‘You have to pick yourself up and carry on, like the rest of us when life doesn’t go according to plan,’ she’d warned. ‘But if you want to do something useful instead of blaming other people for everything that’s gone wrong, or taking it out on us – your family – you’re going to have to stop complaining and learn to work hard like the rest of civilisation. And remember, whether you like it or not, Mercy dear, we love you.’

Mercy had almost smiled at that, and for once looked contrite. Then she put her arms about Livia, rested her chin on her shoulder, and said,
‘I do appreciate your getting me this job. I want you to know that.’

‘It was a pleasure. Don’t give me cause to regret it.’

Mercy chuckled. ‘I’ll do my best not to.’

Afterwards, when she’d thought about it, Livia couldn’t quite decide whether she could count this as progress or not. She’d probably said all the wrong things, and not for a moment did she imagine that it would make a blind bit of difference to Mercy’s general attitude towards them. So she was pleased to see that she was at least showing sufficient interest in the franchise cause to attend the demonstration with them today.

The shop girls joined the rest of the women gathered on the pavement, but the mood, Livia noticed, was nowhere near as good-humoured as at the last meeting. A sense of anger was manifest among the assembled women, the grey skies matching their mood with a slight drizzle falling. They stood grim-faced, banners and posters in hand, listening to an address from a speaker who was whipping them into a greater frenzy.

‘We need to demonstrate our support,’ the woman told them. ‘As the government failed to deliver on the Conciliation Bill and police tactics have turned nasty, the truce is over. Our fight
goes on but stronger than ever. The Bill is still being considered, apparently, but even if it comes to fruition it will relate only to women who own property. That’s no good to us.’

‘It’d suit you,’ Connie murmured in Livia’s ear.

‘No, it wouldn’t.’

‘You own the flaming store,’ said Stella in mocking tones.

‘True, assuming I can hang on to it and make it pay, but this Bill will never get passed as the Liberal government sees it as of benefit mainly to the Tories, who are more likely to be householders.’

The speaker’s voice rose, and she shook her fist at them all. ‘We women are angry, aren’t we, ladies?’

‘We are!’ roared the crowd.

‘We’re angry at being ignored, angry at how the police treated women on what has come to be called Black Friday. In London, our fellow suffragettes have retaliated by smashing windows of shops and newspaper offices with stones and hammers, chaining themselves to railings, and even assaulting policemen. Some people say these deliberately militant acts are not feminine, but we aren’t obedient Victorian wives and mothers, we’re modern women fighting for our rights.’

A great cheer went up.

‘It’s not obligatory, everyone must choose their
own way to fight. But if any of you are willing to throw a few stones today, then you are perfectly at liberty to make good your escape by running away. If you do get caught, remember the police are obliged to arrest you, which is what we want, right?’

‘That’s right!’ shouted the assembled women.

‘We must force the government to listen.’

‘Votes for Women!’

The cries went up thick and fast.

‘Goodness,’ Livia gasped. ‘I’d no idea it would turn nasty. I’ve no wish to get involved in violence. I didn’t realise things had reached this pitch.’

‘Welcome to the real world, love.’ Stella picked up a stone and threw it with deadly accuracy at the windows of the
Manchester Guardian
. The glass shattered and the action seemed to unleash a furore amongst the crowd. Connie broke the window of a lawyer’s office nearby, and mayhem ensued as women ran around picking up stones and followed suit by breaking the windows of other local offices and several nearby shops. Some were more effective than others, many women more in danger of hitting their friends with their feeble efforts than any window, but soon police whistles sounded, followed by the heavy tread of running feet.

The women were struck and thumped, kicked
and buffeted. Their blouses were ripped, hats knocked askew. Many took to their heels and ran, although not necessarily fast enough. Others made no attempt to escape but simply plonked themselves down on the ground, folded their arms and refused to move. Livia joined them. It seemed a better option than throwing stones.