Suffragette Girl (13 page)

‘Are you ready?’

Isobel and Florrie regarded each other solemnly. They were both dressed in white gowns with a black sash diagonally across their chests and they were both carrying white lilies. Florrie wore her
brooch and Isobel her hat with purple, green and white ostrich feathers. It was Saturday – the day of Emily’s funeral.

Florrie nodded, for the moment unable to speak. She was finding it hard to come to terms with Emily’s martyrdom and yet part of her was filled with admiration. That someone could be so
passionate about the Cause as to give their life for it. . .

‘Come, we’re to go to Lady Lee’s and travel with her.’

A little later when the three women reached the place where the procession was to start, they gazed about them in awe. Thousands of women thronged the street; the younger women in white, the
older ones – like Lady Lee – dressed in purple or black. Most carried flowers: purple irises or laurel wreaths. One or two women held banners aloft. One proclaimed
Fight on and God
will give the Victory,
another declared
Give me Liberty or give me Death.

‘I didn’t realize there’d be so many,’ Florrie gasped. ‘They must have come for miles. And look, there are men too and – oh, Iso – there are
clergymen
here. At least a dozen.’

‘I know and look, Florrie, look at the bandsmen lining up. There must be ten bands here, all going to march with us.’

The crowd formed up behind the coffin drawn on an open carriage by black horses and followed by four more carriages laden with hundreds of wreaths.

‘Is Tim here, Lady Lee?’ Isobel asked, trying to scan the crowd for sight of her fiance, but there were just too many people for her to be able to pick him out.

‘Oh yes – and Gervase is here somewhere, I believe.’

‘Gervase!’ Isobel and Florrie spoke together.

‘Yes, he came up early this morning, so I understand. No doubt you’ll see him later. I expect he’ll stay overnight at least.’

The cortege moved off slowly and Isobel and Florrie fell into step with all the other young women dressed in white, whilst Lady Lee joined the older women. The procession, accompanied by the
bands playing funereal music, wound its way through the streets to St George’s Church and the crowd watched whilst the coffin, covered with the colours of the Movement, was carried up the
steps and into the church for the service.

‘It’s no good trying to get inside, there are far too many already. We might as well wait out here.’

‘What happens next?’

‘The procession will go to King’s Cross. She’s being taken by train to the family grave in Morpeth.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Northumberland. I expect there’ll be another service there.’

‘What a sad day,’ Florrie murmured. ‘Her poor mother.’

‘It is,’ Lady Lee agreed. ‘But it’s also a triumphant one.’ She glanced around at the vast crowd. ‘Emily’s death – and the reason for it –
will be remembered for generations.’

‘But will it serve any purpose?’ Isobel persisted. ‘Will it get us the vote?’

It was a question that even Lady Lee could not answer.

Gervase believed he did know.

‘She’s set the Cause back twenty years,’ he growled, standing in front of the drawing-room fire after they’d eaten their evening meal.

‘Nonsense, Gervase. People will begin to take us seriously if one of our number is prepared to give her life for her beliefs.’

‘I’m sorry, Iso, I can’t agree with you. A great many will dismiss such an act as that of an hysterical woman, and that can do your Cause no good. No good at all.’

‘Did you hear about Mrs Pankhurst on the day of the funeral?’ Florrie put in, trying to defuse the argument between brother and sister.

They both looked at her. ‘No,’ Isobel said. ‘What happened?’

‘She was determined to attend the funeral, but she was only out of prison on medical grounds and her licence had expired. She was arrested just outside her home.’

Isobel groaned. ‘Oh no!’ She was silent a moment, then she rose. ‘I’m so very tired. It’s been an exhausting day. If you’ll both excuse me.’

Their ‘goodnights’ said, Isobel left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. After a moment’s pause, Gervase sat down beside Florrie and took her hand in his.

‘You won’t do anything foolish, will you, my dearest girl?’

Florrie looked into his eyes and saw the anxiety there. ‘If you mean will I become a martyr for the Cause, no, I won’t. But I can’t promise that I won’t take part in
activities that might get me arrested again.’

‘And then you’d go on hunger strike, wouldn’t you?’

‘I expect so,’ Florrie replied cheerfully. ‘But at least they’ve suspended the force-feeding for now.’ She shuddered involuntarily. ‘I have to admit –
though only to you, Gervase – that took every ounce of my willpower. To my chagrin, I almost gave in several times. But next time, it won’t be so bad.’

‘You could damage your health, nonetheless – perhaps permanently.’

She smiled, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

But Gervase did worry. He was fearful for the safety of this girl he loved so very much.

Through the summer months the suffragettes continued their campaign of militant activity. The country homes of several Members of Parliament were bombed. Sylvia Pankhurst was
imprisoned, but escaped. Her mother, Emmeline, visited America, was threatened with deportation, but then allowed to stay. When she returned to England in early December, she was arrested.

And all the while Lady Lee and her little band of women kept up a steady stream of ‘nuisance’ activities, as she called their demonstrations, petitions, window-breaking, and so
on.

On the 19th December, Gervase arrived at the Richards’ town house.

‘Good Heavens!’ he exclaimed, teasing. ‘Are you both still here? I expected to have to scale the walls of Holloway at the very least.’

‘Whatever are you doing here, brother dear?’ Isobel greeted him with a fond kiss.

‘I’ve come to take you both home for Christmas and,’ Gervase paused and glanced meaningfully at Florrie, ‘New Year.’ He laughed as he added mischievously,
‘And I won’t take “no” for an answer.’

Florrie laughed with him, knowing that only the two of them knew the double meaning behind his words. She turned to Isobel. ‘What do you say? Shall we go?’

‘James is home and longing to see you,’ Gervase put in craftily. ‘He says he’s hardly seen you all year. He missed your birthday and you only came home for a flying visit
during the summer.’

‘Well, I’m staying in London with the Hon. Tim and Lady Lee this year, brother dear. You can come here instead, if you wish.’

Gervase’s gaze was still on Florrie’s face. Softly he said, ‘But her family want to see Florrie.’

The girl gave a wry laugh. ‘My father won’t miss me. I’m sure he’d rather I stayed away. That way he can pretend I’m not disgracing the family name.’

‘But there’s Augusta and your mother and – like I say – most of all, James.’

At the thought of her little brother, Florrie capitulated. She turned to Isobel. ‘I won’t be missed here, will I?’

‘Of course you’ll be missed, my dear, by us all,’ Isobel laughed, ‘but you should go home for a couple of weeks. There’s nothing much planned for over the Christmas
period – at least not by Lady Lee’s little band. No, Florrie, you go.’

So the next two days passed in a flurry of shopping for presents and packing her trunk. Gervase gallantly accompanied her around the London shops until he was hidden behind a mound of
parcels.

‘If we’re coming again tomorrow,’ he gasped. ‘I shall bring Meredith. Good Heavens, Florrie, who on earth are all these for?’

‘Oh – just everybody,’ Florrie waved her hand.

‘Well, all I can say, it’s a good job your father hasn’t stopped your allowance.’

‘Oh, he has,’ Florrie replied cheerfully. Then she added impishly, ‘But Gran hasn’t.’

Gervase hooted with laughter and almost dropped the packages he was carrying. ‘Do let’s find a cab. My arms are breaking.’

‘Just one last thing. I must get Grandmother something in the suffragette colours. A hat, I think, for her to wear to church. It’ll turn Father puce, but he won’t be able to
say a word, particularly as the good Mrs Ponsonby is such a supporter.’

She set off at a swift pace through the store in search of the millinery department, Gervase following in her wake with an amused smile on his face. How he did love this girl!

Augusta wore the hat decorated with purple ostrich feathers and ribbons of green and white to church on Christmas morning. Beside her, Florrie wore a green coat and a huge
purple hat with white flowers and green ribbons. The brooch Gervase had given her was pinned to her lapel. Augusta and Florrie sat side by side in the front pew alongside Edgar and Clara, gazing up
innocently at Mr Ponsonby in the pulpit, but not daring to glance at one another for fear of collapsing into laughter.

‘Oh, you’re wicked,’ Augusta murmured as they left the church, her arm through her granddaughter’s.

‘I know. But so are you.’

‘Isn’t it absolutely
delicious
!’ Augusta chuckled. ‘I can’t remember when I last had so much fun. Did you hear the whole congregation whispering behind us?
And I thought your father was going to burst a blood vessel.’

They paused as they heard pounding footsteps behind them and turned to see James running to catch them up.

‘I do declare you’ve grown taller since the summer.’

At fifteen, he towered over both his grandmother and his sister. He was no longer a boy, but a young man. ‘Here, give me your arm, Grandmother.’ He stepped to the other side of
Augusta and crooked his arm. The two young people matched their steps to hers.

‘And you’re growing so like your dear grandfather . . .’ Augusta stopped suddenly. ‘Take me to his grave. Bowler promised to leave some flowers there today, but
I’ve a mind to go and see him for myself.’

They turned off the pathway and wound their way amongst the gravestones until they came to the one bearing the name of Nathaniel Maltby. They stood for several moments before Augusta stooped and
rearranged the fresh flowers in the holder. ‘It’s so nice our greenhouses produce flowers at this time of the year. We’re very lucky.’

‘Do you think Grandpops would have approved of – of me? Of what I’m doing?’ For the first time, Florrie was unsure.

Augusta put her head on one side and thought for a moment. ‘I think so, though I have to say he abhorred violence of any kind. He would have agreed with the principles of the suffragettes,
but perhaps not condoned all their actions. He didn’t even agree with some of the wars that went on during his lifetime.’

‘Didn’t he?’ James was surprised. ‘But – but I thought he fought in the Crimea? Father’s always telling me how proud he is of him and how I should follow in
his footsteps and join the army.’

‘He did,’ Augusta said shortly, ‘but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Of course, I knew nothing about it at the time. I was only
– let me see – about ten. Although I lived on the estate and knew the family, Nathaniel was this very handsome son and heir—’ She smiled pensively. ‘So far above me
– and so much older – I never thought for one moment that one day he would marry me. I do remember him going off to war, though. All the estate workers turned out to cheer him on his
way, and he looked so smart in his uniform. I think all the girls in the neighbourhood were in love with him. He was away six months and came home wounded. Nothing life-threatening, though his stay
in the Scutari hospital could have been the end of him. The conditions were appalling and disease was rife, never mind no proper treatment for wounds.’

‘But – but I thought that was where Miss Nightingale was?’ Florrie said.

Augusta nodded. ‘It was, but he was there in the October just before she arrived in November. Later on it was so much better, but Nathaniel was lucky to survive. He was invalided out of
the army because of his wound. He walked with a limp for the rest of his life, but like I say, he was lucky.’

‘I can just remember him walking with a stick,’ James murmured.

‘And we always had to sit on his right knee, never his left,’ Florrie smiled, remembering the bewhiskered old gentleman fondly. She always thought of him as a ‘Father
Christmas’ figure. Perhaps, within the family, he had been.

‘Why did he join the army then, if he didn’t believe in the war?’ James asked tentatively.

‘To please his father,’ Augusta said bluntly as if it answered everything. And it did. Augusta chuckled. ‘The only time he defied the old man was to marry me.’

‘And did his father ever forgive him?’ James asked.

The tone of the young man’s voice made Florrie glance at him. There was something troubling him. She knew him so well. It seemed Augusta sensed it too, for she squeezed his arm. ‘Oh,
Grandfather Maltby huffed and puffed for a while – your father’s very like him – but he came around in the end. Parents forgive their children most things, you know. In
time.’

The three of them turned away from the grave and walked back to the path and to the carriage waiting at the gate. Augusta and Clara were driven to church, whilst the rest of the family and their
servants walked across the fields. Edgar stalked ahead, swinging his cane.

‘I think he’s angry with Grandmother and – and you,’ James whispered.

Florrie chuckled. ‘Of course he is. He doesn’t agree with all this “suffragette nonsense”.’

‘You’re very brave to flout him, Florrie. I – I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to go against what he wants me to do.’

‘Oh, you will.’ His sister was confident. ‘If you believe in something strongly enough, you will.’

James said no more and, for the rest of the way home, seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Florrie was dreading New Year’s Eve. This year the celebrations were at Candlethorpe Hall. She loved Gervase dearly, but like another brother. Knowing he was going to
propose again, it became a game between them. All through dinner and the family games afterwards, she teased him by sitting close to him one moment when all the family were around them, but when
there was the slightest chance of them being alone – even for a few moments – she avoided him.