A Bloom in Winter (14 page)

Martha tilted her head sideways and regarded Victoria. “We have two organizations because many women are afraid to do
the real work of the cause. The Suffragettes for Female Equality is the main organization. The Women’s Equality League is the more exclusive, lesser-known group. It’s for those workers who have proven their loyalty and bravery. I suppose if you’re to work for us, you’re going to have to know.”

Victoria sat up straight, trying to look worthy.

Martha made up her mind. “Emily Davison? The woman who tried to disrupt the Derby by stepping out in front of the King’s horse at the Derby and was killed? She belonged to the League.”

Victoria’s heart stalled for a moment. “I thought she was WSPU?”

Martha nodded. “Yes, but she was also one of my most fearless leaders.”

“She’s not anymore,” Victoria said shortly.

“No, now she’s a martyr for the cause. Some of the women who disrupted Parliament last month were ours. Others are in prison, as we speak. We are very, very serious about the right to vote.”

Victoria drew in her breath and looked down at the pastry she was eating. Then she tried to be nonchalant. “I am, too,” she said. She drained the last bit of her tea and then bit her lip. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

Martha smiled. “Don’t look so glum. And please don’t tell me that you’re betrothed or something.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that! I just don’t actually live in London right now. I will be moving back after Easter, but for right now . . . ”

“Don’t tell me, the uncle who looks after your money insists that you live on the family estate, am I right?”

Victoria nodded. “But I do have the ability to come and go as I please and I can do a lot of work from Summerset.” She paused before adding, “I have my own office.”

“That will be fine for now, but eventually, you will need to move to town. We can only pay you fifty-five pounds yearly, but it’s what we have.” Martha raised her eyebrows, waiting for Victoria’s reaction.

The amount would barely pay for Victoria’s yearly expenditure on books, but she was just thrilled to be compensated for her work. She clapped her hands together. “I had no idea we were talking about a paid position!”

They stood and walked out to Martha’s car. The rain had begun and it took a few minutes for Martha’s car to start. The light had waned and Victoria wondered how long they had sat talking in the tea shop.

“There are six of us who are actually paid, though there are times we have to wait for our money. One of the things you will be doing is canvassing rich women for donations, though most of them are already involved in the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies. Funding is essential. And don’t let on that you’re getting paid. Some of the volunteers may think veterans would be better suited to the position than a newcomer. They don’t understand that they lack your qualifications.”

As they drove, Martha told her that her work had taken her all over Europe to lecture at meetings. Victoria found herself utterly entranced. This was a woman who had true adventures and worked for the good of womankind. As she hugged Martha good-bye, it briefly occurred to her to wonder what kind of qualifications she had that the others did not.

*   *   *

Rowena and Elaine both shaded their eyes with their hands, waiting for Jon to bring the plane down. Sebastian was in the barn, talking to Mr. Dirkes. It had been several days since the engagement debacle and Sebastian had been a good sport, bringing Rowena out every day to see Jon and fly in the plane.

“I don’t know which you like better,” Elaine said, still staring into the sky. “Jon or flying.”

Elaine had so far successfully resisted going up, though Sebastian and Rowena had both been up twice. “Both,” Rowena said, smiling. “I love both.”

She couldn’t explain to Elaine how intertwined her love for Jon and her love for flying were. To her, they both meant color, freedom, life. Today Jon had promised to give Rowena her first flying lesson. He told her it would all be on the ground, which disappointed her to no end, but she was just happy that he had finally relented.

It was one of those rare February days when the clouds melted away, leaving the thin winter’s sun shining in the sky. So far the wind had stayed away, which made it more comfortable, but it was still bitterly cold. It nipped at her cheeks and toes and for a brief moment she thought of fireplaces and hot chocolate, but she realized she would rather be in this field, watching that plane and that man come closer and closer to the earth, than do anything else.

Besides, after her lesson, they would be having dinner at Jon’s home with his family. Elaine and Sebastian would be heading to Thetford for dinner and then meeting them in Summerset afterward. It was a little complicated, but Rowena was grateful for the time it bought her and Jon.

The aeroplane bumped across the field toward them and then did an ungraceful loop so it was ready to be rolled into the barn.
She stepped toward the plane after it had come to a complete stop and ran her hands across the fuselage.

“I’m not sure if you’re happier to see me or the aeroplane,” Jon said, taking off his leather helmet.

It was so similar to what Elaine had just said that Rowena laughed. “Why? Are you jealous of Lucy?”

He smiled down on her from the pilot’s seat. “You named her Lucy?”

“All aeroplanes should have names,” she told him. “They might like you better if they had names, and maybe you wouldn’t crash so often.”

He swung down, laughing, and grabbed her by the arms. “Is that so?”

“Hey, you two, we’re off,” Elaine called from the car. Sebastian cranked the car starter and waved a hand. “We’ll meet you outside the Freemont Inn.”

“Well, do you want your lesson or don’t you?”

“Yes, please.”

He grabbed a ladder and leaned it against the plane. Rowena climbed up and settled herself into the cockpit. Her heart thumped with excitement even though she knew she wouldn’t be flying today. He explained the instrument panel and made her repeat the name and function of every device until she had committed everything to memory. Then he made her get out of the aeroplane and they repeated the exercise on the exterior.

“You learn fast,” he complimented, and she glowed. “I’ve trained grown men who didn’t pick up those terms as quickly as you did.”

“That’s because I was meant to be a pilot,” she told him.

He slipped his arms about her waist. “You were, were you?”

She nodded. “Yes, I was.”

“Let’s put Lucy to bed so that we can let the rest of the crew go home,” Mr. Dirkes called from the barn.

Jon grinned. “Lucy?”

“Well, we have to call it something,” Mr. Dirkes said, his tone sheepish, and Jon laughed.

“See, you’re getting under everyone’s skin,” he whispered, before pulling away to help roll the plane into the barn.

Jon had borrowed Mr. Dirkes’s Silver Ghost for the evening while Mr. Dirkes got a ride back to the inn from one of their hired men.

“Does your brother know I’m coming?” she asked as they headed out toward Wells Manor.

Jon nodded. “He’s not happy about it, but I told him that you were coming and that would be that.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. She tried to smile, but her nerves got the better of her and it turned into a grimace. “Do your mother and sister know who I am?”

Jon was silent for a moment. “I told my mum, but she told me not to tell Cristobel until she had gotten to know you. She was our father’s pet and still cries at night for him.”

Rowena stared straight ahead, guilt over her family’s actions settling in the center of her stomach, even though realistically she knew she had nothing to do with it. But how could she use logic to eradicate a feeling as potent as guilt? She felt responsible for the Wells family trouble in some way that couldn’t be undone by rationale. She was a Buxton, and a Buxton had systematically stripped the Wells family of a portion of their land and their wealth. “How does your mom feel?” she asked in a small voice.

Jon twined his fingers round and round hers and stared straight ahead. “My mother is a strong woman. Her ma was a Scotswoman, which is where we get the red hair and the stubbornness.
So she was shocked. She also knows that I have never before felt strongly enough about a woman to bring one home with me, and for my mother, that speaks louder than anything your surname could imply. She will head off any trouble with George.”

They rounded the corner and again, Rowena was struck by the difference between Wells Manor and Summerset. Whereas every aspect of Summerset was planned and well thought out to be as grand as possible, Wells Manor looked as if everything had grown from a sense of practicality. The only whimsical touch was the ivy that had been allowed to grow up one side of the house and onto the roof, tickling several of the chimneys.

“I love your house,” Rowena said truthfully.

“It was actually here before most of Summerset. Turns out the first Wells, or whatever their name was then, was a smith who didn’t want the protection of the local ruling family, an ancestor of the Buxtons, and refused to build near the castle. So you see, except for a brief period of affability, the Wellses and the Buxtons have always been at odds.”

He stopped the motorcar in front of the house and leapt out to open her door. Not wanting to look as if she were putting on airs, she had taken care to wear a sensible tweed suit, with a fine linen blouse underneath. Her hair had been dressed in a simple chignon, low on her neck, which was draped with a strand of pearls. She didn’t want them to think she wouldn’t bother dressing well for them, but neither did she wish to play the dame of the castle, either.

Rowena’s hands were slick with nerves by the time she and Jon entered the house. Jon’s mother stuck her head out of the kitchen door. “Take her into the sitting room, Jon. We’re having a slight problem here.”

“We are not!” Cristobel cried out, and then there was silence.

Jon winked at Rowena and ushered her into the sitting room. Low beams crisscrossed the ceiling every few feet, and the gleaming dark oak was answered in the wide planks on the floor. Comfortable, worn sofas and chairs dotted the room, and there were several tables stacked with leather-bound books and decorated with vases of evergreens, perhaps placed there by Cristobel, excited to have a guest. Dark paneling lined the walls, and the room was only saved from dimness by the five leaded windows lining one wall, each with its own window seat. The most decorative item in the room was the fireplace, a beautiful white, highly molded piece that glowed with simple beauty. Rowena could have curled up with a book for hours on one of the window seats.

“I love this,” she said, walking over to one of the windows.

He joined her. The window looked out onto the kitchen garden, though Rowena also spotted a cutting garden on one side. In the summer, the household would have both fresh vegetables and fresh flowers. “Cristobel loves this room, too. My brothers and I preferred the kitchen. That’s where the food was. Though when Dad was alive and well, we spent lots of time in here on a winter’s evening after the work was done.”

A lump rose in Rowena’s throat, not only for the Wells family, who had lost their father, but for her little family, who had also lost a father. “We usually gathered in Father’s study. Victoria and Prudence and I used to take turns reading French novels so Father could correct our pronunciation. Sometimes Prudence would play the piano, or Victoria would recite poetry.” She looked down at the ground. “I miss those times often.”

He squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Who is Prudence? I don’t think you ever mentioned her before.”

“She is . . . ” Rowena faltered. To say “governess’s daughter” wouldn’t come close to explaining what Prudence was to their family. She was family. “She was like a sister to Victoria and me,” Rowena finally said. “We loved her.”

“Oh, wasn’t Prudence the little maid you got rid of?” George asked from behind them. “A friend of mine who works in the house told me all about it. She came to Summerset as your lady’s maid because your uncle wouldn’t allow her in the house, because her mother was a maid. The next thing everyone knew, she was married to the footman and sent off to London. You Buxtons certainly know how to take care of unsavory messes.”

George tried to sound casual, but bitterness leached out, filling the peaceful room with spite. Jon rushed forward, his fists clenched.

Rowena hurried to Jon’s side and put a placating hand on his arm. Her stomach burned at the thought that her private life should be dissected and judged.

She looked George in the eyes and was struck by how dissimilar they were from Jon’s. For while Jon’s blue eyes glowed with the richness of summer, George’s blue eyes held the chill of winter sky. “You certainly listened well to rumors and half-truths, but your sources couldn’t possibly know what really happened. Prudence was someone Victoria and I loved like a sister. I’m surprised you would take gossip for fact.”

“I would not,” Jon said shortly, still staring at his brother. Though they were of similar height, Jon was more slender, with lean hips and long legs. His shoulders were wide and strong, but George’s powerful frame looked as if he had wrestled with one-hundred-pound fleeces and bales of hay his entire life.

“You told me what happened with her uncle had nothing to do with her, little brother, so I inquired a bit and discovered this
dirty little tale. The whole family is full of bad apples. This is what I get for my thanks?”

“You’ll get worse than this if you don’t back down,” Jon said, his voice tight.

“I’m glad to know nothing has changed since I went away,” a voice called through the door. “George and Jon are always ready to fight over something, though I don’t remember it ever being over a woman before. And especially not such a beautiful one as this.”

For a moment neither man moved, as if breaking eye contact was a form of surrender. Rowena slipped her arm through Jon’s and leaned close. She could feel his muscles relax with her proximity.

“My name is Rowena.” She turned to give the new guest her widest smile. Then with a narrowed look at George she added, “Buxton, my name is Rowena Buxton.” The man’s brown eyes widened in comprehension, but Rowena continued. “My father was Sir Philip Buxton and though he was born at Summerset, he moved away long ago and my sister and I were brought up in London.”