A Time for Courage (30 page)

‘When Mother was alive I decided that if I had enjoyed my holiday so would my Sunday people, and not just them but hundreds like them. Like your Mary. I was going to try and raise funds with our Esther playing the role of musical benefactor, but from a safe distance.’ They laughed because she had already told him of Esther and her fleas. Then she looked back at the marigolds and saw the flickering pear tree. ‘But when Mother died she left me a house in Cornwall and money to fund the scheme.’

Joe was leaning forward now, his eyes alight, his face eager. ‘Hannah, how lucky you are to be able to go back.’

She shook his hand. ‘Listen to me, Joe.’ Her voice was low and she found words carefully. ‘I have too much to do in London. I’ve waited too long to fight for what I believe in. I can’t go now but I want you to set up the house for me, run it as it should be run.’

Joe looked at her, hope washing over his face before dying.

‘I don’t like charity, Hannah.’ His voice was cold.

‘And neither do I.’ She made her voice angry. ‘I haven’t time for charity. I want someone I can trust to do a job that needs doing. You will receive your salary not from me but from my solicitor who is setting up a trust.’ Her voice was still angry, though there was no anger in her but rather a desperate anxiety. Would her anger work now as his had all those years before? ‘I shall need someone who will care that the scheme works, who can maintain the house. We shall need to employ a cook, a gardener and a maid and I want you to find people from these streets who need work to fill the positions; the Marys of this world. I want the people we send from London to be taught by the cook, by the gardener, by you. They must come back feeling they have learnt from their stay, that they have earned their keep, that above all, they have enjoyed a holiday and possibly gained a skill to help them find work in London.’

Her throat was dry and she took a sip of tea. It was cold but she barely noticed. ‘There would be the chance to do your own work
of
course.’ She paused. ‘I need you, Joe.’

And she did and it would be good to know that though he was in Cornwall he would be linked to her. He rose and walked over to the two chairs, running his hand over the smoothness of the grain. She turned, leaning her arm along the back of her chair. Oh God, he was so thin.

‘Are you in love with Arthur?’ Joe asked quietly, not looking at her.

Hannah felt the shock of his question. It was the one she had not yet asked herself and one that she did not want to consider, not after the hunting weekend and the look on his face as he blooded Harry but Joe was standing by the bench, his face serious, and she knew that it was time she answered both him and herself.

Thoughts were moving against one another, mingling and breaking away. Arthur’s kindness, the fun they had, the ease of his company, the fact that he did not absorb her but left her free to think and plan and act. The fact that she never wished to know what he was doing. Was this love?

‘I don’t know what love is,’ she answered.

Joe looked down at the chairs and did not speak for a few moments and then he said, ‘I have another four chairs to make by December. Perhaps if the house is ready for our guests by then, they would like a lesson in furniture design?’

For he knew that she did not love Arthur or she would know and so he would wait.

He walked with Hannah to the station, taking her bag as though it weighed a bare ounce. He stood with her on the underground platform where the air was thick and sulphurous and asked if she would come often to the house.

‘I have much to do,’ she replied and he took her arm and held it.

‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘But come when you can because the house will always be waiting.’

She thought of this as she left the station when her journey was over and ducked beneath the reins of the hansom cab. It was so good to have her friend back again.

‘Miss Fletcher’s School for Young Ladies,’ she called to the driver, and watched as the lamp-lighter lit up further down the street. The school was not far from the station, not far from her house but it was not her house now, it was her father’s alone. It seemed strange to be entering the schoolhouse door at this time of the day instead of Sunday morning as the church bells were ringing.

Beatrice showed her through to Miss Fletcher’s drawing-room which was lit by gas lamps on the wall and a small oil lamp which was placed on the cloth-covered table at the side of the older woman’s fireside chair.

Hannah smiled as Miss Fletcher rose to meet her, still in grey, and she took the chair which her Headmistress pulled up closer to the fire. She felt stiff and awkward, a visitor without a home.

‘I thought we’d have some tea. I know it’s a little late but dinner can always be delayed a little. Tea is so comforting, is it not?’ Miss Fletcher was smiling and Hannah felt the heat from the fire sinking into her body and was tired.

‘Did it go well with your father?’ Miss Fletcher asked and Hannah explained that she had left a note and was relieved when the calm woman whose hair was now grey at the temples nodded.

‘Perhaps it was as well under the circumstances and I’m sure we can manage should we hear from him at all.’

But Hannah knew that they would not.

The tea-kettle was simmering over the spirit lamp, rock-cakes and scones were keeping hot on a plate over a bowl filled with hot water. The butter was a liquid by now which had soaked through the scone and dripped on to Hannah’s napkin which was stark white against her black dress.

Would her mother have approved of her being here, she thought, looking round the room and then at Miss Fletcher as she poured the tea, and she knew that she would, but suddenly there was a great sadness in her which could not be ignored any more. She put down her scone and looked into the fire. This was not her home, not yet, and she missed the bedroom, the wicker chair, her mother, with a pain which made her want to groan aloud.

Miss Fletcher reached across and patted her hand. ‘You will grieve for a long while, Hannah, my dear. It is right that you should and you must not deny the pain and sorrow. It is important that grief should run its course.’

Hannah looked away from the fire now, down at the dog which panted on the hearthrug, then on to the rest of the room with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases down at the far end. There were bound copies of
Punch
, and the
Illustrated London News
, and standing a few feet from the shelves was a solid mahogany desk.

The hissing gas lamps lit the silver inkstand and the brass letter scales with a dull glow. Set down in meticulous order were blotters, penwipers, sticks of sealing-wax and tapers together with a snuffer. The oil lamp smelt as her mother’s had done. There was silence between the two women now and Miss Fletcher’s smile was one of understanding and calm.

Dinner was served in a small alcove off this room since the Sunday school had taken over what had been the dining-room.

They dined on a rosewood table without a cloth. A rose-shaded lamp was set to one side and cast a soft light into the shaded area.

Beatrice served a steak pie and Hannah thought that she would be unable to eat but she was hungry and the gravy was thick and the vegetables crisp and lightly boiled. Was Joe so lucky, she wondered and pushed the memory of his thin body to one side because it gave her too much pain.

She spoke to Miss Fletcher now of Joe and the home and was pleased when she smiled and nodded her approval. ‘You are indeed fortunate to have such a friend, Hannah.’

Miss Fletcher put more steak on Hannah’s plate. ‘For you have become too thin, my dear, and you will need your strength.’

As they ate Hannah spoke of her plans as Joe had said she should. Miss Fletcher listened as Hannah explained that she had waited for so long to take an active part in the fight for votes but that she feared it would be destructive to the friendship that she believed existed between the two of them.

‘Hannah,’ Miss Fletcher said as Beatrice cleared the plates and brought fresh fruit. ‘Before we discuss matters further I do feel that you should call me Frances, it is my name after all. I also feel that there is no likelihood that a difference of opinion will damage a friendship such as ours. After all, surely all women’s suffrage supporters are fighting for freedom to think and speak, so surely you and I can respect one another’s point of view. Our aims are the same even though perhaps our approach may differ.’

Hannah sat back in her chair. The dog was sitting by her side, her nose lifted, her ears pricked, but Frances Fletcher sent her back to the rug.

‘Greedy beast,’ she laughed and soon they too moved to the fire and Beatrice brought coffee which was strong and black.

‘But, my dear Hannah, why do you feel you must leave the suffragists?’ Frances asked as she stirred her coffee, tapping the teaspoon on the side of her cup before placing it in her saucer. ‘After all the Liberal Government is one of social reform, and Mrs Pankhurst’s suffragettes are campaigning against this government; against them in by-elections, and are withdrawing their support for Labour who have been staunch supporters, though they, of course, have no hope of power at the moment. Our only hope lies with the Liberals and the only hope of improved general conditions lies with them too. I am worried that if the activities of the suffragettes continue the Government will not be re-elected and reform will lapse.’ She leant forward, a frown on her forehead. ‘Think very carefully, my dear.’

Hannah bent to stroke the dog. ‘Good girl, Bess,’ she whispered before sitting up again. ‘I can understand what you are saying but I feel so impatient, so angry all the time at the way in which women have been ignored, the way they have been subjugated and humiliated. Look at the women’s suffrage bills, three dismissed since 1898. We have to pay tax but we have no representation. It is a crime, it is slavery.’ She swallowed and rubbed her lips with her fingers. It was important that she explained herself clearly. ‘The suffragettes have made our cause visible. The newspapers are writing for the first time about votes for women. Surely the Government will be forced to listen to our demands because they are just and now very public.’ She laughed quietly. ‘We women won’t bring them down. How can we with a few demonstrations and a bit of heckling? And I agree with you that they have much to do but in time they will see that they can also give us a chance. We will convince them by being vocal, by being as difficult as they are. That there will be no peace until we have the vote.’

Frances drank the last of her coffee and looked across at Hannah’s cup which was almost empty. She lifted the pot and Hannah nodded, passing her cup across. Steam rose from the cup and she did not drink yet but watched Frances stir her own cup again and give another two taps.

‘I do fear, though, Hannah, that militant action will alienate those whose support the suffragists have carefully and painfully acquired both inside and outside Parliament. You know that we constitutionalists work on the basis of persuasion by example. I fear that the behaviour of the suffragettes will simply demolish what support women have so far gained.’

Hannah was impatient to answer. ‘But don’t you see, Frances, militancy has turned women’s suffrage into a living question.’

Frances smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, I do agree, Hannah. It has done that and I’m sure that we are all grateful but I am just concerned that the militancy you speak of will turn to something more. Will demonstration turn to violence and provoke general dismay among existing voters? That is counterproductive.’

Hannah was leaning forward now, her coffee cold, but she did not notice.

‘But there is such an anger amongst women. There always has been and it is worse now with the imprisonments for what are, after all, simple demonstrations.’ She put her hand up as she saw Frances begin to speak. ‘I know that suffragettes have been charged with obstruction and assault but stamping on feet hardly constitutes that surely? I want to shout out at the unfairness of it all, the injustice, and it seems that it is only when you shout that anyone hears. Why should giving women the vote be so difficult. If we have a reforming Government, why won’t they reform the voting laws. I know that they’re frightened of creating a mass of female Conservative voters because of the existing property qualifications but that is no excuse. They would enlarge the franchise to universal suffrage if that were really the case.’

Frances took her cup and Hannah watched as she walked to the table by the door and brought back truffles on a plate. They were rich and soft and stuck to her teeth and she remembered with sudden clarity the chocolate on Esther’s teeth the night they had danced for her father and her anger grew even more.

‘You will certainly make an excellent orator, Hannah Watson, and I can hardly quibble with what you have said. The creation of Conservative voters does concern them.’

‘And now you must be realistic, Frances. We have to go for what seems the most feasible and that is limited suffrage, because no government of today will agree to universal suffrage. They are scared that the undeserving poor would have a right to an opinion. Just imagine the horror if a prostitute had a vote.’ She lifted her eyes and Frances laughed so loud that Bess started in her sleep. Hannah thought of all those men like her father who sat in dark pews and condemned as animals women such as these.

‘No, once we have limited suffrage we will then be able to vote for universal suffrage,’ she continued. ‘Once we have the vote we can change so much that is unjust. We must have it. They must be made to give it to us, somehow we must make them.’

Hannah was up now, and walking backwards and forwards, her words coming quickly and loudly as she drew them in the air until Frances laughed and told her to sit down or Bess would think it was time for her nightly constitutional and then there would be a barking heckler in the room and that would really be too much.

Hannah smiled and crouched down by Bess, rubbing her ears and laughing. She felt invigorated, eager and in a hurry to join those who already spoke on platforms and challenged from the audience those who denied them their rights.