The Best of Daughters (3 page)

‘You're late, Teddy.' Victor Lennox glared at his son over the top of his gold-rimmed pince-nez. ‘And you too, Daisy. Whatever happened to manners?'

‘Sorry, Father.' Teddy took his seat at table. ‘Had to stay behind at the last minute. Wretched fellow on the telephone went on and on. I thought he'd never stop gassing.'

Victor frowned. ‘That's no way to speak about a client, Teddy. I hope you treated him with due respect.'

‘I'll say I did,' Teddy said, making a quick recovery. ‘I'm always the soul of tact and diplomacy.'

‘That's enough, Teddy.' Gwendoline placed her soup spoon at a precise right angle on her empty plate. ‘No business talk at the table, please.' She focused her attention on Daisy. ‘And what is your excuse for being late? Another sick headache?'

Daisy had been trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, which was difficult as Beatrice was pulling faces at her behind her starched linen table napkin, but now all eyes turned in her direction. She crumbled a piece of bread roll between her fingers, playing for time while she thought up a convincing reply. ‘The doorbell rang, Mother. The servants were busy serving dinner and so I answered it myself.'

Gwendoline uttered an exasperated sigh. ‘You ought to know better, Daisy. What would people think if they had seen you? Why do you think we employ servants?'

‘They cost us enough in wages,' Victor said drily.

Ignoring her husband's caustic remark Gwendoline glared at her daughter. ‘And who, may I ask, was calling at such an inconvenient hour?'

‘It was just a young person asking for directions.' Daisy popped a piece of bread into her mouth, hoping that this was the end of the interrogation.

‘That's true,' Teddy said earnestly. ‘Dashed pretty little thing, but no dress sense. She looked as though she'd bought her outfit at a jumble sale.'

‘Trust you to notice what she was wearing.' Beatrice giggled. ‘But she took your fancy all the same. You're turning into quite a ladies' man.'

Gwendoline glowered at her. ‘That's enough. Eat your meal, Beatrice.'

‘That's an interesting point, Mother,' Beatrice said innocently. ‘Technically do you eat soup, or drink it?'

‘Don't be silly.' Gwendoline turned her attention once again to her elder daughter. ‘Don't forget to pick up your gown for the party tomorrow. I'd do it myself
but you'll need to have a final fitting, just to make sure it's perfect. I don't want to give Emily Harper-Colton the chance to gloat because her girls have all found rich husbands, and you're still unmarried at twenty-one and perilously close to ending up an old maid.'

Victor cleared his throat. ‘I say, hold on, old girl. That was uncalled for. Daisy is taking her time. She doesn't want to accept the first chap who offers for her.'

‘She's waiting for Rupert to come up to scratch and then she'll turn him down,' Beatrice said slyly.

‘That's not true. There's nothing remotely romantic between Rupert and me.' Daisy raised her chin, meeting her mother's cold gaze stare for stare. ‘And I'm afraid I can't go to the dressmaker's tomorrow morning. I have a prior engagement.'

‘Then you will break it, Daisy. I won't have my arrangements upset because you are a stubborn and ungrateful daughter. You will collect your gown and it will be perfect or I'll want to know the reason why. This party is costing your father a great deal of money, and everything will be just so.'

‘A great deal of money,' Victor repeated, nodding his head. ‘Your mother is pinning all her hopes on this event, Daisy. If you don't end the evening engaged to at least two eligible young men she'll think that the whole colossally expensive affair has been a fiasco.'

The fitting seemed to be taking forever. Daisy had put the wretched gown on several times and suffered the dressmaker's assistant sticking pins into her tender
flesh without protest, but the hands on the clock moved slowly but inexorably towards midday. ‘Is this going to take much longer?' she enquired, trying hard not to sound too impatient as the dressmaker returned, her arms filled with beaded chiffon. ‘You see I have a luncheon appointment at twelve.'

‘I'm afraid I've had to take the garment in at least half an inch, Miss Lennox, but it's finished now. Would you like to try it on again just to make certain?'

Daisy shook her head. ‘No. I'm sure it will be absolutely fine. Thank you.'

Minutes later she was outside on the pavement hailing a taxicab. ‘Buckingham Palace, please.'

The cabby grinned. ‘Going to lunch with royalty, miss?'

She smiled, shaking her head. ‘Not today.' She opened the door and climbed in, placing the box and her parasol on the seat beside her, but the cabby did not seem in a hurry to pull away.

He turned his head, eyeing her curiously. ‘You ain't planning on joining them mad women, are you, miss?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' she said, staring straight ahead. ‘Drive on, please. I'm late as it is.'

‘I've already taken a few of them there. You don't look like the kind of young lady who ought to be associating with that sort of person.' He waited for a few seconds and when she chose to ignore his comments he drove off, muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath.

A large crowd had gathered outside the palace, and Daisy's stomach lurched as she saw a contingent of
mounted officers controlling the onlookers while policemen on foot were attempting to deal with the women who had chained themselves to the railings. She was almost deafened by the noise as she stepped out of the cab with her parasol clutched tightly in her hand. Men were shouting and women were screaming insults at them or chanting their slogan
Deeds Not Words
. The clattering of horses' hooves and the rumble of traffic only added to the general din and confusion.

The cabby leaned out of the window. ‘Ain't you got a home to go to, young lady? I've a daughter about your age and I wouldn't want her to be mixed up with this lot.'

She hesitated, torn between the desire to retreat into the comforting anonymity of the cab and the urgent need to support the cause. Her heart was pounding against the confines of her stays, and her knees threatened to give way beneath her. If only she were not such a coward. At this moment she hated herself.

‘Make your mind up, love. I got a living to make.' The cabby's lined face creased into even deeper furrows as he fixed her with a hard stare. ‘You'll end up in the clink if you ain't careful, ducks.'

She took a deep breath. She must not let the brave suffragettes down. She thrust a half-crown into his hand, and at that moment she spotted Ruby being hauled from the railings by a burly police constable. Even at a distance, Daisy could see the girl's mouth opened in a scream as he hit her with his truncheon. Forgetting everything, she raced to her aid.

HANDCUFFED TO A
young police constable, Daisy came face to face with the law in Bow Street police station. The sergeant seated behind the desk wore an expression of barely controlled irritation. He was assisted by an equally harassed-looking junior officer as they took the names and addresses of the women who had been arrested outside the palace. Ruby was protesting loudly but some of the younger suffragettes were visibly upset and openly weeping. Daisy was too stunned to say anything. After a bone-rattling ride to Bow Street in the confines of the horse-drawn Black Maria, she had tried to recall the precise course of events that had led to her arrest, but all she could remember was hitting the constable with her tightly furled parasol and knocking his helmet off. She had known then that she was in deep trouble.

‘Next.'

She was not dreaming: this was a living nightmare. She was standing in front of the desk, looking up into the face of a man who quite obviously had little sympathy for women's suffrage.

‘Name?' He glared at her, pen poised.

The full impact of what she had done hit her with the force of a tidal wave. What would her parents
say when they discovered that their elder daughter was a common criminal? She wished that she could faint away like the young woman who had been standing to the left of her, but she realised now that she was made of sterner stuff. She was scared, worried and also angry. She gave her name and address in a clear, calm voice, but inwardly she was seething.

‘Take her to the cells, constable.'

Daisy stared at him in disbelief. ‘You're locking me up? But I haven't done anything wrong.'

‘That's for the magistrate to decide, miss. Think yourself lucky that you'll be in court this afternoon and won't have to spend the night in custody.'

Custody. The word sent icy chills down her spine. She was being sent to a cell like any other felon. ‘Please, sergeant. May I get word to my father?'

‘This ain't the Ritz, miss. Take her away, constable.'

She opened her mouth to protest but a tug on her wrist was a painful reminder that handcuffs were made of cold steel and she had no choice other than to follow the police officer. They came to a halt at the end of a long, narrow corridor. ‘Please will you do one small thing for me, constable?' she asked, clutching his sleeve. ‘I'll be in terrible trouble at home when they find out what I've done.' He hesitated, but she could see a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, and she pressed on without giving him a chance to refuse. ‘Please telephone my father's office and tell him where I am. This is all a dreadful mistake.'

‘They all say that, miss.' He unlocked the handcuffs.

‘Lennox and Carlton, stockbrokers in the City. If you would just lend me your pencil and notebook I'll write the number down.'

‘It's against all the rules, miss.'

She was quick to hear a hint of hesitation in his voice and she forced her dry lips into a smile. ‘Have you got a sister, constable?'

He clipped the handcuffs to his belt. ‘Yes, miss.'

‘Then I beg of you to think how you would feel if she were in similar circumstances.' She held his gaze, pleading silently, and was rewarded with a reluctant grin.

He handed her his notebook and pencil. ‘Not a word to anyone, miss.'

She wrote the telephone number on the pad and returned it to him. ‘Thank you so much. He'll see to it that you are recompensed for your trouble.'

He opened the cell door. ‘In you go, miss.'

She found herself in a small, windowless room filled with angry women. Ruby pushed her way through the crowd and came to stand by her side. ‘Bastards,' she shouted as the door closed and the key grated in the lock. She slipped her hand through the crook of Daisy's arm. ‘Never mind, ducks. We won't let them beat us.'

Daisy rubbed her wrist where the metal had chafed her delicate skin. ‘Beat us? Do you mean corporal punishment?'

‘Gawd love us, don't you know nothing, miss? I mean we won't let them get us down.'

‘My mother will be furious,' Daisy said, sighing. ‘I
was supposed to be home hours ago.' A sudden thought made her go weak at the knees and she leaned against Ruby for support. ‘Oh, my God!'

‘What's up, miss? Are you sick or something?' Ruby pushed a plump, purple-clad woman out of the way. ‘Shove over, love. I think she's going to pass out.'

With a supreme effort Daisy managed to regain control of her limbs. ‘No, really. I'm all right, thank you.'

‘Well, you've gone the colour of the walls in here and that ain't a pretty sight. What's up?'

‘My ball gown. I left it in the taxicab.' Tears spilled down Daisy's cheeks. ‘And they took my parasol.'

Ruby pursed her lips. ‘If that's all you got to worry about, you're lucky.' Her expression softened and she patted Daisy's hand. ‘Don't worry, ducks. They'll give it back to you after you've been up before the beak. That's if he lets us go.'

Momentarily forgetting her lost gown, Daisy was suddenly curious. She knew next to nothing about this tiny young person with a fiery temper and the pugnacity of a bulldog. ‘How do you know all this, Ruby? Do you think we might be locked up?'

‘It's a possibility, my dear.' The plump lady in the purple outfit shot her a pitying glance. ‘This is obviously your first time.'

Daisy nodded dazedly. ‘Yes.'

‘I expect you'll get off with a slapped wrist then. I'm almost certain to be sent down as they say in the criminal underworld.'

‘You've been in prison, ma'am?'

‘Several times, but only for the cause. One can get used to almost anything.'

‘I wish I were as brave as you,' Daisy said sincerely. ‘May I ask your name?'

‘Adela,' she replied, smiling. ‘Adela Pankhurst.' She turned away as another woman claimed her attention.

Ruby leaned against the wall. ‘Best settle down, miss. It looks like we're going to have a long wait.'

It was late afternoon before Daisy's name was called. The magistrate gave her a cursory glance as he listened to the case against her. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Miss Lennox?'

‘I'm sorry, your worship.' She had not meant to sound weak and subservient but she was tired, hungry and frankly terrified. The talk in the holding cell had centred on the treatment the suffragettes received in prison, and it was enough to frighten the bravest of souls. The first-hand accounts of forced feeding and brutality had sickened her. She was sorry too. Sorry that her desire to protect Ruby had made her act in such a reckless manner. Until that moment she had never struck anyone in anger, at least not since she had reached maturity. Fights with Teddy when they were children did not count. But she did regret knocking the policeman's helmet off, and the parasol had been a Christmas gift from Rupert. Even if it was returned to her she suspected that it was beyond repair. She dragged herself back to the proceedings as the magistrate addressed himself to her, glaring as if he were speaking to a naughty child. ‘You have acted
wantonly and disgracefully, Miss Lennox. You are a young lady from a good family who ought to have known better. I cannot condone violence but as this is your first offence I am prepared to be lenient. Fined ten guineas and bound over to keep the peace for six months. If I see you in my court again you will incur a custodial sentence.'