It was Tess’s idea to sneak out, the first time. Until then, Cat had not considered the idea. She had been raised in obedience, and deference; she had been raised to love and fear The Gentleman. But Tess read the leaflet that was brought to the servants’ quarters, and showed it to Cat. Waving it under her nose in a quiet corner of the corridor, tucked into the recess by the scullery doorway where they could not be seen from the butler’s pantry or the housekeeper’s room. ‘Let’s go along to it, Cat! I dare you! Oh, do let’s go!’ On Sunday afternoon, their only free time, they put on their best clothes and went. And it lit a fire in Cat. For there to be life, outside the house. For there to be a roomful of people, all gathered together of their own free will, and for her to be one of them. Tess’s cheeks were pink at the thrill of it, and Cat was all but struck dumb. It was like the world had started over, and would never go back to its old, drab turning.
The local meeting hall had been decked out in purple, white and green; from the sashes, flags and swags of bunting that hung from every banister and balustrade, to the sprays of flowers in vases that stood all around, dousing the air with their scent. Huge banners wafted gently overhead. One proclaimed: Who Would Be Free Themselves Must Strike the Blow! Another bore the graceful likeness of Emmeline Pankhurst, and praised her Daring Rectitude, calling her a Champion of Womanhood. There was a bustle and a hum of excitement, and Cat and Tess stayed on their feet at the back, overawed by the grandness of the ladies seated towards the front, who seemed to know each other well. Never before had they been in the same room as upper- and middle-class women, and yet been on the same footing as them. For Tess, that was enough. It was enough to be counted as a person, to count for something for a while. But for Cat, it was the words that were spoken, the arguments she heard that night from the various speakers, that shook her to her very core; seemed to shake her awake for the first time in her life.
‘A man may be drunk, or mad, or a convicted criminal; he may be lame, unfit for military service, or a keeper of white slaves, and yet he may vote! A woman may be mayor, or nurse, or mother; she may be learned in medicine, and be a doctor or a teacher; she may work and support herself and her family in industrial factories, and yet she may not vote! A soiled dove may be taken, if she is found to be infected by venereal disease, and kept against her will for many months until the infection has been treated, and yet there is no penalty for the men who have frequented and infected her! A husband may beat his wife, and indulge all his many urges upon her body, and she has no recourse to refuse him. A man may philander before he weds, and try himself with several female partners, and still he may go on to make an honourable partnership – and yet these women he has known are cast out by society!’
At this Tess had giggled, and coloured up, and Cat shushed her, gripping her hands to still her.
‘While only men can vote, only men’s economic grievances will be addressed by the government of this country. Our opponents point out that we have not the earning power of men: well, how can we have when all the most lucrative and important positions are barred to us – by men? As long as a woman has no political power, then she will have no economic power, and will remain at the bottom of the ladder when it comes to earnings. Until parliament is made responsible to us as voters, none of these inequalities, none of these imbalances will be addressed! They say that if we have the vote, women will no longer listen to men, and all will descend into chaos. We say, why should men not listen to women for once? Comrades! Spread the word! Give up your time; give up your money if you can. Raise up your voices and make yourselves heard!’
There was enthusiastic applause, and then the presentation of a medal to a frail lady, whose brown dress matched the brown hollows under her eyes, and who had recently come out of prison for disrupting a Liberal Party meeting. The woman pinned the medal to her dress, then spoke in a reedy voice of her ordeal, thanking her sisters for all their support, and vowing to fight on. She was given a standing ovation.
‘Let’s go, Cat – we’d better. It’s almost four o’clock,’ Tess whispered urgently, as the speaker stepped down.
‘Not yet. I want to ask what we can do!’
‘What do you mean, Cat? Do about what?’
‘Did you mean for this to be our first and last outing, then? Don’t you want to help them? Be one of them?’ Cat asked incredulously.
‘Be one of them?’ Tess echoed, with a startled smile.
‘You heard what she said! Why shouldn’t we have the vote? Why should I earn less than the hall boy, when I am older and have worked longer and hold a higher position than he?’
‘But… it’s not for the likes of us – we’ve got duties to attend to. Look at all those rich women! They’ve the time and money to take part. What have we got?’
‘And we’ll always have no time, and no money, and duties to attend to, if we never do anything about it. Don’t you want to be part of something?’ Cat demanded, giving Tess a little shake. Tess’s eyes were wide, and she swallowed, but in the end she nodded.
‘I do, Cat. If you’ll be there with me. I do want to be part of it,’ she said, looking up at Cat with gentle wonder.
‘Good.’ Cat smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s ask what we can do.’ They gathered leaflets, and paid a penny for a copy of Votes for Women, and learnt the whereabouts of their local WSPU office, where they could go and pay a shilling to join, and sign the declaration of allegiance.
In the weeks that followed, they went to the Women’s Press Shop on Charing Cross Road to buy the colours – all manner of accessories in white, purple and green were on sale, from hat pins to bicycles – and volunteered their time filling envelopes, handing out leaflets, and advertising meetings and fundraising events. And they went, from then on, each Sunday afternoon, even though their feet were throbbing and their backs aching, and they could have spent the time lying down or drinking in the pub, or meeting with a sweetheart. They wore their WSPU badges pinned to their underwear all week, where they would not be seen and confiscated; and from then on they were not merely servants, they were suffragettes.
It was a game at first, Cat thinks. A game in which she dictated the rules and Tess played along. Cat shuts her eyes in anguish, the letter lying unfinished in front of her. How can she write something as insufficient as a letter about it all? How can she hope to make amends? Sweet, trusting Tess; little more than a child and besotted with Cat, willing to do whatever Cat asked of her. And what Cat asked of her would come to ruin her. It would end with her blood staining the ground around her, and her spirit beaten down. It would end in her violent devastation. Cat signs off with two bleak little words. Forgive me. She presses the letter to her chest, as if it will absorb some of the remorse from her heart, and carry it to Tess.
3
The Rev. Albert Canning – from his journal
FRIDAY, JUNE 2ND, 1911
I heard the most remarkable speaker in Newbury last night, one Robin Durrant. A young man, and yet clearly advanced beyond his years in intellect and understanding. He spoke most eloquently upon the basic tenets of the wisdom religion, aka theosophy; keeping all in the auditorium quite captivated. Particular emphasis was laid on nature spirits, the evidence for their existence, methods of detecting them, and the reasons how and why they may choose to reveal – or indeed not to reveal – themselves, at will, to their human neighbours. He spoke to me most compellingly after the lecture was given, regarding the reconciliation of theosophy with the Anglican faith.