Louise sighed. ‘Maybe, but how did the police know to expect us?’ She looked around the group. ‘Could it be we have a spy in the group?’
Esther stared at her friend. Was Louise right? Esther’s suspicions about Cecilia suddenly made very uncomfortable sense. ‘If we do, then he or she will be exposed in time.’
The associate who’d reprimanded Esther earlier, gave an inelegant sniff. ‘Hmm, and how is that friend of yours, Miss Stanbury?’
Esther frowned. ‘Who do you mean?’
‘Lawrence Culford, of course.’
Anger surged through Esther as she held the woman’s gaze. ‘Lawrence had nothing to do with this. He is in Oxfordshire and has been for days.’
The woman smiled, her gaze full of malice until, at last, she looked away.
Esther exhaled. Enough was enough. Her worthiness came in her ability to love Lawrence, Rose and Nathanial. To excel at an occupation she loved and that made her feel valued as an integral part of Pennington’s success. She would not forgo the Cause, but if the others chose to remain militant after today, Esther would set up a separate suffragist group of her own.
Forty-One
Lawrence sipped his coffee on the Manor’s back terrace as he watched Rose and Nathanial play at the fountain. The sun shone brightly and only wisps of cloud marred an otherwise perfect blue sky. The Manor’s gardens were vast and credited as a fine example of modern design and horticultural accomplishment throughout the county.
Yet his memories and feelings for Culford were too painful for Lawrence to ever be able to appreciate any aspect of the estate’s beauty. From the numerous, decades-old oak trees to the abundance of hybrids, rhododendrons and clematis, the Culford estate looked spectacular all year round.
To others. Not to him.
The six long days he’d been here had been tortuous, and no amount of cajoling or encouragement from Harriet had made Lawrence visit his mother more than his obligatory daily appearance at eight o’clock every evening to wish her goodnight.
Her sunken eyes, refusal of food and almost constant slumber indicated her imminent demise and with that came the possibility that Lawrence might end his constant contemplation of the past. He gripped his coffee cup as Rose’s delighted shriek carried across the lawns.
His children had been absurdly happy here. Playing with each other and their cousins had brought them complete pleasure, evident in their delighted smiles and happy eyes. Cornelia had stressed time and again how happy Rose and Nathanial were at the Manor, but, no matter how vibrant her picture-painting, Lawrence could not see how he’d ever be able to raise his children here. He belonged in Bath. He belonged with Esther.
The life he might have had vanished the day he’d walked away from his father, and now, Lawrence embraced his self-made existence with eternal pride and pleasure. To return to the Manor and become its next Lord held no appeal whatsoever, but he was determined to do all he could for Harriet, the tenants and staff. The majority loved their lives in the country and would have no wish to work and live in the city. He’d considered offering them all positions at The Phoenix, but how were farmers who had been raised to love the land turn their hands to uniforms and service?
‘Lawrence? Where are you?’
He hastily set down his cup and stood, shielding his eyes against the sun. His heart quickened as Cornelia hurried down the stone steps that zigzagged along the back of the house.
‘It’s Mama, Lawrence. It’s time. Come quickly.’
A heavy numbness shrouded him. His brain and body shutting down and blocking out whatever the next minutes or hours might deliver. He would not falter in his detachment. He would not waiver in his resentment. If he did, he’d come back here, and his mother would’ve won. Again.
He turned to his children. ‘Rose, Nathanial. Into the house. Find Cook. She’ll have some biscuits and lemonade for you.’
Abandoning their game at the fountain, the children bounded across the expanse of emerald green grass, straight past Lawrence and Cornelia as she came to stand beside him.
She slipped her hand into his, her blue gaze afraid. ‘You must see Mama straight away. Harriet is barely holding herself together and Mae is beside herself.’
Annoyance rippled through him. ‘Why is Mae still here? I appreciate her looking after Mother while Harriet was away, but she’s been back for almost a week and Mae is still coming here every day.’
‘Because Mama insists upon it. She wants Mae to be your wife and, whether you like it or not, I think Mae wants that, too.’
‘Well, she’ll have a long wait because it’s never going to happen.’
Cornelia inhaled and released a shuddering breath. ‘Mama told me of her threat to you.’
‘Well, she is out of her mind if she thinks I’ll ever consider a second arranged marriage. I love Esther and, if she’ll have me, I mean to ask her to marry me.’
‘Oh, Lawrence.’ Cornelia grinned and squeezed his arm. ‘That’s wonderful.’
Lawrence smiled and covered her hand with his. ‘Let’s get inside. We’ll have plenty of time to consider what happens next. For now, we have to concentrate on Mother.’
She turned to the Manor and sighed, her shoulders lowering. ‘Will this house ever be filled with happiness?’
‘No, I don’t believe it will.’
They walked towards the house, their steps quickening as they entered and mounted the vast oak staircase. Ignoring the paintings of his ancestors as they stared accusingly down on him, Lawrence stomped over the carpeted stairs and along the landing. Determination pulsed through him as he sought strength to face his mother’s death and move forward with his life. The Culford estate would survive without him. If nothing else, he’d find a way for the new owner to ensure the jobs and homes of the tenants and staff.
Harriet would have little choice but to come to live with him and Cornelia in Bath. The thought of imposing such a thing on her reignited his resentment towards his parents but, in that moment, he couldn’t think of any more agreeable or plausible course of action. If it came that Esther accepted his marriage proposal, he would find somewhere else for his sisters to live, if Esther should want that.
Not that he could imagine her agreeing to such a thing.
Once they reached their mother’s room, Lawrence stopped and turned to Cornelia. ‘If Mother’s time has come, I’ll return to Bath and make the funeral arrangements from there. You and Harriet can do what you will, but I’ll not remain another day or night in this house. I need you to understand that.’
She ran her gaze over his face, her eyes full of empathy. She nodded. ‘I do.’
Lawrence squeezed her hand and entered their mother’s bedroom.
Mae and Harriet sat on either side of the bed close to his mother’s pillows, alternating a wet cloth to her brow or a glass of water to her lips. His mother remained motionless despite their ministrations, water or spittle glistening over her chin and onto the cloth laid at the base of her throat.
Regret for the childhood he could have had enveloped Lawrence as he walked closer and he laid his hand on Harriet’s shoulder, his heart icy-cold in his chest. Without looking at him, she lifted her hand and squeezed his fingers.
His mother lay so pale and still, it was as though she’d already gone.
If it hadn’t been for the light lift and fall of her chest, Lawrence would’ve thought him and Cornelia too late to say their final goodbyes.
Mae gently cleared her throat. ‘You could speak to her, Lawrence. She would love to hear your voice.’
He snapped his gaze to Mae’s, irritation tightening his fingers on Harriet’s shoulder. Why was she here? Although the blame entirely lay with his mother that Mae might expect a marriage proposal from him, Lawrence would make it perfectly clear he wouldn’t marry her the moment they stepped from the room.
Turning to his mother, he released Harriet’s shoulder and took his mother’s hand where it lay on top of the blankets. Her tired bones were prominent th
rough the thinness of her skin. He touched his thumb to her wrist where her pulse weakly beat. ‘Mother? It’s Lawrence.’ Please God, let this be the end. ‘It’s… it’s time to let go.’
Cornelia came to Mae’s side and took her mother’s other hand. ‘Be at peace, Mama. Everything will be all right. We’re here. Where you wanted us. Say goodbye now.’
Their mother’s eyelids flickered open and she stared at Lawrence. Once a vibrant blue, her eyes were pale and milky, their vigour and passion, hatred and anger gone. She looked at him with gentle pleading and deep, deep sadness.
He drew in a sharp breath and forced a small smile. ‘I’m here. Let go, Mama.’
She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze unreadable.
Slowly, she turned her focus to Cornelia, and then Harriet.
His mother inhaled sharply, and then… silence.
She was gone.
The room filled with stifled sobs and mews as Harriet and Mae lifted their hands to their faces. Lawrence met Cornelia’s gaze, his body trembling with relief that, at last, he was completely free. His coldness was hateful, but necessary, even as tears ran silver over Cornelia’s cheeks.
Turning, he leaned over his mother and gently closed her eyes, his fingers hovering on her paper-thin lids as a new slice seared his already scarred heart.
‘Thank you for all you’ve done for my mother, Mae, but you can go now. There is no further reason for you to stay.’
Her stifled sobs echoed in the room and Lawrence pressed his lips together against an apology. He would never marry her, and, unlike his mother, he would not hold people in bondage that he might one day change.
It would be better for Mae, for the family and him, if they all started a new life now his mother had finally given them liberty.
Forty-Two
The clang of the station cell bolt being thrown back shook Esther from an exhausted, sleepy haze and she sat bolt upright on the thin mattress. A middle-aged and rather robust police officer entered the tiny room, accompanied by a younger male officer with bright orange hair who looked to be no older than nineteen, judging by the fluff about his chin.
Esther slowly rose, her stiff, cold bones screaming their indignation.
‘Miss Stanbury, good morning.’ The older constable languidly drew his gaze over her from head to toe. ‘I trust you slept well.’
Esther pulled her lips together and held his gaze.
He gave a wry smile. ‘Well, maybe not. I’m Sergeant Whitlock and this is Constable Godwin and we’ll be conducting your interview today.’ His jowls quivered as he tossed a notepad onto the bed and crossed his arms, his brown, silver-streaked hair sticking out in tufts above his ears. ‘I hope an uncomfortable night has made you a little more reasonable in your behaviour and you find yourself ready to talk with us this morning.’
Esther glared, summoning every ounce of her strength. She might not have agreed with yesterday’s plan, but she’d been a part of it nevertheless and had to think about the effects any adverse response could have on her associates. ‘As I told the constable yesterday, I’ve nothing else to say.’
‘Well, that is a shame, because, whether reasonably or not, you will come to talk to me.’ He turned to the younger officer. ‘Take her to the interview room, Godwin.’
Godwin stepped forward and clamped one hand to Esther’s elbow, the other to her shoulder. Although young, the officer was tall and broad, his iron grip surprising her as he manhandled her easily to the open doorway regardless of her attempts to resist.
As she was dragged unceremoniously along the grey bricked corridor, Esther’s ears filled with shouts coming from the station’s two additional holding cells.
‘Don’t give in to them, Esther!’
‘Keep strong. Never forget the Cause!’
Her associates’ encouragement gave Esther dual injections of courage and determination and she straightened, renewed energy to fight giving her strength to grapple her arm from the officer’s grasp. ‘Take your hands off me.’
Her triumph barely lasted a second or two before his fingers pinched into the flesh of her arm again and she was pushed into a room, made marginally lighter than her cell by two small windows high in the wall.
‘Take a seat, Miss Stanbury.’ Whitlock spoke with cold, calm authority.
After a moment’s hesitation, Esther slumped into the single chair on one side of the table. What good would it do the Cause to fight the police on everything? Each campaigner needed to choose their battles carefully if they were ever to win.
Whitlock and Godwin lowered into the two chairs on the opposite side of the table, Godwin sneering, his eyes steely.
She flicked her gaze to Whitlock.
He leaned back, his lips pressed tightly together as he stared at her with open curiosity, his brow lined. Exhaling, he crossed his arms. ‘As much as your evasive action helped to prevent a tragedy yesterday, I have to be honest with you, Miss Stanbury. I’m finding it difficult to understand how a woman who works for Pennington’s, a well-respected city department store, came to be involved with a group prepared to set fire to postboxes. I am completely baffled and bewildered that someone of your class and clear intelligence would be swayed by a group of women who have nothing better to do than cause trouble and considerable danger to the public.’
Esther said nothing, her heart beating fast despite her enforced and stoic expression.
Whitlock leaned forward. ‘You and I both know there are peaceful campaigners for the vote. Why choose the militant route?’
His disbelieving tone and the way his eyes widened as though he studied a prehistoric creature rather than a woman fuelled Esther to defend herself. ‘As much as I understand why militant action is frowned upon, many women feel they are beyond the freedom of choice, Sergeant. The peaceful route hasn’t proved fruitful, so some campaigners feel they’ve no alternative but to try other tactics.’
‘Some campaigners? Are you saying you weren’t a willing participant in yesterday’s events? That you were forced into Brock Street, forced to accompany a potential bomber and only inclined to intervene when innocent people were put at risk?’
‘I…’ Esther pressed her lips together. If she betrayed her colleagues, she’d be blacklisted, cast out and excluded. If she was to persuade Louise and the other women to execute only peaceful campaigns from now on, she had to remain part of the organisation for as long as possible. ‘Now you’ve arrested me, isn’t it my right to know what happens next? I am under no obligation to answer your questions.’
He smirked and glanced at Godwin who shook his head. Whitlock fixed his gaze on Esther once more and she shifted in her seat, her heart thumping and her shame burning like a white-hot ember in her stomach.
She swallowed. ‘All we want is the vote, Sergeant. As members of society, of humanity, women deserve to have their wants, wishes and desires added to those of men whenever government are making decisions that affect us all. We are half of the human race, are we not? How can fifty per cent of people in this country be ignored as though they do not matter? Can’t you see how ridiculous that is? Does the reality not sound as ludicrous to you as it does to me? By having no vote, we have no voice. We are merely standing up for what should be our legal right. Our daughters’ legal right.’
‘Daughters? You’re an unmarried woman. Are you telling me you have a child born out of wedlock?’
Esther glared. ‘Just because I’m not yet a mother does not mean I don’t care for the frustrations of the women who are. The fight isn’t solely about me, Sergeant, it’s about every woman in the country.’
‘So, everything you’re doing is about women and their roles in society, correct? About a contribution they can make that men have yet to understand?’
Esther narrowed her eyes, his irony curling her hands into fists beneath the table. ‘Yes.’
‘Then answer me this.’ He leaned his elbows on the table, his brown eyes darkening. ‘How is acting with violence, endangering the
lives of other women and their children, helping us to see you as calm, law-abiding and decent people who can make informed, intelligent, level-headed decisions? Behaving as you are makes you little more than a threat to others. If you’d succeeded in your attempt yesterday, you would’ve killed at least one innocent bystander, making you a participant in murder. Your methods are merely strengthening the logic preventing you from the vote.’
Esther stared, her resolve wavering. He was right. Yesterday would’ve painted them as little more than selfish. Even deranged. What could she say or do without risking herself and her fellow associates, languishing in cells along the corridor, having to face steeper charges? She didn’t doubt her saving the road sweeper had helped her case, but what of Louise and the others?
She pulled back her shoulders. ‘What will happen to my associates?’
‘They will be interviewed and dealt with accordingly. They are not your concern, right now. You should be grateful we received a tip-off to yesterday’s events and were there to prevent what could have been a catastrophe. Don’t you agree?’
Esther stared, her heart beating fast as every one of her suspicions about Cecilia Reed rose. ‘You received a tip-off? May I hazard a guess as to who that was?’
The sergeant narrowed his eyes. ‘No, Miss Stanbury, you may not.’
‘I’ll say her name anyway. Cecilia Reed was behind your presence. I am willing to wager my liberty on it.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Well, am I right?’
He returned her stare, his cheeks flushing with tell-tale guilt. ‘Miss Stanbury—’
‘Say no more.’ Esther shook her head and huffed a laugh. ‘I am glad to have my beliefs confirmed. You no doubt pay a fine reward for any information that might lead to the imprisonment of militant campaigners. Cecilia is not one to shy away from monetary gain, I’m sure. Yes, our actions yesterday ran the risk of endangering innocent people and I did all I could to save that young boy. No doubt my associates will be angry I put a stop to the wanted outcome, but, at the same time, I understand why women have been pushed to act by whatever means necessary. To stand their ground and find a way to be heard. Regardless of how that might be achieved.
A Rebel at Pennington’s Page 30