‘Did Bertie manage to get leave?’ Florence asked.
‘Yes.’ He and her mother would set out to walk to the church, before the Derwent motor car returned for Amy, her father and her attendants.
Beatrice paraded in front of the mirror in her pale green gown. She had an excellent figure and was taller than the others. She allowed the maid to put the finishing touches to her hair and its flowery ornament. Then the young woman offered to help Florence and arrange the bride’s veil.
When the maid had finished, Amy looked in the long mirror. She could scarcely recognise herself in the ivory gown with its lace trimming.
‘You look beautiful,’ Florence told her.
Beatrice nodded and smiled.
Mother squeezed into the bedroom. ‘Now don’t forget to make the most of the opportunity to meet Edmond’s other relatives,’ she said.
‘Yes, of course.’ Amy knew that was important, but she felt as if she were in a dream, scarcely able to think of anything but Edmond. I hope he likes my dress, she thought. I feel sure he will.
‘I’m so happy for you, darling!’ Mother said, embracing and kissing Amy. They had been disappointed that Uncle Harold’s health was deteriorating and so Aunt Louisa could not come to see Amy wed.
Mother carefully put on her new flowery hat and went down to set off with Bertie.
Florence was looking through the window. ‘The car’s back!’
They went downstairs and picked up their dainty bouquets of creamy roses. Amy’s father, smart in his new suit, held her arms as he gazed at her, then bent to kiss her. ‘You’re every bit as lovely as your mother was on her wedding day.’
As they went outside, Amy’s dress looked dazzling in the bright sun. Beatrice’s maid accompanied them to the car and helped the young women in.
‘I’m worried our gowns will be crushed,’ Beatrice said, as the three of them settled in the back.
‘But you’re all slim, Miss Beatrice, and it’s only a short distance.’
Father stepped into the front and the chauffeur drove off towards the church.
‘My parents have arranged for a photographer to come to The Beeches to take a picture of the wedding group later,’ Beatrice babbled.
In a few minutes the service will begin, Amy thought breathlessly. The organist will play the anthem and Edmond will look round to see me. She had moved her engagement ring to the other hand to make it easier for him when the time came to place the simple gold wedding band on her finger.
The car stopped outside the church and they alighted. In the porch, Bertie and James were acting as ushers, greeting guests. As she placed her arm in that of her father, she was aware of people approaching. Through her wispy veil she noticed a policeman heading towards her. Still elated, she smiled at him, though curious why he might be there.
‘Miss Fletcher, I believe I have something of yours,’ Constable Swift said, showing her a small item.
Peering through her veil she saw her fountain pen, the one with her name engraved on it, that she had lost some time before.
‘Goodness, it’s finally turned up! Thank you so much. Do you know where it was found?’ She reached out to take it but the constable held on to it.
‘In the cricket pavilion. In a crack in the wooden flooring.’ He spoke as though its discovery had some special significance.
For a moment its reappearance seemed irrelevant, a minor incident on her wedding day. Then her heart seemed to flutter as the implications became clear. She noticed someone else approaching. The towering figure of Colonel Fairlawn loomed ahead.
‘Do you have any explanation for how your pen might be in the cricket pavilion?’ his voice boomed.
She felt herself swaying, and Florence catching her arm.
‘What’s all this fuss?’ Father demanded angrily. ‘My daughter is about to get married. Can we continue these enquiries afterwards?’
‘It’s not as simple as that, Sir,’ said the constable. ‘Unless Miss Fletcher can give some innocent account of being in the cricket pavilion, we will have to assume she was with the Suffragettes who broke in last summer.’
Father gasped. ‘Why were you in the pavilion, Amy?’
She could not provide an innocent reason.
‘If you have no explanation you will have to face the charges of breaking and entering and criminal damage, Miss.’
She felt her face flush with guilt and embarrassment ‘Very well,’ she said, trembling and anxious for the ceremony to begin. ‘When and where should I report? I give you my word I will attend.’
‘The court is in session this morning. You are to come before the magistrate straight away.’ It was then that she noticed the police vehicle waiting at the side of the road, next to the car in which she had just arrived.
‘But – I can’t! I’m getting married. My future husband is in the church, waiting.’
‘We can’t make any exceptions,’ snarled Colonel Fairlawn. ‘It’s especially important, now we’re at war, that this kind of appalling behaviour is punished. We have to make a firm stand.’
‘This is completely unacceptable,’ her father tried to protest.
‘Will you come quietly, please, Miss?’ the constable urged. ‘I don’t want to have to restrain you.’ She thought she saw a flicker of sympathy on his freckled face.
‘Let me come too,’ Father said. ‘I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation.’
‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid, Sir. We’ll be at the courtroom. It’s only just down the road.’
Tears began running down Amy’s face. She handed her bouquet to Florence, pulled off her veil and handed her that as well, then allowed the constable to lead her to the police vehicle. Scarcely believing what was happening she got in, smoothing out the skirt of her bridal gown. The constable got in beside her. As the driver set off she caught sight of Beatrice standing in her fine dress and staring at her, eyes wide with horror.
Edmond’s waiting for me, she thought frantically. I’m supposed to be in church.
It took only a few minutes to reach the courtroom, which was further down the High Street. The old wooden-beamed building had been used for a century or more as a magistrates’ court for Larchbury and the surrounding smaller villages. Constable Swift led her into a small office. ‘Just sit down here, Miss.’
A young man explained that he was clerk to the court. ‘There’s another case on at the moment but we don’t expect it to last long,’ he said, before leaving the room.
The constable sat on a nearby chair. Amy tried to stop crying. What was she to do?
It’s Colonel Fairlawn, she thought. With his superior position in society he thinks he can orchestrate this. He’s an alderman, and with his blustering manner he can bully the police to do his bidding. He sometimes serves as a magistrate, too. How dreadful if he’s my judge! He wants to humiliate me. Very probably he’s one of those men who believe Suffragettes to be unfeminine.
The clerk came back. ‘Your father would like the case postponed so you can consult a solicitor,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to ask for an adjournment, or to go ahead and have the matter settled quickly?’
Should they consult Florence’s father, the local solicitor? She could hardly deny she had been part of the incident.
‘I’d like it settled quickly.’ She must plead guilty, accept the fine she imagined they would impose, and trust there was still time for the wedding to go ahead that day.
But how awful all this is for Edmond, she thought. Thank goodness I told him what I did, and he didn’t seem to mind. But Mother and Father will be upset, and whatever will the Derwent family think?
She was aware of a buzz of conversation outside and then the clerk asked her to go through to the courtroom. The constable led her into the dock. She heard a gasp from the few spectators in the public gallery, and shrank at the sight of the three magistrates gazing at her from the bench, though at least Colonel Fairlawn was not one of them. What a sight she must look, standing there
in her wedding gown.
Now more people were filing into the public gallery. There was her beloved Edmond, smart in his uniform but white-faced. He nodded to her, looking concerned but not angry. Father and Mother and Bertie followed him, then Florence, still clutching two bouquets, then came Uncle Arthur, Aunt Sophie and James. Mr Derwent and Charles Shenwood followed them in. There could seldom have been a better-dressed group witnessing a court case, even though there was no sign of Mrs Derwent or her daughter.
Colonel Fairlawn came into the court and sat down to one side of the bench, apparently there in some kind of official capacity.
The chairman of the bench was a sober elderly man who was an alderman, and ran a business locally. She thought he had attended the ball at The Beeches. Mr Brownlee, the auctioneer, was also on the bench, along with a younger man she did not recognise.
The chairman read out the charges. She was accused of breaking into the cricket pavilion and criminal damage. The clerk passed her a copy of the Bible and made her take the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I can hardly lie now, she thought, even if I could think of a convincing falsehood.
‘Amy Maud Fletcher, do you plead guilty or not guilty?’
She found herself clenching her fists, still enclosed in their lacy gloves. ‘I – well, I personally did not break into the pavilion, but I accompanied other women into the building.’
‘Guilty,’ said the chairman.
There was a gasp from the gallery. It sounded like her mother.
‘I wrote some slogans in chalk but I did not use paint.’
‘Guilty.’
She turned her head briefly to glance towards the gallery. Her mother was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and her father looked shocked, but Edmond was smiling at her as though to encourage her. Florence looked pale and seemed to be trying not to cry.
Now Colonel Fairlawn was called to the witness box. He elaborated on the damage, and the cost of replacing the glass in the door and removing the painted slogans. At last he finished.
‘So if you did not break into the pavilion yourself, who did?’ asked the chairman of the bench sternly.
She drew a breath. She simply must not implicate Lavinia. ‘I am not prepared to say, Sir.’
There was a kind of snort from the colonel.
‘And then you assisted in defacing the pavilion?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘You think this is an appropriate way to behave while our country is at war?’
She was trembling as she sought the right words. ‘With respect, Sir, this took place last summer, before war was declared. The Suffragette movement has suspended acts of civil disobedience now.’
‘Hummph! Have my colleagues any questions to ask?’
‘Are you in sympathy generally with the views of the Suffragettes?’ asked Mr Brownlee.
She paused. Would she dare uphold her views in these circumstances? ‘I believe women should have the vote,’ she replied as steadily as she could. ‘But I very much regret my foolish actions on the day in question. I am planning to help the war effort. I have been accepted to become a VAD.’
She thought he looked more sympathetic than the chairman.
‘I believe we have a character witness for the accused,’ said the chairman.
She breathed a little more easily as her uncle came forward, climbed into the witness box and took the oath.
‘Well, Reverend Fletcher?’
‘My niece is of previous good character,’ he said. His voice was clear and authoritative, the way he sounded when he led a service. ‘As she pointed out, the offence took place before the outbreak of war. She is planning to be a VAD and has also been helping the Belgian refugees. There was an article in the local paper recently about a picnic she helped to arrange for them.’
‘Thank you, Vicar. The bench will now consider the case.’
Amy was led out of the courtroom back into the office. The clerk brought her a glass of water. She felt exhausted. How could the prank from last summer have rebounded into her life at the worst possible moment? Would they still be able to hold the wedding today or would they need to try to rearrange it for tomorrow or even Saturday? How dreadful it will be if the reception has to be postponed, she thought – will the Derwents ever forgive me? And all the guests will know what I did…
Within a few minutes she was called back into court. The colonel was sitting in his same position as the magistrates returned.
The chairman remained standing. ‘We have formed the opinion that we must take a firm stand on this case,’ he said. ‘While acknowledging the culprit’s expression of regret and determination to serve her country, we must make it clear that this kind of criminal activity is completely unacceptable. Calling it civil disobedience does not excuse it.’
How Amy hated the colonel’s gloating expression.
‘This court imposes a fine of twenty-five pounds and sentences Amy Fletcher to serve a week in jail.’
There was a gasp, and she heard Edmond shout, ‘No!’
Amy gripped the edge of the dock, the sentence ringing in her ears, though it seemed beyond belief. She thought the other members of the bench looked less resolute than their chairman.
‘Please!’ she said. ‘Please allow me to serve the sentence in a week or two, so I may be married! My fiancé is to set off for Flanders on Monday.’
‘The sentence is to be carried out right away,’ the chairman said.
She swayed and Constable Swift caught her arm. He led her down the steps from the dock to the cell beneath.
The room was dark and stuffy and she felt faint.
‘Bear up, Miss! It’s only for a week.’
‘But I’ll miss my wedding!’
He unlocked the door at the other side of the cell. ‘Come along, Miss.’ He led her through the yard to the street and back into the police car. Passers-by began to stare. The sun was still shining from a perfect blue sky as though nothing was amiss.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Holloway.’
‘But – at least let me change out of this dress.’
‘They’ll give you a prison gown when you get there.’
Then she saw Edmond running into the street. ‘Darling, I love you!’ he was crying as they drew away.
Tears were coursing down her cheeks as though they would never stop.
Chapter Eight
London, June 1915
The police car took her to London, to a dingy suburb where they drove to the forbidding gates of the high-walled prison. The gates opened to admit them and she was led across a courtyard and inside the building.
‘Blimey – were you on your way to a ball or something?’ A harsh-faced woman in uniform inspected her.
Constable Swift handed over her papers. ‘Suffragette,’ he remarked.
‘Oh – well at least she probably won’t have lice.’ She led Amy away into a grim room with little daylight and took some garments from a shelf. ‘Just get into these.’ She folded her arms and waited.
Amy realised she was meant to change her clothes in front of her. She remembered hearing that Suffragettes were systematically humiliated in jail.
It was impossible to change into the coarse prison clothes without letting her bridal dress trail onto the floor. Afterwards, she folded it as tidily as possible and handed it to the warder, who looked at it curiously before cramming it unceremoniously into a bag and attaching a label with her name on. A fresh tear ran down Amy’s face.
‘I’d better look after that ring for you.’ Reluctantly, Amy handed over her garnet and diamond engagement ring to be locked in a box.
The warder led her along a foul-smelling gangway. At length she was let into a cell and the door slammed behind her. The key grated in the lock.
The cell was dim and hot. It had two metal beds, though there was no other occupant. Amy collapsed on to the lumpy mattress of the nearest bed, emotionally drained.
&
nbsp; No other punishment could be so dreadful, she thought. I’ve missed my wedding and it’s all my own fault. Edmond will go to the Front and Heaven knows when I’ll see him again. He could even be killed.
What if I’d told them it was Lavinia who broke in and used the green paint? Would they have been less harsh – would I have avoided jail? But it didn’t seem right, betraying another member of the movement, one of my friends.
The fine’s not so bad. I can just afford to pay it from what I’ve saved from my earnings, though it’s taken me over a year to amass that much. I meant to use the money to help set up home with Edmond.
And what of my parents? What will they think of me now?
What will Edmond’s family think? They thought I wasn’t good enough for him before this happened. They were dressed in their fine clothes, waiting to admit me to their family. They weren’t expecting a jailbird. They’d prepared a banquet and invited dozens of guests. Everyone will hear about my disgrace.
Edmond, my beloved, I’d do anything to turn back the clock. I should never have joined the Suffragettes.
Her head ached as she reviewed her principles and the options she had faced.
But we deserve to have the vote, she thought. I was right to be part of the campaign. But I should have left the protest when Lavinia suggested that provocative action, that’s what I should have done. I can’t bear having ruined our wedding day.
* * *
By evening the cell was brighter as the sun now faced it, shining between the iron bars. She turned round at the sound of the hatch in the door opening. A plate with bread and a scrap of cheese was passed through, with a tin mug of tea. She had not eaten since breakfast but could only manage a little of the stale bread.
At last the sun was sinking lower. She took off her top clothes, crawled between the straw mattress and rough sheet, and tried to sleep.
Eventually she must have dozed off. She awoke in darkness, aching from the uncomfortable bed, and remembered where she was. There were voices outside her door.
Until We Meet Again Page 7