The Scandalous Suffragette

by Eliza Redgold

  ‘Not all landowners. But that’s the case for me now, at Beauley. Up at the manor we have significant duties to our tenants and workers. The question is whether we can meet them. I certainly intend to.’ A muscle flared around his mouth, then his jaw firmed. ‘Perhaps we can take a tour of the Cadbury’s Bournville factory one day. Together.’

  ‘Really?’

  His glance was direct. ‘It’s your money that will help make village life better for the people of Beauley. Do you think I won’t allow you to have a say?’

  Violet breathed out. She’d been holding her breath the whole journey, judging by the way the whalebones of her corset rubbed painfully against her ribs. His reaction when she returned to the hotel had alarmed her. But his controlled anger appeared to have passed.

  ‘I’d like to do that,’ she replied with equal directness. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Then we shall travel together,’ he said.

  The carriage turned another corner.

  ‘Here we are,’ Adam said.

  Violet threw open the carriage window.

  Adam pulled wide the gates. He always opened the heavy iron gates himself, rather than having the coach driver struggle to hold the horses at the same time. They were rusty now and creaked as if they yawned. Once upon a time there had been a gatekeeper at Beauley Manor, but those days were long gone. Only a crumbling shell of the gatehouse remained.

  He waved at the coach driver to pass through the stone gateway. As the wheels crunched into the drive, he saw Violet’s enthralled face as she gazed out of the open carriage window. Her chestnut hair was blowing in the wind, curling around her face, her cheeks pink and her blue eyes wide. She looked like a royal visitor. A princess. In a way she was. A chocolate princess. Yet her matter-of-fact manner, her concern for others, her social reformism and her passion for women’s suffrage—they made her someone real, not confectionery.

  He heaved the gate wider. Her disappearance at the wedding reception and her refusal to tell him where she had been rankled with him all the way on the long drive home. Only now, as he reached Beauley, did he feel the tension in his body dissipate, as it always did when he came home.

  The carriage stopped. At a run he reached it, grabbed the handle and leapt inside. With a rap on the inside roof of the carriage, they were off again. The horses were slower now, as if relieved to be home, too.

  The drive narrowed. There were woods on either side of the manor, still owned by the Beaufort family. They had been stocked with deer once, but they too were long gone.

  Yet his heart lifted at the sight of Beauley.

  He watched Violet’s face, struck by how important it was to him that she like it, too. Normally, he would have his eyes fixed ahead, but this time he found himself transfixed by Violet as she encountered his home for the first time.

  Another twist in the drive.

  The pink bow of her mouth opened as she gasped. Her mouth had been the subject of his ruminations as he’d fallen asleep the night before, he recalled. Her mouth and the taste of violet creams.

  He opened the carriage window and let the cool air blow. As he watched the manor appear to rise up before them, as it always did, as if surrounded by water or mist. The ancient bricked building of mellow stone was a red so faded it was now the colour of a rose, its two square towers crenelated with battlements had stones missing in places, but still it lost none of the effect, although it had never been a true fortress. Arrow slips crisscrossed the towers.

  The carriage rolled on towards the circular drive. The lower windows were arched, giving it the impression of a church. At the centre, above the massive door, the front of the house was white, striped with timber beams in the Tudor style that had become prevalent in Shakespeare’s day, but the studded, wooden doors were that of a small fortress.

  He drew his head inside the carriage. Violet was silent, staring, as if spellbound.

  ‘Beauley Manor was designed upon a fort, but it has never been a real one,’ he told her. No battles had ever been fought at Beauley Manor, unless you counted those waged in the hall between his mother and father, after one of his father’s drinking and gambling bouts. ‘The Tudor Beauforts went in for effect. It even had a moat.’

  She peered closer. ‘I can’t see a moat.’

  He grinned ruefully. ‘There’s no moat any more, but I can show you the damp foundations it left behind in the cellars.’ It wasn’t even possible to store wine there without it being ruined, but with his father’s habits, his mother had always called that a blessing in disguise.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Could the manor ever have a moat again?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘But it would cost—’

  ‘A fortune?’ she put in, with a smile.

  She’d made him laugh. The last of the tension dissipated between them, like the mist around Beauley.

  She returned her gaze to the manor. ‘The effect is magnificent. I admire the taste of the Tudor Beauforts.’

  ‘Would you like the history lesson?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘The manor was built by Sir Thomas Beaufort. At the time of its design, fashions were changing and he planned to build an entire Tudor house in the new style inside the fortress walls. It was aimed to impress their visitors, especially royal visitors.’

  ‘Have there been many royal visitors?’

  ‘A few, over the centuries. In any case, that’s why there are remnants of both styles. It’s rare for such fortress aspects to remain. They are certainly what I like best. I played up on the battlements with my bow and arrow as a boy.’

  One of each. A boy and a girl.

  The memory came into his head. That’s what they’d shaken hands upon, when they’d agreed to their marriage of convenience. But they wouldn’t have children, not yet.

  He cleared this throat. ‘The original Beauforts who built the manor changed the spelling of their name, to make it sound more French. It was the fashion of the day.’

  Violet smiled. ‘My mama would approve of that.’

  ‘They were an ambitious family, Sir Thomas most of all. Or perhaps it was his wife with the ambitions. She was known for her striving at court.’

  ‘It must be extraordinary, to be able to trace your family back to Tudor times,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure the Coombes family can.’

  ‘We all had ancestors in Tudor times, whether we can trace our families or not. Otherwise neither of us would be here.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘I’m sure we’d both turn up the same number of scoundrels,’ he drawled.

  He pointed out of the carriage window at the pale red sunset. ‘I’m glad you’re seeing Beauley now. The manor is at its best at this time of day.’

  The horses sauntered on, the gravel crunching beneath their hooves as they came closer to the manor. Closer, its proportions were even lovelier, full of grace.

  Violet raised her hand to shade her eyes. ‘It’s as if there is still a moat. I can imagine it so clearly.’

  A muscle moved in his jaw. She saw his home as he did. ‘It does seem that way, to me.’

  She turned to him, with her eager expression. ‘Now I understand.’

  Adam raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Why, it’s alive.’ She pointed to the manor. ‘It’s the same as the trees, and the plants and the flowers. It’s a living thing.’

  She clasped her hands together. The gold ring glinted on her finger. ‘I didn’t realise it before. We’re alike.’

  Adam leaned forward. ‘In what way?’

  ‘Beauley Manor,’ Violet said. ‘It’s your Cause.’

  * * *

  Violet took Adam’s hand as he helped her down from the carriage. ‘Welcome home.’

  Home. The word tingled through her at the touch of his hand. It had
caused another of those unexpected sensations that travelled through to her core. It was as if her entire body was on alert.

  ‘Thank you.’ Moving away from the carriage, she took a steadying breath and looked about eagerly. She’d been amazed by what she’d seen as they’d driven towards the Manor. She had been expecting grandeur, not beauty and serenity, and up close, it was even more dazzling.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

  He crooked a smile. ‘That’s what it means. Beauley. A beautiful piece of land.’

  How perfect he looked at Beauley Manor, she thought. Even more lines seemed to have disappeared from his face.

  She peered about. She ought to be wearing her hat, but the sun was setting fast behind the manor and she didn’t want to waste a minute.

  ‘Would you like to come indoors?’ he asked. ‘Do you need refreshment after the journey?’

  She shook her head. ‘The light has almost gone. Can we take a walk in the grounds first?’

  He looked down at the tips of her satin shoes, visible beneath her skirt. ‘Some ladies would want to mind their shoes.’

  Her shoes had already scurried across Piccadilly, but she wouldn’t remind him of that. ‘A short walk,’ she pleaded.

  He gave a slight bow. ‘As you wish.’

  As they turned towards the lawn, a bark came from behind them. Violet spun around to see an orange-and-white dog racing towards her.

  Adam’s voice rang out. ‘Beau!’

  Violet laughed as she pulled off her glove to ruffle the dog’s fur. ‘Hello!’

  She looked up to meet Adam’s eyes, dark blue and unfathomable as he watched her. He still wore his long dark coat with his bow tie loosened around his neck, his hair whipped back by the wind from his high forehead.

  ‘What name did you call the dog?’ she asked, breathlessly.

  ‘Beau.’ He shrugged. ‘Hardly original, I know, since our name and house are based on the same word, as I’ve just told you. But our dogs have always been called Beau.’

  ‘Is he a spaniel?’

  ‘He’s a Brittany. They’re a kind of spaniel. They’re bird dogs. Good for hunting.’

  Half-kneeling beside her, he ran his hand through Beau’s fur. ‘He’s a bit old now. Past his best as a gun dog, aren’t you, boy, but still good company.’

  ‘He’s lovely.’

  Beau barked.

  Adam surveyed her quizzically, yet his mouth had curved. ‘Beau doesn’t take immediately to many people. What a puzzle you are, Miss Coombes. I mean, Mrs Beaufort.’

  ‘It’s strange that women change their names upon marriage, but men don’t, is it not?’ Violet made conversation as they set off, with Beau at their heels. The tingling sensation in her body, caused by his closeness, continued as they began to walk the grounds.

  ‘I must confess I have never given it much consideration,’ he said. ‘But now you mention it, I suppose the custom is strange.’

  ‘There are many customs that I’m sure we are used to that would seem strange if we came upon them elsewhere,’ she said.

  ‘Certainly.’

  Violet bit her lip. She was talking too much. She rarely did so, unless she was nervous. She regretted that the exchange at the hotel had come between them. Yet there was more to it than that. Surely he was less forthcoming than before. His reserve, his detachment, seemed more pronounced.

  They followed the path as it led around the long lawn to garden beds bursting with bright flowers: jonquils, daffodils and the first of the bluebells. A squirrel darted among the trees.

  She lifted her face to the last of the sun’s rays. It was companionable, walking without having to make conversation, and their former ease began to return. He was taller than she, longer legged in his trousers, but she kept up with him, even in her skirts.

  ‘We hold a garden party for the village here in the grounds every summer,’ Adam told her as they returned to the front of the Manor. ‘It’s a big event for everyone in the village and in the area, especially the children.’

  ‘I can imagine children playing on the lawn,’ she said, before recalling their discussion a month ago about having children. She felt herself flush.

  Whether he also recalled it she couldn’t be sure. He indicated the huge, wooden front doors. ‘Are you ready to see inside?’

  A thrill of excitement ran through her. There was something magical about the old fortress. She nodded.

  Adam clicked his fingers. Beau, who had been bounding around nearby as if he were a puppy instead of an old dog, went instantly to his side.

  Violet followed him to the doors studded with iron. She half-expected a butler to open them at their approach, but Adam turned the iron handle himself.

  ‘Do you have many staff here?’ she asked curiously. He’d opened the gates, too, she’d noted from the carriage.

  ‘There are a couple of servants. Old retainers mainly, in the kitchen and garden. Most of the staff are in London at the moment, so we’re on our own tonight,’ he replied, over his shoulder.

  Inside, the hall was square and dimly lit. A suit of armour stood in one corner, and some deer antlers adorned the walls.

  He seized a candelabra and lit the stub of a candle. ‘I’m afraid the decor hasn’t changed much over the centuries.’

  ‘It’s charming.’ The atmosphere held her in thrall the minute she stepped over the threshold. She half-expected to see a ghostly welcome committee of previous Beauforts, so thick was the aura of history.

  The suit of armour creaked noisily, as if someone were inside it.

  She jumped back, unable to suppress a louder noise that was half-squeal, half-giggle.

  Adam chuckled. The younger look on his face returned.

  ‘Are there ghosts here at Beauley?’ she managed to ask.

  ‘Ah. There may be a few on the staff.’ He knocked on the helmet of the armour. ‘But I think they’re in London tonight, too.’

  Violet’s giggle turned into a full-blown laugh.

  He grinned. ‘If your nerves will hold and you’d care to explore further, we go upstairs first. There’s a solar. It’s my favourite room. An old-style Tudor room that has been retained.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of a solar,’ she said, fascinated.

  He indicated the stairs. ‘After you.’

  Aware of him behind her, she ascended the wooden staircase, scuffed in places, up to a small gallery on the landing with glass windows in the bold colours. A red-tiled passageway lay in front. She stopped and looked at the glass. It featured a crest, a stag gazing straight at her, on a red-and-blue background.

  ‘The Beaufort coat of arms,’ Adam said. ‘The solar is the next door to your left.’

  Violet pushed open the chiselled wooden door with interest. The solar was a large room, lined with faded tapestries on the painted walls. Many of the tapestries were moth-eaten with holes. At the arched windows were wide cushioned ledges for seats. The cushions, again, were faded and worn, so thin they barely looked comfortable, but they were scrupulously clean. At one end of the room was a hooded fireplace, with wooden screens on each side, and more of the threadbare cushioned seats, plus some scratched leather club chairs and an old sofa.

  He indicated the wooden screens. ‘Those screens used to hide the beds. In Tudor times.’

  ‘Do you mean this is our bedroom?’ she asked, astonished.

  ‘Not any more. It’s a sitting room by day, designed to catch the warmth of the sun. But in times past, the whole family would have slept in here. Now there are bedrooms further along the passageway. They were built later.’

  She gazed around in fascination.

  Adam stepped back from the doorway. ‘Come downstairs again and I’ll show you the great hall.’

  She followed his broad back down the stairs.

  ‘Oh...’ She sighed when t
hey entered the huge room. ‘It’s wonderful.’

  She stepped into the hall to see more clearly. On a side wall a large fireplace lay beneath a stone arch so big several people could have sat inside it. The walls were part-stone, part-plaster in a pale shade of primrose that blended with the red-brown tiles on the floor. At the other end of the hall a long, polished table stood on a low wooden dais.

  ‘I feel as if I’m in the tale of Arthur and his knights,’ she confessed. How easily she could imagine the vast room ringing with laughter and talk, food and wine laid out on long tables. ‘There must have been many a feast in this room.’

  ‘There have been many, over the years.’ Adam glanced at his pocket watch. ‘I can’t promise you a feast, but we can have supper here in the hall or in the solar, as you like.’ He looked at her directly. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

  Unexpectedly Violet’s heart thumped. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Kissing the bride,’ said Adam.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘The lights of sunset and of sunrise mix’d

  In that brief night; the summer night...’

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: ‘Love and Duty’ (1842)

  Violet’s voice came out a little higher than usual. ‘I believe it is the custom for the groom to kiss the bride.’

  Stood in front of the altar, they had almost done so. Was he annoyed with her, for the way she had lifted her lips to his? She’d sought his kiss at that moment, she could not deny it. Her face flushed.

  Adam exhaled. ‘I believe it is.’

  He roamed away from her, towards the long oak table that stood at the far end of the hall.

  Perhaps this matter would be better discussed over dinner,’ he said at last ‘It has been a long day. You must be tired and hungry.’

  ‘I’m not particularly hungry.’ Nor was she especially tired. A nervous energy coursed through her veins.

  ‘All the same,’ he said evenly, ‘I’d prefer not to have this conversation on an empty stomach. I asked for some food to be left for us. I’ll go and see to it.