The Scandalous Suffragette

by Eliza Redgold

  ‘Why, we’re more similar than I ever suspected, Mama,’ Violet said, amazed. ‘I’ll make a suffragette of you yet.’

  ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t be a suffragette.’ Mrs Coombes looked horrified.

  Violet bit her lip. She’d been considering further her own activities as a suffragette. In spite of her fury at Adam, she’d been forced to an unpleasant conclusion. She had reservations about the militant activities of the lilac-letter group.

  ‘There are many ways to support the Cause,’ she said.

  ‘I will always support you, Violet,’ Mrs Coombes said, with a surprisingly acute glance. ‘I hope you know that.’

  Violet blinked back sudden tears. ‘I know that, Mama.’

  She couldn’t say any more. It was still such a shock. She wanted to confide in her mama about her pregnancy, but she couldn’t. She needed some time.

  They returned to the accounts.

  * * *

  A few hours later, when Mrs Coombes had gone back to the house, the women factory workers streamed into the office, with Hannah Walsh at the front.

  More than twenty workers, Violet estimated. More than she had expected to attend. She had Hannah to thank, she suspected. They were packed so tightly she couldn’t see who was at the back.

  Moving around the front of the desk, she prepared to address the group. She’d clothed with care. A simple white blouse with a soft collar and cuffs and full sleeves, and a grey skirt. A tricolour suffragette ribbon looped into the chain of her pocket watch.

  Nerves flickered in her stomach and her hands were clammy, as they had before she had given her speech at the garden party. Then, Adam had been beside her.

  The women were quiet as they waited for her to speak. Hannah gave her a broad smile.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming here today.’ She paused. Nausea still plagued her, but she wouldn’t let it stop her speaking. After a deep breath, she managed to continue. ‘There are over two thousand workers here at the Coombes Chocolates factory. Six hundred of them are women. As some of you know, I am a suffragette. It is my goal to see women be able to vote for our government in our country. But it is also my goal to ensure the best possible working conditions for women here at Coombes.’

  She scanned the group. On many faces there were expressions of surprise as well as interest. She wondered what they would say if she told them how much she had in common with many of them now, especially with her old friend Hannah Walsh, not only as a working woman, but also as a mother-to-be.

  ‘I intend to establish two social reform committees,’ she continued. ‘One for women and one for men. The aim of these committees is to help to create a happy family life for Coombes workers.’

  Violet cleared her throat. A happy family life, with both parents. It was something that she might not be able to give the baby she carried. But the ripple of her heart and stomach told her that whatever happened, she would love Adam’s child.

  She focused on the women in front of her. She would try to create happy lives for the workers of Coombes Chocolates and their families, no matter what the future might bring. It meant more to her than ever.

  ‘I need your help,’ she told the women. ‘I ask you now to make any suggestions you can think of that might assist women to do their work at Coombes and have happy families, too.’

  Most of the faces in front of her were blank.

  A woman who worked in the packaging section raised her hand. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Miss...I mean, Mrs Beaufort. What kinds of suggestions?’

  ‘Well, over at the Cadbury Chocolate factory...’ Violet began.

  ‘Ooh,’ giggled Hannah. ‘Don’t you let your father hear you talking about Cadbury here at Coombes.’

  Violet chuckled. There had always been a rivalry between the chocolate companies in the north, and there were a few. There were the Cadbury, Rowntree, Fry and Terry chocolate businesses, too.

  ‘Cadbury’s have excellent conditions for their workers at the factory at Bournville village,’ Violet said. ‘I’d like to imagine we might achieve the same. If not better,’ she added, with a note of rivalry, and a smile.

  The women laughed.

  ‘What exactly do you mean, Miss Coombes? Do you plan to build a village?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ Violet conceded, ‘but there are lots of improvements that might be made. Such improvements are not only to do with working conditions, health and safety, but also to do with education and social life. For example, at Bournville staff are encouraged to attend night school and are allowed to leave work early twice a week to attend.’

  ‘Women as well as men?’ asked Hannah.

  Violet nodded. ‘Another of their innovations is to provide warm rooms to dry clothes and places to heat food at the factory.’

  ‘It would be so nice to have a hot lunch in the middle of the day, especially in the winter,’ said one woman, with a nod.

  ‘I’ve heard some factories in the south have nurses, who help when the workers are sick and their families, too,’ another woman commented.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Violet. ‘They are the sort of ideas that I’m looking for. Let me be clear: I’m not making promises, but I do want to hear your suggestions. Please. Call them out. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘Playgrounds for the children,’ came a voice.

  ‘Half-day on a Saturday!’

  ‘Football and cricket fields. The lads will like that.’

  ‘Let’s have a garden. With a lily pond.’

  ‘Perhaps—a nursery?’ one woman asked. ‘Would that ever be allowed, in a factory?’

  ‘A school. Let’s have a school,’ said Hannah.

  ‘We could get up a women’s hockey team!’ a young woman said enthusiastically.

  * * *

  By the end of the meeting, Violet was overwhelmed with ideas. Some of the women, including Hannah Walsh, had agreed to join a committee and get some of the ideas started. The women left, chattering and excited.

  ‘Upon my soul!’ A voice came from the back of the room.

  ‘Papa!’ Violet exclaimed. ‘Have you been here all the time?’

  Her father’s face was ruddy. ‘If you mean have I been here for your women’s meeting, I certainly have. Did you think you could get anything past Reginald Coombes?’

  ‘You ought to be at home, resting,’ Violet protested. His recent turn had been one of his worst. It had kept him from the factory for weeks.

  Mr Coombes lifted his chin. ‘What, at home, out of your way, my girl? There’s nothing wrong with me. Now, what exactly are you up to?’

  In return Violet lifted her own chin. ‘You know I always wanted to follow you into the business, Papa. I have so many ideas, so many plans. Times are changing, a new century is here. There are new ways of doing things. When women are given the vote...’

  ‘They haven’t been yet,’ he objected.

  ‘But they will.’ Violet pressed on. ‘It isn’t only government that must change with the times. Businesses like Coombes must change, too. We have significant social obligations as well as commercial interests. This first step is the meeting I had today, for the social reform committee.’

  ‘You think the Coombes Chocolates factory needs social reform. Is that so?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Papa.’

  ‘And do you want to know what the founder of Coombes Chocolates thinks about it?’

  Violet quaked, but kept her voice steady. ‘Yes, I do, Papa.’

  ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘Oh, Papa!’

  She rushed into her father’s waiting arms. He hugged her tightly. ‘I’m very proud of you, Violet. Your new-fangled ideas about women’s votes and reform committees—I know I’ve taken a while to come around to them. And I said some things to you in London before you got married th
at I’ve had time to regret very much indeed.’

  ‘It’s all right, Papa,’ Violet choked. ‘It’s all right now.’

  From his waistcoat he pulled a spotted handkerchief and passed it to her. ‘Upon my soul.’

  He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. After she’d finished with the handkerchief, he blotted his own eyes. ‘I wouldn’t change you for a son. I couldn’t be prouder of anyone than I am of you.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ she managed to reply.

  When her father had gone, with a last pat of her shoulder, Violet slumped down at the desk. In spite of her weariness, there was still another task she must do.

  With a rustle, she drew a piece of Coombes Chocolates writing paper out of the desk drawer and took up her fountain pen. She had made her decision. She would write to the lilac-letter group and let them know.

  She could no longer carry out militant activities to support the Cause. It was her decision, and hers alone, as it had to be.

  It wasn’t only because of her newly discovered pregnancy. During her sleepless nights, she’d been forced into scrupulous honesty. The truth was, she’d felt most uneasy about the lilac letter that had asked her to carry bricks and stones. It was partly why she’d been so defensive, so angry at Adam for challenging her about her militant means. She wished she could tell him so. But it was too late.

  She’d never give up the Cause. She would fight for every woman’s vote. But she would find another way.

  First she had an even more important letter to write. She placed her hands on her stomach.

  She could not keep her pregnancy a secret from Adam. Secrets had already cost them too much. He would have to know.

  She would still be a mother, alone. But now, after the meeting with the factory workers, she felt more hopeful. She would cope. Necessity was the mother of invention, so the old saying went. With determination and ingenuity, the women workers at the Coombes Chocolates factory would find ways to do their jobs and care for their families.

  So would she.

  The fountain pen clenched in her fingers, Violet formed the first letters.

  Dear Adam.

  It thudded, louder than ever, in her head. In her heart. Adam. Adam. Adam.

  She dropped the fountain pen and put her head in her hands.

  ‘Violet.’

  A voice came from the door.

  She raised her head and gasped.

  ‘Adam.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Could Love part thus? was it not well to speak,

  To have spoken once? It could not but be well.’

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

  ‘How did you find me?’ Violet gasped.

  ‘I went to your parents’ house.’ Rapidly, Adam surveyed the Coombes Chocolates factory office. It was a small, busy room, packed with papers and files. A large leather-topped desk, where Violet sat, dominated the room. On one wall was a large-lettered inscription from the book Self-Help by Samuel Smiles.

  Where there is a will, there is a way.

  Adam stepped over the threshold. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her tone was polite, but wary.

  He took off his top hat, held it in his hands. ‘Your parents told me I would find you here.’

  They’d told him, too, that Violet was always at the factory office, working. Now he saw her, he understood the concern on their faces. She looked pale, exhausted. Dark circles were under her eyes. But nothing could dim their beautiful blue as he stared at her, drank her in.

  She stood, the desk a barrier between them.

  ‘I’m sorry to find your father so unwell,’ he said at last.

  ‘He’s much better than he was,’ Violet said. ‘When I arrived I discovered he’d been having more difficulties with his heart. Another of his turns, but worse than before. He needed rest.’

  ‘So you took over running the factory.’ The Coombes had told him that, too.

  ‘Yes. Mama has helped.’

  ‘But you’ve done most of the work.’

  Violet shrugged her shoulders. ‘It had to be done.’

  ‘And you always do your duty.’

  ‘I try.’ She lifted her chin in that familiar gesture he loved and missed. ‘Why are you here, Adam?’

  For you, he wanted to say. I’ve come for you.

  ‘I need your help,’ he said instead.

  ‘My help,’ she repeated flatly.

  She wasn’t making it easy for him. He gritted his teeth. ‘As a suffragette.’

  Her forehead creased. Puzzlement was in her blue eyes. ‘As a suffragette? What can you mean? You told me in no uncertain terms you would not allow me to be a suffragette.’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘I recall what I said to you. But circumstances have changed, drastically. I need you to make use of your suffragette connections.’

  She leaned forward, placed both hands on the leather desk. ‘Why?’

  His fists curled around the brim of his hat. ‘I need you to visit my sister in Holloway Prison.’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘What?’

  ‘She’s been imprisoned for criminal damage. She won’t see me,’ Adam said. ‘She only wants to see you.’

  The look on her lovely face. The instant compassion. He ought to have known she’d respond that way.

  ‘Of course I’ll visit the prison.’ Violet moved swiftly around the desk. A waft of her tantalising violet scent came over him. ‘I’m sure I can see her. I’d do anything for Jane.’

  ‘That’s just it.’ Adam shook his head. ‘It isn’t Jane in prison. It’s Arabella.’

  * * *

  Violet shivered. She drew her coat closer around her as she sat at the table in the bleak, dimly lit visiting room. It was little more than a cell, with a small window, and seemed dark, even though it was morning. The walls were a sickly cream, the wooden chairs and table scuffed and dully polished. A locked door faced her.

  Holloway. From the outside, it looked like a medieval castle, with its turrets and bricks, towers and arched windows. From the inside, it looked like what it was. A grim prison.

  A gate clanged nearby.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. The door opened. Arabella, dressed in grey, her hair scraped back, came into the room accompanied by a stern female prison guard with a bunch of keys at her waist.

  Violet leapt to her feet and rushed towards her. ‘Arabella!’

  ‘Hello, Violet.’

  ‘No contact with the prisoner,’ the guard intoned.

  ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’ Arabella sat on one of the wooden chairs on the other side of the table. Her voice was fainter than usual and she appeared thinner, but there was a determination around her eyes and mouth. ‘I have so much to tell you.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure I’d be able to visit you,’ Violet said, shocked by Arabella’s gaunt appearance. Her experience had clearly been harrowing. Yet she seemed happier, somehow. There was a different energy about her, more purposeful. It had proved more difficult to see her than expected. There were some privileges such as letters and visitors that were available only to certain classes of prisoners.

  ‘Not all the suffragettes can have visitors,’ Arabella said. ‘I won’t have any more, after this. I don’t want special privileges. Many of the suffragettes don’t get them. But I had to see you, Violet. I had to say—’

  Her voice broke off.

  ‘Arabella,’ Violet cried. ‘What is it?’

  Arabella gave one of her sniffs. It wasn’t haughty at all, Violet now realised. ‘I want to tell you I’m sorry, Violet. When you first married Adam, I was unfriendly to you. Snobbish and unkind.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’ How Violet wished she could give her sister-in-law a hug, but there was no chance of that, with the prison guar
d close by. ‘Not in the least. It doesn’t matter at all.’

  ‘I was jealous,’ Arabella admitted. ‘You seemed so free, so independent, and I was not. I’m the eldest of our family. Did you know that?’

  Violet nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m five years older than Adam. Yet I’ve never been away from home, or done anything on my own. I haven’t been to school, or university, as Adam did. I can’t contribute in any way to the good of my country. It struck me, after you left, that I’m treated like a child.’

  ‘Not by Adam.’ Violet found herself racing to defend him. He’d never tried to dominate his sisters. He’d always treated them with respect.

  ‘Not by Adam, no,’ Arabella agreed. ‘But by society. By the law.’

  She swallowed painfully. ‘I began thinking, after you left Beauley Manor. Why do I accept it? Why do I allow my existence to continue this way? I’m a grown woman. Yet I have no rights.’

  Violet exhaled. How well she understood.

  ‘When you left Beauley, one of those letters came,’ Arabella went on. ‘The ones on lilac writing paper. I’d seen you receive them and you always seemed quite shaken by their contents. I guessed they were how the suffragettes corresponded with you. I opened it.’

  ‘You opened my lilac letter?’ Violet was astonished. It was so unexpected.

  For a moment Arabella hesitated. ‘I took your place as a suffragette.’

  ‘So that’s how you ended up in here!’ Violet exclaimed, aghast. ‘Oh, Arabella, what did you do?’

  Arabella glanced towards the prison guard and back at Violet.

  ‘Arson,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t say more. Top secret. You know the rules.’

  Violet fell back against her chair, horrified. Fire. It was well beyond civil disobedience, or anything she had imagined being involved in. ‘I don’t believe I’d have gone along with that. It could get out of control so easily. Someone might have got badly hurt.’

  ‘It’s a price that must be paid,’ Arabella said, with a glint of fervour in her eyes.

  ‘We’ll have to agree to differ in our ways and means,’ Violet replied, inwardly shocked by Arabella’s forcefulness. For her, it was a step too far.