The Scandalous Suffragette

by Eliza Redgold

  Still watching her face, he pushed back her skirt, then, slowly, one by one, he lifted ruffled layers of her petticoats. With one hand he parted her silken thighs. Lowered his head and dived.

  * * *

  This time, when he lifted her and laid her on to the bed, it was different. Harder. Stronger. Deeper. She knew their rhythm now, as if they danced together. She moved against him as he slid into her.

  She told him, with her mouth, with her hands, with her body, as he drove into her, the longing she’d felt for him, when they’d been apart.

  Their desire. Equal. No longer two, but one.

  Man and woman. Husband and wife.

  She matched the rise and fall of his body with hers. Faster. Fuller. Inside her. Until at last he cried out her name into her mouth, as he surged into her, a wave, at the same time the wave filled her.

  She fell back, gasping. Silent.

  Until he reached for her, again.

  * * *

  Violet’s body tingled as she stretched beneath the sheets.

  The door opened with a creak.

  Adam lifted the silver tray he carried. ‘Gatekeeper, butler, cook and lady’s maid. I thought you might not be averse to some tea and toast in bed.’

  He propped the tray on the nightstand. Violet laughed as she looked at it.

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Doorstops.’

  He grinned. ‘Ah, yes. I remember.’

  She sat up in the bed. Around her the room whirled. She fell back against the pillows, closed her eyes.

  Instantly he was beside her. ‘Violet. What is it?’

  She put her hand to her mouth. ‘I feel ill.’

  He looked at the plate of toast. ‘The sight of the doorstops.’

  She began a chuckle that turned to nausea.

  ‘I don’t think I can eat,’ she said, after a moment.

  Adam jerked back his head. ‘You missed dinner last night. Now you’ll miss breakfast.’ He frowned, concerned. ‘Try a cup of tea.’

  She sat up and poured some tea from the silver pot into a china cup. She sipped. It was Darjeeling, her favourite, but nowadays it tasted quite odd.

  She raised her teacup. ‘Is it too early to make a toast?’

  He grinned quizzically.

  ‘To Beauley,’ she said. He’d told her the Manor was to be saved. ‘And its firm foundations.’

  He laughed. ‘No more rotten floorboards.’

  She made a mock frown. ‘Does that mean separate beds?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he murmured, his gaze on her lips.

  She took another sip of tea. It was time. Her stomach fluttered.

  Adam spoke before she did. ‘There’s another toast that must be made. I’m afraid I lack a teacup, but if we are toasting our respective Causes, then I must also make a salute. To suffrage.’

  Violet laid her teacup in the saucer.

  ‘We might still argue about it sometimes. And about other things too, I expect.’

  He gave a bleak smile. ‘While you were away, I realised that our marriage is nothing like that of my parents. And I can handle some chaos. The new foundations of our marriage will withstand a few arguments, I think.’

  Violet knew she could trust Adam. He would support her unconditionally in her vocation as a suffragette now. There was no misunderstanding left between them on that matter. It was all settled between them, as she had hoped. It was time to tell him the news.

  When she lifted her teacup her hand was trembling.

  Concerned, he slid the cup away from her. ‘You’re not well. Would you care for something different to eat or drink?’

  ‘No.’ A sudden smile filled her, as though it were shining up through her belly, her heart, and up to her face.

  The relief. The joy. To be able to tell him, face to face.

  She took his hand, with its strong fingers, and laid it over hers, on her stomach. ‘I wonder if I might not have been eating too many chocolates. I have been running a chocolate factory, after all. Do you think so?’

  ‘You’re perfect as you are, Violet.’

  ‘I hope you will always think so. Especially in a few months.’

  He frowned. ‘Nothing can change my feelings for you. Haven’t I made that clear?’

  She laid her own hand on top of his. ‘Surely you can guess.’

  His frown deepened, became two forked lines between his brows.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered.

  Shock etched his face.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he demanded.

  Violet nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

  Adam wrenched his hand away.

  ‘Adam!’ Violet exclaimed. ‘What is it?’

  He was on his feet, across the room. He stared out the window, into the garden, his back to her. She couldn’t make out his expression.

  Her fingers trembled as they formed a protective clasp over her stomach.

  ‘Do you want our child?’ she whispered, aghast.

  During their terrible argument, he’d told her he regretted the terms of their marriage, even though he’d later explained his true meaning. She’d believed him. Surely it wasn’t possible for him to be angry with her now.

  He spun around. A muscle worked in his cheek. ‘Of course I want our child. How could you imagine for a moment I would not? We have our home, we have each other. I want, more than anything, to bring new life into the world to share it with us.’

  ‘Then what’s the matter?’ she asked, bewildered.

  His jaw hardened. ‘You must recall our agreement, when we made the terms of our marriage of convenience.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Violet.’ He came back to the bed, seized her hands. ‘You wanted to wait.’

  She bit her lip.

  ‘I still recall your words,’ he said. ‘You spoke of bonds of love in marriage that bind a woman.’

  How well she remembered.

  He shook his head. ‘I ought to have considered this eventuality. It was my duty.’

  ‘We’re both responsible.’ Their desire for each other had been equal. Shared.

  Rapidly, she told him what she had learned at the Coombes Chocolates factory, when she held a meeting with the women workers to find ways to both work and have a happy family life. ‘It’s possible for a woman to have a family and a vocation. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘All the same.’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I have no wish to bind you,’ he said huskily.

  ‘The bonds of love are no bonds at all, when two people are pledged as we are.’ She brushed her lips against his fingers. ‘You’ve taught me so much, Adam. How to build something that will last. I want to build a family, with you.’

  His kiss told her all she needed to know, to be sure. A vow. A promise.

  To freedom. To family.

  ‘I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl,’ she said at last, as he held her in his arms.

  ‘We agreed to one of each,’ he reminded her, with a grin. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  Then he sobered. ‘I would hate even more to see you in any danger, now you’re with child.’

  She shook her head. ‘I told you. The militant way Arabella is following, I’ve realised now, is not my path.’

  When she had been separated from Adam, she’d made her decision, alone. She would never give up the Cause. She would fight for every woman’s vote. But she would find another way. Her own way.

  ‘Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst is a mother and she’s the leader of the suffragettes,’ Violet said. ‘It doesn’t stop her. In fact, her daughters follow her footsteps in the Cause. If we have a daughter, perhaps she will do the same. Every woman must do what she can.’

  ‘And every man,’ Adam said.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Vio
let asked, curious. ‘What are you thinking, Adam?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he said slowly. ‘We shall see.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Live happy; tend thy flowers; be tended by

  My blessing!’

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

  One year later, 1910

  ‘Come with me,’ Adam said.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Violet demanded, as she slipped her white gloved hand inside his.

  Adam grinned. ‘You’ll see.’

  He held her hand, tight, as they followed the path around the side of the Manor, Beau at their heels.

  ‘But, Adam,’ Violet protested, ‘there’s so much to be done before the garden party today. There’s nothing around this side of the house. This is the area you told me not to come to. You said there is work being done that was important to rebuilding our foundations.’

  ‘So there is. Here.’

  He led her further on, to a high wall.

  Violet ran her hand over the stone. ‘This is new.’

  ‘Yes. It’s been made to blend with the old bricks of Beauley Manor, but it is new, brand new.’

  ‘Is it going to be part of the Manor?’ she asked curiously. ‘Are you extending the building out here?’

  He lightly touched her stomach. ‘At the rate we are going, we’ll need to extend.’

  She laughed.

  He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘After you.’

  In bewilderment, she stared at him. ‘What?’

  He pushed back some ivy growing over the wall. ‘Here.’

  Violet stared at the wooden door, with the brass keyhole. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will. Open the door, Violet.’

  He put his arms around her waist, stood behind her. With a sigh, she leaned back against him. How well she had come to know his hands, to trust his touch.

  Violet turned the key in the lock. It was stiff, difficult to turn.

  ‘Here.’ He put his hand over hers. They turned it, together.

  ‘Oh.’ Violet breathed.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. In front of her was a walled garden, but it was no ordinary garden. The flower beds, full of blooms, contained purple pansies and violets, and white lilac and white petunias, amid the green leaves.

  Purple. Green. White.

  ‘It’s a suffrage garden,’ he said.

  Tears welled in her eyes. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Do you remember? You told me about the fashionable gardens in one colour. But I thought you would prefer three colours.’

  Adam leaned towards Violet, so close his lips almost brushed hers. His cheek dented as he grinned. ‘I know my preference. I’d prefer one colour. A garden full of violets.’

  Violet felt her cheeks turn tell-tale pink. The intimacy grown between them astonished her. Only she knew what he meant by wishing for violets.

  She stared about. There was a swing seat, garden benches and a large wrought-iron table and chairs. ‘Why, I can have meetings in here, with the other suffragettes.’

  ‘You can use it for whatever purposes you like. I had it planted for you.’ He turned serious. ‘I want us both to grow in our marriage, like this garden.’

  ‘“Marriage, like government, is a series of compromises. One must give and take, repair and restrain, endure and be patient,”’ Violet quoted.

  ‘Samuel Smiles,’ said Adam with a chuckle. ‘I’ve become wedded to many things since I married you. The maxims of Samuels Smiles. Violet creams.’

  She smiled. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘It’s a secret garden,’ he said. ‘If you want it to be. But I hope you’ll allow me to visit you here, sometimes.’

  She held the key out to him. ‘I’ll keep the door unlocked. It’s ours.’

  He closed his fist around her hand, with the key inside it.

  ‘I hope we’ll be here together often,’ she whispered.

  Beau barked.

  ‘And you, too, Beau,’ she said with a laugh, as she gave the dog a pat.

  She straightened, looked into Adam’s dark blue eyes. ‘No more closed doors. Not between us. We don’t have any secrets.’

  He gave a wry grin. ‘Actually, we do.’

  He led her to the garden bench. ‘I have some news.’

  She leant towards him, interested. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You will remember Mr Burrows, the M.P. for our area.’

  Violet grimaced. ‘How could I forget?’ He had been so scathing about women’s abilities, or the lack of them. Thinking about it filled her with an instant of rage. To think that a Member of the British Parliament believed that women were incapable of voting. But he wasn’t the only man who held such views. In a way, she ought to be grateful to Mr Burrows. It was the day she’d found her voice.

  ‘I was proud of you, Violet, the way you stood up to him.’

  ‘You stood up for me, too,’ Violet reminded Adam. It was one of the clues she’d had to her feelings for him and his for her. The way she’d felt having him beside her, standing up for her. It had been a turning point to how it could be for a husband and wife who shared both passion and ideals. ‘What about Mr Burrows?’

  ‘He’s standing down as our Member of Parliament.’

  ‘That’s good. Perhaps someone with more forward ideas will take his place,’ Violet said.

  ‘I understand there is someone who has expressed an interest.’

  ‘Who?’

  Adam stood and took a bow.

  The realisation dawned on Violet. ‘What? Adam? You?’

  ‘Indeed.’ He smiled. ‘You’re looking at the new future Member of Parliament for our area, Mrs Beaufort. If all goes to plan.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I can no longer stand by and see injustice done against the woman I love, or any woman. You know I’d have supported you in the House of Lords, but I want to be part of the change. I want to make the laws for this country, better, fairer laws. In the House of Commons, where one day I believe women will be granted suffrage, the right to vote.’

  Violet’s eyes welled. ‘Freedom.’

  ‘Freedom,’ he affirmed. ‘I’ll need your help on the campaign trail. You have developed quite the reputation. I expect people will come out to hear you speak more than me.’

  ‘I won’t be planning to give up my campaigning for the Cause any time soon.’

  A world where women and men had the same opportunities in life seemed unimaginable now. But in her heart she believed it would happen. She would never give up the fight. And there were other women, and men, too, who would never give up, either.

  ‘That’s good.’ Adam checked his pocket watch. ‘Because you’re supposed to be campaigning right now.’

  ‘We,’ she corrected.

  ‘Ah.’ He brushed his lips against her neck before murmuring in her ear. ‘My favourite word.’

  Violet’s cheeks warmed. Since they had reunited, they had become closer in a way that she had never imagined possible. Closer in their pleasure and their work.

  She loved their days and their nights. Candlelit nights, when the connecting door was opened between them, and their marriage came to life. Not only through words, but also through touch. Dusk and dawn, too, early, sun-gold dawns and long, violet-hued dusks, that meant they could slip away to their bedroom, yet still be in the light.

  She felt freer, in the light. Being able to see him, his body, his face. He wanted to see her, too. She knew his expressions now, those most intimate expressions of desire that only she witnessed when they were alone. Passion. Craving. Need. And other emotions, too. Feelings they could share with each other. Feelings they no longer had to hide.

  Adam put on his straw boater. It had a suffrage band around the crown of his hat. Purple, g
reen and white. ‘Shall we go together?’

  Violet adjusted her sash. ‘Together.’

  * * *

  Violet and Adam strolled across the lawn, wending between the chairs and rugs, nodding and smiling. ‘Good afternoon. Good afternoon.’

  ‘Good day.’

  ‘Welcome to Beauley Manor.’

  The sun blazed on to the garden. Roses, peonies, irises, delphiniums and foxgloves created a blaze of colour. White-wicker garden chairs and tables and seats dotted the lawn. The croquet hoops had been laid out and the local regiment band were playing a rousing tune.

  Stalls had been set up for the ladies’ bazaar, to sell handiworks to raise funds. One stall held suffragette items, tricoloured ribbon that could be added to hats and belts, striped sashes and bands, plus garments and underclothing in the suffragette shades.

  Another popular new stall was a huge table containing Coombes Chocolates, donated by her parents. ‘Chocolate Manufacturers to the King’ proclaimed an enormous banner above the stall. Her papa had achieved his dream at last, and been awarded a Royal Warrant. She’d wondered if Adam had been involved in procuring the Warrant through his connections at Court, but he denied it.

  ‘Coombes speak for themselves,’ he’d said with a grin, popping a chocolate in his mouth before pulling her under the bedcovers.

  In another part of the garden, long tables for refreshments were ready and the kitchen staff were smoothing out the long white tablecloths, laying out plates, teacups and teaspoons that glinted in the sun. The Punch and Judy puppet show was ready for the entertainment of the children, the clues for the treasure hunt had been hidden around the garden and the ribbons and prizes were ready for the running races. By the bandstand a white tent had been put up and a large wooden podium had been set up, ready for the speeches.

  In aid of the Cause.

  ‘Violet.’

  They turned to see Arabella crossing the lawn, carrying a small white bundle. She passed the baby to Violet.

  They looked down on the sleeping child. Sunlight danced around her, catching the gold on her small head.