He took it and said in a bitter voice, ‘It won’t make any difference, you heard her. Her feelings towards Mrs Black are all tied up with her father and what happened to Hanny Kirk.’
‘Hanny Kirk!’ exclaimed Emma, fixing him with a stare and remembering that Mrs Black had referred to a Hanny. ‘Do you mean Alice’s sister-in-law, Hannah?’ He nodded and she added, ‘Mrs Black said she helped her when she was in trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that but we believed she used hypnotism to get information out of her. I don’t know what happened after that because I lost touch with Hanny and Kenny.’
‘I see. Would you like to talk about Alice?’
‘No,’ he said shortly.
Emma changed the subject. ‘D’you have any family other than your mother?’
‘No.’ He brushed crumbs from his mouth. ‘I never knew my dad. Ma told me he was a musician but I don’t remember him at all. She chose not to remarry.’
‘She’s a very striking woman.’
He nodded and finished the scone. ‘That was good.’
‘Have another. I hear your mam’s a good cook.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Her speciality is the macaroon. Sometimes she dips them in chocolate. Maybe next time Ma makes them, I’ll bring some round.’ He ate the scone but then his next words caused her to start. ‘This Bert? What’s the trouble Alice is having with him?’ His tone was almost too casual.
Emma hesitated, unsure whether Alice would like her talking about Bert but then she decided the other girl needed all the help she could get. After clearing her throat Emma said, ‘He’s a nasty piece of work in my opinion but if you want to know more, ask Alice.’
‘That’s not an easy thing to do. You heard the pair of us. You must have met Bert to know he’s no-good,’ he said, a stern expression on his attractive face.
‘Can’t say we actually met,’ said Emma dryly. ‘He had her squashed against the side of the footbridge with his hand about her throat when I first saw him. He beat a hasty retreat. I didn’t know little ol’ me could be so frightening, unless it’s that I’ve caught a bit of the aura that hangs about upstairs and he thought I was a ghost.’
Sebastian smiled faintly. ‘That’s all you know?’
‘I know that Alice has found someone else to be terrified of now her father’s in the asylum. You ask her if you want to know anymore.’
Sebastian looked thoughtful as she poured out the tea and handed him a cup. ‘Perhaps I will when I get things sorted out with Juliana.’ Then he said abruptly, ‘Actually, I’m here for another reason: Mr Waters was in an accident while we were in America and apparently he knows Mrs Black from way back…’
Light dawned and Emma smiled. ‘Healing not going so well? He’s thinking of paying a call on my employer?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘Apparently he consulted her as a medium years ago… before I was born. His wife died after they’d had some kind of falling out; it played on his mind, so he wanted to try and get in touch with her.’
Emma said gravely, ‘Unfinished business. Mrs Black probably passes on more messages of forgiveness than any other kind.’
‘Mr Waters said he definitely felt better afterwards,’ he said good humouredly.
Emma nodded. ‘I’ve heard her say that’s what it’s all about… as well as to open people’s minds to the idea of communication with the spirit world.’
‘You won’t get Alice agreeing with that.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with you.’ Emma smiled and offered him another scone.
He refused it. ‘You like Mrs Black, don’t you?’
Emma’s small face was thoughtful. ‘I respect her and she’s good to me. But just because I work for her, that doesn’t say I know all there is to know about her. Alice said that her father and Mrs Black destroyed her mam. I asked her about that and she told me she’d tried to heal him but he was one of her failures. A doctor at Upton Asylum keeps her in touch with how he’s getting on. She doesn’t like failure.’ Emma picked up the teapot. ‘More tea?’
He shook his head and drained his cup before getting to his feet. ‘I’d best be going. Thanks for everything. I’ve enjoyed our chat.’
‘Me, too. I’ll tell Mrs Black about Mr Waters wanting to see her but he might have to wait a while as she’s pretty busy right now.’
Sebastian nodded and Emma saw him out, watching him stroll in the direction of the Waters’ house, thinking that it was a pity he wasn’t in touch with Hanny or she would have asked him to find out whether she had worked at Bannister’s Bakery and had known Agnes Griffiths, thinking that Hanny without the H sounded a bit like Annie but she supposed it was a bit of a long shot, thinking they could be the same person. Perhaps if she got the chance to talk to Alice again she might ask her. Sebastian’s relationship with Alice puzzled her. How much did he care for this woman in America? The way he and Alice had gone for each other on the front step spoke of a heck of a lot of suppressed emotion. Marriage could be hell as it was but married to someone while loving someone else must be even worse.
Chapter Seven
June, 1908
The setting sun cast a shifting light upon the walnut chest of drawers and wardrobe through a gap in the curtains. Hannah sat on the bed, brushing her hair, waiting for Kenny to come up. She was glad it was summer because despite it being months since Bert had attacked Alice, she felt cold inside; the memory of his attack was causing both of them nightmares still. Kenny was icily angry about it, suspecting Mrs Kirk of giving Alice’s address to Bert – despite Hannah’s assurances that she had never told her mother where Alice lived. He would have reported the attack to the police if he believed they could catch him but he had little faith in them doing so. Bert was such a crafty sod.
Hannah gazed at her husband’s nightshirt draped over a chair. Suddenly she heard footfalls on the stairs and her heart seemed to leap into her throat. She threw the hairbrush onto the chest of drawers and dived beneath the bedcovers and lay still. Her eyes were wide open in the gloom and her heart was pounding, remembering how Bert had crawled beneath the blankets, covering them and her sisters completely, so the evil he did to her was done in darkness. She felt as if she was about to suffocate and swiftly pushed herself up with a thrust of her feet so that her head was out in the open and chided herself for behaving so stupidly.
Recently she had been in such a state of anxiety that she had begun to think that despite his words of love, Kenny would soon start getting fed up with her moods and reluctance to make love. She tormented herself with the thought that her husband would soon start looking elsewhere for sex; after all that’s what her dah had done when her mother had been out of her mind and wouldn’t let him near her.
Kenny entered the bedroom and smiled at her as he began to undress. She watched the fading light wash over his muscular chest and arms as he stood in his drawers and her heart beat rapidly. She thought how he had matured since his father had gone from their lives. Sometimes she found it hard to recall the times her husband had been a puny boy, terrified of his father’s shadow.
Kenny dragged the nightshirt over his head and crossed the room. He lifted the bedcovers and slid in beside her. She knew he left his drawers on to reassure her and wished there was no need for him to feel like that. She inhaled the smell of him, carbolic soap overlaid the slightest hint of sweat and coal dust. He reached for her and she allowed him to draw her against him and her mouth opened beneath his as he kissed her. Despite the layers of her flower sprigged cotton nightgown and his nightshirt she could feel the heat coming from him.
A voice inside her head said, He’ll get hotter and hotter when he forces himself into me and the heat will destroy me! just like Bert almost destroyed me. She fought against such thoughts as his hands explored her body beneath the nightgown; she must relax. There was no need to be frightened of her husband. Yet still she found herself turning rigid in an attempt to control the panic that seemed to threaten to stop her breathing.
She clamped her thighs together and her fingers curled into her palms.
Kenny’s hands stilled and his mouth lifted from hers. ‘Stop it, Hanny! There’s no need to go as stiff as a scrubbing board. I’ll go no further.’ He drew away from her.
She felt terrible and placed a hand on his bare arm. ‘You have rights.’
He covered her hand with his. ‘I vowed to cherish you and I meant it.’
A surge of love filled Hannah and she slipped her arm around his shoulders and drew him down to her. Yet even as she brought him closer, she was angry with herself for allowing her fear of Bert to have such control over her. At least that girl Emma seemed to have scared him off as there had been no further attacks, but that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t strike again. But Alice would be safe for the next few weeks as she was in London with Miss Victoria.
* * *
‘Do you know what the writer, Lytton Strachey, said about our Prime Minister, Alice?’ asked Victoria, straightening her sash in the WSPU colours of white, green and purple, as they prepared to leave the hotel bedroom.
‘No, Miss Victoria, you tell me,’ said Alice politely, still scarcely able to believe that she was in London. Although, it would have been nicer if they were here simply to see the sights. Instead they were here for a rally, having travelled down from Liverpool on a hired train in the company of thousands of other supporters of the Cause, including Mrs Stone.
‘He said that Mr Asquith is a fleshy, wine-bibbing, gluttonous, lecherous and cynical old fellow,’ she reported with relish. ‘Everyone knows that he hates suffragist puritans.’
‘Then what’s the point of the mass demonstration in Hyde Park?’ asked Alice, forcing herself to show interest.
Victoria frowned. ‘I wish you would listen, Alice. I told you it’s because Mr Asquith promised before he became Prime Minister that if it could be proved that most women wanted the vote – and it would benefit society – then he would abandon his opposition. So we have to give a peaceful demonstration a chance.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’ asked Alice, opening the door.
‘Then we’ll have to do something else that will make him change his mind,’ said Victoria firmly, her skirts sweeping the floor as she hurried along the carpeted corridor towards the stairs. Alice locked the door and followed her, hoping all the excitement would not bring on one of Victoria’s turns.
They were to be part of the Liverpool procession, one of seven columns marching on Hyde Park with banners flying. It would set out from Central Street in the commercial heart of the city and then head towards the Embankment, past Trafalgar Square and along Piccadilly past the Wellington Monument, where they would turn into Park Road and enter Hyde Park. It would have been much more sensible for them to join the rally in Hyde Park but Victoria was determined to be seen marching with the procession. At least she had consented to join the march at Trafalgar Square instead of walking all the way. Outside the sky was overcast, so Victoria asked the doorman to hail them a cab and soon they were on their way.
Alice gazed longingly at the passing scene, thinking how she would have preferred to be going shopping than joining the rally. As they drew closer to Trafalgar Square she noticed that the area was thronged with people. Victoria told the driver to stop and they descended from the cab. Alice took a deep breath of the warm air and noticed that it tasted gritty against her teeth. She gazed with wonder at the towering edifice that was Nelson’s Column.
‘Come on, Alice! Let’s not delay!’ cried Victoria, leading the way.
Alice hurried after her to where the leaders of the procession could clearly be seen. She could hear singing but could not make out the words until they drew closer and realised the women and their male supporters were singing the hymn ‘Fight the Good Fight’. She had been told that there were many who believed that God was on their side in the fight for women’s equality with men, taking as their motto a verse from the New Testament, In Christ all art equal; men and women, slave and free. Others regarded the church as no friend of the Cause because they considered women either as daughters of Eve, responsible for men sinning, or purely as wives and mothers, whose work lay mainly in the home.
She looked up at one of the leading banners, inscribed with the words LIVERPOOL‘S NATIONAL WOMEN’S SOCIAL AND POLITICAL UNION, whilst others said VOTES FOR WOMEN and WHERE WOMEN WILL, THERE’S A WAY. Then she noticed a woman waving to them and realised it was Mrs Stone, whom she’d seen at meetings in Chester and on the Wirral.
Alice touched Victoria’s arm. ‘There’s Mrs Stone!’
They hurried over to her and fell into step a few rows behind the leaders. The woman on the other side of Mrs Stone broke off from singing and smiled a welcome before continuing to bellow out a slightly changed version of the final verse of ‘Fight the Good Fight’.
‘Faint not nor fear, his arms are near;
He changeth not and thou art dear;
Only believe and thou shalt see
That our Cause is all in all to Him.’
Victoria was soon in conversation with Mrs Stone, leaving Alice to her own thoughts. They were of Seb, who, if all had gone well with the crossing, was probably in America by now. She imagined, instead of his being thousands of miles away, his being here with her now; not marching along surrounded by supporters of the Cause but in one of the parks, lying on the grass and whispering in her ear that he still loved her, not Juliana. Alice sighed, wondering how she was going to bear it if he arrived home in company with that American woman. She supposed it was best not to think about it.
She glanced at Victoria, who was still talking animatedly to Mrs Stone; albeit in a slightly breathless manner. Alice was worried that she might overdo things before the day was out, and hoped she had her pills with her. She’d had her orders from Mr Waters that she was not to let his daughter exhaust herself. Of course, he had no idea that Victoria had come to London to join the rally. They were supposed to be shopping and seeing the sights, of which they had done little yet. Alice glanced about her, wondering where they were now. At least she knew when they reached Piccadilly Circus, because Mrs Stone pointed out the statue of Eros to her.
Alice’s left shoe began to rub her heel, halfway along what she believed to be Piccadilly, but she made no complaint. Instead she began to cast furtive glances at Victoria, certain she was beginning to flag for she had fallen silent and her colour was higher than usual. ‘Are you alright, Miss Victoria?’ she asked.
‘Don’t fuss, Alice,’ she croaked, staring resolutely ahead.
Alice sighed inwardly, thinking she would have taken her mistress’s arm and helped her along if she hadn’t known the gesture would be unwelcome. She would just have to continue to keep an eye on her.
Eventually, after what seemed ages, they arrived in Park Lane, a thoroughfare flanked on one side by multi-storey large terraced housing and on the other by Hyde Park. The leaders put on a spurt. Suddenly Victoria stumbled.
Alice reached out a hand and steadied her. ‘You alright, Miss?’ Victoria shrugged off her hand but her breathing was laboured. Alice said reassuringly, ‘Be in the park in a few minutes, Miss, and you can rest.’
Victoria did not answer but limped on.
As the procession wended its way into the park and across the grass, Alice could see what appeared to be thousands upon thousands of women and their male supporters. Banners blazoned the towns and cities they represented: Cardiff, Leicester, Worcester, Manchester… and there was even one saying The Men’s League for Women’s Suffrage. She had never seen so many people crammed together in one place. The noise was tremendous and she felt a stir of emotion.
She turned to Victoria. ‘What a turnout, Miss. If they don’t…’
Alice’s voice faltered as before her eyes Victoria swayed and sank to the ground.
‘Oh my dear!’ With her skirts billowing, Mrs Stone knelt on the grass beside her. She glanced up at Alice. ‘She’s a terrible colour. Is it her heart?’
‘Ye
s, Mrs Stone. She hates a fuss and will keep quiet about it.’ Alice picked up Victoria’s handbag, opened it and searched for her pills.
‘Is she alright?’ asked a woman’s voice.
‘Step back! She needs air,’ said Mrs Stone, putting up an arm to ward off those who gathered around. Gently she removed Victoria’s hat and fanned her with it. A few moments later she began to stir.
Alice had found the pills and as soon as Victoria regained consciousness, she handed them to her. Mrs Stone had a bottle of water in her capacious bag and took it out. ‘Here, my dear, wash it down with this. Gradually Victoria’s colour improved and she managed to say weakly, ‘How stupid of me.’
‘Not stupid, my dear Miss Waters,’ said Mrs Stone. ‘I doubt you’ll be the only one who faints here today with the weather so close and the air so dirty in London. Rest here for a little while but then it’s best you return to your hotel and not stay for the whole rally.’ Victoria opened her mouth to protest but Mrs Stone shook her head. ‘I can guess how you feel, my dear. But you’ve shown your colours, so now you must reserve your strength so you can fight another day.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ Victoria’s voice was weak. ‘Perhaps someone could hail a cab… and if you and Alice could lend me your arms to assist me to the road?’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Stone, with a reassuring smile.
An hour later Victoria lay in bed, propped up by pillows, still looking exhausted. ‘What a disappointment, Alice! I suppose I could have stayed longer resting on the grass…’
‘You did the sensible thing, Miss Victoria,’ said Alice, folding a towel. ‘What would I have told Mr Waters if you’d ended up in hospital?’
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