A Stitch in Time

by Amanda James

  Rose looked up and made a face. ‘I never did say Victoria as it happens.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ Sarah’s heart fluttered. She hoped she wouldn’t start belching, giggling, or pulling brightly coloured scarves out of her mouth, because she nearly let slip that Davison had a return ticket to Victoria. ‘Oh, well I assumed that’s where you would go from. It’s not too far away, is it?’ She held her breath, hoping she’d guessed right.

  Rose looked back at the hat and dusted the brim. ‘It’s a good half an hour’s walk, but I’m not wasting my pennies on an omnibus.’

  ‘And are you meeting on the train?’ Sarah pushed, lacing her boots up.

  ‘Lord love a duck, you’re a nosy parker, ain’t ya? ’ Rose shook her head. ‘No, we’re meeting at the entrance, is that alright for you?’

  ‘Just taking an interest that’s all,’ Sarah said, patting Rose on the shoulder as she hurried past and out of the door.

  Two hours later, Sarah had cleaned the floor, peeled potatoes, scrubbed the range, and had been allowed five minutes to drink a cup of tea and eat a dry crust of bread. Cook hadn’t said very much, just barked orders and clapped her hands, as if Sarah was a performing seal. Sarah didn’t really give a damn about that. She was worried about catching Rose before she left, though.

  Whilst she had scrubbed and peeled, Sarah decided that the best option wasn’t to follow Rose as she’d first intended and persuade Davison not to go, but to stop Rose from going to meet her in the first place. Sarah would then go to meet Davison alone and say that Rose was in trouble because of her affiliation to the WSPU. Cook had locked her in a cupboard and Grayson was preparing to give her the belt. A scenario like that didn’t seem too farfetched for the time. Hopefully, that would lead Davison to abandon the Derby and come to Rose’s rescue. It didn’t seem like a bad plan, and besides, she couldn’t think of anything else. Trouble was, how was she going to stop Rose?

  ‘Right, I’m just going to polish my shoes, and then I’m off for the day, Cook,’ Rose said, popping her head round the kitchen door a few minutes later.

  ‘Right you are. Where are you going today?’

  ‘Probably just around the park and then see what they’re giving away at the market.’

  ‘Hmm, mind you don’t talk to no young men, and don’t have plums again. You know how your stomach don’t agree with ’em.’

  ‘Yes, Cook,’ Rose said, and nodded briefly at Sarah before disappearing.

  Sarah jumped up. ‘I better use the privy before I carry on with my jobs, Cook.’

  ‘Well don’t you be too long, madam, be back here in five minutes.’

  Sarah hurried out of the kitchen. Bloody hell, five minutes to get to the loo, do your business, and back again? Cook ought to be a prison guard. Luckily she didn’t need the loo; she needed to find Rose. Rose was out in the yard by an old table, a tin of polish and her good shoes sat upon it.

  ‘Hello, Rose, I was hoping we could spend a few hours together today, you know at the park and at the market?’

  Rose frowned, spat on her shoes and dipped a cloth in the polish. ‘You gone cuckoo? You know as well as I do I’m off to the Derby.’

  ‘Yes, but seeing as how you said we were getting to be pals and that, I thought it might be nice to do something together instead.’

  Rose pressed the cloth on to her shoe and rubbed in quick circular motions. ‘Well, even if I wasn’t going to the Derby, which I am, we couldn’t both be off work at the same time, you ninny.’

  ‘No, but I may have a sick stomach again like I did yesterday. I could pretend to go to my room and then come and meet you.’

  ‘No, Sarah. It’s too risky.’ Rose spat on the other shoe. ‘If we were found out we’d both lose our jobs, even if Cook is my auntie … Besides, I want to go to the Derby. I may not get a chance like it again.’

  Sarah sighed and folded her arms. She could tell by Rose’s tone that she wouldn’t change her mind. There must be another way to stop her …

  ‘There you are, skiving out here! Get back inside. Ruby has spilt milk on the floor in the passageway. Get it cleaned up!’ Grayson clapped his hands and shooed Sarah past.

  As Sarah mopped, she decided that she’d have no choice but to tell Cook what Rose was really up to. Her gut told her that this was not a good idea, but her brain was going from a slow simmer to a rolling boil under the pressure of getting it right.

  Rose tiptoed through the milk. ‘Gawd, just polished these shoes, that’s all I need. Anyway see you later …’

  Before Sarah knew what she was doing, she dashed the mop under Rose’s feet and down Rose went on her knees, with her left leg twisted awkwardly underneath her bottom.

  ‘Arrgh, what the bleedin’ ’ell did you do that for, you mad cow!’ Rose stretched her legs out and gingerly prodded her ankle.

  ‘Sorry, Rose it was an accident!’

  ‘An accident? You jabbed that fing at me feet on purpose!’

  Grayson, Cook and Ruby came running out into the passageway. ‘What on earth happened here?’ Grayson demanded, struggling to help Rose to her feet.

  ‘She tripped me with that bleedin’ mop!’

  All eyes focused on Sarah. ‘It was an accident,’ she said in a small voice and wondered how she was going to get out and away to Victoria. The clock in the kitchen said nine o’clock.

  Cook strode forward and grabbed her shoulder. ‘Get in the kitchen, my gel, and we’ll get to the bottom of what you’ve done to my poor Rose.’

  Luckily, Rose wasn’t too badly hurt. Grayson thought the ankle was slightly sprained and that a cold poultice should do the trick. She would have to take to her bed now, and miss her day off. Rose looked at Sarah with undisguised contempt and kept shaking her head when Sarah pleaded that it was an accident.

  That wasn’t surprising; because of course it had been deliberate. They’d questioned Sarah for about five minutes and, obviously, had taken Rose’s word over hers. The whole circular argument struck up again, but the tedious repetition and recriminations were seriously eating into the time left. Sarah held up her hand to silence them.

  ‘I’m sorry to inform you that I have an urgent message to take for Her Ladyship. She asked me expressly, on account of my excellent vocabulary and confident manner. I have to meet with an important personage at 9.30 and I fear I shall be late if I listen to any more of your inane prattle.’

  ‘An important personage … at 9.30?’ Rose said, her eyes flashing. Those flashes said, ‘You dare go to meet Miss Davison and I’ll murder you.’

  Grayson drew himself up. ‘I think you are a liar and a danger to all in this house, madam.’ He pointed a finger and backed to the door. ‘You will stay there while I confirm this with Her Ladyship! Make sure she stays put, Cook.’ He dashed out.

  ‘Sit down there and don’t move, you witch!’ Cook snapped, her bosom heaving and her eyes lit with vengeance.

  ‘I’m sorry, no can do,’ Sarah said, turning to leave.

  Cook ran to the door and blocked her way. She was surprisingly light on her feet for one so large. Her face flushed and sweaty and her feet splayed, she spread her arms each side of the door.

  ‘Out of my way, you big tub of lard, before I tweak your nose off!’ Sarah said, trying not to giggle, given the situation.

  Cook’s hands flew to her nose as protection against the threatened tweaking, so Sarah stamped on her foot. ‘Ow!’ she shrieked, hopping on one foot as Sarah pushed past and ran for the main entrance.

  Once outside, Sarah removed her hat and apron, wedged them down beside the steps and ran. Minutes later, she leaned on a lamppost, breathless, and tried to get some sense of where she was. She had only been to London a few times, but the last time was with a school trip about six months ago. They had actually visited Victoria Station to look at the architecture and Sarah remembered it was on Victoria Street, but where was she now?

  The area looked very upmarket. A few horse-drawn carriages rattled past and one or two cars, but
the only people she could see were a group of five or six businessmen. As they rushed along the street towards her, dressed in dark suits and top hats, she plucked up courage and said, ‘Excuse me, could you tell me the right direction to Victoria Station, please?’ The men looked at her disdainfully, carried on walking and didn’t reply.

  A younger one at the rear said, ‘Well, you are at the end of Pont Street now. I think you need to—’

  The one at the head of the group said, ‘Come, Rupert, we have no time to dally with the likes of her. She looks like a deranged scarecrow, and she’s hatless in public; one can’t be too sure these days.’

  Rupert looked sheepish but ran after the others.

  Deranged and hatless? Good grief, they would have a shock if they could see how women dressed in the present. The scarecrow bit she could identify with. Her hair had come free of its clip and must look a fright to the eyes of 1913 folk. Sarah was just glad the weather was pleasant. Even though she expected the ‘done thing’ was to wear a coat, the black dress would just have to do.

  Putting her hand to her head she turned in a circle and then followed the men. They looked like they were on their way to somewhere important, so she guessed that they might lead her to a more densely populated area. Turning a corner, she saw an old-fashioned bobby on the beat, strolling across the road. She ran up to him. ‘Excuse me, Constable, could you tell me the right direction for Victoria Station, please?’

  He stopped and folded his arms. ‘Now are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down on that wall over there and get your breath, miss? You look most giddy.’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll be alright; I’m just in a hurry.’

  He frowned and waggled his Kitchener walrus moustache at her. ‘You must be, to come out without a hat and coat, and your hair …’ He flapped his hand. ‘Right, if you’re sure, miss, now let me see.’ He pinched his chin between forefinger and thumb. ‘I think this might be the quickest … no, on the other hand …’

  ‘Oh, please, just give me a clue and I’ll be on my way.’ Sarah hopped on one foot and then the other. At this rate she’d get there by midnight.

  ‘No need to be impatient.’ He pointed to his right. ‘Right, you need to go along this road here and left on to the King’s Road, then right into Grosvenor Gardens and then you’ll see the station, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Thank you very much, and can you tell me what time it is?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course I can. We policemen always have the time, you know.’ He patted his pocket and pulled out a watch on a chain. ‘It is nearly five and twenty past nine. Now can I help you with anything else …?’

  Sarah never replied as she was already haring off like a speeding bullet towards the King’s Road. Dodging a few carriages, people and omnibuses, Sarah, hot and sticky, eventually arrived at the station. The large clock above the main archway entrance said 9.50.

  No, the train leaves at ten! Sarah scanned the length of the entrance and though there were lots of people milling around, she could see no one who was obviously Miss Davison. There were women waiting, but with men and children, with older women, with dogs, but not alone, or even in pairs. Damn it!

  Sarah flew through the entrance and towards a gate manned by a station porter.

  ‘Help, I need to get on the platform for the ten o’clock train to Epsom. I need to give someone a message, urgently!’

  The porter looked at her over his half-rimmed spectacles. He looked less than impressed and wrinkled his nose as if he had a bad smell under it. ‘Have you got a platform ticket, madam?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but you need to let me through; it’s a matter of life and death!’ Sarah tried to squeeze past him.

  The porter took her firmly by the arm and dragged her back. ‘Excuse me, but I think you’ll find that I don’t! How long do you think I would keep my job if I let every tomfool through who said it was a matter of life and death?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure it doesn’t happen every day, for God’s sake! What does it matter if you let me through … What do you imagine I’m going to do, steal a train?’

  The porter shook his head and pointed over her shoulder. ‘If you wish to behave like a polite human being instead of a fishwife, buy a platform ticket from over there and I will consider letting you through.’ He inclined his head and looked down his nose. ‘I will, of course, expect an apology.’

  Sarah patted the shallow pocket in her dress. She had no idea why she did, as she knew it was empty. ‘I have no money. Please, I’m sorry for being rude, I must get through!’ She tried to barge past again.

  ‘And I … must … stop … you!’ Each word was punctuated by a push or a pull on her arm.

  ‘Let go of me, you ridiculous man, before I slap you.’ Sarah stepped forward and stuck out her chin. The porter raised his hand to signal a policeman who had just happened to wander through the entrance.

  ‘OK, shove your platform ticket up your arse, it’s probably too late now anyway, you moron!’ she hissed, and turned for the entrance.

  The policeman blocked her way. ‘What seems to be the matter, madam?’

  ‘Is it ten o’clock yet?’ Sarah whispered, aware that tears were brimming in her eyes.

  The policeman checked his pocket watch. ‘Yes, it is that time exactly; now tell me what the matter is.’

  Sarah shook her head and stumbled over to a bench, sitting down heavily, her head in her hands. Seconds later, a shiver travelled the length of her spine as she heard a whistle blow, saw smoke billow and heard the chug, chug, chug of a train pulling out of the station.

  That’s it then, Sarah, you’ve failed. Tears ran unchecked down her face as she stared after the departing train.

  The policeman walked over, blocking her view. ‘You look most upset; would you please like to tell me what’s going on?’

  Sarah would like to tell him, but how could she? He wouldn’t believe a word she said about Miss Davison, and because she would have to mention the future, she would probably belch in his face or something. That would probably get her locked up, knowing her luck lately. Perhaps she could try a half-truth?

  She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. ‘I can’t tell you everything, Constable, but could you contact Epsom races? As you may know, it’s Derby Day and I feel something bad is going to happen … Tell them to watch out for a woman.’

  ‘Watch out for a woman?’ He frowned, folded his arms, and rocked on the balls of his feet. ‘I think I’ll need a bit more than that to go to the trouble of sending a telegram.’

  Sarah realised it was futile. He was already looking at her as if he thought she belonged in an asylum. Jeez, I’d better get away before he arrests me. ‘Yes, of course you do. What must I be thinking? Don’t worry, Constable; I think I’ll just return home now.’ She stood and tried to tidy her hair.

  ‘And where would home be, madam? I think it’s best if I escort you back, seeing as you’re in a bit of a state.’

  ‘No, that’s alright, I’m sure you are busy enough.’ Sarah started to panic. The constable’s eyes had narrowed and his concerned smile had evaporated like the train smoke. What would he do when she couldn’t tell him the address? ‘I’m actually feeling much better now,’ she said smiling and starting for the entrance.

  The constable grabbed her arm. ‘I insist; I wouldn’t rest if I let you go off all confused like.’

  Shit! What am I going to do? Sarah thought quickly. She put her hand to her head. ‘Do you think I could have a drink of water first? I do feel a bit confused, as you say.’ She let her legs buckle slightly and leant her head on his arm.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ the constable said, leading her back to the bench. ‘Now sit here while I go and get that water, alright?’

  Sarah nodded and put her hands over her face but peeped though her fingers at him as he ran to a nearby tearoom. As soon as he’d gone inside, she sprang up and hared out of the station.

  Half an hour later, Sarah stopped at the same lampp
ost she’d leaned on earlier. She had run nearly all the way back in case old plod had tried to follow her. Her breath came in short huffs as she checked behind, yet again. Closing her eyes against images of Emily Davison under the hooves of the king’s horse, she tried to calm herself. Please, just let me go home now. One thing was for sure, when she got back, she would tell John that there would be no more missions. She was through with stitching, done, finito, over and out.

  At Lady Attwood’s door she grabbed her apron and cap, and then let them fall from her hand again. She couldn’t face going back in. Besides, she doubted that she’d be let back in after what she’d done to Rose and Cook. Thoughts of leaving Rose under such awful circumstances tugged at her heart, and her conscience. And all the people she’d met, seen in the streets. What would happen to them when war was declared next year? Their lives would be turned upside down. And many young men, like the one who’d said she was a deranged scarecrow, might not even survive. These thoughts and ones of a similar vein, whirled around her head like leaves on a windy day, until she felt totally hopeless.

  Walking slowly down the steps to the street she felt tears prick her eyes again. Her legs buckled for real this time and she sat on the pavement and sobbed. Aware of footsteps approaching, Sarah placed her hand over her mouth and dashed away tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘My dear lady, may I be of assistance?’

  The blurred figure of a well-dressed, sandy-haired man in his late fifties stood before her. He removed his hat, leant on his cane and lowered himself down beside her.

  Wiping her eyes again, she looked into his kind blue eyes. ‘I don’t think you can help me, I don’t think anyone can, but thank you for asking.’

  ‘You may be surprised; Edward Darnley has a reputation for being able to help people in sticky situations.’ He smiled.

  ‘Mr Darnley! Oh, I am pleased to meet you; I have heard marvellous things about your work,’ Sarah said, clasping his hand.

  ‘Really? Well that pleases me greatly. Where did you learn of my marvellous deeds?’ His mouth twitched mischievously.