Impossible Saints

by Clarissa Harwood

  She gazed at him doubtfully. “I don’t think you’ll want to give me free rein with your house—”

  “Our house,” he interposed.

  “Our house,” she repeated slowly, as if she was learning a new language. “But you’ve seen some of my rooms in the past, and you’re far too tidy to tolerate my clutter. For your sake, I’ll try to keep the disorder to a minimum.”

  “I’m not worried about that. It is a small house, though, and perhaps you’ll find it cramped. We’ll move, of course, when my year here is finished.”

  She said gravely, “I don’t think the house is too small. I’ve never lived in grand style, you know, and I won’t be here during the week, anyway.”

  He showed her the bedrooms quickly. He had moved out of the larger bedroom so she could have it and had taken the smaller one across the hall as his own. He hoped she would understand that he wasn’t ready to discuss their sleeping arrangements just yet.

  Either she didn’t understand or she was taking advantage of his discomfort, for she glanced from one bedroom to the other, then gave him a direct, challenging look.

  “Does this mean we won’t be sleeping together?” she asked.

  Paul felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair. He thought he saw a tiny, mocking smile at the corner of her mouth, but he didn’t look long enough to be certain. After making it clear in her document that she didn’t want children, why would she expect to share a bed? Was she toying with him?

  “Let’s talk downstairs,” he said.

  They went down to the parlor and sat in the two large armchairs by the fireplace. There was a time when he could have spoken frankly with Lilia about almost anything, but this wasn’t the Lilia he knew. She was so remote and sardonic that it was difficult to discuss redecorating the rooms in the house, much less their sleeping arrangements. She bore little resemblance to the woman who had kissed him passionately only a few months earlier.

  He took a moment to search for the right words before beginning. “Lilia, you wrote in your document that you don’t want children for at least a year.”

  “Oh.” She looked more surprised than she had a right to. “Yes, but I didn’t mean …”

  “What did you mean?”

  She was silent for a long moment, looking down at her lap and twisting her wedding ring. “I thought we could use some sort of contraceptive device.”

  “I won’t do that,” he said curtly. He had thought she fought for contraception only on behalf of poor women who couldn’t afford children. He had never imagined she might have a personal interest in it.

  She shrugged. “I merely thought you had the right to expect something from me, since the benefits of our arrangement seem mostly to be mine.”

  Her speech made Paul’s blood run cold, her tone and choice of words echoing those of the document he had come to hate. She seemed oblivious to the fact that they were now married and he wanted to shake her.

  He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t think I ought to assume all the privileges of a husband until we are used to the idea of being married. Everything has happened very quickly.”

  “Aside from the obvious, what privileges have you chosen not to assume?”

  “Nothing specific. I want you to be comfortable, to act as you would if we were not married … within certain limits, of course.”

  “What limits?”

  He sighed. “Must I spell everything out?”

  “Yes, you must,” she retorted. “I need to know exactly what you expect of me now, as well as what you’ll expect of me when you choose to assume your rights—”

  “I said ‘privileges,’ not rights.”

  “It’s all one to me. I don’t want to hear your expectations couched in courtly language to make them more palatable to me.” She rose from her chair and went to stand at the window.

  “Why must you view me as the enemy?” he said to her back, struggling to keep his temper. “I’m not trying to trick you into a false sense of security in order to burden you with ridiculous demands.”

  “They won’t seem ridiculous to you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Lilia!” he exclaimed. “Why are you so determined to destroy any chance of happiness between us?”

  She turned to face him and the cool, sardonic façade was gone. “I’m not. I just don’t know how to … do this.”

  His anger forgotten, he rose and went to her, putting his hands gently on her shoulders and looking down into her face. “I don’t know, either,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, too.”

  Paul pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. It was the right thing to do. She slipped her arms around his waist and hid her face in his neck. He could feel the hard thudding of her heart, or perhaps it was his own—he couldn’t tell. It was better that they didn’t speak, better just to hold each other. But he was worried. What had happened to his peaceful life? If their first day as husband and wife was like this, how could they survive months, much less years, together?

  After a while, she pulled away and said, “I’d like to finish our conversation.”

  It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Paul nodded and they sat down again.

  She said, “What did you mean when you said I may act as if we’re not married?”

  “I meant you may do as you wish. Live with Miss Firth during the week, work for the WSPU—do everything you did before. Just spend the weekends with me. The only limit I can think of is that you would not be free to encourage the attentions of other men.”

  “Do you think I would do that?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know what you would do.”

  “My behavior with Will Reed has shocked you.”

  “It has done,” he admitted.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Is there nothing you want from me besides refusing the attentions of other men?”

  “I have no conditions, only a request. Since you’ll be here on weekends, I’d like you to attend the Sunday service. Just as you’ve found it necessary to protect your reputation in public, I’d like my parishioners to know that my wife exists and at least appears to support me. You need only be present. I don’t ask that you actually pay attention to my sermons. That would be expecting you to do more than half the congregation does already.”

  “Very well. That’s not too much to ask.” She looked at him curiously. “Do you preach the same sort of sermons that you preached at the cathedral?”

  “I used to, but I’ve been told by several parishioners that they can make neither head nor tail of anything I say, so I’m trying to change my style.”

  “You must not let them change you too much.” She smiled, and he saw the old Lilia in that smile, the one he had fallen in love with. It gave him hope.

  “Would you like to take a trip with me tomorrow?” he asked. “Perhaps to the coast? Or we could go to Cambridge and visit your alma mater.” Though not a proper honeymoon, exactly, he had assumed she would stay with him for a few days after the wedding.

  “Tomorrow?” She looked surprised. “I can’t. I must go back to London. I have an important meeting with Mrs. Pankhurst.”

  He tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. “I didn’t think you’d leave so soon.”

  “I have a great deal of work to do this week. Mrs. Pankhurst leaves for America soon, and I need to be up to date on her plans for the WSPU.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll return next Saturday,” she said, sounding a little like a mother trying to placate an unhappy child.

  “Of course.” He was emotionally drained by the conversation and by the demands of the day, and he excused himself to be alone for a while in his study. He tried to read, but even that seemed too taxing, so he lay down on the sofa.

  As he lay there, he thought of his father. Philip wouldn’t have wanted him to marry Lilia under these circumstances. The marriage could so easily become a mirro
r of his parents’ unhappy one. Throughout his childhood, Paul had seen the light die in his father’s eyes every time Bianca turned away from him, no doubt thinking of the man she really loved. Lilia’s work would capture her attention, instead, but it would become a barrier between them all the same.

  Paul awoke with a start to a dark room. At first, he was too disoriented to remember he was in his study. When he lit the lamp and squinted at the small clock on his desk, he was astonished to find that it was nearly ten o’clock. He had slept soundly for more than six hours.

  He opened his study door quietly, assuming Lilia had gone to bed. The lamp was lit in the dining room and there were papers all over the table, but she wasn’t there.

  He picked up a paper. It was a schedule of WSPU meetings. Another paper was filled with rough notes for either a speech or an article about the treatment of suffragettes in prison.

  Glancing around the room, he saw more papers on the floor, as well as a pair of blue slippers lying helter-skelter. He picked up the slippers and followed the trail of papers into the parlor.

  Only one lamp was lit in the parlor, and Lilia was asleep on the sofa, a pencil in one hand and papers strewn all around her. She had changed into her nightgown and wrapper, and one bare foot was stretched out past the sofa’s edge.

  Paul whispered her name, but she didn’t stir, and he drew closer, mesmerized by the sight of her. Her white nightgown was prettier than the dress she’d worn for the wedding, with a froth of soft lace at the low neckline and wrists. Her hair was down too, spilling over her shoulders in loose dark waves. A knot of longing wedged itself in his throat and he found it difficult to breathe.

  If he kissed her, would she push him away? In that moment he was willing to accept anything she wanted—even whatever strange ideas she had about contraceptive devices—if she would let him take her to bed.

  He reached out to touch her hair, then lifted a strand to his lips. With the back of one finger he stroked her cheek. She shifted slightly, turning her face away.

  He left the room to find a blanket. When he came back, he draped it over her, making sure to cover her bare foot. Her breathing remained deep and even, and he left her in peace.

  24

  Every injustice that has ever been fastened upon women in a Christian country has been “authorized by the Bible”and riveted and perpetuated by the pulpit.

  —Helen H. Gardener, Men, Women and Gods

  Lilia waved from the window as her train pulled out of the station. Paul stood on the platform, one hand raised in farewell. He looked somber in his all-black clothing, and she wished she had kissed him goodbye, though such behavior in public, even from a properly married couple, would have shocked the good citizens of Ingleford.

  She sat back and closed her eyes, feeling both relieved and guilty. Paul had no idea how much she hated Ingleford. If he were still a canon at the cathedral and they could live together in London, life would be easier for them both. In a village where everyone knew everyone and differences of any kind were suspicious, Paul would be judged for marrying her just as her family had always been judged for her unconventional behavior.

  Paul also had no idea how difficult it had been for her to agree to his request that she attend church, but it was the only thing he’d asked of her, so she couldn’t refuse. From his perspective it surely seemed reasonable, but that church had been the bane of Lilia’s existence throughout her childhood. She couldn’t count the times she had been told that little girls who asked impertinent questions or talked when they ought to be silent would go to Hell. When she’d thought of God since, if she thought of Him at all, she could picture only a cruel tyrant.

  She stared out the window as the train chugged serenely through the landscape of gently rolling hills, neat hedgerows, and trees in the process of shedding their leaves in preparation for winter. A pain in her hand made her look down, and she realized she had been twisting her wedding ring until it chafed. She raised her hand to look at it more closely. She would have preferred a plain gold wedding band, but Paul had chosen a more elaborate ring. It was pretty and delicate, studded with tiny diamonds and sapphires.

  He had thought of everything and made all the arrangements in such a short time, and she was grateful he had made it so easy for her. But the burden of gratefulness weighed heavily on her. He had bound himself to her for the rest of his life simply because she had asked him to. She knew her document had upset him, but she had hoped it would push him to express his own expectations clearly. He was such a romantic, he probably didn’t even know he had expectations. But she had seen the disappointment in his eyes when she’d told him she would have to return to London, and she knew it was only the beginning of his displeasure.

  She ought to have married someone else. Perhaps an older man, someone who was calm, patient, and preferably not in love with her, someone who wouldn’t be hurt by her neglect of him. Although others could be fooled into thinking Paul was as calm and patient as he appeared in public, Lilia knew better. He was a highly strung, sensitive man who could be pushed too far, and she suspected he was already near his limit with her.

  That morning, she had awakened in the parlor to find her slippers set out neatly by the sofa and her papers in orderly piles on a side table. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep there. She had tried to prepare for her meeting in London while she’d waited for Paul to emerge from his study, but when he didn’t come out after a few hours, she’d gone upstairs to bed. However, sleep had eluded her, so she’d returned to her paperwork downstairs.

  His actions had been sweet, but she wished he had pushed the papers aside, awakened her, and made passionate love to her instead. He wasn’t the only one disappointed by his spouse’s expectations. She had been looking forward to the intimacy of sexual relations with him, even thinking it might help smooth out their other difficulties, so she had been stunned when Paul refused to even discuss contraception. Of course, in public, nearly everyone was opposed to it, but she had assumed that in private he would be willing to satisfy their sexual desires without risking pregnancy every time. Did he really think abstinence was the only option? But he was Anglo-Catholic, so perhaps she ought to have expected it.

  She was worried that Paul’s objection to contraception masked a more serious difficulty. She remembered how shocked he had been when she’d told him she had gone to Will’s hotel room. Perhaps her willingness to go that far was as bad in Paul’s eyes as actually giving herself to Will. Had Paul’s passion for her lessened because he now thought her immoral? She hoped not; such an attitude on his part would kill her feelings for him.

  It was a great relief to arrive in London, where no negative familial or religious associations awaited her. She would be working at the WSPU office in the morning and going to Mrs. Pankhurst’s house for their meeting in the afternoon, and her only true immediate concern was that Will might be at the WSPU office. She didn’t want to see the hurt in his eyes or to have to explain her marriage to him. It was difficult enough to explain it to herself.

  The office was a hive of activity when she arrived, but to her relief, Will wasn’t there. It was a large room, though not large enough for the Union’s needs, crowded with desks and chairs and a long table at one end where meetings were held. An editor and typist were rushing to finish the latest issue of Votes for Women, which Lilia needed to read and approve before it could be released. Harriet was participating in a discussion at the long table with other organizers about a planned deputation to the prime minister in a fortnight. Lilia managed to join the discussion and read bits of the newsletter at the same time, but when a third task was required of her—Miss Selwyn wanted to discuss a new plan to attract publicity for the Cause—Lilia turned from her other tasks to give the proposed plan her full attention.

  Miss Selwyn was accompanied by two young women who wore the feverishly excited look of new members. There wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit down, so they stood in a corner of the office where Lilia could see and be s
een by the others in case anyone else needed her.

  “I think it’s time to destroy more significant property,” Miss Selwyn said. “Breaking windows and setting fire to letterboxes is all very well, but the public is starting to expect it. We need to do something different, and I have the perfect idea.”

  “Go on,” Lilia said.

  “There’s an empty church in Lewisham. It’s scheduled for significant repairs next month, so the congregation has been moved temporarily to a different building. I think we ought to set fire to it.”

  Lilia blinked. “A church?”

  “Yes. It’s a way of damaging property and making a statement about male privilege at the same time. What institution has oppressed women more over the centuries than the church?”

  “But a church … isn’t like other property.”

  “How so?”

  Lilia wasn’t sure how to explain the distinction, given that it was more a vague sense she had absorbed from Paul than her own. After a few seconds, she thought of a better objection.

  “Some of our members are Christians,” she said. “It will offend them.”

  “When did you start worrying about offending people?” challenged Miss Selwyn.

  When did you become an extremist? Lilia was tempted to retort. But instead she said, “It’s not the right time. Let’s wait and see what comes of the deputation to the prime minister. If we go too far, the support we’ve gained will be lost.”

  “I fail to see how setting fire to an empty church is going too far,” Miss Selwyn persisted. “We’re merely continuing what we’ve been doing: harming no living creature, only property.”

  “I can’t allow it,” Lilia said.

  Miss Selwyn frowned. “Let me write down my plan. You may reconsider when you see the details.”

  “No, I won’t. As I said, wait until after the deputation. Then we’ll talk about it again.”