Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Our son intends to enlist at once,’ Matilda began. ‘He’s twenty-two and just finished at theological college. He intends to follow his father into the Church.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ Augusta said with her customary bluntness. ‘I’d have thought he’d have been against war.’

  ‘He is – in principle. We all are.’ She stared around her with wide eyes. ‘Aren’t we? But one must do one’s duty. What say you, Lady Leonora?’

  Lady Lee smiled pensively. ‘It’s the same old story, isn’t it? It’s all very patriotic and glorious until it comes to sending one’s own son.’

  Isobel let out a startled gasp, the colour drained from her face and the dainty cup she held rattled in its saucer. ‘Oh! You don’t mean – you don’t mean Tim will go? I mean, he’s not in the army.’

  Lady Lee’s expression was bleak as she said softly, ‘If they call for volunteers, my dear, I’m afraid it’s very likely. I come from a military family. I think he will feel it his duty to go.’

  Until the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Isobel was in a state of high agitation and, as soon as the door opened, she leapt up and hurried towards Tim, pulling him into the far corner of the room where their intense whispered conversation could not be overheard. The voluble Mrs Ponsonby gave admirable cover, but Florrie watched them anxiously, a small frown on her forehead.

  ‘What is it, Florrie?’ Gervase’s soft voice spoke at her side. ‘You look troubled. If you’re concerned about Mrs Ponsonby’s tactless remark about James, I wouldn’t worry. They won’t be calling for boys of his age.’ He forbore to add ‘Not yet, anyway’, although the thought was in his mind.

  ‘Yes, it was at the back of my mind, I admit, but my more pressing worry is what those two are talking about.’ She nodded towards Isobel and Tim.

  ‘Ah!’ Gervase sighed softly. ‘You know then?’

  Florrie looked up at him. ‘Know? Know what?’

  For a moment Gervase looked flustered. ‘Oh dear, obviously you don’t. I – I thought by what you said . . .’ His voice trailed away.

  Now it was Florrie who manoeuvred Gervase towards the French windows and out onto the terrace where they would not be overheard.

  ‘Now, tell me. Has Tim said anything about volunteering?’

  Miserable to be betraying what he now thought might have been a confidence amongst the gentlemen, Gervase nodded. Seeing his discomfort, Florrie put her hands flat against his chest. ‘Dear Gervase, don’t worry. Lady Lee said as much just now. He’s from a military family, she said, and he might feel it his duty. I expect that’s why Isobel’s cornered him.’

  Gervase looked relieved and even smiled. ‘You’re a little minx, Florrie Maltby. I can’t keep anything from you, can I?’

  ‘Not a lot, no,’ she replied cheerfully, but then the smile faded from her face. ‘So, is it definite?’

  Gervase nodded soberly. ‘He’s going tomorrow to apply to go to a military college somewhere for officer training.’ He glanced across at Isobel and her fiance. ‘He wants to bring their wedding forward, Florrie. He wants them to be married before he goes.’

  At that moment the young couple stood up, glanced around the room and then, seeing Gervase and Florrie standing together outside the long windows, came towards them.

  ‘Has Gervase told you?’ Isobel said at once, putting her arms about Florrie.

  ‘Told me what?’ Florrie tried to keep up the pretence, but Isobel knew them both too well.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’d have been the first to know anyway. Tim is volunteering and he wants us to be married before he goes.’ She tried to force a laugh, though there were anxious tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, I know it will cause a scandal. The gossips will have a field day, but I don’t care. We want a little time together before . . .’ Now the tears spilled down her face, but she brushed them away impatiently and added, ‘You will be my bridesmaid, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, darling Iso, I’d love to be.’

  As the two young women hugged each other, Tim put his hand on Gervase’s shoulder, ‘And – dear brother-in-law to be – I would ask you to be my best man, but, naturally, Isobel wants you to give her away.’

  ‘It was kind of you to think of it, but yes, I must stand in for our father.’ The brother and sister exchanged a brief glance of mutual sadness, as Gervase added softly, ‘They would both so loved to have seen you married, my dear.’

  Isobel smiled through her tears and said bravely, ‘It’ll be a difficult day for all sorts of reasons—’ She glanced at Tim. ‘But we’ll make it a happy one for everyone. Will your mother mind us being married in Bixley Manor church? I – I’d like to be married from home.’

  ‘Of course she won’t. Let’s go and tell them all now. There’s no point in keeping it secret because we’ll have to move fast.’ They made to turn away back into the drawing room, but Gervase cleared his throat and said, ‘A moment, if you please. There’s – there’s something I would like to tell you too.’

  Florrie caught her breath and her heart beat rapidly. Oh no, she thought, he’s not going to suggest us having a double wedding, is he?

  But what Gervase had to say was far more frightening than another proposal of marriage and filled her heart with dread.

  ‘Iso, I don’t know if you realize, but – well – I’ll probably be going too.’

  Isobel gave a little gasp and her hand fluttered to her mouth. Even Florrie’s eyes widened.

  ‘As you know, I joined the army on leaving school.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It was what Father wanted and, before I had to come home because of his death, I’d completed my officer’s training.’

  Isobel nodded and whispered, ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘I’m probably on a reserve list somewhere anyway – I seem to remember agreeing to it at the time,’ Gervase went on. ‘But I don’t intend to wait for them to send for me.’

  ‘But – but what about the estate?’ Isobel cried.

  ‘I’ll get everything sorted out before I go, but I was rather hoping that, with the suspension of your suffragette activities, you’d be willing to move back to Bixley Manor and take care of things while – while I’m gone?’

  ‘Oh no, Gervase dear, you can’t possibly go, because I’m going to offer my services as a nurse. Lady Lee says they’ll be badly needed.’

  Before either of the men could say any more, Florrie linked her arm through Isobel’s and declared, ‘Then I’m coming with you.’

  Gervase and Tim glanced at each other and shook their heads. ‘I don’t think,’ Tim said slowly, ‘that arguing will do any good.’

  ‘Not a scrap,’ Isobel and Florrie said together.

  As the two young women turned away, Tim put his hand on Gervase’s shoulder. ‘Don’t look so worried, old chap. Iso will probably change her mind once we’re married. I’ll do my best to talk her out of it.’

  But Gervase looked none too sure. He knew his sister – and Florrie. Once they’d made up their minds, there was no dissuading them.

  So it was all organized very quickly and, contrary to Isobel’s prediction, the locals did not nod and wink and nudge each other over the swiftly arranged marriage. They all understood the desire for it, and applauded the gallant young man and his lovely bride when news circulated that she too was to volunteer her services.

  ‘And you mark my words,’ they said to one another. On and on their tongues wagged, but it was not unkind gossip, as the gifts that arrived for the couple and the offers of willing hands to help prepare Bixley Manor for the big day testified. ‘Miss Florrie’ll be going too. And have you heard? Mr Richards has asked Mr Maltby to oversee the running of the Bixley Estate in his absence. Now if only Miss Florrie would marry him . . .’

  Nineteen

  ‘Well, I’m going and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  Once more, Florrie stood in her father’s study. He was standing before the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantelpiece and gazing into the flickering flames of the log fire. Slowly h
e raised his head and turned to face her. He watched her for a long moment, his gaze seeming to take in every aspect of her face; a face that was thinner now, but still every bit as beautiful and, if it were possible, even more determined.

  ‘We’re going back to London. Isobel and I. But we’re going to volunteer to be nurses. At—’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘At the Front, if necessary.’

  Her father’s voice was filled with sadness and yet a strange longing as he said heavily, ‘I wish James had half your spirit.’

  Florrie was startled. ‘James? What – what do you mean?’

  ‘James is refusing to go.’

  ‘Go? To war, you mean? But he’s not old enough. He’s only sixteen and he’s still at school. Besides, I thought you wanted him to go on to university?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Did? Why “did”? Don’t you still?’

  Edgar shrugged. ‘Things are different now. Our country’s at war.’

  Florrie moved closer to him. ‘You can’t – you can’t possibly want him to volunteer? Not at sixteen?’

  Edgar squared his shoulders. ‘I most certainly do.’

  ‘Father, for pity’s sake, he’s a boy.’

  ‘Boys as young as sixteen are volunteering. Young Ben Atkinson has enlisted already. He’ll be going away any day. And he’s only just turned sixteen.’

  Florrie gasped. Ben was the son of one of the estate’s tenant farmers, Joe Atkinson and his wife, Olive. He was their only boy out of a family of five children. She was appalled. The war was only days old. ‘They let him go?’

  ‘I don’t think there was anything they could do. He went to a recruitment rally in Saltershaven and joined up there and then. Besides, I don’t think they’d have wanted to stop him. They must be very proud of him. I just wish I’d sent James to the rally too. It might have put some courage into the boy.’

  ‘You’d encourage him to leave school? To give up all his expensive education?’

  ‘He’d go into the officer-training corps. Like Timothy. He wouldn’t be in the ranks.’

  ‘An officer? Leading men more than twice his age? Father, have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘Now, look here, my girl, don’t you talk to me like that. I’m your father. Have a bit of respect.’

  Quietly now, Florrie said, ‘I have always had the utmost respect for you, Father. Though you might not believe it, I have. But this! This is preposterous.’ She whirled around and ran from the room. ‘I’ll see what Gran has to say about this.’

  ‘Florence . . .’ he bellowed, but she paid no heed.

  Augusta was descending the stairs, with a speed and lightness of step that belied her threescore years and ten. Behind her, Beth carried her shawl, her spectacles and her book. It was plain that Augusta was heading for her favourite spot in the corner of the terrace to soak up the summer sunshine.

  ‘Gran—’ Florrie began impatiently, mounting two steps to reach her even more quickly.

  ‘Grandmother,’ Augusta corrected mildly. ‘Now, what is it this time? You’re going to become a nurse? I know that.’

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s not about that this time. It’s about James.’

  There was a cry from behind them and Florrie turned to see that her mother, probably hearing the commotion in the hall, had emerged from the morning room. Clara had overheard her daughter’s words. She moved forward, her hands to her face, her eyes wide. ‘What – what about James? He’s not ill, is he? He can’t be. He was all right at breakfast. What’s happened? Where is he? Is he in his room?’ She began to mount the stairs. ‘Has your father called the doctor?’

  ‘Mother dear,’ Florrie began just as her father appeared in the doorway of his study.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done, girl!’ His face was thunderous. ‘You shouldn’t go upsetting your mother, not when there’s nothing to get upset about. At least – not yet.’

  Clara gave another cry of alarm. ‘Edgar, what do you mean. What is it? What’s happened? Oh, he’s had a fall from his horse. He was going out riding this morning. That’s it, isn’t it? How badly is he hurt? Oh, do tell me, please?’ Tears flooded down her face.

  ‘Now, now, Clara.’ Augusta had reached the bottom of the stairs. Briefly, she paused and took her belongings from the maid. ‘Thank you, Beth.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy and scuttled away. Augusta took her daughter-in-law’s arm and gently urged her towards the morning room. ‘Let’s sit down and talk about whatever is going on. I’m as much in the dark as you are. Florrie, come along. You too, Edgar.’

  Meekly, they all followed her.

  Augusta seated herself on the sofa. ‘Now – explain yourself, Florrie.’

  Florrie and her father exchanged a glance, but it was Edgar who cleared his throat, strode to the fireplace and turned to face them all.

  ‘Florence has decided to volunteer for nursing duties.’ He forbore to say that she might end up at the Front. Time enough for that news to be imparted to his sensitive wife when it happened. He glanced at his mother and saw that she already knew as much.

  ‘But what about James?’ Clara cried. The news about her daughter scarcely seemed to register. Her mind was still on her son. Florrie smiled wryly. She wasn’t hurt by her mother’s lack of solicitude for her. Indeed, she was grateful for it. It left her free to follow her heart.

  ‘I – er – rather hoped James would volunteer, like so many of his peers,’ Edgar said. ‘I understand that more than half his form at school have already done so. And—’

  ‘Volunteer!’ Both Clara and Augusta spoke at once. Then Clara collapsed back against the cushions in a faint.

  ‘Ring for Beth to bring the sal volatile,’ Augusta instructed Florrie and then turned her attention back to her own son. ‘Are you serious, Edgar?’

  ‘Absolutely. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  She stared at him for a moment, whilst Florrie’s anxious glance went from one to the other. Absent-mindedly, she pulled the bell cord to summon the maid. When Beth appeared she was already carrying the little bottle of smelling salts. No doubt, the scene in the hallway had prepared her for this eventuality. Florrie gave the girl a brief smile and then turned her attention back to her father and grandmother.

  ‘Because the boy’s only sixteen,’ Augusta snapped. ‘He should stay where he is, at least until he finishes his schooling. After he’s taken his examinations, well, we’ll see then.’

  Edgar spread his hands. ‘But it might all be over by then and he’ll have missed his chance.’

  ‘All the better,’ Augusta replied promptly.

  ‘I don’t want my son to be thought a coward.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Edgar.’

  ‘Ben Atkinson’s going and he’s only sixteen.’

  For a moment, even Augusta seemed shocked. She shook her head and muttered, ‘More fool him, then.’

  ‘But they’re calling for volunteers. They’re holding recruitment rallies the length and breadth of the country.’

  ‘But not for sixteen-year-olds. I do read the papers, Edgar.’

  Her son eyed her speculatively. ‘And what does your London newspaper tell you then, eh?’

  Augusta glared at him. ‘A lot more common sense than your provincial rag, which seems to be whipping up a fever of patriotism that is sadly misplaced.’

  ‘How can patriotism be misplaced?’

  She leaned forward, saying slowly and deliberately, ‘If it expects sixteen-year-olds to become cannon fodder, then it’s – it’s – ’ She sought the word to prove her point. ‘Immoral!’ Clara, reviving at that moment, promptly fainted again.

  The argument was over. Edgar retired to his study and slammed the door, leaving his mother and daughter to tend his wife. They reassured Clara that James was not volunteering now and they were sure that, by the time he was old enough, it would all be over.

  ‘It’ll probably be over before I’ve even finished training to mop fevered brows and feed the wounded,’ F
lorrie said, making light of her own plans.

  ‘You’ll make a very good nurse, dear,’ Clara said weakly. ‘You’re always so kind to me when I have one of my turns.’

  Above her head, Augusta and Florrie exchanged a grim look. They both knew that what Florrie would face would be far more than a few fainting fits.

  Florrie breathed a sigh of relief when, at the beginning of September, James returned to school for the autumn term. She’d been so worried that their father would shame him into volunteering. Although she was anxious about Gervase and the Hon. Tim going, she accepted their decision as being right and admired their patriotic courage. What she couldn’t come to terms with was the thought of boys as young as sixteen being accepted into the services. Determined to find out how such a thing could happen, she walked across the fields to the Atkinsons’ farmhouse.

  ‘Oh, Miss Florrie,’ Mrs Atkinson, her white apron to her face, greeted the young woman as she opened the door. ‘How kind of you to come. You’ve heard, I suppose, that our Ben’s goin’ soldierin’?’

  Florrie nodded. ‘How did it happen, Mrs Atkinson? He’s only sixteen.’

  Fresh tears welled in the woman’s eyes. ‘He’s nowt more’n a bairn, Miss Florrie.’ She poured boiling water into a brown teapot from the kettle over the fire in the range and set two cups and saucers on the table. ‘He went to one o’ them rallies in Saltershaven and joined up there an’ then. His dad went next day to see if he could get ’im out of it, but there were nowt ’ee could do. Ben’d taken the King’s shilling and that were it.’

  Florrie was appalled. ‘And did they know he was sixteen?’

  ‘Huh! I s’pect he lied about his age.’

  ‘And they didn’t press him too closely, you mean?’

  Mrs Atkinson nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it, miss.’

  ‘But he doesn’t even look eighteen. He’s strong and wiry, I grant you, but he’s a boy. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re bothered, miss. They just want volunteers. As many as they can get, an’ they’re not that worried how they get ’em.’

  They gazed at each other now, lost for words.