The Secret Letter

by Kerry Barrett

  ‘You’ll be perfect,’ she said. She gripped my arm tightly. ‘Could you possibly start today?’

  Relief flooded me. ‘I could.’

  ‘Wonderful. I can get you a cab and we can collect your things.’

  ‘I have all my things,’ I said, gesturing to my carpetbag. ‘I don’t have much. And, well, I can’t go home because my mother is of the same mind as my former headmistress.’

  Agnes’s face softened. ‘Doesn’t approve?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  The familiar frustration and rage that I felt when I thought of my mother began to build.

  ‘We lost everything when my father died because of mistakes he made,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘We had to sell the house. But still she thinks women are supposed to suffer and that this is just the way it shall be.’ I took a breath. ‘Sorry.’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘Don’t apologise,’ she said. ‘We all have our reasons for finding our way to each other.’

  She picked up my battered bag. ‘Now, shall we go in?’

  She unlocked the large front door and I followed her inside. I hadn’t even asked how many children I would be teaching. I hoped it would be two quiet little girls rather than four boisterous boys, but I felt I couldn’t ask because I’d pretended that I knew all about the job.

  ‘Edie?’ she called. ‘Edie?’

  A woman wearing an apron came rushing through the hall from the back of the house. ‘I was hanging out the washing,’ she said. ‘Have you been knocking?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Agnes said, peeling off her gloves. ‘This is our new governess, Esther. Esther, this is Edie our housekeeper.’

  Edie and I nodded hello to each other.

  ‘Are the children here?’ Agnes looked around her as though she expected them to appear in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Went for a walk with Mr Oliver.’

  ‘I shall go and find them.’

  Edie showed me to my room while Agnes went to find the children. My bedroom was on the top floor alongside another room with bookshelves crammed with books, a blackboard, and a low table. The windows looked out over London.

  ‘What a marvellous view,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine the children ever want to do schoolwork when they could be looking at the rooftops.’

  ‘Mr John always wants to do his schoolwork,’ Edie said as I sent silent thanks upwards for a scholarly pupil. ‘The girls don’t apply themselves so much, so I’ve heard.’

  I wondered how many girls there were. ‘Remind me of how old they all are,’ I said casually.

  ‘John’s ten, Meg’s eight and Pearl’s almost seven,’ she said. ‘They’re nice kids most of the time. Just don’t let them run rings round you.’

  I smiled. ‘Don’t worry about me. I can give as good as I get.’

  She looked at me with a critical eye. ‘Yes, I reckon you can. Though right now it just looks like you could do with a good dinner and an early night.’

  I nodded, almost moved to tears by her kind words, which seemed ridiculous. It was just such a long time since anyone had said anything nice to me.

  ‘Go and meet the children, then come into the kitchen for some food,’ Edie said. ‘You’ll soon settle in here.’

  She was right. Within a week I felt like I’d been there forever. Agnes and her husband – who was also called John – were kind, the children were welcoming, and I was so grateful to have a roof over my head and money in my pocket that I thanked my lucky stars every day that I’d bumped into Agnes on her doorstep.

  On my first Saturday with the family, Agnes knocked on my bedroom door.

  ‘I know it should really be your day off but I have some jobs to do for Mrs Pankhurst,’ she said. ‘And Christabel is breathing down my neck, too. Could you possibly take the children to the park?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. I had nothing else to do, though I was itching to get back to meetings. ‘What sort of jobs do you have to do?’

  ‘Lord, I almost forgot you were one of us,’ Agnes said, pleased. ‘It’s mostly frightfully dull newsletter bits but I can show you this afternoon, if you like? And I have a meeting this evening – would you like to come along?’

  I was thrilled. ‘Yes please,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling a little out of touch.’

  ‘You can tell us all about your exploits in jail,’ Agnes said.

  I picked up my shawl. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said. ‘But I’d like to come, thank you.’

  After a delightful morning with the children, who were really a lovely bunch, I tracked Agnes down in the dining room. She was sitting at the table, a typewriter in front of her. She was surrounded by reams of paper and looking flustered.

  ‘Oh, Esther, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘Can you help me?’

  I pulled out another chair and sat down. ‘I can try.’

  ‘Christabel and I want to get this all to the printer next week, but we’re missing a few pages, and I need to fill them.’

  She looked up at me and gasped in delight. ‘Of course!’

  ‘What?’ I said, warily. I may only have known Agnes for a week but I was already getting to understand her spontaneity didn’t always work out for the best.

  ‘You have to write something about your time in jail.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I heard a whisper that you were the one writing to Mrs Pankhurst about her experiences in Holloway,’ she said. ‘Is that true? I heard the letters were wonderfully detailed. Evocative.’

  I bowed my head, embarrassed by the praise.

  ‘Come on, Esther,’ Agnes urged. ‘You’re educated and witty, which is more than I can say about some of the writers we have contributing to the paper. Don’t tell Christabel I said that.’

  I smiled briefly but then shook my head. ‘I’m not sure, Agnes.’

  She took my hand. ‘You’ve been through an ordeal,’ she said, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. ‘I believe it would be good for your own peace of mind to share your experiences.’

  I nodded. ‘That is true. It always helps me to write things down.’

  ‘It would certainly be good for others to read about them. So they’re prepared, if needs be.’

  She pushed the typewriter towards me.

  ‘You want me to do it now?’

  She held out a piece of paper and slowly I fed it into the typewriter.

  ‘I shall do my best,’ I said.

  Agnes smiled at me. ‘That’s all I can ask.’

  Chapter 10

  Esther

  The next day should have been my day off again but after church I found I couldn’t settle to anything. It was a glorious spring day and I wanted to be outside so I put my book to one side and went to find the children to see if they wanted a walk.

  The idea was met with a great deal of enthusiasm so we all pulled on boots and hats, and went out to the park. They liked going to the ponds to see the ducks so we headed in that direction, the children running ahead and me walking more sedately behind, feeling the weak sun on my face and revelling in the fresh air. I felt at peace, for the first time in weeks, and also determined.

  Last night’s meeting had been astonishing. I’d spent the afternoon writing about my time in Holloway and when Agnes read what I’d written, her face had gone pale.

  ‘How awful,’ she’d said.

  ‘It was certainly no fun but I didn’t have it bad, compared to some. I had only just started my hunger strike when I was released so I’d only suffered being forcibly fed once. But believe me that was enough.’ I’d felt bile rise in my throat at the awful memory and had to take a moment to swallow before I could carry on. ‘My friend Minnie went through it twice and it was much worse the second time. She was in a bad way.’

  ‘Well, I’m very pleased you are sharing your thoughts,’ she’d said.

  And at the meeting she had stood up and introduced me.

  ‘This young woman is Esther Watkins,’ she had said. ‘She was recently in Holloway and I would
like her to tell you all a little about her experiences there.’

  I’d spoken slowly at first about prison. I’d told them about the women I’d met, and how we were treated.

  ‘I still dream I’m there,’ I’d said. ‘I wake up in the morning not sure where I am. And I think about the women I met in there all the time. I wonder how they’re getting on – the ones who stayed longer – and I find myself looking at the clock and thinking they’ll be sending round supper now. Or wondering if Mrs Flintoff has recovered from her cold, or if Miss Bolton has managed to sleep through a whole night without a bad dream.’

  ‘Are you frightened you’ll go back?’ one woman had asked me.

  I’d thought for a moment. ‘No,’ I’d said. ‘I don’t want to go back but if I have to, then I will. Because this is important. Women are not second-class citizens, to mop up men’s mess and do their bidding. Not any more.’ I’d looked around the room at the women. ‘They’re the ones who are scared,’ I’d said. ‘Not us. They’re scared that giving us a voice means things are going to change. And they’re scared because they know we’re right.’

  Some of the women had cheered and suddenly I’d felt bolder.

  ‘I’m frightened of going to jail again, but I’m not stopping.’

  They’d cheered again and I’d sat down feeling buoyed up by their support. I was a part of something, I’d thought. A part of something very important.

  But later in the meeting, while someone else was talking, things had taken a turn. I was suddenly aware of a flurry of noise and movement at the back of the hall as women got to their feet.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ the woman on stage had called. But no one had answered. I’d stood up, trying to see what was wrong. Next to me another woman had shrieked.

  ‘Rats,’ she’d gasped. ‘There are rats in the hall.’ She’d clambered on to her chair and others followed.

  At the back of the hall, someone had thrown the doors open and women had begun streaming outside.

  Bewildered I’d looked round and saw to my horror that the woman on the chair was right. There were several large brown rats scuttling along the floor in the hall. They were darting this way and that under the chairs, while women had held their skirts up, trying to avoid them.

  Agnes had been next to me, looking disgusted.

  I’d clutched her arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Please.’

  We’d both hitched up our skirts and – grateful that we were sitting towards the back of the hall – we’d made a dash for the door.

  Outside, and across the road, we’d shaken out our skirts.

  ‘Ugh, I feel dirty,’ Agnes had said. ‘How on earth did that happen? We’ve used that hall often and never seen vermin before.’

  ‘Someone put them there,’ a passing suffragette had said, still holding her dress up above her knees. ‘Heard about it happening a few times in Manchester.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ The hatred we drew was nothing new, but it still shocked me every time I experienced it.

  She’d shrugged. ‘Coppers?’

  ‘Miss Whitehouse?’

  Startled out of my memories of the rat-infested meeting, I almost ignored the voice behind me, until it said again: ‘Miss Whitehouse?’ and I remembered the false name I’d given the young man who’d helped me to my feet last week.

  I turned to see Joseph Fairbanks – I found I had no trouble remembering his name – grinning at me. My heart – my foolish heart – gave a flutter as I looked at his handsome face and I cursed myself inwardly. All this talk of women being equal to men, and there was I going giddy at the first sight of a crooked smile and friendly blue eyes …

  ‘How lovely to see you,’ Joseph said.

  For the first time I noticed he was wearing his police constable uniform, holding his hat under his arm, and I felt a rush of something. Fear? Trepidation? My only dealings with constables had not been good and the horror of the rats in the meeting was still raw. Despite Joseph’s smile and handsome face, and my absolute certainty that he was a good man unlike some of the others I’d come across, I found I wanted to spin on my heels and run away.

  But instead, I nodded politely. ‘Likewise.’

  ‘Enjoying the spring sunshine?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘It seems a shame to walk alone,’ he began, but he stopped as Meg skipped up to me.

  ‘Esther, we have found a patch of daffodils, which means winter is truly gone now – come and see.’

  She tugged at my skirt and I smiled down at her, happy both at her enthusiasm and that she had given me an excuse to leave.

  ‘One moment, Meg,’ I said and she darted off again.

  ‘Not alone then?’

  I smiled, properly this time. This truly was a nice man. Not someone to fear. Someone, in fact, I felt I liked although we’d only met recently.

  ‘I’m a governess,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure I am ever alone.’

  Joseph laughed and his whole face lit up. ‘I’ve got four brothers,’ he said. ‘I know how that feels.’

  ‘I should go and admire the daffodils.’

  ‘And I should get to work.’

  We smiled at each other again and I felt a pull towards him. I may have been twenty-one years old, but I’d never had a romance. Some of the girls I’d known at school were married already but I’d been so busy dealing with my father’s death and the mess he’d left behind and then getting involved with the WSPU, that I’d not really had time to think about finding myself a suitor.

  ‘Until next time,’ he said.

  He sauntered off down the path, spinning his hat on his hand as he went.

  I watched him go, thinking – somewhat wistfully – that if things were different, and he wasn’t a policeman and I wasn’t, well a criminal in the eyes of the law, then perhaps we could have spent some time together.

  But instead, I went to find Meg and the daffodils, which were indeed very lovely and I thought about what to say to Agnes if Meg mentioned me chatting with a constable in the park.

  We’d not been home five minutes before Meg brought it up, just as I knew she would. She was a bright little girl and she was endlessly fascinated by people.

  ‘Esther was talking to a friend in the park,’ she said to her mother as she wrestled off her boots. ‘A man.’

  Agnes looked at me with raised eyebrows. ‘A man? Is that so?’

  I braced myself, waiting for her to say he was a policeman. Like me, most of the suffragettes did not think much of the constables who were a thorn in all our sides. Agnes would not be happy about me chatting with one, I thought. Especially after last night.

  ‘Yes,’ Meg said looking rather too pleased with herself. Here it came. She was surely about to announce he had been wearing a uniform. But it seemed that wasn’t what had interested my charge about my exchange with Joseph Fairbanks – she’d been watching me instead.

  ‘Esther did laugh a lot, and she tilted her head on the side when she talked so the whole world must have looked the wrong way around.’

  ‘Meg,’ I said, embarrassed, but Agnes just chuckled and Meg was undeterred.

  ‘And Esther’s cheeks were all red like they are now.’

  I put my cool hands to my face. She was right, the wretched child. My cheeks were flaming.

  ‘Edie has made lunch for you all in the kitchen,’ Agnes said, dropping a kiss on Meg’s head. ‘Go on.’

  The children raced off for their food and I busied myself gathering their boots to take upstairs.

  ‘Oh leave all that for now,’ Agnes said. ‘Come and have tea and tell me all about this handsome chap you’ve been chatting to.’

  To my surprise, I discovered I had quite a lot to say about Joseph.

  ‘I met him the other day when I fell over on my way to Mrs Pankhurst’s house,’ I told Agnes. ‘He picked me up and brushed me off.’

  ‘He picked you up,’ she repeated, delighted.

  ‘He did.’ I paused. ‘He was nic
e. Another man stepped over me and trod on my petticoat but he stopped to help.’

  ‘A gentleman.’

  ‘Handsome, too.’

  ‘So that’s why your cheeks were red,’ she teased and I felt myself blush again.

  Agnes clapped her hands. ‘It’s like a fairy story,’ she said. ‘You fell over and he fell in love.’

  ‘Heavens, Agnes, no. You are getting ahead of yourself.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not interested.’

  I tried to look indifferent but I failed. ‘He’s nice,’ I admitted. ‘I like him.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘But this is all stuff and nonsense,’ I said. ‘Nothing will come of it. Goodness, I’m so busy with the WSPU business, and the newspaper, and the children …’

  Not to mention the fact that he was a policeman and there was no way a constable could even entertain the idea of romance with a woman like me. No way at all. I shook my head vigorously.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I am committed to the cause.’

  ‘Some men are allies to the cause,’ Agnes pointed out. ‘My John, for one.’

  ‘Your John is a treasure. But he is far from the norm.’

  I wondered if it was possible that PC Fairbanks could be a secret supporter of women’s suffrage. Perhaps. He seemed to be such a nice chap. Surely he would be able to see the reason behind our arguments? Though that didn’t mean he could suddenly start spending time with suffragettes.

  ‘Anyway, whether he is an ally or not, I have no time for male attention.’

  ‘Really?’ Agnes said, disappointed.

  I was firm. ‘Really.’

  Chapter 11

  Lizzie

  2019

  I knew that telling the staff that the council intended to close Elm Heath Primary would be terrible. I thought it would be one of the worst things I’d ever had to do.

  When the shit hit the fan in Clapham it had been bad, but at the start I’d been absolutely certain that it was all a big mistake and that Grant would never have done the things they said he’d done.

  Of course, I’d been wrong, which had made the whole thing even worse, but I didn’t know that at the beginning, even if I started to have some niggling doubts later on.