‘Oh, this is amazing,’ I said.
Paula clapped her hands, as I carefully tipped everything out on to the table and put the box down on the carpet.
‘Let’s get cracking,’ she said.
As we waded through the reams of memories, it became clear that Agnes was an amazing woman. She’d been involved with the WSPU from its early days and had got stuck right in, marching, organising, helping with the newspaper and generally making a nuisance of herself.
‘Her husband, John, was active too,’ Fiona said, showing me some photos of the couple together. ‘He was very in favour of women’s suffrage.’
Paula had sorted out anything about rallies and marches, and was busy taking photos on her phone.
‘We can use these posters advertising marches as the template for our own posters,’ she said. ‘My Chloe is very arty. I’m sure she can come up with something that looks right.’
‘What a good idea,’ I said. I was pleased she was finding it inspiring, but I was disappointed not to have found any mention of Esther yet.
‘Nothing in your pile?’ Fiona said, realising I was looking glum.
‘Lots of incredible stuff but nothing about Esther,’ I said.
‘When was she living with Agnes?’
I pulled out the reference and looked at it again.
‘I suppose it wasn’t that long really,’ I said, showing Fiona. ‘The spring of 1910 until the end of the year, as far as I can see. Then she moved to Elm Heath, and began trying to start the school towards the end of 1911.’
Fiona nodded. ‘The year 1910 was a funny one for the WSPU,’ she said. ‘The summer was very quiet and then it all kicked off in the autumn. Let me find it, hang on …’
She started leafing through her box and Paula and I exchanged an excited glance. Things kicking off sounded fairly thrilling. I said as much to Fiona and she grimaced.
‘Well, yes and no,’ she said, pulling out a newspaper. ‘Look at this.’
I took the newspaper carefully. Its pages were brittle and yellow. On the front page was a photograph of a small woman with a marvellous hat, lying on the ground protecting her face with her hands. Above, a policeman towered over her his truncheon raised. The headline read: Violent scenes at Westminster.
‘Jesus,’ I breathed.
‘It was called Black Friday,’ Fiona said. ‘I can’t remember all the details exactly but I’m sure you can find out.’
I nodded eagerly. I was really enjoying the research and having more to do pleased me.
Fiona carried on: ‘From what I know, the suffragettes marched on Westminster. But when they got there, the police and the crowds turned on them.’
I looked at the shocking picture on the newspaper. ‘They were hurt?’ I asked.
‘Some were. They were beaten, sexually assaulted, and generally treated very badly. And then lots of them were arrested.’
Paula tutted. ‘That’s awful.’
I was looking at the date on the paper. ‘Esther moved to Elm Heath in December 1910,’ I said. ‘That would have been just a couple of weeks after all this happened.’
‘Maybe it’s related?’ Fiona was looking through the box once more. ‘Perhaps she ran away because she didn’t want to go back to prison,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve read some reports of how the women were treated in jail, and it wasn’t pleasant.’
‘That makes sense,’ Paula said. ‘Why Elm Heath, though?’
Fiona looked up. ‘Is Elm Heath in Kent?
Paula looked pleased. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘No one ever knows where it is.’
‘I’ve got letters,’ Fiona said. ‘From Agnes to John in early 1911. I remember reading them a few years ago. She was recovering from some sort of an illness at a convalescent home there.’
‘That posh hotel on the Blyton road used to be a convalescent home,’ Paula said.
I sat up a bit straighter. ‘Perhaps Agnes was hurt in this march on Parliament,’ I said, gesturing to the newspaper. ‘Maybe she was badly hurt and needed time to recover.’
Fiona screwed her nose up. ‘Maybe. I had an idea it was some sort of woman’s illness but I’ll find the letters and we can check.’
I waved my hand.
‘It doesn’t really matter actually. We know she was there, away from the trouble in London. It’s a link to Elm Heath at least. I think perhaps Esther went to visit her, perhaps to escape any risk of being sent to prison again, and thought Elm Heath was a nice sort of place to stay?’
‘It was actually really, really poor,’ Paula said. ‘Rural community, kids working all hours despite the laws that had been passed to stop that.’
‘So Esther saw a need and wanted to help?’ Fiona said.
‘Think how amazing this would all be – Esther took her passion for campaigning from London to this small village where she realised the children needed her. I imagine starting a school would have made a huge difference to the whole community.’
Paula nodded. ‘Changed lives,’ she said.
‘But we don’t know for sure,’ I said with a groan. ‘This all sounds so plausible but we’re just guessing aren’t we? This must be what she said in the letter.’
Fiona frowned. ‘I don’t think that matters,’ she said.
I looked up at her, confused. ‘Really?’
‘You do know she did it,’ Fiona said. ‘You know she went to Elm Heath and she started a school. It doesn’t really matter why. Focus on what she did, rather than why she did it.’
Paula and I looked at each other.
‘You’re right,’ Paula said. ‘What do you think, Lizzie?’
I chewed my lip. ‘I think we’ve been so busy looking for this letter, we’ve forgotten what really matters,’ I said. ‘We don’t need the letter, Fiona’s right. We can use all this history and tell stories around it. The fact she set up the school is enough.’
I looked at Fiona. ‘It’s your family’s story,’ I said. ‘Do you mind if I tell the council about Agnes being ill and give them the background about how Esther came to be in Elm Heath?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Strikes me that Agnes would be thrilled to be campaigning again.’
I grinned at her. ‘So that’s what we’ll do,’ I said.
Chapter 28
Lizzie
‘I’m feeling much more positive,’ Paula said when we were in the car and heading home. ‘What about you?’
I nodded. ‘Positive, but overwhelmed,’ I admitted. ‘There’s such a lot to do.’
‘We’ve got time, though. The meeting’s not until March, and the rally’s only a couple of weeks before.’
‘But Christmas is looming, and that always stops everything,’ I said. ‘I need to start planning what to say at the meeting. We need to finalise all the arrangements for the rally and get everyone on board.’
‘And you need to drum up some publicity,’ Paula said.
I groaned. ‘I know. I know. I drafted an email to Grant but I didn’t send it.’
Paula was driving, but she glanced at me quickly. ‘Why not?’
‘A million reasons,’ I said. ‘I hate admitting I don’t know how to do something for starters. But when we were in London, he dealt with all the press stuff – I never paid attention. I didn’t think I’d have to.’
‘That’s fair enough, but don’t feel bad about that. I wouldn’t have a clue where to start with all this. We’re lucky to have you.’
I grinned. It was nice to be needed, even if I didn’t think I lived up to their expectations.
‘What else?’
‘What?’
‘What were the other million reasons?’
‘Because I don’t want to ask him for anything,’ I said. ‘Because I don’t want to speak to him, or communicate with him in any way, and risk feeling as bad as I did back then just when I’m starting to feel better. Our break-up made me feel silly. Because I thought our marriage was one thing and it turned out to be another. I felt stupid.’
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‘You shouldn’t feel stupid. You didn’t make a mistake – he did. He was the one who let you down. You can’t blame yourself for that.’
‘I guess not.’ I paused. ‘Plus there’s …’
I trailed off and Paula looked at me again. I deliberately avoided her glance.
‘There’s?’
‘Nothing, that’s it.’
‘Danny?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’
I sighed. ‘Perhaps a bit.’
‘What’s the latest with you two?’ Paula asked casually, like she didn’t remotely care what my answer was. But I knew she was desperate to know really.
‘I feel weird talking to you about it,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Because you were Isabelle’s friend.’
Paula didn’t speak for a minute. I waited as she changed gear to go round a bend, then changed back up again. Then, finally, she said: ‘I was Isabelle’s friend.’
‘So it’s strange to chat about going on dates with her bloke.’
It was Paula’s turn to sigh. ‘Isabelle and Danny weren’t exactly love’s young dream you know,’ she said. ‘Isabelle gave as good as she got.’
‘Sophie said …’
‘Chris nailed it when she said Sophie is grieving for her daughter, and she wants someone to blame,’ Paula said. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, searching for the right words. ‘Bella was brilliant. She was funny and full of energy, she was so, so kind to everyone, she adored Cara. I loved her, and I miss her.’
She took a deep breath, staring straight ahead through the windscreen.
‘But the fact is, Lizzie, she wasn’t easy to live with. She had a terrible temper. She was impulsive, and she was crap with money, and she and Danny were an awful couple.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh God, totally. He was horrible to her – that’s completely true.’
‘He told me that.’ I felt prickly, as though Paula was being unfair to Danny, even though I knew she wasn’t really.
‘The thing is, until Cara arrived, Danny and Bella had split up more times than I can remember. They were always having huge rows and breaking up. Once, they fell out on holiday and she left him in Tenerife and came home on her own. They were even apart for about two years at one stage, then they got back together just before Bella found out she was pregnant.’
This was all news to me.
‘Danny made out he was the bad guy.’
‘He was,’ Paula said bluntly. ‘He was shit when Cara was born. He kept disappearing and even staying out all night without telling Bella where he was. I couldn’t blame Bella one bit when she came home – it was definitely the right thing to do.’
‘But?’
‘But what I’m saying is, it wasn’t all one-sided. It’s not like Bella spent her last years weeping over Danny and he ruined her short life, no matter what Sophie might have you believe.’
That was exactly what I’d thought. What I’d feared.
‘Bella was happy,’ Paula said, her voice catching. ‘She loved the drama of being with Danny. She always loved a bit of drama. And yes, she found things tough when Cara was born, but she was brave enough to admit she was struggling, pack up, and come home, which was the best thing to do for everyone.’
‘That is brave,’ I said. ‘She sounds really brave altogether.’
‘She was.’
There was silence in the car as we both thought about Isabelle.
‘She knew Danny would step up, you know,’ Paula said. ‘Before she died, she made sure he was a part of Cara’s life, and that he was ready to take over. She always believed he would prove himself to be a good dad.’
‘She was right.’
Paula nodded, slowing down as we approached the edge of Elm Heath. ‘About the only time she was right.’
I chewed my lip.
‘I like Danny, and I think he likes me,’ I said. ‘But it’s really complicated.’
‘I know,’ Paula said. She patted my leg. ‘Just don’t dismiss it altogether. These things can be tricky, but I reckon the best things always are.’
We’d reached my house. She pulled over and I eyed her suspiciously.
‘You’ve been with Chris since school?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She was proud.
‘So how do you know so much about relationships?’
She shrugged. ‘I read a lot of romance novels.’
I chuckled. ‘I read a lot of crime,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that’s where I’m going wrong.’
As I opened the door I impulsively leaned over and kissed Paula’s cheek. ‘Thanks for driving,’ I said. ‘And thanks for telling me about Isabelle.’
She squeezed my hand. ‘Just think about what I said.’
The rest of the weekend passed without any incident. I spent Saturday afternoon in Elm Heath library looking up local history books, and then most of Sunday reading about the convalescent home and what the village was like in the early twentieth century. Paula was right. It had been so poor, it took my breath away a bit. And the worst thing was, I knew there were still pupils at the school who were living in poverty, even nowadays. Esther had done an amazing thing, starting Elm Heath Primary and I felt the heavy burden of carrying on her work.
On Sunday evening, there was a knock on my door and I skipped to open it, hoping it would be Danny. I’d not heard from him all weekend and I was keen to see him. But instead a woman in her fifties stood there, wrapped up in a thick winter coat, with a woolly hat pulled down over her forehead.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Are you Lizzie Armstrong?’
‘Yes?’ I was cautious. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m Denise Deacon, from the council. We spoke on the phone?’
I was startled. What on earth was the woman from the council doing on my doorstep on a Sunday evening?
‘Do you want to come in?’ I said. ‘What’s going on? Is something wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t stay. I just wanted to let you know something I’d heard and I realise I’m probably being stupid, after all this is just a school, it’s not James bloody Bond, but I didn’t want to email or phone in case anyone overheard.’
I blinked at her. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
‘Sorry, get me, going off on a tangent. I always do that. My son takes the mickey. He’s always saying, “Mum, stay on topic.” He makes me laugh.’
‘Denise?’ I said gently, desperate to know what had brought her to my door. ‘Why are you here?’
She took a breath. ‘I wanted you to know that things are moving with Elm Heath,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve got the meeting in your diary, and you’re working on the assumption that the decision won’t be made until after you’ve had your chance to put your point across. But I’ve seen that they’ve got developers on board, so frankly it’s looking like a done deal.’
I nodded, pinching my lips together grimly. ‘I’ve heard.’
‘You have?’ Denise looked a bit disappointed that her sneaky visit was for nothing.
‘One of my staff is married to an architect.’
Denise leaned against the doorframe. ‘Are you planning to fight it?’
‘We are.’ I looked at her. ‘Do you reckon we stand a chance?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s always worth a try, but money talks. It’s the only thing they listen to, really.’ She stood up straighter as she thought of something. ‘Well, not the only thing.’
I felt a glimmer of hope. ‘What else?’
‘Bad press,’ she said. ‘They’re always terrified of looking like the bad guys.’
‘We’re planning a big protest march, and a rally,’ I said. ‘What about if I can get the newspapers involved?’
Denise curled her lip. ‘The Blyton Advertiser?’ she said. ‘I’m not sure many people read that any more.’
‘Well, yes, but not only them. I mean national newspapers, the BBC, all sorts. It
’s such a good story with the history of the school. We think our founder started the school to help poor kids achieve more. It’s a perfect message of social mobility and altruism.’
Denise frowned. ‘How would you get them to know about it?’ she said. ‘We’ve got a press team, but I can’t get them to do it – it’s a big conflict of interest for them.’
‘I’ve got contacts,’ I half-lied. ‘From my old job. I can call in some favours.’
‘I think you’d better call in every favour you can,’ Denise said. ‘Because the way things are looking at the moment, Elm Heath Primary will be closing in the summer.’
Chapter 29
Lizzie
When Denise left, skulking down the garden path like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible, I curled up on the sofa with my laptop and opened the draft email to Grant. Should I send it? The brutal truth was the kids at Elm Heath were more important than my stupid pride, I thought. I had to just woman up and press send. I hovered the cursor over the send button, took a deep breath, and jumped as the doorbell rang again. Denise must have remembered some other top-secret info she had to tell me. Not that I wasn’t grateful for her input, but it just made everything seem so much harder.
Putting my laptop to one side – email still unsent – I flung open the door and gasped in surprise to see Danny. He was holding a bottle of wine and a slightly fraught expression.
‘Busy?’ he said.
I looked down at my scruffy jogging bottoms, slouchy jumper and slippers. ‘Just on my way out actually,’ I said. ‘Going to a party.’
‘Shame.’ He gave me one of his cheeky smiles and I felt myself melting even though to my appraising eye, he seemed a bit out of sorts. ‘I was at a loose end and I thought you might fancy a drink?’
‘No Cara?’
‘Impromptu sleepover with her friend Shari. I dropped her school bag and uniform round for the morning, and saw your light was on.’
‘Quite the detective.’
Danny hunched down in his coat. ‘I don’t want to presume but it’s really cold, so if you’re going to invite me in, do you think we could skip the flirty banter and move straight to the bit where I’m sitting on your sofa in the warm? I could really use a shoulder.’
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