The Secret Letter

by Kerry Barrett

  Chapter 39

  Esther

  1910

  It took him a moment to recognise me, my Joseph. My love. The man I’d dreamed of a future with. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing and when he realised that the woman who was attacking the policeman in front of him was me, his face crumpled. Just for a second, but it was long enough for me to realise that his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces right there in Parliament Square. And then the anger was back and he squeezed my arms even tighter.

  I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him as he yanked me away from Alf, who was covered in blood, and pushed me on to another, younger police constable nearby.

  ‘Arrest her and take her to the station,’ he said. ‘I’ll get help for Alf.’

  Around me, the shouts and screams continued, but it seemed that we were in a quiet pocket of shock. I looked round at the scene, as though it were a renaissance painting on the walls of the National Gallery. In front of me, Alf was slumped on the kerb, cradling his bloodied nose. The front of his uniform was drenched with dark red stains and Joseph was standing next to him, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  A little way away, Agnes lay, sobbing, on the grass, curled up around her stomach. Her position was mirroring the baby inside her. The baby that I prayed would survive today’s violence. Prostrate next to her was Nelly, worryingly still. And Minnie stood by, her face frozen in horror, unable to decide where to go or what to do.

  And then suddenly, the noise and the chaos was back.

  ‘Take her away,’ Joseph bellowed to the young constable and he dragged me away. Over my shoulder I looked round and my eyes met Joseph’s.

  ‘Please,’ I managed to shout. ‘Please …’

  He looked away and instead I focused on Minnie.

  ‘… help Agnes,’ I screamed. ‘Help them both.’

  Like I’d woken her from a nightmare – into a worse nightmare – Minnie jumped and immediately crouched down in between Agnes and Nelly. I watched as she gently touched Agnes’s shoulder, and with the other hand, reached out to find a pulse on Nelly’s wrist. Confident she was doing all she could, and unable to see another course of action, I allowed myself to be pulled across the square by the young constable.

  He gripped my hands behind my back, said something that I didn’t listen to, and took me to a small police station somewhere near Whitehall. It was full of women. Some were hurt, some were scared or upset, others were angry. The sergeant at the desk looked weary and cross.

  ‘Not another bloody suffragette,’ he said as the young constable entered, pushing me ahead of him. ‘We’re running out of room. I keep telling your lot to take them up to Bow Street.’

  The constable shrugged. ‘She’s dangerous,’ he said. ‘She attacked one of ours, took his truncheon off him and leathered him.’

  The desk sergeant eyed me doubtfully.

  I lifted my head and met his suspicious stare dead-on.

  ‘Cell four,’ he said. ‘There’s two others in there already. They’ll have to share the bed. But they like that, don’t they? That type.’

  He gave a lascivious bark of laughter and the constable sniggered like a schoolboy as he shoved me along the corridor.

  The cell was tiny, just like the one I’d been in when I’d been arrested before. It had bare walls and a hard bench on one side – the “bed” the sergeant had mentioned. In the corner was a bucket with the stench of urine soaking into the room, and hunched together on the bench were two young suffragettes.

  ‘Enjoy yourself, ladies,’ the constable said. He pushed me into the room and locked the door behind me.

  * * *

  I knew Joseph would come eventually. At least, I hoped he would come. But in my mind’s eye I kept seeing his face crumple, and his furious expression, and I wondered if he’d leave me here. If that was it. The end of everything we’d had. I knew it was my fault, that I should have told him my story from the start. But that didn’t make it easier.

  The two other suffragettes and I spent an uncomfortable night in the small cell. We took off our coats and laid two of them on the bench to make it softer, and shared the other to cover ourselves with because the only blanket was itchy and smelled of vomit. It was cold in there and got more so as the night wore on, so we huddled together under the coat, arms and legs intertwined. It felt odd to be so intimate with two strangers, but I’d been there before – in Holloway – and I found reserves of resilience that I’d forgotten I had.

  The other two women also proved stronger than I’d expected. There were no tears overnight, just flashes of anger, worries about our friends, and – in my case – huge spasms of guilt that I hid from my cellmates. We chatted quietly about our experiences in the WSPU. We slept fitfully, and I woke early, cold and stiff.

  With pins and needles in my foot, I awkwardly slid off the bench and walked round the tiny room, trying to bring the feeling back into my limbs. The other two women were lying, eyes closed, on the heap of coats. One was moaning softly as she slept. I tried to shake my legs to get the blood flowing again, wrapping my arms round myself to keep warm.

  I thought something would have happened by now. That we’d have been charged, or released. Mind you, I wasn’t sure I would be released. I’d done something awful, hitting Alf like that. I remembered the way his nose had crunched and I shuddered. I’d seen red, when I’d heard Agnes wail in that tortured, animalistic way. But he’d done something awful too, attacking poor Agnes like that. I knew I’d be going back to Holloway, and I couldn’t bear to imagine where Agnes was now or how she was feeling. But I had a sick feeling that Alf would be free to don his uniform once more.

  A noise outside the cell made me stop my pacing. I could hear voices and I thought, perhaps, that one of the men talking in the corridor was Joseph. I needed to see him, to explain why I’d done what I did – not just with the lying and the keeping my life as a suffragette secret – but with Alf and the truncheon. I needed to make him understand.

  I looked up hopefully as the cell door swung open and almost wept with relief as I saw Joseph standing there. His uniform was clean and his hair neat. He’d obviously been home after yesterday’s events.

  ‘Joseph,’ I breathed.

  He looked at me, no affection in his gaze. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

  I winced. ‘It’s Esther,’ I assured him. Then, eyes downcast, I added: ‘Watkins. Esther Watkins.’

  He looked down at the sheet of paper he was holding. ‘Strange,’ he said. ‘I was under the impression you were called Esther Whitehouse. Someone must have made a mistake.’

  ‘I think so.’

  There was a pause as we looked at each other.

  ‘I’m to interview you,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t work here but as I was on the scene, I offered to hear your version of events.’

  I nodded, pleased he wanted to listen to what I had to say.

  ‘Come with me.’

  I took a step towards the bench, planning to retrieve my coat, then changed my mind. Those two needed it more than I did. Instead I walked to Joseph. He gripped my upper arm tightly. Too tightly. And walked me briskly down the corridor back towards the front of the police station.

  ‘The interview rooms are on the other side of the building, so we have to walk past the front desks,’ Joseph explained. ‘I don’t want to use force on you, Miss Watkins.’ He spat out the name. ‘But if you so much as think about trying to run for it, I won’t hesitate.’

  ‘I won’t run,’ I said. ‘I want to speak to you, to explain …’

  He pulled my arm and I stopped talking. As we crossed behind the front desk where a different sergeant was on duty, I heard my name shouted. And there, sitting on a wooden chair looking dirty and tear-stained, was Minnie.

  ‘Esther, stop,’ she called. ‘Please. I need to tell you …’

  I paused and when Joseph squeezed his fingers into my arm, I wriggled away from his grip.

 
‘I just want to hear what she has to say,’ I said. ‘Please, Joseph. She might have news of Agnes.’

  But he simply grabbed me again, harder this time. ‘Come on,’ he said.

  Minnie stood up and leaned over the front desk to see where we were going.

  ‘Stand back, Miss,’ the sergeant said, but she didn’t.

  ‘Esther,’ she called to me as Joseph dragged me along the corridor. ‘Agnes wanted me to tell you …’

  Her shout ended in a sob and she took a breath and then tried again. ‘She had the baby,’ she said. ‘Agnes had the baby. But it was too soon.’

  I stopped walking, despite Joseph’s efforts and his annoyed grunt, and I turned to see Minnie as she leaned over the desk.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said.

  Minnie looked stricken. ‘It was too soon,’ she repeated. ‘Too soon for the little girl.’

  ‘Is she …?’

  Minnie nodded. ‘She never took a breath. Agnes’s baby is dead.’

  Chapter 40

  Esther

  My legs buckled and I stumbled as the enormity of Minnie’s news hit me. Joseph pulled me upright and before I could ask any more questions, he bundled me through a door and into another bare room. This one had a large wooden desk and two chairs. I dropped into the chair nearest me.

  ‘Did you hear her?’ I said. ‘Did you hear what happened?’

  Joseph nodded, but he didn’t speak.

  ‘Agnes’s baby is dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. As a mother she should have been more responsible. That was no place for a pregnant woman.’

  I stared at him. ‘This wasn’t her fault,’ I said. ‘It was Alf.’

  Joseph looked back at me. ‘We were just doing our jobs.’

  He was like a stranger; I couldn’t believe I ever thought I could spend my life with him. I felt drained of all fight and I slumped on to the desk.

  ‘Sit up,’ Joseph said. He pulled out the other chair and sat down. ‘You need to explain this to me. You owe me that much.’

  He was right, I supposed. I dragged my heavy head up and met his gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry I lied to you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my real name. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I’m a suffragette.’

  His lip curled in a sneer. ‘I looked up your file this morning. It was easy once I knew your actual name. You’ve been in Holloway. You’re a criminal. Are you sorry about that, too?’

  ‘Political prisoner,’ I said. Perhaps I’d not quite lost all my fight.

  He put both his hands on to the desk with a thump, but I didn’t flinch.

  ‘Tell me this,’ he said. ‘Was it worth it? Was this crusade worth the violence and the dead baby?’

  Now I flinched. But deep inside I felt a spark ignite my fury once more. ‘Not yet.’

  He sat back in his chair, looking triumphant.

  ‘But it will be.’

  Joseph snorted. ‘You are a disgrace. And you’re deluded.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Women aren’t capable of leadership. They can’t make decisions about politics. Imagine a woman making the decision to go to war? It’s ludicrous.’

  I went to speak but he’d not finished. Instead his face softened.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘You’ve just misunderstood. Men and women each have jobs to do, and you’ve got confused. Women are nurturers, carers. Men are protectors.’

  The rage was back. ‘Really? I didn’t see much protection going on in Parliament Square yesterday.’

  He snorted, but it was my time to carry on.

  ‘I saw women being attacked. Assaulted. One police officer put his hands under my skirts and squeezed my breasts. I’ll show you my bruises if you want.’

  Joseph looked away. ‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘And worst of all, one policeman – your friend …’ I spat out the name. ‘Alf, attacked Agnes and pushed her on to the ground, when it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was pregnant.’

  ‘She was wearing a large coat,’ Joseph said. ‘Perhaps he couldn’t see.’

  I looked straight at him. ‘Did you see it?’ I said. ‘Did you see what happened?’

  He nodded and I felt a huge flood of relief.

  ‘Then you know that we were screaming at him to stop. We were telling him over and over that she was expecting.’

  Joseph didn’t speak.

  ‘Don’t tell me that men are supposed to protect us,’ I said. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that. Because from where I’m standing, it seems men are hurting us, and touching us, and murdering our children, just because they’re scared that we might get to hold a tiny fraction of the power they’ve been holding for generations.’

  There was a pause. Joseph sat up a bit straighter. ‘No one murdered anyone,’ he said. ‘You’re being hysterical.’

  I forced myself to speak calmly. ‘Here’s what I saw,’ I said, looking at the point where the ceiling met the wall. There was a large damp patch and I stared at it so I didn’t have to look at Joseph. ‘I saw chaos and panic. We were with a young woman called Nelly and she was pushed over by a man – a passer-by – and then hit by a policeman. We were surrounded by policemen. I saw Agnes get cross and try to defend Nelly, and I saw one of the men shove her and she fell. Then as she tried to get up, another policeman hit her, over and over. We tried to stop him, but he was so angry.’

  Despite my best efforts, my voice cracked with a sob.

  ‘He was so angry,’ I said again. ‘And he wouldn’t listen and he wouldn’t stop. I pulled his arm, and I recognised him as Alf, but it was as though he didn’t see me. His face was twisted in anger, Joseph. He was like an animal.’

  ‘Go on.’

  I wiped away a tear and carried on looking at the ceiling. ‘He kicked her in the back, and she fell forwards on to her stomach and she cried out.’

  Now I lowered my gaze from the ceiling and looked straight at him.

  ‘And I lost my temper. I admit it. But I was just trying to get him to stop. You must see that?’

  Joseph had a piece of paper in front of him, and a pencil, but he’d not written anything down.

  ‘You must see?’

  ‘I saw you screaming like a banshee, lashing out,’ he said calmly. ‘I saw you steal Alf’s truncheon and hit him with it, without stopping, even when his nose splattered all over his face.’

  ‘I did do that,’ I whispered.

  ‘His nose is broken, of course, and he is in a great deal of pain. He has lost a few teeth, and he has a black eye.’

  I was ashamed. ‘Mrs Pankhurst says we aren’t to harm anyone.’

  ‘That might be the only sensible thing that woman has ever said.’ He sighed.

  ‘The truth is, Esther, that what you did was a crime. A terrible crime. And being as you already have a criminal record, you’re going to be back in Holloway by the end of the week. And this time you’ll stay there much longer.’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered.

  ‘And don’t expect any special treatment,’ he went on. ‘This wasn’t one of your political acts; it was violence, pure and simple. You’ll be in with the normal prisoners.’

  I wanted to cry, but I stared at the damp patch and blinked the tears away. I’d made a mess of everything – my romance with Joseph, my involvement with the WSPU. I’d thrown away my relationship with my mother and lost my job, and all just to end up back in jail.

  ‘What will happen to Alf?’ I said quietly. ‘Will he have to leave the police?’

  Joseph looked bewildered. ‘No. Of course not. Why would he?’

  ‘Because he attacked Agnes.’ It seemed obvious to me.

  ‘He was doing his job.’

  And there was the fury again. ‘He and the others were attacking a pregnant woman, whose baby then died,’ I said. ‘They killed her baby girl, Joseph. I accept that I should be punished for what I did. But they should be held to account, too.’

  Joseph gave an exasperated laugh. ‘Esthe
r, you can’t go around accusing good people of murder. The fact is Agnes put herself and her unborn baby in harm’s way. She did something no mother should ever do. And she is suffering the consequences.’

  I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped as the door to the room opened and a large police officer entered.

  ‘Constable Fairbanks,’ he said.

  Joseph scrambled to his feet. ‘Inspector Ford.’

  The big inspector gave me a look of utter disgust. ‘This one of them?’

  Joseph nodded. ‘Esther Watkins,’ he said. He looked at me pointedly as he said my surname.

  ‘Word is the Home Secretary is going to release them all,’ Ford said.

  Joseph’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  Ford grimaced. ‘Reports of some officers going too far. This morning’s Daily Mirror has a photograph of an officer about to hit an old woman on its front page. It’s not making us look good.’

  I felt a glimmer of hope. Ford looked at a list he was holding in his meaty hands. ‘Watkins, you said?’

  ‘Esther Watkins.’

  Ford nodded slowly, then he gave me a horrible smile. ‘You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.’

  My stomach plummeted into my shoes. ‘You said Mr Churchill was going to release us all.’

  ‘All the suffragettes,’ he said. ‘But not you.’

  ‘I’m a suffragette.’

  ‘Says here you attacked Sergeant Alfred Simpson.’

  ‘I was trying to stop him hurting my friend.’

  Ford looked down at his papers again and shook his head. The flesh under his chin wobbled with the movement. ‘No, all it says here is you attacked Sergeant Simpson. Unprovoked.’

  ‘That’s not what happened,’ I growled. ‘He was hitting my friend Agnes Oliver. She was pregnant and he attacked her. I was trying to get him to stop.’

  Ford looked distinctly uninterested.

  ‘She was pregnant and now she’s not,’ I said, my voice shaking with emotion. ‘She had her baby but the baby died. Joseph – Constable Fairbanks – he was there. He saw Sergeant Simpson hit Agnes. He was a witness.’

  Now I had Ford’s attention.

  ‘You’re saying Simpson was violent first?’