The Painted Face
Page 24
‘No! Claire!’ he yelled, thinking just a fraction of a second ahead of her.
Heedless, she lifted her umbrella and flailed her opponent about the shoulders.
‘Aux armes!’ she cried, jubilant. ‘Courage, mes soeurs!’
‘Oh, my God! Claire! You’ll be up for assault.’
Her thighs embraced by a pair of stout arms, her umbrella wrested from her hands, she screamed, ‘Nicholas, do not let him! Do not let him!’ and was hoisted high. ‘My wrist!’ she shrieked. The plain woman was handcuffed to her.
The two policemen, sweating and shouting, moved quickly together, their prisoners aloft.
‘These two are handcuffed, Mr Lynes!’ they bawled. ‘Can you come?’
Carradine grappled with Claire’s policeman.
‘Put her down, damn you! How dare you! This is my wife!’
‘You didn’t ought to let her out, then,’ the man argued. ‘Get off of me, will you, sir? What am I supposed to do?’
A sturdy figure shoved its way through the crush.
‘Bob? Charlie? It’s me. Mr Lintott. That’s my Lizzie. Don’t hurt her.’
‘Hurt her, sir?’ said Charlie, outraged. ‘She hasn’t almost scratched my eyes out, has she? Oh no, not half!’ Sarcastic.
‘Lintott!’ cried Carradine. ‘Thank God. Get my wife out of this, will you?’
The Inspector was perturbed and helpless as Carradine had never seen him before.
‘They’ve put themselves outside the Law, sir. Here, Lizzie, Mrs Carradine, will you come quietly if they set you down — no nonsense, mind?’
Hatless, breathless, the two women nodded. Lintott looked reproachfully from the handcuffs to his daughter’s face. He selected a key from his keyring, freed them. They rubbed their wrists, subdued.
‘They’ll have to come to the station, Mr Lintott,’ said the sergeant, embarrassed.
‘I know that,’ he replied, damaged. ‘That’s your duty, Fred.’
‘They won’t be imprisoned, surely?’ Carradine asked, horrified.
Claire was sobbing.
‘Give ’em a fine and a caution, more like, sir. But I won’t answer for next time. Lizzie, do you hear me? What do you think you’re about, my girl? Bessie’ll have to mind the children, and Eddie won’t know where to turn.’
‘How did you know I was here, Father?’
‘Your mother told me. Meeting and marching and chaining yourselves up!’
‘I’m sorry, Father.’
‘For what?’ he cried, wounded, ‘for what?’
‘For upsetting you all.’
‘Ah! I thought it might be that. Not for what you’ve done and the trouble you’ve caused.’
‘I’m doing what I think’s right,’ she answered, and her jaw lengthened.
Their relationship was apparent.
‘Then God help us all,’ said Lintott sadly. ‘What do you know of prison? This here’s a picnic compared to what it will be. When you throw away your privilege as a member of the weaker sex you leave security behind you. You were safe as houses with Fred and his lads. Wait until they fetch the mounted police in, and the rough ones. Get on the wrong side of the Law and you’ll find no friends, outside or in. Give up the rights you’ve got and you face an ugly world. I’ve walked St Giles. I know. I’ve seen society without its rules and manners. And it’s a cruel face to look upon, my girl. A cruel face.’
They did not say any more, separate and silent. She possessed little and was risking all she had. He saw no peace ahead for her, or himself through her.
‘As for you, Claire,’ cried Carradine, infuriated, ‘I’ll wager you don’t even know what this is all about, do you? Do you?’
‘It is the Mrs Pankhurst.’
‘Damn Mrs Pankhurst!’
‘I fight for women’s rights.’
‘You’ve got all the damned rights any woman could have!’
‘I know. I fight for my sisters who have not.’
The crowd was dispersing, satiated. The fun was over for today. It would continue for over a decade: an appetiser, a peepshow, for the watchers.
‘Oh, well,’ Carradine observed lightly, humour coming uppermost, ‘I can’t recollect appearing in court before. That should be quite an experience!’
Claire dusted her hat, concerned to set it at a fashionable angle.
‘Your theatre is not quite over,’ said Carradine wryly. ‘You must face another — not organised by yourself, madame.’ He handed her her broken umbrella. ‘Claire! For heaven’s sake, my dear girl, why look for a new fight?’
She replied, part-gaily, part-earnestly, ‘Why not?’
*****
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always I thank the Borough Librarian of Merton, Mr E. J. Adsett, F.L.A., and Miss Lynn Evans and her staff at Wimbledon Park Branch Library, whose ability to unearth positive truffles for my background research must be unequalled.
And to my artist friend of many years, Miss Sonia Robinson, a special thank you for lending me a boxful of Art Books and giving me a headful of information.
J.S.
Published by Sapere Books.
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Copyright © The Estate of Jean Stubbs, 1974
The Estate of Jean Stubbs has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781912786589