She eyed him warily. “And what would be the price of your assistance? Marriage? I already told you that I have no wish to marry you. Or anyone.”
“Not marriage. At least, not yet.”
“James, I—”
“You will permit me to live in hope, Clarissa. No, all I ask is that you remain here. Live at Smallwood, rest, recuperate, and write your articles. I will ensure they reach the widest possible audience.”
She narrowed her eyes again and studied him for several moments. James dared to hope he was getting through.
“If I do agree to this, you will not prevent me from being in contact with others in the Union. I will wish to write to them and receive correspondence. And I would attend meetings and rallies.”
“Provided you did not put yourself in danger by doing so, I would not object. I cannot vet your correspondence in any case and would have no desire to do so. And if you wish to attend public meetings and peaceful gatherings, William and the car will be at your disposal.” He paused, waited a few moments, then, “Do we have an understanding, Clarissa?”
It seemed an eternity before she replied. But at last she inclined her head. “Very well. I agree to your terms.” She extended her hand.
James took it and shook.
An understanding. That will have to do for now.
Chapter 4
Clarissa scratched her nose and dipped her pen into her inkwell once more. The only sound in the Smallwood sitting room was the scratch of her nib against the paper as she set out the most cogent arguments in favour of granting females the right to vote. It was a well-rehearsed script as far as Clarissa was concerned. She considered the iniquity of the current arrangements to be self-evident, but she tempered her message somewhat in consideration of the editorial policies of the mainstream press. James had offered his advice on the matter, and Clarissa saw his point.
“Win them over gradually,” he had urged. “It may seem obvious to you that women should have equal rights with men, but it is a novel and contentious notion in most circles. Get your audience thinking about it, let your readers become accustomed to the idea.”
So she chose her words with care. Militancy would not do. Her tone was measured, her arguments reasonable and muted but powerful enough to stimulate a sense that something was deeply wrong and must be made right. It was a delicate balance, not so radical that she would cause shock or outrage and be banned from the mainstream publications James had introduced her to, but enough to push the boundaries. Clarissa found she was actually quite good at it.
It had been a week since she had returned to Smallwood, and, physically at least, she felt fully restored after her ordeal in Holloway. Admittedly, she had been incarcerated for mere days, so the damage had been minimal, mercifully. The emotional and psychological scars would take longer to heal, Doctor Silverly was right about that. She found it difficult to sleep, and she worried constantly about the plight of other women still in jail. The article she was working on now described in fairly graphic detail the process of force-feeding and the potential dangers it posed, not to mention the cruelty of the process itself. James had told her of proposed new laws which would permit women on hunger strike to be released from prison until their health improved, as an alternative to force-feeding. Clarissa hoped her efforts would bring that legislation forward even more quickly.
“Asquith is a fool if he imagines the women will go home, eat a few square meals then, restored, return voluntarily to jail,” she had observed to James when he had told her of the proposals.
“That is his problem,” James had replied. “Let us concentrate on building the pressure on the government to pass this new legislation.”
That was exactly what Clarissa was bent on, when the crunch of gravel outside disturbed her. She glanced up and through the window, to see James’ Rolls Royce in the drive. The car glided to a halt before the front door, and William hopped out. The chauffeur glanced over at the house and caught sight of her watching from the sitting room. He lifted his hand in greeting. Clarissa waved back, then watched as he opened the rear door for James to get out.
A few moments later her cousin strolled into the sitting room. Not for the first time, Clarissa noted how handsome he was, how smart, suave, and sophisticated, and how utterly out of her league. She may be related to him, distantly, but she was still of relatively common stock, and he was a viscount. And in any case, it took more than mere wealth and a dazzling smile to make a decent husband.
There is more to James than a handsome appearance and fine pedigree…
Clarissa stifled that thought. She had told him that marriage was out of the question, and of course, it was. It would do no good wavering. She had goals, responsibilities, a duty to support and promote the cause of female suffrage. She could do with no distractions.
James dropped a copy of The Times on the small side table she had taken to using as her desk. “Take a look at that. Page seven, column three.”
Excited, Clarissa leafed through the newspaper until she reached page seven. There, occupying most of the third column, was her piece proclaiming the inherent injustice in denying women the vote. It had been edited, but not much.
“Oh, my goodness. The Times,” she breathed. “Who reads this? How many people will see this?”
“I don’t know the exact circulation. I could find out. But everyone who matters in London reads this and takes it seriously. My contact there is willing to take more of your articles.”
“Really? I was just writing this, about force-feeding. It is a bit graphic… Do you think it would be too much?”
“Maybe not. The political establishment is interested, genuinely, and along with the growing tensions abroad, this is the main topic occupying the minds of those interested in public affairs here in Britain. Let me read what you have so far.”
She passed him the paper she had been working on, and he scanned it quickly. “I think this would be fine. When it’s finished, let me take it. The Times can have the original, and I’ll do a follow-up piece in The Citizen.” He grinned at her. “You should be very proud. This is really making a difference, I’m sure of it.”
She nodded. “Me, too, though I do still worry about the others. Women like Mary-Belle.”
“Mary-Belle? Do I know her?”
James sank onto a sofa just as Trudy bustled in with a tray of tea. “Mr Thompson thought you might like some refreshment after your drive from London, my lord.”
James thanked her, and the maid left. Clarissa took a seat opposite James and reached for the delicate china teapot to pour.
“Mary-Belle shared my cell, in Holloway. She was to be released this week and may even be home by now. I wrote yesterday to her sister who she lives with in Camden, asking for news.” Clarissa swallowed, blinking back tears as she remembered the dire plight of her friend.
“Cassie, what is it?” James regarded her over his steaming teacup. “Have you had bad news about your friend?”
She shook her head. “No, no news at all yet. I expect to hear any day. It’s just… Mary-Belle was in there for much longer than me. She’d been sentenced to ten weeks and she was fed three or four times in every one of those weeks. She was in a really bad way…”
“You should have told me. I could telephone Roger and ask him to intervene, as he did for you.”
“Really? You would do that? I saw the money changing hands. It is not cheap, buying women out of Holloway.”
He shrugged “If you want me to do it, I will.”
“You cannot save all of them.”
“Eventually, I believe we can. That is what this is about…” He tapped his finger on the handwritten article which lay beside the tea tray. “But if this Mary-Belle matters to you, and her need is more immediate, I will do what I can for her.”
“Then, yes, please.”
James set down his teacup and excused himself. Clarissa knew he had gone to his office to use the telephone. He returned after a few minutes.
“A courier has been dispatched to the jail. Roger will inform me at once, as soon as there is news.”
“Thank you.” Clarissa gazed at him in disbelief.
Is it really so easy? I only had to ask…
Less than an hour later, Mr Thompson tapped on the door to inform James that his solicitor was on the telephone.
James left to take the call and was back short a while later. “It seems we are too late. Mary-Belle Carter was released from Holloway first thing this morning.”
“A letter has arrived for you, Miss Clarissa.” Mr Thompson entered the small family dining room where Clarissa and James were taking breakfast together.
Victorine had always preferred the formality of the large dining room, which was used to receive guests, and continued to take her breakfast there, alone. It was an arrangement which suited all of them.
The butler approached the table. He carried a small silver tray upon which lay a white envelope.
“Thank you.” Clarissa took the letter and opened it quickly. “It is from Lucy Carter, Mary-Belle’s sister,” she explained.
Two days had passed since they had heard the news of Mary-Belle’s release, and Clarissa was desperate to know how her friend was after her ordeal. She scanned the two closely written sheets.
“Lucy writes that Mary-Belle received her hunger striker’s medal from Mrs Pankhurst and is most proud of it. She considers the suffering worthwhile, both for the cause and for her own personal reward.”
James frowned as he buttered his toast. Clarissa was well aware he did not share the view that a medal in any way compensated for the pain and discomfort visited upon the imprisoned women. He simply did not understand the nature of their resolve.
“Lucy goes on to say that Mary-Belle is sorely weakened by her incarceration and is confined to her bed. She struggles to speak and coughs up blood.”
“Has she had medical attention?”
“Yes. The Union always makes sure of that. Lucy hopes that a period of rest will restore her, though she says Mary-Belle is very low in spirits.” She set the letter down and laced her fingers together. “I must go and see her.”
“Of course. I shall instruct William to have the car ready. You will want to go today, I assume?”
“You do not mind? If you require the car…”
“I can manage. Go and visit your friend.”
Mary-Belle had been in a poor condition when last Clarissa had seen her in their cell, but she was still not fully prepared for the gaunt, frail woman who lay motionless in the bed in the small terraced house just off Camden’s high street. Clarissa gasped when Lucy Carter opened the bedroom door to show her in. Her heart lurched. She made her way slowly to her friend’s bedside.
“She’s so still. So pale…” she murmured.
Lucy nodded, her lined features betraying her concern. “Yes. She’s sleeping. She sleeps almost all the time.”
“Maybe we should not wake her,” Clarissa suggested. “I could come back another day.”
“She will want to see you, I’m sure of it,” Lucy replied. “Sit beside her and take her hand. Speak to her, and she will hear you. She will wake up, but you should not expect her to say much. Her throat, you see…”
“I know. I understand.” Clarissa stifled a sob and reached for Mary-Belle’s thin fingers. “Mary-Belle, it’s me. Clarissa…”
Lucy pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed. “She’s been asleep for a couple of hours, so I think she may be ready for waking soon. Just continue to speak to her.”
“Mary-Belle, how are you? I’ve been so worried. I told my cousin about you…he was the one who got me released that day. He paid the governor to let me out and he said he would do the same for you. His solicitor sent a man to the prison, but you had been released already…”
She paused when she detected the slightest flutter of her friend’s eyelids. “Oh, look, do you think she heard me?”
“Yes, I think so.” Lucy leaned forward to stroke the hair away from her sister’s forehead. “Mary-Belle, dear, you have a visitor.”
The thin lips twitched in a parody of a smile. Slowly, painfully, the woman in the bed opened her eyes and gazed straight at Clarissa. Her lips worked again, and Clarissa fancied she mouthed ‘hello’.
“Hello,” Clarissa replied, then bent to kiss the sunken, sallow cheek. “I came as soon as I heard from Lucy that you were home and unwell. I… I brought you some broth. My cousin’s cook is very good, and she made this same soup for me. It is nourishing and tasty…”
“I shall give her some later,” Lucy assured her. “We are trying to get her to eat, but she shows little interest. The last time she was in prison, six months ago now, she rallied much more quickly than this. Mind, that was only for a month. Still, given time and proper rest, I’m sure she will soon be her old self again. Is that not right, dear?”
Mary-Belle managed a nod, then squeezed Clarissa’s hand.
“Your cousin sounds like a very kind man, and caring.” Lucy made the observation as she stroked the paper-thin skin on her sister’s cheek. “Do you not agree, Mary-Belle? He sent someone to get you out of jail.”
Again, Mary-Belle gave a small nod.
“I only wish I’d asked him earlier. You could have been spared those last few days in there.”
May-Belle squeezed her hand again and opened her mouth to say something but could barely manage a rasping croak.
“Don’t try to speak,” Clarissa urged. “You must not tire yourself.”
“Is that your cousin’s car parked in front of the house?” Lucy asked.
“It is. He…he lent it to me, along with the driver, when I told him I wished to visit Mary-Belle.”
“It is a fine vehicle. I have never seen finer. He must be a wealthy man.”
“He is a viscount. And yes, he is wealthy. His house is Smallwood Manor, in Hertfordshire. I grew up there as the ward of his father, after my parents died. James is quite a bit older than I am. He was in the army and then involved in business. I must confess, I did not really know him that well as he was away from Smallwood much of the time.”
“But he is not away now?” Lucy could not conceal her curiosity.
Clarissa shook her head. “No. He now lives at Smallwood and wishes me to remain there, too. He owns a publishing house and publishes The Citizen. It is a magazine…”
“Yes, we have seen it, haven’t we, Mary-Belle? I have not read it, I prefer the Englishwoman’s Journal, but I am sure it is very good.”
“That’s what’s so exciting.” Clarissa beamed at them both. “James has encouraged me to write articles about the Women’s Social and Political Union, and about our struggle. He has published them in The Citizen, and through his contacts in Fleet Street he has even managed to get a piece I wrote into The Times. Can you imagine? He is helping me to get our message to those who might have the power to help us.”
“So, your cousin the viscount is a supporter of the suffragette movement?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Not really. He has forbidden me to participate in direct action anymore. He fears for my safety and does not wish me to be sent back to Holloway, but in return for my cooperation and agreement, he has used his influence to promote our cause lawfully.”
“I cannot but wish Mary-Belle had such a protector. It pains me to see her so ill and to know it is the fault of those brutes who purport to uphold the law. If I could get my hands on those so-called doctors in Holloway, I’d stick the tube down their throats myself.”
“And I would help you. I believe James might, too. He is most incensed at the force-feeding regime and determined to use his contacts in the newspaper industry to convince Mr Asquith and those in government to stop it.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Lucy observed. “And you? Are you no longer involved in the struggle then?”
Clarissa shook her head. “I am a writer now, and I hope to make a difference that way.”
“You do not look especially happy
about that, if I may say so.”
“I feel guilty, as though I took the easy way out and let down the other women who are suffering, as Mary-Belle did. Still is. But… I confess, I was terrified the whole time I was in jail, and James’ alternative sounded so much more tempting. I tell myself I’m still doing my bit, but it is not the same. As you say, I am no longer engaged in the struggle.”
Mary-Belle had lain still and quiet as her sister and Clarissa talked, but now worked to speak again. Clarissa thought she heard a ‘no’ in among the croaking.
“My sister does not agree with you, and I think, neither do I. If your words can reach those in power and influence them, that also serves the cause. You have an opportunity to make a difference and you should use it.”
“So, I am to sit at my desk at Smallwood, safe and comfortable, writing articles describing the horrors faced daily by my sisters?”
Both Lucy and Mary-Belle nodded.
“There. You see. We are in agreement. Does Mrs Pankhurst know of your activities?”
“I wrote to her, last week. That was before my article was published in The Times. I have not yet had a reply.”
“She will tell you the same as we have.”
“Mrs Pankhurst favours deeds, not words.”
“She is no fool. She will see, as we both do, that the right words in the right place can change the world.”
“That is what James thinks.”
“Then he is wise, as well as kind and generous. You are fortunate to have such a cousin prepared to help you.”
“He…he wants to be more than just my cousin.”
Both women turned their gaze on her, waiting.
“He wants to marry me. I have said ‘no’, obviously.”
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