Suffragette in the City Page 5

  “Really? How curious. You know what I don’t wear, Annie—separate those things out and pack them up for the unemployed governesses.”

  I brushed off my knees and hurried down to the drawing room. Helena sat on a particularly slippery horsehair loveseat, clad in a lovely peach-colored watered silk day dress cut in the latest fashion. My mouth watered at the sight of it.

  As I entered the room, she twisted matching peach-colored gloves, too distracted to notice the destruction she inflicted, jumping up when she saw me.

  “Lady Helena, how delightful to see you again. Is Lady Sherringham with you?”

  “Oh no,” she gasped, horrified. “Letitia thinks I’m at a fitting. She would not be—that is, she would not approve—” She stopped, blushed, and started again. “Forgive me for visiting you this way, Miss Whitney, but I simply must speak with you.”

  I smiled encouragingly, and waved her back towards the couch. “In what way may I help you?”

  “It is I who wish to help,” she declared dramatically, one hand to her bosom, the other outstretched. “Miss Whitney, I would very much like to join the Women’s Suffrage Union, and to fight for the rights of women everywhere. I applaud the way you stood up to Griffin yesterday—it was magnificent! You are the very epitome of the New Woman, and oh, how I wish I could be as well. I would never dare to speak in such a manner to Griffin as you did. He gets so angry about those sorts of things.”

  “Indeed,” I said dryly. I liked her; she was rather shy and prone to dramatic attitudes and phrases, but it was clear that she harbored a strong desire to get out from under her family’s stifling control. “It is not my place to advise you how to speak with your brother, but I will admit that it’s my heartfelt belief that one should be free to express one’s opinion in one’s own home.”

  “Oh, I agree, I absolutely agree. Tell me what I must do, I beg of you. I look to you for advice, for I have no one else to whom I can turn.”

  Another dramatic speech, I smiled to myself. “You understand that I am in an awkward position with regards to your family. I cannot tell you what to do, nor is it my wish to cause friction at home.”

  “But you spoke so bravely to Griffin yesterday! You stood up to him and made him respect you!” She looked down at her hands for a moment. “I would like to be able to speak so openly and make him respect me as well.”

  “You are his sister—of course he respects you!”

  “Not in the manner he does you,” she replied with a faint smile.

  “Oh, come now, Lady Helena, I don’t believe in false compliments. Although you believe I spoke with bravery yesterday, it was, in hindsight, an error to speak so rudely at a polite gathering, and for my part, I am ashamed of how things got out of hand.”

  “But you shouldn’t be! Ashamed, that is. Griffin admires you very much, he told me so.”

  I blinked at her in disbelief.

  “You have to understand, Miss Whitney, he is a very strong man, and despite his protests, he has the greatest respect for a woman who can stand up to him.”

  “He has an extremely odd manner of showing his respect.”

  She caught the tone of sarcasm in my voice and let a slight smile play across her lips. “I believe you are similarly minded, Miss Whitney. I doubt if you tolerate well those of weak intellect.”

  There being no need to deny to that, I rose and pressed the bell. “Would you care for coffee? Or perhaps you would prefer tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She looked at her gloves for a moment, then spoke again. “You were so eloquent about the Women’s Suffrage Union last night; I wonder…would it be possible—would you take me to one of their meetings? I would like to join their cause, but I would be afraid to go on my own. If I could attend with you, I would feel much more comfortable about participating.”

  I admit I was surprised, but equally delighted. Here was a woman who was very much under the thumb of a pair of tyrannical brothers and a cold sister-in-law, and yet she was willing to fight to have her own voice. A pleasurable picture arose in my mind of the two of us, side-by-side, marching in sisterhood for women’s rights, waving our banners and breaking down the wall of male domination. There was only one blot in such a heartwarming image.

  Her family.

  “There is a meeting tonight at the home of one of the officers, Mrs. Knox,” I mused out loud. “Although not strictly a membership meeting, I don’t see what objections they could have to your attending it. What of your family? Surely they will pose objections? I am afraid that I have not made the . . . er . . . very best of impressions with them, and we both know how Mr. St. John feels about women’s suffrage.”

  “Your introduction may have been slightly unorthodox, but you have made quite an impression with Griffin.” She paused. “I will admit that he does not support women’s rights, but I have determined to not let that stand in my way. I don’t believe Griffin will have any objections to my attending meetings in your company.”

  “That astonishes me greatly, I must confess. While I have known your brother only a short time, I’m afraid the impression he has left upon me is one of boorishness and a closed mind.” Wrapped up in an incredibly attractive package, but I needn’t tell her of the more lustful of my thoughts. “I fear you are in for more dissension than you are allowing.”

  Helena looked shocked, and made an exclamation. I halted her by saying, “Forgive me for speaking so rudely, but Mr. St. John’s opinions are exactly those against which we are struggling! If you wish to take a part in this glorious battle, you must be prepared to face such beliefs, and to do your best to educate those ignorant minds, as I have strived to do.”

  “But,” she stammered, “that is not at all what he was saying last night, at home—he is not at all like that—”

  I cut short her protestations. “I will give you some literature that states the Women’s Suffrage Union views, which you may use as a verbal sword when attacked by those of weaker intellect.”

  “I suppose that would help…”

  I rose and gathered a collection of pamphlets from the desk. The tea arrived, and as I handed Helena a cup, I motioned towards the pamphlets.

  “Take these home with you. I feel firmly that your family will oppose you attending the Union’s meetings, but since you are determined . . . .” My eyebrows rose questioningly.

  She nodded. “There is one thing I should tell you, Miss Whitney. It is about my brother.”

  “Something more?”

  “No, it is about my older brother, Lord Sherringham.” She paused, and clasped her hands in distress. “He has very different opinions than ours, as you might have noticed.”

  I remembered with clarity his rude comments outside of the Hospital Ball.

  “I should warn you that he has taken a stand against suffrage in the House of Lords, and is considered one of the leading proponents against our noble cause.”

  I mentally groaned. Oh, I had put myself in a fine position—mentor to the only sister of the enemy camp’s leading supporter. Swallowing my concern, I smiled grimly at her. “We certainly have our work cut out for us, do we not?”

  “I look forward to joining the Women’s Union tonight, and declaring myself in the war against men.”

  “It’s not quite a war,” I cautioned, disliking her to believe that violence was a part of Union work. “Nor is it really a Union meeting tonight. I don’t want you to be disappointed—the recording secretary is ill, and I will be taking notes of a meeting between a few of the officers only. They will be discussing the roster of active suffragists, and beginning to plan the demonstrations that we will hold in the coming months. It’s bound to be a bit tedious. Are you sure you want to come?”

  “Very much so. We are to go to dinner at a distant cousin’s, but I am sure I can get out of it.” She looked up at me with sudden humor. “I believe I shall have a headache, and retire early to my bed.”

  We agreed that Helena would meet me at my sister’s home, and from here we wou
ld drive to the meeting at Mrs. Knox’s house near the British Museum. After a few more pleasantries and another cup of tea, Helena departed. I went back to the task of sorting out clothes for charity, and spent the rest of the day in fittings for several new dresses.

  As I tried on the garments, I reveled in the feminine pleasure of purchasing an entirely new wardrobe. Prior to my father’s death some two months past, I was allowed little scope with regards to anything but the most mundane of fashions. Once I arrived in London, however, I was driven by the desire to appear, if not in the latest fashions, at the least somewhat fashionably dressed. I could only conclude that the giddy joy of ordering as many clothes as I desired had led me to the regrettable purchase of the pink fairy dancing slippers.

  “I’ll take three of the lawn shirtwaists, and two of the tweed walking skirts—one navy, one brown—and I’d like to look at walking suits. Those are the ones with narrower skirts and the cunning matching jackets, yes? Those should be perfect for any marches I participate in.”

  “Yes, indeed they would be perfect,” Madame Renoir the modiste simpered at me, taking down my order with a flurry of her hands as she directed her girls into parading the latest models before me.

  I had a short argument with Madame Renoir about the Healthy and Artistic Dress Union, which denounced as unnatural and unhealthy the current fad of forcing women’s figures into an unnatural S-shape. Emma felt as I did, but I could tell by the willowy form that Helena presented that she was on the other side so far as corsets went. Perhaps one day I would convince her as to the wisdom of throwing away her corset. Another verbal scuffle broke out when I demanded the new “combinations” as they were called, but after a sizeable order that consisted of several pieces of fine lawn knickers and chemises, relations turned amiable again.

  Riding high on the crest of my success of dismissing the need for a corset, in a moment of pure indulgence I commissioned the creation of four evening gowns of the new Empire style, each with a high waist and short sleeves. “You’re sure it’s not too revealing,” I said, eyeing with concern the model as she turned and pirouetted in front of me.

  “But non! It is the very latest style. Your corset, it will keep you all that is modest.”

  “But we just—”

  “If you wish to wear these gowns, you must have the corsets,” Madame insisted.

  I was half tempted to walk out, but the lovely silks and gauzes as displayed by the models swayed my concerns of healthfulness.

  “Fine,” I told her after ordering the new gowns. “I will get a corset, but it will be one of my choosing.”

  There was nothing she could say to that, so I left, and accordingly went shopping for a Rational corset that was not constricting or binding.

  The day passed quickly, and I was still dressing for the Union meeting when Helena arrived. As Annie buttoned me into a cream colored linen skirt with thin blue stripes and matching pale blue shirtwaist, I hunted for my small leather notebook. “Have you seen it, Annie?”

  A short, stout woman with charming dimples, Annie was the one person I was happy to bring with me from my old home. Despite a disfigurement to her face, she normally maintained a sunny disposition and never failed to cheer me up. “I thought it was in your stocking drawer.”

  “Why would I put it…well, for heaven’s sake, so it is. I won’t be home until late, Annie, so you may have the evening off.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  I eyed her before I left the room. Annie was a favorite with my sister Mabel’s household, and I sometimes worried that her attachment to Jackson, the coachman, was not reciprocated and would end in disaster. Tonight she seemed moody and distracted, although she denied any ailment or personal problems. “Is anything amiss?”

  “No, miss. I’m fine, thank you.”

  Hmm. She didn’t look fine. Still, I hated to pry. I told her to enjoy herself and hurried down to Helena. She was wearing a stunning pale pink dress—a sheer tunic covered the dark silk underskirt, very narrow and elegant, with a matching coat. A pink hat decorated with feathers and dried flowers completed her ensemble.

  “Good heavens, Lady Helena,” I said in stark admiration, “That dress is absolutely mouth-watering. It’s like spun sugar.”

  She waved her hand depreciatingly and asked, “Please call me Helena. I don’t use the title, and even though we’ve known each other only a short while, I feel as if you are an old and dear friend.”

  I consented, and sent Theodore, the footman, in search of a cab.

  “Is your friend Miss Debenham not joining us?”

  “Emma? No, she’s not at all interested in the cause. Well, I should correct that—she is interested, but she has her studies to attend to. Her insights are very much in demand at Sappho’s Circle.”

  “Is that a literary salon?” Helena asked.

  “I believe it’s some sort of club for Greek scholars. She mentioned something about occasionally staying overnight when she was engaged in late-night study sessions.”

  Helena, no more a scholar than I was, murmured something noncommittal.

  “Did you manage your headache with success?” I asked with a smile.

  “Oh yes—well, I think I did.”

  I looked at her questioningly. “I’m afraid Griffin suspects something. He told me, just as he and my brother and sister-in-law were leaving, to please be careful with whatever it was I was planning.”

  “Oh, dear. That does sound rather ominous.” I chewed my lip in thought as we entered the cab.

  “I never could hide anything from Griffin.”

  “I’m surprised he let you stay home alone, if he suspected you. I had thought his opinion of women would demand that he play watchdog.”

  “You are mistaken about Griffin, truly you are. You must give him credit for having suffered a broken heart.”

  “A broken heart? Mr. St. John?” I asked incredulously.

  “It happened a long time ago, when I was a girl, but I know Griffin still feels it a great deal.” She looked at me sideways. “Rather, I thought he did.”

  I said nothing, but looked at her inquiringly.

  “When Griffin was eighteen, he fell madly in love with Grace Perry, the cousin of my sister-in-law, Letitia. I was living with Harold and Letitia then, my parents having died some years earlier, and Griffin had just returned from his Grand Tour. Grace was staying with us, and Griffin—well, you know how these things can happen.”

  I nodded, absorbed in a variety of mental images, many of which concerned just what Griffin looked like underneath all those clothes.

  “Grace was a very outspoken woman, rather rough and common I think now, although she impressed me at the time. She was a little older than Griffin, and had done a lot of traveling by herself. Although she was fond of him, I don’t believe that she ever loved him in return.”

  “Were they engaged?”

  “No, not formally, although I believe he had been pressing her. She left shortly thereafter.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “She and Griffin had an argument one night. My sister-in-law was having a dinner and Griffin tried to press Grace into a commitment so they could announce their engagement that night.” She glanced at me, her lips curling slightly. “I was supposed to be upstairs since I was too young to attend the dinner, but I had hidden in my brother’s library and was reading a book of fairy tales. Griffin and Grace did not know I was curled up on a chair when they had their argument.”

  “Ah. So the lady jilted your brother?” This was delicious gossip, and as ashamed as I was for participating in it, I reveled in every moment.

  “Yes. She told Griffin that she had no intention of marrying him, that he was not the type of man any sane woman would spend the rest of her life with, and she did not intend to waste the best years of her life adapting her lifestyle to his.”

  “That was rather blunt of her.”

  “Griffin was furious. He spoke quietly, but I knew he was mad—his voice drop
s when he gets very angry. Grace made rather a common scene, and stormed out of the room. She refused to appear at dinner, and left shortly thereafter. Griffin would not speak of her, but I knew he must have been terribly hurt.”

  I suspected that a good part of the hurt was due to wounded pride, but did not voice that opinion.

  “That is why, dear Cassandra, you must make allowance for Griffin’s attitude towards outspoken women. Should the right woman come along,” she dropped her gaze to her hands, “she might find that she could heal his wounded heart.”

  “More likely she would have her head snapped off for trying,” I said dryly, and spent the remainder of the ride in contemplation of him nonetheless.

  Chapter Six

  Mrs. Knox lived in a small, white stone building on the quiet edge of Russell Square. Climbing the steps to the house, I cautioned Helena about detailing her relationship with Lord Sherringham. “It is not that they would refuse you admittance into the Union, but they might feel hesitant to discuss topics of a sensitive nature, such as the plans for our next demonstration and protests, before they know you well.”

  She nodded, but had no time to say anything before we were admitted. The women welcomed her, and without much delay, the meeting commenced. Each member contributed many ideas and opinions as to the Union’s planned activism, so many that although I wrote quickly, I was hard put to keep up with the pace of the ideas that flowed forth. Petitions were organized, deputations were planned, marches plotted, demonstrations ordered, and processions detailed. I tucked a list of volunteers assigned to each event into my notebook, to be typed up later.

  “I cannot see what good these plans will be when we will not be taken seriously by the press and the public until they see we are committed body and soul to the cause,” a petite red-haired Irish woman named Maggie interrupted the speaker as she reviewed the final list of activities for the next month.

  “We do not condone violent acts—” one of the other Union officials started to say.