Crooked Pieces (7 page)

A cold wind – more than cold – a wind of brick-hard ice seemed to have wrapped me round. That my pa could hold such a thought.

‘Ma will be well,’ I said, clenching my hands together. ‘Once the baby comes.’

‘And there’s another mouth to feed.’

I know not what stirred me but I could bear it no more, his complaining. ‘Pa, do you not put the babies in Ma? Why can you not stop?’

We both stood still and Evelyn, who was cold, began to squeak.

Pa stared at me, quite blank with fury. I knew then how Ma
must feel when he takes his hand to her. He raised his arm and Evelyn, wobbling on his shoulders, caught hold of it and squeaked the more. He lowered his arm again and turned away. We walked home without a single word between us, having seen no salmon.

When we got back all the pans were washed and the dinner things away. Mrs Grant had gone and Ma was sat in the front room with Will tearing at her hair. If ever I have a child I will shave my head, I think, for there can be nothing worse than to have it dragging at you every moment.

Miss Annie said we should leave soon if we were to take the omnibus as Sundays are difficult. Ma came with us to the door. ‘I thank you, ma’am, for all your kindness today.’

Miss Annie shook her head. ‘The kindness is yours, Mrs Robins, to listen to me and spare me your time.’

As we walked to the stop I wondered if she would tell me what they had spoken of while Pa and I were out walking. She seemed deep in thought but once we were settled on the bus she turned to me. ‘Maggie, I cannot thank you enough for today.’

I was surprised, for it seemed little of a day to me, to be at someone’s house washing their children and cooking the dinner.

‘I have talked with your ma and Mrs Grant and they will speak to the other women in the street.’

‘What about, miss?’ I asked, feeling very dull.

‘There is to be a rally. On February 19
^th
– the day Parliament re-opens – as many women as we can muster will meet at Caxton Hall in Westminster to hear if the King’s Speech contains a bill for suffrage – giving women the vote.
Mrs Pankhurst will address the assembly, and Miss Christabel, too, with luck. It will be a mighty occasion. But I have been charged with stirring up the women of London and it is not an easy task. Your ma can help me talk to some I would not otherwise meet and we must hope they will spread the word about.’ She wiped her hand across her brow and for a moment looked very tired. ‘Oh, but it is a big job and no mistake. A mighty job. Still,’ she squeezed my arm and again looked very chirpy, ‘we have made a good start, you and I, today.’ Though I had not understood one word in six of what she had told me, I felt exceeding proud.

Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie have been rushed off their feet these last few weeks. Ladies have come and gone bringing leaflets and posters, all to be stacked in Miss Sylvia’s room till it looks like a paper factory. Once, the old man who we saw at the theatre, that winked at me, came. He showed no such impudence this time, I am happy to say, or he would have found mud on his coat when it came time for him to leave. Miss Sylvia seems very fond of him and listens to him with great respect.

The Wednesday meetings are back and this week we were all given handbills about the rally at Caxton Hall. I did not know what to do with mine so showed it to Cook who made a ‘tch’ing sound and put it straight on the fire. Though she does not say so, I think she is vexed with me for spending so much time above stairs, yet the mistress truly encourages it and is herself much occupied with writing letters to the newspapers.

Miss Sylvia asked me to help her with rolling up her posters but I spent so long admiring them that in the end she did it all
herself. She did not seem to mind. When I told Cook, she said if I had nothing better to do she would find me something and made me unpick two whole rows of Will’s new coat. I had better make haste, else it will be too small. The baby’s blanket is finished. I do not think I can ask to go home again yet, for it is less than a month, but if Miss Annie is really to talk to the women in our street, perhaps she will take it for me.

Well, thank goodness for Mrs Drummond. Just when Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie seemed fit to drop and everything an utter muddle, arrives Mrs Drummond
with
a typewriter. I am ashamed I did not believe her the first time, for then it seemed impossible that she should have use of such a thing. Now, after three days of her sweeping in and out, I think there is not one thing impossible for her, except, perhaps, to speak English that I can fathom.

Every morning she is up when I am, breakfasts off a piece of bread and some butter, then off to the omnibus, her arms fair dropping with bills and posters. Back in the afternoon, a cup of tea and a cake, then off again to knock the doors and wheedle the women into promising their attendance. From what Miss Sylvia says, a good few of the men have given permission for their wives to go. It would be brave man could refuse Mrs Drummond, I’m thinking, for though she is not fierce like Cook, she is very firm and does not like to lose a fight.

First Cook did not like her at all, for she came bustling down to the kitchen and tried to instruct her in a Scottish gruel with oats and salt and water. Cook sniffed mightily and said she thought she was above serving slops to her employers, but Mrs Drummond just laughed till the tears ran
down her face and said, ‘That’s me in my place,’ (according to Cook, who speaks a morsel of Scottish) and after that she begged Cook’s pardon and said it was just that she was sad sick for her babbies and the gruel would make her think herself back home. The next we know, Cook is making a great tub of it and it is vile indeed, although if you stir some sugar in, it is much improved.

Mrs Drummond came back all white like a statue this afternoon. Cook asked if someone had thrown a bag of flour over her, but Mrs Drummond just laughed and said, no, she had been chalking all over the pavements to tell people about the rally. I wondered how she had got away with it. When I asked her she just gave me a great big wink and said, ‘I hae my ways, little one,’ or something like that.

Miss Annie told me she would be seeing Ma this morning and had I any message for her? I asked that she would take the blanket and tell Ma I am working a coat for Will. Also I gave her three shillings to give to Ma and a ham bone that Cook had left for throwing out, as too small to make a soup of. Poor Miss Annie looked like a Hebrew slave, so weighed down was she when she left.

Miss Annie says Ma is feeling better. She sent thanks for the money and the ham bone and says Frank was home last Sunday as his ship was docked at Tilbury. I asked Miss Annie if she had seen Pa but she said, no, he was working. Alfie, too, which is good to hear. He has employment shifting coal for Mr Turner – a shilling a day. I only hope he will not lose it coming home. Miss Annie said Evelyn begged to have her hair washed but there was not time. She has promised to do it
soon. Will has another tooth. I asked about my nan. ‘She is not so well, Maggie, but I gave your ma some mint leaves for her to ease the bloating.’

‘How could you know what to take her, miss?’

Miss Annie laughed. ‘Maggie, before I go out each day, I skim the garden. There is always something will serve and it’s cheaper than the apothecary.’

‘And did you talk to many women, miss?’

‘I did. Your ma is a regular recruiting sergeant. She took me from house to house and at every one of them we got a cup of tea. I tell you, Maggie, by the time we were done I was fair bursting for the lavvy.’

‘And will they come to the rally?’

Miss Annie shrugged. ‘Some will, I’m sure. I’m to talk to another group on Friday night – friends of your ma that she sings with, and some others at the wash-house. Oh, we shall get there by and by, but it’s a long ladder we’re climbing. Still, when I see women so wretched and worn down with work and child-bearing…’ She stopped and I knew she feared to have hurt my feelings.

‘If anyone can make my ma’s life better, I would do all I could to help them,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘I never doubted it, Maggie. And you wait. Things will get better for women soon, and it’ll be the likes of thee and me and your poor ma they’ll have to thank.’

On the day of the rally we were all up early. Me to light the fires and get my chores done, for Mrs Roe said I must certainly go to the meeting, though Cook made faces like a thundercloud and muttered all day about giddy-gaddying and
wasting good working time and how I should have to make it up come Saturday.

When it was time to go she gave me a slice of currant cake wrapped in paper and threepence. ‘For your fare. Mrs Roe may do as she pleases, but you must come back and finish the pressing afore you go to bed.’ I thanked her and said I wished she was coming too. She went bright pink and said she couldn’t be doing with such nonsense and any woman with any sense should know better than to leave her family and go flibbertigibbeting all over town. Since I have done reading recipes to Cook she has taken to hearing stories from
The Ladies’ Home Journal
and her words are becoming wondrous fancy.

Such a building is Caxton Hall! It is vast like a palace and full of wooden seats – row upon row – in a great space like a theatre, and corridors and mirrors and stairs leading off all over the place.

I was charged to put a programme on each chair, while a dozen or more ladies unrolled posters and pinned them to the walls and round the stage, on which was set a table and some chairs, much like at the Albert Hall. I greatly feared we were to hear more speeches of the kind delivered there and wondered if I might creep away when I had done my work and walk about outside till the meeting was over.

In the entrance we set up trestle-tables which we covered with great white cloths and then piled high with leaflets and handbills. We uncoiled flags – glorious blood red – and hung them round the walls and over the entrance, then back to the main hall to dress the stage with white and purple banners.
Miss Billington was fixing one. She asked me if it was straight. I nodded. ‘And it’s the right way up this time, miss.’ She gave me a very funny look.

By noon the hall was mostly ready and we went into a room behind the stage where lemonade and bread with potted meat and jam pastries were spread out all along one side. I did not think I should be allowed, but Miss Sylvia spotted me and led me right up to where a huge lady with the biggest hat you ever saw was pouring tea. ‘Mrs Montefiore, may I introduce Maggie? She has worked like a Trojan to help us get ready for today.’

The huge lady held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Maggie,’ she said. I bowed my head, thinking she must surely be a royal person with such a hat, for all she had a foreign name.

At two o’clock the doors were opened and ladies, two or three at a time, began to wander in. By half past two the hall was but a quarter full. I could see Miss Annie and Miss Sylvia in earnest talk with Mrs Drummond who, as always, looked exceedingly cheerful and kept shaking her head and laughing as though it were the simplest thing in the world to fill the place to bursting.

As I was helping to lay out teacups there came a flurry of voices outside and through the door swept Mrs Pankhurst herself, so fine in a lilac coat and hat to match.

‘Where’s Annie? Find her for me, please, and tell her I must speak to her at once.’ A lady rushed off, returning with Miss Annie who looked very down and harassed.

Mrs Pankhurst embraced her kindly. ‘Well, Annie, how have you done? Where are all our workers? We can’t just
preach to the converted.’ Poor Miss Annie looked as though she wished the ground would swallow her.

‘Mrs Drummond and Sylvia and I have been about every single day, talking to the women. We could get no firm promises, but I truly thought more would be here, Mrs Pankhurst.’

Mrs Pankhurst gave a little shrug. ‘Well, it cannot be helped. A few are better than none. And those that hear Mr Keir Hardie will go home converted, I am sure.’ At this moment they were joined by Miss Sylvia and Miss Christabel who seemed a little displeased with each other.

Miss Christabel fair pounced on Mrs Pankhurst. ‘Have you seen this, Mother? What Sylvia and Annie have achieved between them? If there are two hundred people out there I should be surprised. And all of them belonging already, I’ll be bound.’

Miss Sylvia, distressed, I could tell, murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. It hasn’t been for lack of trying. We have all been working like dogs.’

‘Dogs would have done a better job,’ snorted Miss Christabel.

Mrs Pankhurst put a hand on her arm. ‘We must make do with those we’ve got, Christabel. We have the hall, we have an audience, we have our speaker. And we have the Press. Let’s see if we can’t rouse a few headlines, come what may.’

Just then one of the younger ladies came hurrying in and handed Mrs Pankhurst a letter. She read it, folded it, put it in her pocket. We all waited. ‘Mr Hardie sends his apologies, but regrets he is unable to attend this afternoon.’

There was a veritable gasp around the room. Mrs
Pankhurst raised her shoulders. ‘Perhaps it is just as well, seeing we have so small a gathering for him. Annie, you will speak as arranged and I will say a few words. What they will be will depend on the King’s Speech.’

‘Well, whatever it is, Mother, please make sure it raises their appetites.’

I had never heard Miss Sylvia speak so sharply.

‘Oh, I shall endeavour to do that,’ said her mother. ‘I usually manage something of the kind.’

‘Good,’ replied Miss Sylvia, ‘for we’ve five hundred currant buns to dispose of before anyone goes home.’

Miss Christabel burst out laughing. ‘Oh well done, my sister. No recruits but you’ve sorted out the eating arrangements. Perhaps that’s what you should stick to. It’s plainly what you’re best at.’

Miss Sylvia said nothing, but she bit her lip hard and walked clear out of the room. Miss Christabel seemed very little unsettled and set about ordering those remaining to various tasks. Me she sent out to the front to direct latecomers to their seats.

I was not halfway there when there came a sound – a sort of murmuring like distant bees, then, as it came closer, more like voices, women’s voices, then voices raised in song.