No Greater Love (15 page)

‘Come on, Alice!’ Felicity shouted. ‘Strip off and join us. We won’t look!’ The two swimmers giggled and splashed at each other.

Suddenly Alice felt an intruder. It made her uncomfortable.

‘I think I’ll just go and gather up my equipment,’ she shouted back. ‘It looks far too cold for me. I’ll see you before dinner and after a hot bath.’

‘Coward!’ Felicity called and waved her away.

As Alice retreated she could hear their laughter and chatter echo round the natural enclosure. She retraced her steps through the bluebells, trying to work out why she had felt so perturbed by the scene at the pool. It was more than just embarrassment at the sight of their naked white flesh shimmering under the clear water. They had seemed so intimate and at ease with each other, Alice was sure they must have swum naked together before. She shrugged. Old school friends often displayed an embarrassing familiarity which she, having never been sent away to school, could not comprehend. Perhaps it was akin to the strong sisterhood felt by some suffragettes, the ones who had suffered together in prison. She, on the other hand, had never felt really close to anyone. She was an observer, happiest looking on rather than fully participating in anything.

She collected her camera and tripod, noticing that the tea things had already been cleared away. What gossip would the servants carry back with the empty teacups? Alice wondered wryly.

Regaining the terrace, she saw a footman struggling up the front steps with a pile of packages from the Bentley and knew that her mother had returned.

‘Darling girl!’ Alice heard the shriek from halfway up the wide sweep of stairs. ‘You shouldn’t be out in the sun without a hat or parasol. And what on earth are you wearing? You look like a governess. Come and kiss me.’

Alice did as she was bidden, brushing the flushed powdered cheek that was offered her.

‘You’ve had an enjoyable outing, Mama?’ she asked dutifully, feeling a child again as she always did in her mother’s presence, despite her thirty-six years.

‘Thankful to be out of the city,’ Lady Arabella groaned. ‘All that smoke and smell - one quite forgets. I don’t know how you bear it. You’d be much healthier living here with us. You’ve the complexion of a shopgirl.’

Alice smiled and shifted the tripod under her arm, refusing to be drawn by her mother’s familiar jibe. It was tediously predictable that the older woman would spend the next few days bemoaning Alice’s wish to live in Newcastle rather than attend to her every wish like a dutiful spinster daughter should.

‘You will be staying for the ball this year, won’t you, Alice?’ Lady Arabella demanded. ‘And you’ll not sneak off in the middle to take photographs of the servants like the time before? Herbert was furious for weeks after you’d gone and it’s always me who has to calm him down, Felicity’s absolutely no use. Where is she anyway?’

‘In the garden with Poppy Beresford,’ Alice answered vaguely. ‘And no, I won’t be staying for the ball, I have meetings to attend.’

Her mother huffed. ‘Really, Alice, you’re a law unto yourself. I don’t know why we put up with your waywardness. Herbert will be most put out if you don’t stay.’

‘No he won’t, Mama,’ Alice answered calmly. ‘I only embarrass him with my lack of dancing skills.’

‘It might be your last chance...’ Arabella looked crossly at her daughter from under her vast hat of silk roses.

Alice knew her mother was referring to her prospects of marriage which had wilted like hothouse blooms many seasons ago, to Alice’s relief. But her mother would never give up trying to match her to the decreasing store of eligible bachelors who attended their summer house parties. It was a constant source of vexation that she had once turned down the offer of marriage from the younger son of the Marquess of Lynemouth.

Alice knew that once out of her mother’s sight she was largely out of mind and so kept her visits short and infrequent. By entertaining business envoys for her father, Lord Pearson, at Hebron House she secured an ally against her censorious mother. Alice found she enjoyed entertaining foreign dignitaries from China and Turkey and learning about the family business, a far more enjoyable fate than being the wife of a petty coal-owner whose main conversation was horse racing.

‘I need to prepare next week for Papa’s visitors from Venezuela,’ Alice answered sweetly, knowing her mother would raise no objection to this excuse to miss the Oxford Hall ball.

Her mother’s pretty blue eyes narrowed in annoyance.

‘Go and change for dinner,’ she ordered. ‘You look such a sight. And try and be civil to Herbert for one evening. I’ll not have you upsetting him with any talk of votes for women. You know Asquith is a personal friend of his.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Alice said, keeping her temper.

‘And that the Prime Minister will be attending the launch of HMS
Courageous
?’ her mother went on. ‘It’s very important for Herbert, now he’s considering going into politics.’

Alice stopped very still. Neither her father nor brother had said that Asquith would be at the launch of Pearson’s most prestigious and modern battleship, but her mother was incapable of being discreet.

‘You did know, didn’t you?’ Arabella asked, suddenly wary.

‘Of course,’ Alice smiled.

‘You’ve got that look on your face,’ her mother said in a panic. ‘You didn’t know Asquith was coming here to stay. Now, Alice, I absolutely forbid you to do anything rash. It’s Herbert’s future. If you spoil anything, I’ll have you cut off without a penny.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Mama,’ Alice said impatiently, ‘why should I want to do anything that’ll harm Papa’s business?’

Just at that moment there was a squeal from the landing above and Herbert and Felicity’s four-year-old son, Henry, came bumping down the stairs on his stomach. His distracted nanny came rushing after him with fretful words.

‘Henry darling!’ Arabella cried indulgently. But the boy ignored her proffered cheek and flung himself at Alice.

‘Take a photo of me, Aunt Alice. Take it now!’

Alice regained her balance and steadied the bumptious boy, glad for once of his lack of politeness.

‘Come outside then, Henry,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll take you by my car if you like.’

The boy hopped in excitement. ‘Can I go on it and pretend I’m driving?’

‘All right,’ Alice agreed, ignoring the protest from her mother and the scowls from Henry’s nanny.

The boy clung to her skirt and jumped down the remaining steps in twos, unwittingly helping Alice to escape her mother.

Later, after Henry had tired of photography and been chased back to the nursery, Alice lay soaking in a huge china bath and considered her dilemma.

The launch of the battleship in July and the visit of their adversary, Prime Minister Asquith, would be a golden opportunity for the Tyneside suffragettes to strike at the man who was proving their greatest obstacle to emancipation. And yet...

Alice lay in the warm steam and agonised.

She was afraid of letting events get out of control. It was fine while she felt she had influence over the militants like Emily Davison, choosing what were suitable targets for protest. But to sabotage her father’s business? No, she could not allow it, even if it did mean missing the opportunity of harassing and embarrassing Asquith.

Then a memory came into her mind and filled her with unease. Recently, at Hebron House, Emily Davison had urged that they try out the working-class girl from Elswick who had shown such disappointment at not being considered for the Derby Day protest.

‘The girl has spirit,’ Emily had insisted. ‘She was set upon the other night for selling newspapers and her mother’s refusing to let her continue. It’s time the movement harnessed her commitment before she gets discouraged or goes off and gets married.’

Alice had been unsure. ‘She’s not much use to us if she won’t defy her mother. Besides, this incident may have frightened her off,’ she said. ‘It’s no fun being roughed up and we get so few working-class girls who can stick at it. They have no ambition beyond marriage and spawning a dozen children.’

‘They have greater opposition at home to deal with than we do, and no private means,’ Emily replied stoutly. ‘You mustn’t let your prejudice against working women spoil Maggie Beaton’s chance to prove herself.’

Alice had been stung by the reproof and began to protest she had no such prejudice, but Emily was already continuing with enthusiasm. ‘We need to give her a mission - a touchpaper to light her fighting spirit.’

Alice thought of the small dark-haired girl now. All she remembered was a pasty, undernourished girl, like so many of those from the West End. Yet her eyes had been fierce and her look insubordinate and she had not been afraid to speak out in front of her social superiors, Alice remembered.

She was suddenly afraid that Emily might have the Beaton girl in mind for some sort of demonstration at the launch of HMS
Courageous
. She would have to scotch any such idea and keep an eye on Maggie Beaton. She was confident she could easily control the unsophisticated girl. And as for Emily, Alice thought with satisfaction, she would soon be off to Epsom.

Maggie busied herself resetting the tea table in the front room, annoyed at how nervous she felt at George Gordon’s impending arrival. She might have been more composed had Susan not thought to invite Aunt Violet and Uncle Barny round too, which meant that Richard Turvey would also be present. Maggie was sure Susan had done so because she resented her courting. She has no reason to be jealous, Maggie thought; she only looked upon George as a friend. Marriage was out of the question. As for Susan, Maggie felt sure her sister would soon get her wish for a husband and home of her own. If only the wretched Richard would notice how much he meant to her, they might all have more peace around the house.

‘Don’t touch the table!’ Susan flicked a cloth at her sister. ‘It’s just how it should be.’

‘I was only trying to help,’ Maggie replied, dropping a spoon.

‘Well, don’t,’ Susan snapped, bending to pick it up.

The flat was stuffy from the heat of the two fires and Susan’s mammoth afternoon baking. Maggie looked at her red-faced and irritable sister and realised how tired she must be. She took the spoon from Susan’s hand and said, ‘I’ll brew the tea. You go and have five minutes’ lie down. You look all done in.’

Susan looked about to protest, then acquiesced. ‘Maybes just for a minute. You’ll not let Helen or Tich near the baking, mind?’

‘I’ll guard the scones with me life.’ Maggie pushed her sister from the room.

For a brief peaceful ten minutes, Maggie sat in companionable silence with her grandmother at the open kitchen door while the old woman read her Bible. Maggie watched a sparrow flitting around the wash-house roof and disappear under its eaves. Then her mother and Helen burst in the front door with a blanket full of clothes, with Jimmy on their heels complaining he was hungry.

Helen dashed away to try on a new acquisition from a Jesmond patron, disturbing Susan who emerged bleary-eyed and crosser than before. Maggie was almost relieved when her aunt and uncle appeared.

‘Where’s Richard?’ Helen demanded, preening in her green and yellow dress with an extravagantly lacy collar.

‘He’s coming later - work to attend to,’ Aunt Violet said with a sniff. ‘You look dressed for the mayor’s ball, not Saturday tea.’ She gave Helen a disapproving look. ‘Mabel, you spoil that lass something rotten.’

‘Fancy, isn’t it?’ Helen replied, unabashed.

‘Mabel, she’s too young to be dressed up like that.’

‘Leave the lass be,’ Mabel sighed, flopping into a chair.

‘Mam, you’re that tired,’ Susan fussed, ‘put your feet up. Aunt Violet, you don’t mind giving me a hand, do you? Uncle Barny, you go on in the parlour and have a seat.’

‘A glass to wet the whistle would be canny,’ Barny grinned, hobbling into the front room.

‘Grand idea,
^’
Mabel agreed with her brother, ignoring Violet’s tuttings.

Susan dispatched Jimmy to the Gunners with an empty jug.

At six o’clock, George Gordon arrived. Susan eyed him with suspicion, Violet and Helen with curiosity.

‘Come in, George,’ Mabel waved. ‘We don’t bite.’

‘Evening, Mrs Beaton,’ George smiled cautiously, removing his cap. An awkward silence settled on the room. Helen continued to gawp.

Violet suddenly spoke. ‘Aye, Gordons of Benwell? I know the family - always trouble. Were you the one I threw out the baccy shop for stealing Woodbines?’

Maggie was about to protest when George answered, ‘I’ve never smoked. You must be thinking of Joshua - he’s partial to Woodbines.’

Violet clicked her tongue and Susan continued to make tea as if he were not there.

‘Take him in the parlour, Maggie,’ Mabel ordered. ‘Show him we Beatons have manners.’

Maggie led the way, trying to cover her nervousness with talk. ‘Come and meet Uncle Barny and let him tell you about the siege of Lichtenburg - it’s his favourite story. He was with the Fusiliers - lost a leg.’

‘Am I ganin’ to tell the story or are you?’ Barny asked, looking eagerly at the newcorner. ‘Sit yoursel’ doon, lad, but mind me leg.’

Barny immediately launched into reminiscing, but within minutes George had the old soldier spluttering over his clay pipe.

‘What do you mean you’ve sympathy for the Boer?’ Barny demanded. ‘They shot me bloody leg off.’

‘You were the victim of British imperial aggression,’ George continued, oblivious of Maggie’s frantic signals to change the subject. ‘What business do we have snatching large chunks of Africa from the African any road?’

‘We’re there to civilise them, of course,’ Barny answered, bewildered.

‘Herding Boer women and children into diseased camps is civilised, is it?’ George was scathing.

‘They started the war!’ Barny blustered.

‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea, George?’ Maggie asked desperately.

‘Anything stronger?’ George grinned.

‘Jimmy’s fetchin’ wallop,’ Barny growled, ‘and by lad I’ll be needin’ it if I’ve to listen to any more from this bugger.’

That only encouraged George. ‘Haway, man! We’re in Africa to steal minerals and use the African as cheap labour. Our ruling classes are good at that - exploiting labour. They’ve done it here for long enough.’