A Time for Courage (25 page)

Hannah shook the thought from her head. The classes must not stop. They were important for the women and perhaps Joe would be proud of her, and then she paused. But of course he wouldn’t, not now, not after that afternoon, and besides, Eliza had told her that he was busy with commissions for furniture now that his course was finished and how strange, Eliza had said, that he never mentions you, Hannah. Hannah felt the train slowing now, the brakes squealing as they drew into the station past the buff-painted roof of the station master’s house and the lattice windows of the waiting-room. So Joe would not want to hear of her Sunday class, would he?

The porter held open the door while they stepped down on to the platform. Hannah drew her coat around her, guiding Esther towards the waiting-room. They stood by the fire, the brass scuttle glinting in the light, and Hannah watched from the window as the guard walked up and down with a green flag under his arm. The flower beds on the platform were edged with whitewashed stones and blue crocuses with tissue sheathed stems struggled in the wind. Across the tracks were carts with lowered backs into which boys were lifting goods brought by the train.

The wind caught at the cap of one and he ran stamping with his feet but he did not catch it until it was brought up sharp against the drystone wall which bordered the track. Hannah laughed, the sound bursting from her, and she turned towards Esther, who was rubbing her hands, her kid gloves shining as she did so.

‘It’s so splendid to be away. Far away from it all,’ Hannah said and Esther looked up and smiled.

‘Yes, it is, darling. You look tired. You need the rest.’

Hannah nodded and turned again to the window, watching as Harry walked along the white palings at the end of the platform, looking for Arthur. Yes, it was good to be away, to see great stretches of country, great swathes of sky. To be able to breathe in sharp clean air and have time to think.

She ran her finger along the small panes, down one and then another as her breath condensed and blurred. But thoughts had a habit of coming back to the same face, or the same fight. But she would not think of the face, only the fight, for perhaps that could still be won despite the failure of the 1905 Franchise Bill which had been talked out by anti-suffrage members.

The suffragists had expected success but Campbell-Bannerman, the sympathetic Prime Minister, had said that his Cabinet was opposed. She ran her hand across the pane of glass, wiping out the patterns she had made. And what had been the reaction from Mrs Fawcett’s National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies? Patience, ladies, patience, because the Liberals were in power after the Conservatives had split over whether trade should be free or protected. And Liberals were reformers; gentle persuasion would bring results now. But couldn’t they see that Asquith was in the Cabinet and that he had a great deal of support against women’s suffrage?

Hannah stared out at the crocuses which were being blown and battered. Patience, for God’s sake! There had been enough of that particular virtue to last a lifetime.

Arthur drove them in his car. His goggles were mud-splashed but the three of them sat protected in the covered back seat and Hannah laughed as his scarf streamed in the wind and his song soared above the roar of the engine. Their luggage was strapped into the boot and the maids unpacked for them as Lady Wilmot told Arthur to take his guests into the grounds to shake the travelling cramp from their legs.

Hannah walked with her hand in his arm and the gravel of the paths did not crunch beneath their feet because frost still froze it hard, and icicles hung down from the eaves as they passed by the stables where hot breath from stamping hunters could be heard as well as seen.

‘You did bring your riding clothes, didn’t you, dear?’ Arthur asked and she nodded, looking up into his face which was pinched by the cold. She must look at him, only at him, and ignore the contrast with the poverty, the hardship which she saw each week. She was tired, too tired, and must leave it behind just for these few hours. Was that too much to ask?

His eyes were alive and eager and his lips drew back from his teeth as he moved his arm from her hand and put it around her shoulders and hugged her to him, and she liked the feel of his warmth seeping through his clothes and into her. She must forget.

They walked on past the end of the stables. Harry and Esther were ahead and waiting for them at the end of the path, standing under a clump of overhanging trees which admitted no light. The gravel changed to an old red-brick yard here and Harry was pointing to a slightly raised mound off to the left. Hannah looked at Arthur, a query in her eyes, glad to feel a question rising concerning the mound, glad that other thoughts did not intrude.

He bent to kiss her again lightly, but Hannah did not want such intimacies to be viewed and she stiffened and moved away. Arthur smiled quickly at her and nodded, following as she walked towards the other couple.

Hannah called, ‘What is it, Harry? It’s so dreadfully cold here, so dark. Arthur doesn’t bury the victims of his crimes of passion here, does he?’ And now she was really interested in what she could see, really forgetting those dark streets, and it felt good.

Arthur laughed and ran to catch up with her. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Particularly when they thwart my kisses, spurn my heartfelt advances.’ He stood with his hand on his heart and his mouth turned down.

‘Well, you’d better open it up and get ready to fit another one in,’ retorted Hannah, pushing him away, hearing the laughter and enjoying it.

She watched as Arthur moved to Harry. ‘Remember when you came up last, old lad, that the grooms were too busy to sort out the horses so we missed our hunt?’

Harry nodded and Hannah wondered at the guarded look which came over his face.

‘Well, no fears of that this time. We shall be following the fox tomorrow all right, all of us.’ Arthur laughed and so did Harry but the laugh did not reach his eyes. ‘It’ll be your first time, Harry, so we’d better get the fox or you’ll not be blooded.’

Again Hannah wondered at the set mouth of her brother, at the way he looked at the ground, then the trees. Was it fear she saw? Arthur moved nearer to the mound, looking back at Hannah and Esther.

‘The reason poor Harry missed out on the hunt was because of the heavy fall of snow.’ He raised his hand as Esther began to speak. ‘No, dear girl, thou with the light and airy fingers which strum out tunes at ham teas. No, not because the poor little horses don’t like it but because the grooms were too busy here. This wonderful creation is an ice-house.’

Hannah watched as he reached forward and broke off a hazel twig, ripping the young wood from the branch so that it left a jagged tear of white wood against the brown bark. Arthur motioned towards the slightly raised shape and she was reminded of Miss Fletcher as she pointed out some of the intricacies of algebra, which Hannah could still not abide even though she had been fully qualified for well over a year now.

‘Are you listening, Hannah? Can’t have inattention at the back of the class, you know.’ Esther laughed and Hannah joined her. Harry was still off to one side, still looking at the trees. She walked across and tugged at his sleeve; it was damp where the drips from the overhead branches had soaked in. He turned and his face was pale, his eyes looking at some distant thought. She shook his arm.

‘Teacher’s begun,’ she said, and drew him with her, back into the group, seeing his eyes lose their blankness as they focused on Esther. She realised again that Esther was his world and she felt inexplicable fear for him and a sense of exclusion for herself.

‘Please may I have the attention of the class or there will be no dancing tonight after dinner.’ Arthur put back his head and laughed as Esther grabbed Harry’s arm.

‘Dancing,’ she whooped. ‘I just love dancing. But, Arthur, how good of you. How splendid of your parents. Just for us?’

‘Certainly not, my dear. We have asked just a few young notables, those that Harry already knows, and it is all in honour of this dear boy who will soon be leaving us to cover himself in gold-dust and hang diamonds from his ears, or rather your ears, dear Esther.’

Arthur bowed towards her, his stick dug into the ground now and bending beneath his weight. His polished boots were encrusted with mud and his nose was red. ‘We’re having Mother’s cousin to dinner beforehand, though, and her husband, the Master of the hunt.’

‘Come on, Arthur,’ Hannah called. ‘Please can we have this lesson and then rush back for some tea or no one will be fit for dancing; we’ll all be frozen to the spot and they’ll have to break off our legs to move us at all.’

Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘I shall begin. You talk of being frozen, well, in this deep cavern is about four tons of ice.’ Hannah moved forward, her cold hands forgotten. ‘The grooms rush out along with the gardeners at the first heavy fall of snow and gather up stacks of the stuff then bring it here.’ He banged with his foot on the ground. ‘There is a brick-built chamber below that slightly raised roof but you can see that all of it is underground really. They trample it down until it is hard ice and then seal it. And so you shall have your champagne cooled in ice tonight as usual.’

‘How long does it last?’ asked Esther, and Hannah nodded.

‘Surely when the summer comes it all melts,’ Hannah said.

Arthur shook his head. ‘You can see for yourself.’ He pointed with the hazel twig to the stable walls. ‘It’s north-facing here and besides the trees act as a barrier to any sun.’

Harry nodded. ‘He’s quite right. Last summer there was still more ice than we could use. Do you remember, Arthur, we had that tennis party?’

Arthur nodded. ‘But come along. I think I can hear Mother. We’ll get back for tea.’

Arthur smiled and moved to take Hannah’s arm, flicking at his leg with the stick as they walked back towards the gothic house through the yew hedges, leaving the stables far behind them.

The dining-room was warm and large. A fire burned in the grate, the marble surround reflecting the leaping flames, the brass fire irons alive in their glow. Hannah sat back against the embroidered satin dining-chair, her body vibrant from the afternoon air. She felt loose, relaxed, and smiled across the table at Arthur, He was talking lazily to his mother, his mouth half-smiling as it usually was, his wrists strong against the starched white cuffs of his dinner shirt, the black of his jacket smooth and well fitting. She knew he had seen her because his fingers waved discreetly in her direction and he nodded slightly. Lady Wilmot’s cousin sat at his right hand but talked to Harry who was further down the table. Esther was next to Lord Wilmot and leant forward now to smile at Hannah.

Earlier the dressing gong had sounded while they were playing cards on mahogany loo tables in the library. Arthur had held the door for the two girls and asked Harry to pour another sherry for the two men because the dinner bell would be another hour yet and he for one did not need that long for a bath and a change of clothes. Hannah had pulled a face at him and his laugh had followed her up the wide stairs past dark oil paintings of earlier Wilmots.

Esther had her own room near Harry and had emerged at the sound of the dinner gong in a pearl-coloured dress which Hannah had not seen before. She looked quite beautiful. Hannah looked down at her own dress, pale cerise but not as low at the neck as Esther’s. The table was lit by candles held by elaborate silver candelabras with discreet silk shades, though electric lights hung from the ceilings nearer the walls and illuminated more paintings, but this time they were landscapes and still life. A silver epergne held an exotic flower arrangement of orchids and ivy which trailed across the mahogany table. Hannah wanted to reach across and run her fingers over its variegated surface. It almost reached her fan, which rested on the table – mother-of-pearl and lace. Her ivory one was locked away, together with the jewellery box. Esther had wanted to borrow it to use with her pearl dress but Hannah did not want hands other than hers or Joe’s to touch it though she had not said this to her cousin.

The damask napkins placed in front of each guest were folded into the shape of a mitre though Lord and Lady Wilmot’s were in the shape of a fan. Hannah could see the table and guests reflected in the mirrors either side of the fireplace, which in turn picked up the reflection caught in the pier glasses between the windows, and no, she would not compare this with the rooms in which her Sunday ladies lived, not this evening, not this weekend.

The conversation was desultory; Hannah turned to one side to listen to Sir Edward Frank who lived a bare mile from Arthur.

‘Should be a good day for the hunt,’ he said and Hannah nodded. ‘Your first time, is it?’ he continued.

Hannah laughed slightly. ‘Very much so, I’m afraid. My riding has been limited to Hyde Park.’

He leant forward and his breath smelled of sherry. ‘Sunday morning canter, is it?’

Hannah hesitated. ‘Sometimes,’ she replied eventually, looking across the table at Harry, who was watching her closely. But now the servants brought in turtle soup from behind the large screen which shielded the doors leading to their entrance and the first of the five wine glasses were filled.

Dover sole followed the soup and a fine cool white wine and Arthur leant forward. ‘It’s been stacked in ice all day.’

Hannah nodded and smiled. The heavy smell of the candles lay over the table and the Dover sole was good and the conversation which ebbed and flowed was calm and easy.

It was good to be able to put a full stop to effort and thought, to pause a moment and regain some energy, some ideas, she thought. Everyone should have the chance – including her ladies. And so here they were again. Cutlets of lamb were served and their smell overrode the candles which flickered and rolled their heat over the guests so that the men grew hot, but the women, with their bare shoulders, were comfortable. Yes, her ladies should have the chance of a moment’s peace, the chance to feel their bodies loose and relaxed as hers now was. But how could they?

Yes, how could they, Hannah thought, lifting her cool glass and pressing it to her lips, not drinking yet but thinking. If she needed a holiday, how much more did the women who ate the buns that she and Miss Fletcher cooked; and so too their children and their men.