Crooked Pieces (4 page)

Last evening a strange thing happened. I had taken in the spiced pork tartlets and kippered slices and was about to fetch more lemonade when a discussion amongst the ladies burst into quarrelling. I had taken no heed of the talk till all at once they grew so heated. Miss Christabel uttered something of working women, whereupon Mrs Despard (she who, I think, was once royal) said firmly, ‘But do you not see, Christabel, that these women are useless to the cause? They cannot reason, they cannot debate. They simply work, give birth and die. How can they advance us in any way?’

Miss Christabel rose to her feet and looked Mrs Despard strong in the eye. ‘Without them we are nothing.’

Then another lady with a very fine hat trickled her fingers into the air. ‘Christabel, think. Think how hard we have tried to persuade these creatures to stand by us. I agree with Mrs Despard. They are useless. They cannot think, they
will
not think. All our efforts are wasted in that area, as well you know.’

There was a horrible silence, then Miss Sylvia who had not spoken till then, held up her hand. ‘I should like, if I may, to ask Maggie why she thinks it is that working women will not support our cause.’

I felt quite sick, and held my peace, staring all the while at the tray I held. All fell quiet and I continued in silence, hoping mainly that I might die on the instant and so not have to answer.

Miss Sylvia, seeing this, rose and came to my side. ‘It’s all right, Maggie. You have nothing to fear. These ladies would like to know why so few working women – women like your mother, perhaps – are not interested in furthering their rights.
In making a better world for themselves and their children.’

One of the ladies clapped. ‘Exactly. How can they not see how much their support is needed? Why are they so…feeble?’

I looked at her, with her fine hat with soft grey feathers and thought about Ma with her yellow skin and the bruises rising from where Alfie kicked her.

‘I think, ma’am, perhaps they are very tired,’ I said.

Miss Sylvia wishes me to attend the next ladies’ meeting. Cook looked very black when I told her and muttered about how was she to feed so many and make dinner for the master and mistress on her own? Was she a miracle worker? No. I said I would do all my work in time but still she rumbled on till I began to think it would be simpler to tell Miss Sylvia I could not go. I do not know that I would like it anyway. Particularly if I am to be questioned and held to account, but it is hard not to be a little interested for they are all such lively glittering souls; even Mrs Despard who looks as she could saw through iron with just one glance.

It is my belief that Cook fears I will be persuaded to the ladies’ thinking, but how could I be since I understand nothing of it, apart from men being cleverer than elephants, but even that I wonder about, since the animal book said elephants could remember for a hundred years and I’m sure no man alive could boast as much. Pa cannot mind where he has put his pipe ten minutes ago, and Mr Roe is forever asking where his slippers are.

Just when I had decided I should not attend, Mrs Roe came trotting into the kitchen and said, ‘I hear you are to be with us this evening, Maggie. I am so pleased,’ after which neither
Cook nor I could dispute it, but it was a heavy day for me in the kitchen.

The evening was quite the strangest of my life. First of all I opened the front door to the ladies and took their coats as usual, all wet and smelling like mouldy cats for it had been pouring rain all day; then when they were settled I had to hurry up the stairs and join them. My heart was pumping ready to burst but Miss Sylvia drew me to a seat between her and the tiny lady with the clattery laugh, who immediately clasped my hand saying, ‘Well, Maggie, welcome. I am Mrs Drummond.’ She had such a funny way of talking that I feared she spoke a foreign language and, knowing none myself, stayed silent.

Mrs Despard talked a great deal in a fine ladylike voice and I understood not a word. It was all of education and ideals and symbols and the like and it seemed to me that some others of those present were also a little confused.

Just when I was wondering whether I could slip away unnoticed back to the kitchen, there was a heavy knocking on the door below. I hurried down to open it. There stood a woman, not old but drably dressed. Before I could ask her business she pressed past me, flung off her cloak which was drenching wet, and rushed up the stairs. I hastened after her, not knowing if I should first call the master for I did not think I could manage to force her out myself.

When I arrived my shock was even greater, for the person was being warmly embraced by Miss Christabel and several of the company. Miss Sylvia led me towards her. ‘Maggie, this is Miss Annie Kenney. A true friend of the cause.’ The person turned, smiled at me a great flashing beam of a smile and
shook my hand like she was wringing out the washing. ‘Pleased to meet thee, Maggie,’ she said. ‘Looks like you and me are in it together.’ I had no faint idea what she might mean, but she seemed so cheery and had hold of my hand so hard, I thought it best to smile back at her for fear she would twist it off.

When everyone had settled once more Miss Christabel rose. ‘I have some excellent news. Sylvia has pulled it off. We have tickets for the Albert Hall. James Keir Hardie has excelled himself.’ She waved some slips of paper. ‘Annie here and Teresa Billington are to represent us. And, better still, Annie is to sit in a minister’s box.’ There was a general murmur of delight and admiration. ‘Now, who can lend her the clothes?’ Various of the ladies offered to produce whatever was necessary. I listened amazed, for it seemed to me a very strange thing that a poor working woman, as she plainly was, should be given tickets to the play and dressed up like Cinderella by ladies who would, you suppose, walk past her in the street.

Then came the biggest surprise of all. Miss Christabel turned and gave me a wonderful sparkling smile. ‘Of course Annie will need a maid,’ she said, looking straight at me, ‘and who better than Maggie? She will be quite perfect, I’m sure.’ My mouth came open like a codfish. The other ladies all nodded their heads approvingly. ‘Good. That’s settled then. We’ll discuss the details later. Sylvia, how are the banners progressing?’

Miss Sylvia said they were all but finished but her room was now so packed full she had no more room for storage. I thought if ever I were called on to speak, it should be to agree on that score, but I was not and it seemed I had been forgotten
again, for they went on to talk about letters to the Prime Minister. Mrs Drummond said she could lay hands on a typewriter which made the ladies squeak with joy. Frank has seen one and says it is the finest thing. Nearly as good as a gun.

There was much talk of rallies and again the ladies began to complain about supporters. I feared I should be examined again, but luckily Miss Annie quite snuffed out their moaning. ‘Leave it with me. I shall sort out a regular crowd,’ she said, all purposeful, and Miss Christabel nodded and looked most satisfied.

When the ladies had left Miss Sylvia helped me put the room to rights. After a while she asked, ‘What did you think of the meeting, Maggie?’ I said I was not sure.

‘Are you happy to go with Annie to the Albert Hall? You do not have to, you know.’

I was surprised at this for I had thought Miss Christabel required me to most positively. As if she guessed, Miss Sylvia added, ‘My sister can be very pushy when she wants something done. You are under no obligation to put yourself at risk, however slight.’

‘What risk would that be, miss?’

She shrugged her shoulders, ‘None, really, since you would not be involved and so could not be blamed for whatever occurs.’

My heart ran cold. ‘Is it a…bad play, miss?’

Miss Sylvia looked truly confused. ‘What play, Maggie?’

‘That we are going to see. At the Albert Hall.’

She began to laugh. ‘It’s not a play, Maggie. Although it may end up like one. It’s a political meeting. There, I’ve told
you enough. The more you know, the more you are complicit, and we have no right to drag you into something you do not fully understand.’

‘I don’t understand it at all, miss, but I should like to go to the theatre with Miss Kenney, only…’

‘Yes?’

‘Miss Kenney is to wear fine clothes to the Albert Hall.’

‘Yes, indeed. She is to sit in a minister’s box.’

‘And am I to sit in it, too?’ thinking it must be a very large box.

‘You are.’

‘So must I wear this dress?’

Miss Sylvia fair shook with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll find you something nice, too. Fit for a lady’s maid.’

I was never so happy.

Next day Cook, although pretending not to care, asked me what had occurred at the meeting. I was not sure how much I should tell, although no one had said I must not and Cook has been very kind to me, for all her black days. I said there had been a great deal of talking of things I could not follow, but there was to be a visit to the Albert Hall and I was to go in attendance on one of the ladies. I did not say it was a
dressed-up
working girl for I know Cook would sniff herself blue at the very thought.

Miss Sylvia looks very tired. She works long hours at the art college and then late into the night in her room. Now my portrait is done I cannot sit with her on Saturdays, although she lets me read her books still and sometimes when I am choosing one she asks me what I thought of the last. At first I
would say, ‘Very nice, miss,’ or ‘I liked the pictures,’ – dull things like that, but then she would ask me what I liked about them and I would have to think. Sometimes, after I had thought, I realised that maybe I did not like them so much after all. They were too plain or too fussy, too unreal, even. Then Miss Sylvia’s face would light up and she would nod happily, as though it was a good thing not to praise everything just because someone has made a book of it. So little by little I am learning, not just about dresses and ribbons and all the things I used to dream about, but a whole new world, for there is so much stuff in them. Birds and animals, kings and queens, foreign lands, stars, oceans… Words, so many words, like a great road stretching before me into a distant land, a road I long to travel.

If ever I do marry I shall make certain my man can read, else we shall do nothing but quarrel and make babies, like married people do.

I wonder how Ma is going on. Although we did not agree on one thing when I was living there, I find there is so much I should like to ask her and speak to her about. My chest is nearly like a woman’s now; even with my new dress, it shows out. The bread boy tried to feel it when I opened the door to him the other day. I hit him on the ear and he swore something awful. I don’t know what I shall do if it gets much bigger. Cook’s is down round her belly and I do pray that will not happen to me. I have wound a length of muslin around me, back and front, but it is wicked tight, and besides I shall have to return it come Thursday for that is when Cook plans to make her jam.

This Wednesday only Miss Kenney and Miss Christabel
came. I was sent for to hear of the arrangements. Next Friday Miss Sylvia will take me in an omnibus to Kensington Gardens and from there we are to go in a
cab
to the Albert Hall. I cannot believe it. I am so jittered. I was never in a cab. I asked Cook what it would be like and she sniffed and said it was nothing particular, which makes me think she has never tried it.

Miss Sylvia is to lend me her blue dress with the white collar and I am to have a cape and a hat from a real maid that works for the stout lady who asked about my family. I have polished my boots like mirrors and Cook says she will fix my hair like a real maid’s for she has seen how it is done when she worked for a duke one time. I am surprised if that is true for she never mentioned it before.

Today has been the biggest of my life. It snowed all morning and Cook kept grumbling at me for first I could not get the fire to blow, then I forgot to take the master his eggs so they were near cold. All day I had the trembles and could not think of one thing but that I must go in a cab to the theatre that very night.

At five o’clock Miss Sylvia came home. She looked pale as a sheet. Cook had brushed my hair into a giant roll and pinned it to the top of my head. In truth I thought she had nailed it, but she said I must not fuss and did I want to look neat or did I not? Miss Sylvia’s blue dress fits like it was made for me. Even she remarked it. ‘You look perfect, Maggie. Just right, doesn’t she, Cook?’ Cook said she thought I would do. Mrs Roe came out when the hat and cape were on and positively clapped her hands, saying, ‘Maggie, I would never
have known you. You could be a nanny.’ This upset me a lot as looking older is one thing, but my nan has no teeth and her hair is like clumps of moss. She fetched Mr Roe who gave me a very gallant bow and said, ‘I don’t know about a lady’s maid. More like a lady,’ which almost made up for the mistress.

It was bitter cold when we left the house. We walked quickly to the omnibus stop. There were a lot of people on it and I could feel them stare at me in my fine clothes. Miss Sylvia said we should go upstairs, but it was full of working men all smoking and spitting, so we came down again and sat opposite three women who goggled at us like we were circus freaks. I stared them right back and all but one – very fat with a shabby brown shawl – looked away.

We got off by a great tall building all lit up like a palace and Miss Sylvia said we should go along to the corner for that is where we were to meet Miss Kenney and the other lady, Miss Billington.

I swear I should not have known them as they stepped towards us. Miss Kenney had on a coat of finest black wool with a collar of soft grey fur. Her hat was black with deep red feathers like ox blood. Miss Billington had on an outfit of rose pink velvet and round her neck a gingery dog with gnashing teeth and bright green eyes. Dead, for sure, but I still felt an awful panic for I am not fond of dogs and would never wear one round my neck.

The ladies seemed as taken with my looks as I with theirs and said I was ‘the very thing’. Then Miss Kenney said, ‘We must get on. It would be a disaster if we got spotted.’