Crooked Pieces (5 page)

Miss Sylvia nodded. ‘I shall see you after. Clement’s Inn.
Good luck.’ She turned to me. ‘Stay close to these ladies, Maggie. They will look after you.’ Then she was gone. I felt suddenly that the ground had disappeared from under me. Miss Kenney grasped my arm. ‘Don’t fret, Maggie. We shall look after you fine. Say nothing and stay by me close.’ With that, they led me to the cabstand. A cabman immediately leapt down to hold the door. Miss Billington and Miss Kenney climbed in, although Miss Kenney stepped on her hem and nearly fell nose first. I feared the same would happen to me but the cabman put his hand right on my bottom part and just shoved me, saying, ‘In you go, lovely. I wish you were riding with me.’ I thought this very annoying and was about to spit at him but remembered in time that I must not speak so probably should not spit neither.

The cab was very strange. It made me think of when I had a ride with Joe Rice, the ragman’s father. I cannot mind how old I was but Lucy was the baby then, and Samuel still alive, so maybe five or six. Frank sat by me holding my hand for fear I would fall out. I wished tonight I had him with me, then nothing could frighten me.

As we rode I could see other cabs trotting past us. They were full of gentry, thick with furs and finery. At last the cab halted and the cabman came round to hand the ladies down. He was very smarmy with his oily two-tooth smile. When it was my turn he tried to put his hand back where it had been before but I was wise and jumped right down on his toe which made him gasp for I screwed my heel right into him.

The Albert Hall was bigger far than any theatre in the world, I think, and full of lights and steps. There was such a throng I feared if I looked away one second I would lose Miss
Kenney and Miss Billington, who seemed as settled to the company as they had lived all their lives amongst princes.

We had not been there a few moments when a very old man with a beard came charging towards us and shook Miss Kenney’s hand. ‘Good evening, Mr Hardie,’ she said. ‘Will we do?’ At which they both laughed and Mr Hardie winked at me. I had thought to spit at him, for winking is very forward, Ma said, but I held myself back and simply frowned at him with all my might. He looked mightily chastened and we proceeded up a thousand or so steps past lines of rich dressed people, all with hats and canes and looking very sober. I wondered if I should like a political meeting as well as the music hall, for there we had roasted chestnuts in a little bag and when the fat man came on we threw the shells with all our might.

A man in a black jacket looked at our tickets and directed Miss Billington to a seat in the circle, but us he led all the way to a heavy wood door. He tapped and, receiving no answer, opened it most cautiously, then stood aside to let us enter. Miss Kenney nodded to him most gracious and in we went.

Well, it was beyond imagining. There were chairs all covered in velvet, red as blood, with wavy gold ribbon around the edges, and curtains of the same. Six seats were laid out, four in front and two behind and from them we could see all round the theatre. I glimpsed Miss Billington across from us and would have waved, but Miss Kenney slapped my hand down quicker than lightning, whispering most urgently, ‘You don’t know her. You don’t know anyone. Remember, you are only a maid.’

Just then there were voices outside and the door opened again to admit a vastly fine gentleman and with him two
others of similar smartness. Following on came a lady with curly gold hair and a gown of butter yellow silk, quite the most beautiful you ever saw. I could not leave looking at her, though she paid no heed to me, or Miss Kenney. The gentlemen, however, nodded to her before taking their seats in the front row. I think they thought to seat the lady next to them, but, quick as a flash, Miss Kenney sank down on the end, leaving her nowhere to go but behind them. There remained one chair which I thought must be mine but just as I was about to take it, the door opened again and in came a real lady’s maid, all in black, and tall as a pikestaff, with a little tray on which rested a glass of cordial and the tiniest pastries you ever saw. She glared at me as though I had fallen down her chimney and, without a word, set the tray down beside the lady, who took no notice at all and was twittering at one of the men as though she had left her brain in the cab that brought her.

The pikestaff stepped back and, folding her hands, stood silently behind her mistress without further movement. I did likewise, praying with all my might that she would not speak to me or ask me where Miss Kenney’s pastries were. Fortunately I was saved, for amid much clapping and hoorahing a man walked on to the stage where several chairs and a table were laid out, and began to speak. About what I know not, for he kept clearing his throat and fiddling with his necktie, and I was thinking all the time how he reminded me of Mr Green in the butcher’s. After he had talked for a while some more men, all dressed as for a burial, came on to the stage and sat behind the table, ahemming and pouring themselves water from a great jug.

When the first man had done, another of them got up and said some more, and so on through all five of them. The pretty lady sat nibbling at her pastries and peering all round the theatre at anywhere but the stage, and all the while her maid stood clamped behind her like a gate-post, without so much as blinking. I tried to do likewise but my boots felt tighter every minute passing and my legs ached and I began to think how long it was since my dinner, although Cook had given me a plate of bread and dripping before she dressed my hair.

Just when I thought I should sink to my knees with weariness, there was a noise from the side of the stage and the first man, looking mighty relieved, held up his hand and said, ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to present to you, our leader, the Prime Minister, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman,’ whereupon there was a great cheering and on to the stage came a very old man, older even than Mr Hardie, waving his hand as though he were the King himself.

When the noise had died down he started speaking in a great hooty voice, saying how much he would do for the country and the people and the working men and all that, on and on like he would never stop. Miss Kenney shifted in her seat once or twice and I half hoped she would say it was time to leave, for a duller speech I had never heard, for all the beauty of our surroundings.

I think the gentlemen felt the same for one of them was looking at his watch. Just as he did so Miss Kenney sprang to her feet and cried out in a clear quavery voice, ‘Will the Prime Minister tell us what is his party’s policy with regard to granting women the vote?’ There was a silence, deeper than the darkest trough, then suddenly people began to shout and
wave their fists. I was frozen like an ice stick with terror and could not move but, quick as a flash, Miss Kenney reached inside her beautiful wool coat and pulled out a scroll of paper which she flung down over the rim of our box. I could not see what it said, but those that did began to yell even more fiercely. Miss Kenney then shouted her question again above the din, and at that very moment Miss Billington flung out her arms, uncoiling a great broad banner with
Votes For Women
writ in huge black letters. It was upside down but still they bayed and roared like angry animals. Straight off, two ticket men came marching in and positively dragged her away.

I saw no more, for the gentlemen by us were of a similar mind, it seems, and hustled Miss Kenney from the box most brutally. The pretty lady was shrieking like a mad thing, her maid fanning her all the while with a hat. Well, I knew the cure for such fitting, for Ma has had like trouble with Lucy in the past so, meaning to help, I smacked the lady hard across her face. She stopped her crying instantly. All there looked at me astonished. I had thought they might thank me, but it seemed not, for the man with the watch raised his hand as he would strike me too. Before he could do so, a great peel rang out from an organ, so thunderous it might have been the end of the world and I, fearing for me it was, turned on my heel and fled as fast as I could, all the way down the thousand steps and out through a great wooden door into the street. I did not cease running till I had reached the corner and then, for lack of breath, I stopped and saw that I was altogether lost. Never in a hundred years could I have found my way back to Park Walk, and even had I found an omnibus and by some mighty miracle, it going to Chelsea, I had not a farthing for the fare.

Wet snow was slapping at me and my cape, for all its style, kept not one shred of coldness out. Never have I wished so truly for my home and Ma to comfort me. Not by speaking, for she seldom does, but just to be. My tears came pouring.

Next I know a bobby is at my side. My heart jumped for I knew he must have come from the theatre to take me for smacking the lady. I thought to run but he was between me and the road.

‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘What’s amiss, miss?’

I cannot tell why, but this made me smile. He smiled back with big white teeth and eyes all crinkled. ‘Well, I am glad to have stemmed your tears, miss. But I’ve yet to know what caused them.’

I stared at him, praying perhaps he had not come to lock me up.

‘Are you lost? You look a bit lost.’

‘I am altogether lost, sir. I don’t know how it happened.’

‘Perhaps you dropped off a star?’

I had not known that bobbies could be mad.

‘No, sir. I’m from Park Walk, Chelsea.’

‘Well, that it is a long way from here. No wonder you are lost. Should you like me to arrange your return?’

Just when I would have fallen at his knees in gratefulness, out of nowhere appeared Miss Kenney and Miss Billington, neat again for all their battering.

‘Ah, officer. You have found my maid for me,’ says Miss Kenney, quite like a lady.

‘It seems so, ma’am. I think she is very cold.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Miss Billington. ‘It is a very cold night. Would you be kind enough to direct us to a cab?’

The bobby bowed his head. He led us to a cabstand and immediately a man came hurrying. I was glad to see it was not the oily person, but a snow-haired man who showed great humbleness and soon we were safely seated.

‘The ladies are going to Park Walk, Chelsea,’ the bobby told the man, whereat Miss Kenney rose up fast and said, ‘No, no, we’re not. Take us directly to Clement’s Inn. Near to the Aldwych, if you please.’

The bobby stepped back and touched his hat but he gave me a real strange glance. I, not knowing what to do, just shook my head in hopelessness and suddenly he smiled, a great golden smile, then we drove away, but I felt monstrous warmer.

When we arrived at our destination – a huge high house with lights in half the windows – the door was opened by one of the Wednesday ladies. ‘Oh, you are here. Thank goodness,’ she fairly squeaked, and led us up two flights of stairs to where Miss Sylvia and several others were gathered on the landing to receive us.

With much excitement we were led into a handsome apartment – a big wide room with a fire blazing like a furnace in the hearth. I would have loved more than anything to rush straight to it and toast my hands like muffins but, there being so many present, I knew that I could not.

The stout lady, kind as always, came hurrying towards us. ‘Annie, Teresa, come in, sit down. Tell us how it went. And little Maggie. Poor girl, you look frozen. Come over here and sit by the fire. Move up, ladies. Make room for a heroine.’ One of them leapt out of her chair and bade me settle myself in her place. I did not think I should, but just then Miss
Christabel came springing out of the next room. ‘Sit down, Maggie and warm yourself.’ And she fairly pushed me into the chair.

All eyes turned to Miss Kenney and Miss Billington. The others listened, one minute silent, the next fair snorting with aggravation as the ladies unrolled their tale.

‘And what did our great Prime Minister do when you asked your question?’ enquired the stout lady.

Miss Kenney stood up and, placing her hands in her skirt as she had pockets, opened and shut her mouth like a great codfish gasping for air. The ladies fell about with laughter, and so did I for I had seen it, and indeed he had looked just as she showed him.

Miss Billington then told how she had lowered her banner, forgetting to say that it had been upside down, and how she had been manhandled out into the street.

The stout lady said they had been superbly brave and all agreed and clapped their hands and sang, ‘Fight the good fight’, two times through. After that, the lady went out and shortly after a little round woman with a very jolly face brought in refreshments – lemonade and sliced pork pies, quite the best I had ever tasted and I wondered if I might ask how they were made, to tell to Cook. A thousand times better than those silly snippets the maid had brought her lady at the theatre. After a while I noticed that no one else was eating, so I made to stop, whereupon Miss Christabel called, ‘Maggie, you are to finish all these, or Mrs Pethick Lawrence will be very angry with you’, whereat the stout lady gave me a great big smile and said, ‘I won’t at all, Maggie, but it would please us all to see them gone.’ So I ate them.

As I was finishing Mrs Pethick Lawrence suddenly frowned and I feared I had done wrong and she had only been tempting me like Jesus in the wilderness, but she said, ‘How did Maggie escape the Albert Hall, Annie?’

Miss Kenney went a tiny bit pink and said, ‘I think she was right behind me. Is that so, Maggie?’

I nodded. ‘Except for the lady.’

Mrs Pethick Lawrence asked, ‘What lady, Maggie?’

‘The one in our box who was fitting, ma’am.’

‘Fitting?’

‘She got all screechy, ma’am, when the banner was loosed.’

‘And?’

‘Well, ma’am,’ I could feel myself reddening like a radish, for all eyes were upon me, ‘my sister, Lucy, who is very spry and aggravating when she cannot have her way, will often fall to a fit, and Ma has had to slap her mightily to bring her back to sense again.’

There was a silence like the Day of Reckoning.

Mrs Pethick Lawrence came and sat down straight opposite to where I was. ‘Are you saying, Maggie, that you slapped the lady in the box?’