Ellie Pride (20 page)

Ellie could see from her hostess’s narrow-eyed expression that she had registered Ellie’s subtle retaliation.

‘Oh, Japan! I pray you will take my advice, Miss Pride, and not mention that country in the presence of my husband’s uncle – especially if you wish to retain his goodwill. It is poor Henry’s obsession with that country that has been the cause of so much discord between them. Mr Charnock is thoroughly exasperated by Henry’s ridiculous insistence on being allowed to return to Yokohama. George, my own dear husband, has tried to speak to Henry – to act as mediator between father and son, as it were – but he has confessed to me that he finds it hard since he totally supports his uncle’s point of view. If Henry is to take over the shipping line and maintain its successful operation, then he needs to be here and not in some remote part of the world playing at doing a job he really knows nothing about.

‘It was the talk of Liverpool the other year what a fool Henry had made of himself by trying to overrule a decision of one of his father’s shipmasters. Heaven knows how much money his folly might have lost the business if he had been allowed to have his way.’

No, she did not like Elizabeth Fazackerly, Ellie
decided firmly later in the afternoon as she and her aunt were driven back to Hoylake.

‘So, Ellie, and how did you find Mrs Fazackerly?’

It was the day after her meeting with Henry’s cousin’s family, and Ellie was having afternoon tea with Iris in the Palm Court lounge of the Adelphi Hotel.

‘She was not really to my taste,’ Ellie admitted, wrinkling her nose. ‘And I thought that she was very unkind about Henry. She kept referring to him as “poor Henry”, and belittling him to such an extent that I own I felt I had to defend him. I cannot think why she was so unkind about him to me!’

‘Can’t you?’ Iris asked her drily. ‘It seems to me that Mrs Fazackerly has a good deal to gain by attempting to prevent Henry from marrying. It is no secret that his father has hopes of a grandson to take his place in the business! If Henry were not to marry then Mr George Fazackerly would be the next in line to inherit the shipping line.’

Whilst Ellie digested her comment, Iris calmly changed the subject.

‘Such good news about Cecily,’ she said. ‘Although I do hope that Paul will not allow her to conceive too quickly a second time! I know there are many men who insist that the whole purpose of sex is to produce children, and who refuse to allow their wives to use any form of birth control, but that, as any intelligent person knows, is a
canard – otherwise why would there be so many brothels? No, the truth is that far too many men wish to control us in any and every way that they can.’

Ellie stared at Iris. ‘Is that true?’ she blurted out, pink-cheeked. ‘Is it indeed possible for a woman to…to have marital relations and not become…?’

Iris frowned. ‘Oh, Ellie, I am sorry. I had forgotten how ignorant of such things you will have been kept! And that is yet another reason why it is so important that we women should have the rights that our government continues to deny us. There are means, yes,’ she confirmed briskly.

Ellie felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders; a terrible fear pushed away to a safe distance. She longed to question Iris more deeply, but felt too shy to do so, and besides, Iris was now deep in vehement vocal monologue decrying the power and control that men had over their wives.

‘You should attend one of our meetings, Ellie. I really wish you would. You would find it most instructive.’

‘I can’t see Mr Parkes ever allowing any woman living beneath his roof to do that,’ Ellie replied wryly.

‘No indeed. And that is exactly why we have to succeed in our aims – so that men like your uncle no longer have the right to tell us what to do!’

Ellie listened to her affectionately. Iris didn’t know how lucky she was to be financially independent and to have parents whose outlook was so modern, and indulgent. Although Sir James teased Iris for her dedication to her cause, he happily accepted it, and Lady Angela made no secret of the fact that she both supported and applauded her daughter’s stance.

Female emancipation was something her Uncle Parkes would certainly not approve of and even less support!

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Iris continued, ‘I saw a neighbour of Cecily’s mama’s at the meeting – a Miss Mary Isherwood. She is apparently an old friend of Emmeline Pankhurst’s, and was very much a part of their circle when the Pankhursts lived in London. She was there with her young protégé, a Mr Gideon Walker, who is studying to become an architect.’

So it wasn’t just gossip Cecily had heard. Iris had seen this Miss Isherwood and Gideon – ‘her protégé’ – with her own eyes.

Ellie looked away so that Iris would not read the expression she feared was all too plain on her face.

‘Gideon, I have to attend a meeting in Manchester tomorrow, but I do not intend to ask you to accompany me there, since I know how busy you are.’

‘I don’t feel I can leave the workmen to their own devices with the construction of your conservatory at such a delicate stage,’ Gideon replied. ‘And then I have promised Mrs Edgar she shall have her new library finished for the end of the month.’

On his own insistence, Gideon was still taking on cabinet-making commissions, determined to earn as much as he could to support himself whilst he studied the books Mary’s architect friend had set for him to read prior to taking up his place in the practice at the beginning of the new year.

Mary had offered him a room in a boarding house she owned in Manchester, rent-free, but he had refused, insisting that he must pay his own way.

He was glad to be able to avoid going with her to Manchester. Privately Gideon could not agree with the aims of the women’s suffrage movement, since he felt that it went against the natural order of things for women to want to take charge of their own lives, but he was loath to expose his views to Mary’s criticism, knowing how quickly and incisively she would shred his arguments to nothing. And, secretly, if he was honest with himself, he could not help but admire her financial expertise and the way she had taken control of her life, even if a part of him refused to believe it necessary for a woman to be so skilled in what should be wholly male territory.

Every morning she read the financial papers and
often expressed to him her views and her decisions, explaining to him why she considered this investment to be a sound and potentially profitable one, and the other not.

‘Property is the key – the most solid foundation to wealth, Gideon,’ she often told him. ‘Bricks and mortar.’

‘I believe you took tea with my cousin’s wife a few days ago, Miss Pride?’

As always, Henry’s stilted attempts to make conversation made Ellie feel maternally protective towards him. He developed his slight stammer whenever he was exceptionally nervous, and Ellie always tried to steer him into calmer conversational waters whenever she sensed the onset of one of these small crises. And nothing, she had discovered, increased the likelihood of Henry stammering more than being in other male company, especially, it seemed, that of his father, his cousin and her Uncle Parkes.

On these occasions Ellie skilfully and discreetly managed the conversation so as to shield him from their contempt. He had become to her almost another brother, she recognised, someone with whom she felt comfortable and at ease, and with whom she could talk openly about the newspaper articles she had read, and her growing feeling of confusion about what she herself believed a woman’s role should be.

‘Indeed, and I also played cricket with Masters Matthew, Godfrey, and Timothy,’ Ellie smiled.

‘Ah, my cousin’s sons.’ Henry sighed, and Ellie knew the reason for that sigh. To comfort him, she touched his arm lightly.

They were walking together along the sea front at Parkgate, where they had gone to spend the pleasantly warm late autumn day. Many others had had the same idea and the long narrow road was crowded with people, many of them eating the delicious ice cream for which the small town was famous. From the low sea wall, Ellie could see children shrimping, shrieking with delight when they thought they had caught something.

Henry coughed and cleared his throat a little nervously.

‘Miss Pride – Ellie,’ he began, ‘there is something I wish to say to you…’

Sensing what was coming, Ellie strove to remain calm, turning her head to look at him, but as she did so, a piercing scream of distress caused them both to look at the small child who had fallen over in front of them and was bewailing the loss of his ice cream.

Watching the way in which Henry obligingly went to his aid and even promised him a fresh ice cream if he would only stop crying, Ellie was amused to see how firmly masterful he sounded instead of his normal tentative, hesitant self.

A flustered nurse came running up to reclaim her charge, giving him a cross little shake as she did so, for ‘bothering the gentleman’, until Henry
gently reproved her, telling her that he had been no bother at all.

After they had gone Ellie said ruefully, ‘Poor little boy, I imagine he must have thought his whole day spoiled by the loss of his ice cream.’

‘Indeed. No doubt it was a treat he had been promised and had looked forward to a good long time,’ Henry agreed, smiling.

They had reached the end of the waterfront now, but as she made to turn round, Henry stopped her, taking hold of her arm and clearing his throat awkwardly before beginning to stammer.

‘Miss P-Pride…Ellie…there is s-something I wish to say…that is, I would like t-to ask if…would you do me the honour of c-consenting to be my wife, Ellie?’

She had known, of course, that it would come, and she had thought herself prepared for it – prepared for the final renunciation of the silly, foolish dream she had once had – but to her own distress, Ellie suddenly discovered that instead of receiving Henry’s proposal with dignified mature acceptance, what she really wanted to do was to pick up her skirts and run. But where? Friargate?

Sensing her distress, Henry immediately became concerned. ‘I have spoken too soon and shocked you, I can see that. My mistake. I should have given you more time. You do not have to answer me, Ellie. Let us say no more about it!’

Tears pricked Ellie’s eyes as she recognised his goodness and humility. ‘Oh, Henry, you are so
kind,’ she told him impulsively. ‘Too kind,’ she added.

But how could she marry a man because he was kind, when deep down inside her a rebellious part of her cried out to love and be loved?

‘Ellie, you are back! Well, did Henry say anything?’ Aunt Lavinia demanded expectantly.

Ellie had been brought up to be honest and she gave a small sigh. ‘Henry has done me the honour of asking me to be his wife, Aunt, but –’

‘Oh, I am so pleased. I knew he would, of course. In fact, I was so sure of it that I asked your uncle if we might not have Connie to live here with us once you are married! I am sure that he will agree because he has enjoyed your company as much as I have, Ellie.’

Ice-cold fear for her sister poured through Ellie’s veins. She could still see the lascivious look her uncle had given Connie, and Connie was not like her, Ellie admitted wretchedly; she was so headstrong and yet at the same time so unaware, she would not recognise, as Ellie had done, that she might be in danger. But what could she do? How could she protect Connie?

A small voice inside her head suddenly spoke up and told her! If she married Henry she could have Connie to live with her, and John too – there were, after all, excellent schools in Liverpool – and even perhaps the baby.

Without even being aware of it, Ellie had set her foot on the bridge that led from girlhood to womanhood. When Henry called to see her she would tell him that she would marry him, and she would tell him too that she wanted to have her siblings to live with them.

She had made up her mind and she could not allow herself to be swayed from her decision. It was her duty to put the needs of her siblings above her own, but she said nothing of her decision to her aunt.

Instead she said, ‘I have asked for a little time to consider and then I will give Henry my answer.’

Three days later, when Henry called to see her, Ellie was ready with her answer.

‘I am sorry to press you, Ellie,’ Henry began uncomfortably, ‘but my father is eager to…that is, he…’ Henry was obviously nervous, his Adam’s apple wobbling as he spoke, but Ellie was calm.

‘I have made up my mind, Henry, and I am happy to accept your proposal,’ she told him sedately. ‘Although there is one favour I must ask. Would you be agreeable to my sister and my brothers coming to live with us after we are married?’

Happy to accept? She was accepting him! Henry beamed with relief.

‘You don’t object, Henry?’ Ellie asked him anxiously, when he didn’t reply immediately.

‘Not at all. If that is what you want, Ellie,’ he
assured her, still hardly able to comprehend that she had said yes.

‘Oh, Ellie, I am so pleased, and Mr Parkes will be too. We must start making plans. Your betrothal will have to be announced. Oh, what a nuisance it is that your uncle is away on business now,’ Aunt Lavinia complained.

Ellie had given her her news as soon as Henry had left, and now she was sitting feeling empty and somehow detached from everything whilst her aunt made excited plans.

‘We shall have to let your father know, of course. I shall write to him immediately, and my sisters must be told as well.’

Silently Ellie listened to her. She did not intend to inform her aunt of her plans to have her siblings live with her after her marriage – just in case her uncle somehow managed to thwart them – but she longed to tell Connie. Surely when she did her sister would finally forgive her?

Gideon whistled softly beneath his breath as he put the finishing touches to Mrs Edgar’s library bookshelves. He had been up early, making the most of the light in order to finish reading one of the books Toby Mackenzie, the architect to whom he was to be apprenticed, had set him, and then on impulse he had headed for the market where he had eaten a hearty breakfast whilst watching the world go by.

Will Pride, espying him sitting on a bench, his dog at his feet, came across to him.

‘Will? How are you and how’s Robert?’ Gideon asked.

‘I’m fair to middlin’,’ Will responded cheerfully, ‘but as for our Robert, got hissel’ in a fair old mess, he has! Never thought he’d tek it into his head to take on all serious with that Maggie. Nor her with him, truth to tell. I just thought she was up for a bit o’ fun and our Rob certainly needed to have some, but that’s women for you! Now it seems she’s nagging him to tek her to church. I’ve told
him straight he’d be a fool if he does. After all, he bain’t the first she’s lifted her petticoats for, if we’re speaking man to man, but our Rob allus was a softie, and seems like she’s carrying! I never thought ’un should ha’ married that uppity piece Lydia, but would he listen – no.’ Will shook his head. ‘And look what happened there. Lyddy dead and our Rob robbed of his young ’uns by them other Barclay sisters.

‘Seems like our Ellie has fallen on feathers, though. She’s got some rich young master chasing after her. Maggie was cutting up a fine fuss the last time I called round at Friargate, claiming that if there was to be a wedding there was no way our Rob was going without her, and shaming her in front of the whole town, and no way either she was going with him unchurched or without a fine new outfit. I told our Rob not to let it worry him. Chances are he won’t even get a look in at the wedding, not with Ellie being so taken up with rich folk and putting on a grand show.’

After a few more minutes’ conversation Will called his dogs to him and went on his way, leaving Gideon to ponder on what he had said.

So Ellie was about to get married. Well, he certainly pitied the poor fool she was planning to wed! He’d had a lucky escape there, he told himself, as he looked at his half-eaten breakfast and realised his appetite had gone.

Gideon spent the rest of the morning working furiously on Mrs Edgar’s bookshelves, only realising when he stopped to drink a mug of strong tea and eat a ham sandwich that the sketches he had been doodling on his drawing pad were not just of coving details to complete the bookshelves but also included a dozen or more sketches of Ellie!

It was early evening before he had finished his work to his own satisfaction. Packing up his tools, he started to make his way home, choosing to walk through the pleasantness of Avenham Park instead of taking a tramcar, before turning to trudge along the long streets of mills and millworkers’ cottages that lay between the park and his destination.

He had just drawn level with one of the older mills when there was a splintering sound, the windows shattered and a loud bang shook the entire building. Then there were screams as the whole side wall started to fall. As millworkers came tumbling out of the huge hole that had appeared, screaming, covered in lint and dust, Gideon reacted instinctively, dropping his tools and hurrying into the tangle of bricks and girders in the direction of agonised cries.

Entering the mill was like stepping into the mouth of hell. Where a ceiling had collapsed above the ground floor, huge pieces of machinery tilted at ominous angles over the hole, threatening to descend at any second, as one of them already had done.

Gideon had to turn his head away and cover his mouth as his stomach heaved at the sight of the broken, mangled flesh of what had once been human beings crushed beneath a weaving frame. The smell of dust and death choked his nostrils and half blinded him. Figures appeared out of the dimness of the mill, hurrying past him in blind panic.

‘Get out! Get out! The rest of it’s going to come down,’ he heard one man screaming as he half-pushed past, dragging a sobbing girl with him.

The carnage was appalling. The sight of young girls who would never reach womanhood lying in indecent untimely death, burned his eyes as much as the acrid unbreathable air.

His draughtsman’s eye had already seen a dozen ways in which the building was unsafe, his ears catching the dull roar presaging the total collapse of the entire upper floor.

Gideon turned to leave, and then he heard a faint whimpering sob. ‘Oh, please, sir, help me…’

It took him several valuable seconds to find her, a tiny slip of a thing, who looked no older than a child, her thin face bloodless, her eyes frantic with fear. She was trapped beneath a heavy piece of wood and, as Gideon looked, he saw sickeningly what he realised were the snapped bones of her thin legs piercing the skin. There was no way he could help her, and no way he could leave her either, he recognised helplessly as he dropped down on the
floor beside her and started to try to move the spar trapping her.

The scream she gave as he tried to lift the spar from her nearly amputated legs made him feel sick. Above them dust fell in an ominous waterfall. Gideon could hear the groan of the broken floorboards, and the squeal of the machinery they could no longer support as it rocked above their heads.

Somewhere in the distance there were voices, sounds – a fire engine, running feet. But Gideon knew they would be too late to save them.

As he finally managed to lift the spar a piece of metal dropped from the floor above, slicing down onto his exposed wrist. Gideon screamed as the pain splintered through him, the sound mingling with the agonised animal howl of the injured girl, and with the voices of those who had come too late to rescue them.

Mary heard the news when she got off the train in Preston. Late editions of the local paper had been rushed out, bearing deep bands of black, and a stark empty space to list the as yet unnamed dead. Over fifty were thought to have lost their lives in the collapse of the mill.

The town’s angry grief hung over it like a pall, and as she made her way to the hansom cab rank, Mary caught snatches of conversation.

‘…t’ mill weren’t safe. Everyone has allus known that.’

‘…t’owld place should ’a bin pulled down years back.’

‘…My missus were inside – aye, and m’ daughters as well. Lost them all, I have…’

By the time the cab had discharged her outside her front door, Mary’s face was wet with tears as her shocked senses absorbed the full horror of what had happened.

So many senseless deaths caused by one man’s greed. The blame lay totally with the mill owner, who had known that his building wasn’t safe; that its floors could not support the machines he had continued to cram into it so that he could wring the last halfpenny of profit out of them and out of his workers.

Tilly, the parlour maid, crept through the hall white-faced and blank-eyed. Mary knew that she had cousins who worked in the mill, and who had considered her foolish for going into service and not following their example. There would scarcely be a working family in the town not affected by the tragedy, Mary acknowledged.

If she had doubted the wisdom of Christabel Pankhurst’s desire for more militant action, then she did so no longer, Mary recognised, as she prepared wearily for bed.

Morning dawned grey and bleak, the dust from the destroyed mill hanging thickly over the grieving and unfamiliarly silent town.

Mary was not surprised to learn over breakfast that Tilly could not be found and was thought to have gone home to mourn with what was left of her family.

The papers had been delivered and, contrary to her normal custom, Mary reached first for the local paper instead of
The Times.
News of the terrible disaster was spread all over the front page, which included a photograph of the destroyed building.

Quickly, Mary began to read, and then froze as Gideon’s name leaped off the page at her.

She rang at once for Fielding.

‘Have the car brought round immediately! At once!’ Her hands were trembling so much she had to let her maid help her into her coat. She hadn’t felt like this, experienced this degree of fear and pain since…Quickly, she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, forcing back the acid burn of her tears. That other loss was two decades ago now, and those years had softened its rawness. But she must not think about that now!

‘The car’s here, madam.’

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

White-faced, Mary hurried into the chaotic busyness of the infirmary. Everywhere she looked there were people huddled around makeshift beds. The sounds of moans and sobbing filled the air, the full horror of what was happening highlighted by the
sudden cries of despair whenever someone realised that they had lost a loved one.

As she stood stock-still, too shocked by the scene before her to move, Mary was conscious of the anguish of those around her: mothers, clutching their shawls and begging every passing nurse if they had seen their daughters; men who should have been young but now looked aged beyond belief, crying out hoarsely for their wives and sweethearts. And lying over everything, infiltrating everywhere, overpowering even the fierce smell of carbolic, lay the stench of blood and death.

A nurse, her starched uniform soiled, hurried down the ward, shaking off all those who tried to reach out to her to beg for news of their loved ones.

As she reached one of her colleagues, Mary heard her saying, ‘The morgue is already full and we have nowhere to put any more bodies. And still they are bringing them in – or rather what bits of them they can find.’

Mary’s gorge rose, and she turned away, forcing back her nausea.

Somewhere in this carnage lay Gideon. And she intended to find him!

It took her close on an hour, having given up asking the exhausted and impatient medical staff, following instead the example of the other searchers as anxious as herself and examining the occupant of every bed.

Some of the sights she saw were so sickeningly
distressing that she wondered if these victims might not be better dead. A young girl, a child really, with one arm torn off, her face so badly bruised it was impossible to recognise what was really left of it, lay moaning on one bed and, despite her urgent need to find Gideon, Mary had to stop beside her and do what she could to comfort the child. A nun appeared beside her, silent and black-clad, taking the child’s hand from Mary and beginning to pray. As the child struggled to breathe, Mary heard the beginnings of the death rattle in her throat.

Getting up she plunged blindly through the ward. Not even Dante himself could have depicted a scene more horrific!

When she couldn’t find Gideon amongst those waiting for treatment, she began to fear the worst.

‘You could always try the morgue,’ one of the nurses told her.

Mary could feel herself dizzying with anguish and despair, and then she overheard someone saying that those who had already received treatment had been removed to another ward. Mary almost ran towards it.

Here, there was some sort of order, although the moans of those who were lying on the neatly made beds were pitiful to hear.

‘I am looking for Gideon Walker,’ Mary told the nurse, her heart slamming heavily against her ribs as the woman pursed her lips and frowned.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded brusquely. ‘The
next of kin?’ Without waiting for Mary to reply, she ordered her curtly, ‘Wait here.’

Whilst she waited, the woman sitting at a nearby bed, holding the hand of the girl lying still on it, suddenly gave a keening howl of grief, and burst out, ‘My daughter. My baby…she’s gone…she’s gone…’

Rigid with distress, Mary tried to look away as two nurses tried to pull the woman from the body of her daughter, but found she could not tear her gaze from the haunting scene.

‘You are enquiring about Gideon Walker?’

Mary turned to look into the haggard face of the man standing in front of her. She guessed that he was probably only in his early thirties, but right now he looked closer to sixty.

‘Yes.’ Her throat had gone so dry that her voice was a papery rasp. ‘I…He…’

‘He’s alive – just,’ the doctor told her, ‘but he’s still unconscious. He lost a lot of blood.’

‘Can I…can I see him?’ Mary whispered.

The doctor gave a tired nod of consent.

Gideon was at the end of the ward, his limbs – or so it seemed to Mary from her anxious glance – still mercifully intact, a bandage pinned round his head and another binding his wrist.

‘You said he was unconscious,’ she said anxiously.

‘He suffered a blow to his head, as well as the damage to his hand.’

‘Why isn’t someone sitting with him – a nurse?’ Mary demanded.

The doctor gave her a grim look. ‘Given the numbers of injured we’re trying to deal with he’s lucky to have a bed, and to have seen a surgeon.’

Mary took a deep breath. ‘If he is well enough to be moved, I want to take him home.’ As the doctor frowned she told him fiercely, ‘He will receive every care, I assure you – the very best of care.’

‘I shall have to speak with the chief surgeon,’ he told her stiffly.

Mary could see that he did not like her interference, but she could also see how desperately he needed every single bed for more patients, who were even now being brought into the room.

It took Mary over half an hour to get the infirmary’s chief surgeon to agree that she could take Gideon home, and then a further two hours to make arrangements for him to be carried there, well protected with blankets and pillows she had had brought from her home, on a flat conveyance, so that he should not be any further hurt.

‘He is still unconscious,’ Mary had overheard the young doctor protesting to the chief surgeon.

‘His lack of consciousness won’t kill him, but an infection from his injury very well may, and we already have enough bodies here, don’t you think?’ had been his senior’s cynical reply.