Women of Courage (55 page)

He smiled at Charles and said: ‘You look tired.’

‘No.’ Charles said after a pause. ‘A little sad, only.’

‘Sad? Why is that?’ Simon strolled over from the mantelpiece and perched on the arm of a chair a few feet from Charles. He dared not come closer. It was a rule they almost always observed, never to touch where there was the slightest risk of discovery by servants or others. Simon had a room at his disposal in the East Wing of Glenfee, where he was sleeping tonight, but only two or three times had they dared to come together there. Mostly they met in Simon’s old lodgings, which he had kept on in Belfast; once in a hotel in Donaghadee. It was a furtive, secret, terrifying business.

Charles said: ‘Because I have made a decision which pains me.’

Simon laughed. ‘You sound very solemn for so late at night. Was it so hard, then, with your son at the school?’

‘No. Not at all, it was very pleasant.’ Charles looked away from Simon, into the fire; then made up his mind and faced the boy calmly. ‘Simon, you are much younger than me; you don’t know what it is to have a son. Perhaps I haven’t known all these years, as well as I should have, but something brought it home to me today. It’s a responsibility. I can’t do just as I wish because every action of mine has an effect on Tom as well as on myself. I suppose all this sounds obvious to you, but I have not felt it so strongly before.’

‘Not obvious,’ Simon said coolly. ‘But very solemn. What are you trying to say?’

Charles took a deep breath. ‘I am trying to say, Simon, what I have perhaps hinted once or twice before. That . . . it is not sensible for me to carry on a relationship with you as I have done. And I mean it this time, Simon!
Please hear me out!’

His voice rose sharply as Simon stood up and strode to the mantelpiece. He flung his cigarette into the fire and stood with his back to Charles, but Charles went on nonetheless.

‘It is not good for me because I cannot be a decent father if I have such a relationship — and I risk losing everything my son has any right to expect, for just a few minutes’ stolen pleasure. And it is not good for you Simon, either, if the truth be told.’

‘Not good for me? Oh, wonderful — how do you work that out?’

‘Because . . . you build hopes on me that can never be fulfilled. We cannot have any sort of life together, Simon, you must realise that. And also, I am pleased to say, you are turning into quite a decent soldier. I have seen that in the past few weeks. You are efficient, you have the gift of good organisation, you are always smart, well turned out and are learning to shoot like a veteran. You are enthusiastic, too — no one can say any of your duties have been neglected or skimped. You have a great future . . .’

‘And this is a reason to cast me out?’ Simon turned suddenly and stared at Charles incredulously. So pompously he sits in that chair, like a judge or my old headmaster.
What right does he think he has?

‘Yes, of course. Listen for a moment, and
think
. This is painful for me too, Simon, truly. You are young enough to make a success of your life, and you can do it as a soldier in the UVF. Later, when all this is over and the government has backed down as I believe it will, you could go on into the regular army or whatever other field you chose. With my recommendation you would get a good start, go far.’

‘You would do that to get rid of me?’

‘No. Simon, listen — and for God’s sake don’t raise your voice. What I am saying is that discovery would be ruin for you just as much as for me. And sooner or later, my boy, believe you me — we will be found out. Then all your young life will ruined, and mine too, and Tom’s. It is not worth it — the world is not made for people like us. Until I met you I had not . . . been with another young man for years. I thought I never would again. Celibacy is the best way, Simon, for both of us. If the Catholic priests can do it, my boy, surely we can.’

Charles sat quite still in his chair, not getting up, not daring to come close to Simon and embrace him as part of him longed to.

‘And all this came to you as the result of a visit to your son?’

It was not said kindly; Simon had a bitter, sarcastic edge to his tongue. It was a sign, Charles thought, of immaturity; not the part of the boy’s character he was trying to appeal to.

‘That was what brought it on, yes. But it is the fruition of something I have been thinking for some time, now. You know we have discussed this before.’

‘Yes. Do you remember what I told you?’

‘That you could go to another man? Yes, I remember. Of course I would hope you would not do that. Simon. But it is your life, you are free to choose.’

‘And you wouldn’t care?
’ I came here to show him my loyalty,
Simon thought
, and then he does this to me
. His fists clenched at his sides, as though he wanted to leap on Charles and hit him. But that was not Simon’s way, he had not the skill of it. There were better ways by far to gain revenge.

‘Of course I would care, Simon. Think for a moment what I’ve said, what I’ve offered you. I’ve been a soldier a long time now, seen a lot of young men. People in high places would respect my judgement if I put it on paper — they’d give you a chance.
That’s
how I care. Not for what we do together, which is an obsession, a danger to both of us. But for everything else about you — for your future.’

‘So long as I stay clear of your son?’

Charles sighed. ‘You don’t have to stay clear of him, Simon. I don’t think you’re a monster — I care for you. I just want you to . . . stay clear of me, if you want to put it like that. As I shall of you.’ His voice hardened slightly. He had been a commanding officer for many years: he realised it was time to bring the interview to a close, to give Simon time to reflect on it before he said anything unfortunate, as he so easily might.

‘You are still a valuable member of the UVF, and I shall expect to see you around me carrying out orders in the coming weeks as efficiently as before. You are my ADC, so it will be convenient for you to keep your room in this house for the time being. But that is all there must be between us from now on. I know it is hard, but I want you to reflect on what I have said. In a week or two, when you have done so, I shall ask you about it again, and we shall see if we can devise a plan for your future where my connections can be of most use to you. Until then, that is all, so goodnight.’

Simon’s face was aflame with anger. But below that was the knowledge that he had been in this position many times before, and that revenge was never obtained at once. Only later, with planning and detail and much deeper, fuller satisfaction.

But he had come here full of good intentions, caring for this man. Revenge would be easy but he had meant to try to avoid it. He made one final effort.

‘So that’s all, is it? You think you can end it just like that, before we run the risk of any scandal? Charles, there is something very important I have to tell you . . .’

‘I don’t want to hear it! Not tonight, not tomorrow, not for at least a week until you have had time to reflect and cool down. It’s for your own good.’

‘But Charles . . .’

‘You don’t call me that here. That is all, Simon. Goodnight.
You are dismissed!’

Simon stared, his mouth half open, about to speak. If he hears about Werner that will change his mind surely, he thought desperately. It will bring us together to fight the very danger he fears.

He doesn’t deserve to hear.

Abruptly, Simon turned on his heel and strode for the door.

All love ends like this, he thought. Ever since my father I have known it. Attraction, lust, pleasure, rejection, betrayal. And then, always, the bitter-sweetness of revenge.

He strode away down the corridor, his mind full of images of Charles, and Tom, and the key he had turned in the front door of the house where he had found his father in bed with a woman. His father, whom he had loved more than any man before or since.

The flames of that burning house flickered in his eyes.

The train reached Liverpool at five in the morning, but the passengers were allowed to stay in the sleeping compartments until eight if they chose. Deborah had time to send a telegram to Charles at Glenfee, and then she and Sarah embarked on the ferry in time for breakfast. They found a quiet table in the corner of the first-class dining room, and sat eating boiled eggs and muffins as tugs whistled and hooted on the Mersey and the great grey Liver building slipped by outside the porthole.

‘I don’t think he suspects us,’ Deborah said nervously, as she watched the waiter crossing the floor towards them with a fresh pot of tea.

‘Of course he doesn’t. Relax,’ Sarah smiled at the man as he gave them the tea, and ordered two more muffins. ‘Anyway, the man’s Italian. What would he know? Look here.’

She passed across a copy of the Daily Mail, which she had bought from the purser’s office as they came on board. Deborah read:

FEMALE HOUDINI VANISHES

SET THEM ALL FREE, SAY PANKHURSTS

No clues have so far emerged as to the whereabouts of Mrs Sarah Becket, the militant suffragette who escaped from Holloway prison two days ago. Theories as to how she escaped vary. ‘It is possible she was provided with a skeleton key and a disguise,’ a police source said. ‘But she may also have climbed a ladder over the wall, or even escaped in a laundry basket. We are keeping an open mind.’

Meanwhile the WSPU have been proclaiming the escape as a triumph. Miss Christabel Pankhurst, speaking in Paris, said: ‘This brilliant escape shows that it is impossible to cage either the body or the spirit of a free, independent woman. I call upon the government yet again, in the name of decency and justice, to release all female political prisoners today, and give women the vote.’

The Liberal MP, Mr Jonathan Becket, said that he knew nothing of his wife’s whereabouts, but claimed he would be seeking assurances from his friend the Home Secretary that his wife had been humanely treated while she was in prison.

‘Humanely treated!’ Deborah said. ‘He knows you were force fed!’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said sadly. ‘But it would damage his reputation to say so, wouldn’t it? He would have to disagree with the government, and that would lose him any chance of becoming a minister.’

‘Is that all he cares about?’

‘It seems like that to me. He’s talked about it enough over the past year, at any rate.’

Deborah sighed. ‘That would explain why he won’t support female suffrage in Parliament, any more.’ She told Sarah about the speech Jonathan had made, that day when she had watched him from the Ladies’ Gallery in the Commons.

Sarah said nothing. She buttered her muffin carefully and then cut it into squares with quick, vicious strokes of her knife. Deborah wished she had said nothing.

‘At least he hasn’t told them where you’re going,’ she offered.

‘No. It seems he hasn’t done that, anyway.’ Sarah pushed the muffin away irritably, then leaned forward with both elbows on the table, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. ‘You know, Debbie, it may sound awful to say this, but I truly think I could bring myself to kill him, if he did.’

‘Don’t, Sarah.’ Deborah saw the tears well up in her sister’s eyes. ‘You’re still not strong. You’ll wear yourself out with emotion if you start thinking like that. You ought to relax, and eat.’

‘Always the motherly type, weren’t you, Debbie? And now you’ve got a real live invalid to look after.’

Deborah winced. She had suffered frequently from her sister’s sarcasm in her youth and had never developed a strong defence against it.

‘I don’t think of you as an invalid, Sarah. Just someone who needs help and protection for a while, that’s all.’

‘Yes.’ Sarah reached out impulsively across the table and touched her sister’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t need to say that. Your help’s appreciated, too, don’t think it’s not. It’s just that it’s a bit of a surprise to come out of prison and find my sweet little sister included in the rabid ranks of the militant suffragettes.’

‘Sssssh!’ Deborah looked over her shoulder, alarmed. But the table nearest to them was empty and no one seemed to have heard. Sarah laughed out loud.

‘Look, Debbie! The purser’s coming! He’s going to have you thrown into the Mersey for making seditious remarks!’

Despite herself, Deborah looked behind her. There was no one there. She blushed. ‘Laugh if you like. You could be arrested at any time, you know.’

‘I do know – and I’ve no intention of letting it happen. Rather than that I’d jump into the river.’

‘You can’t swim!’

Sarah stared. ‘That’s true. I’d forgotten. You know me too well.’

‘Yes.’ It was Deborah’s turn to smile. ‘Listen, Sarah, promise me one thing, will you?’

‘Anything. What?’

‘When we get to Glenfee, don’t attack Charles.’

‘Attack him? What do you think I am? A raving Amazon with a cutlass? Look at me, I can hardly stand.’

To Deborah’s eyes, Sarah was already looking a lot better. Still thin and hollow-cheeked, but there was a brightness in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks that had not been there last night. She had walked quite firmly from the train to the ship and taken a turn among the deckchairs on the promenade deck before coming in to breakfast.

She remembered how strong and energetic Sarah had been as a child. She had regularly won races at village fetes, each year. But it was not Sarah’s physical strength that concerned her now.

‘I don’t mean that, silly. Just don’t go for him with all your suffragette propaganda. You know how he hates that sort of thing. And it won’t help, you won’t convert him.’

Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that just the reason why all men keep their outdated attitudes? Because no one ever challenges them?’

‘Perhaps . . . Oh, I don’t know! Perhaps it’s being challenged all the time that makes them worse.’

‘Oh, come on now, Debbie, really! That’s
exactly
the government’s line. If we all believed that . . .’

‘Please, Sarah.’ Deborah held up her hand. To her surprise, her sister stopped. ‘You may be right, I don’t know. But in Charles’s case, I . . . I’ve got a reason why I don’t want to antagonise him right now. It’s going to be hard enough to persuade him to shelter you, an escaped convict, but I’ll make him do that, don’t worry. But . . . things haven’t been too good between us and, if you could keep him sweet in every other way, it would be a favour to me, that’s all.’