Elizabeth Elgin - I’ll Bring You Buttercups

‘That’s why. And Mr Giles and Miss Julia both able to drive and desperate for motors of their own and not daring to buy one. Miss Sutton in London has a motor – it’s at Aunt Sutton’s house we’ll be staying when we’re in London. Oh, who’d have thought it? Someone like me maiding Miss Julia!’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘Well, someone – ordinary. ’

‘But you aren’t ordinary, Alice Hawthorn.’ He stopped, resting his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. ‘You’re extraordinary pretty, to my way of thinking.’

‘ Pretty? ’ Her eyes met his and she felt trapped and excited and peculiar, all at the same time. ‘Oh, but I’m not! If you’d wanted to see what pretty is, you should have seen her ladyship tonight. So lovely she was, and all shining in satin. And no jewels at all, ’cept for her earrings. And her orchids, Tom; her own special orchids, all creamy-white, same as she carried to her wedding to Sir John.

‘They were special between them, those orchids. Oh, mustn’t it have been wonderful, them loving like that – and romantic, to be given orchids. But listen to me going all soft. No one will ever give me orchids,’ she sighed.

‘Happen not, pretty girl, but it isn’t all women are suited to orchids, and you are one of them. You, lass, are more in keeping with –’ he bent to pluck some of the flowers that grew wild in the grass at their feet, smiling as he tilted her chin – ‘to these. You’re a buttercup girl, Alice. All fresh and shining you are, so hold yourself still so I can see if you like butter.’ He held one of the flowers to her throat and smiled at the golden glow that shone from the whiteness of her skin. ‘Oh, aye, you’re a buttercup girl, and no mistake.’

‘I am?’ She closed her eyes because his mouth was only a kiss away and she had wanted so long for him to kiss her.

‘That you are. Let them keep their fine flowers, Alice. I’ll give you buttercups, my lovely lass, and they’ll be more special between us than the rarest orchid that ever grew.’

He touched her lips gently with his own and fire and ice ran through and left her shaking and afraid to open her eyes lest he should see what shone there. And when he gathered her to him it was like a homecoming, and she lifted her arms and wrapped them gently around his neck because it was the only way she knew to tell him that she would like to be kissed again.

‘You’re my girl, aren’t you, Alice?’

He had never expected it would be like this; never thought he would feel tenderness for her along with his wanting, nor once imagined he would feel like throttling with his own hands any man who threatened to harm her innocence.

‘I’m your girl, Tom …’

‘So we’re walking out steady, now, and you’ll sit by me in church?’

‘When I’m back from London.’

‘Then look at me, and tell me so.’

‘Tom?’ All at once it was easy and she looked smiling into his eyes and whispered, ‘I’m your girl, Tom Dwerryhouse, and I love you. There now, does that suit you?’

‘It does, sweetheart. It suits me very nicely.’ His eyes loved her as he handed her the buttercups. ‘Very nicely indeed.’

She closed her eyes again and sighed tremulously. In her lonely youth she had longed for this; yearned to be close to someone, and special. Not so long ago she had been so happy about London she had told the rooks she was fit to burst of it, but this was different. This was even better than happiness. Tonight, Tom had kissed her, and she was loved.

London seethed and shimmered and sang with magic: nothing but houses in streets and terraces and squares; trees in May leaf and parks pink and white with blossom; elegant ladies and elegant shops; costermongers yelling their fruit for sale; motors honking, and cab drivers shaking their whips at motors for frightening their horses and oh, just everything.

‘I said you’d like London, didn’t I, Hawthorn?’

‘Oh, yes. ’ She did, now that she had become as off-hand about it as Miss Julia; used to the size and the speed and the sound of it and learned to keep out of the way of motor drivers and cab drivers, all determined to run her over. Already they had window-gazed and walked in Hyde Park and St James’s Park and visited Westminster Abbey and stood, shaking with excitement, at the gates of Buckingham Palace – though not so much as a glimpse of the King and Queen had there been. And now they sat, feet aching from the London pavements, in the kitchen of Aunt Sutton’s tiny, tucked-away house, eating sandwiches and drinking tea and discussing where to go tonight.

‘We mustn’t waste money on theatres and things, Hawthorn. A lot of London is free, if you know where to go. Soon we shall take a trip on the Underground, but tonight we must try to find a meeting.’

‘A meeting, miss?’ Alice frowned, all the while thinking fearfully of trains that hurtled through dark tubes dug deep beneath London.

‘You know what kind of meeting.’

She knew, but like riding on a tube train, Alice was determined not to think too much about it, though it wasn’t any use ignoring the fact that Miss Julia was looking for a political meeting – a Votes-for-Women meeting – and if Lady Helen ever got to hear about it there’d be no end of a to-do.

‘Take care of my daughter, Hawthorn. Don’t let her lead you a dance,’ she’d said as they left Rowangarth, but when Alice thought about it, there wasn’t a lot a sewing-maid could do if her young mistress was set on going to one of those meetings; nothing, save go along with her because that, really, was why she was in London. But downright ridiculous it was, and a waste of time, because what would a woman do with a vote, even supposing she got one? At least that was what Cook wanted to know when they talked, one teatime, about the suffragettes who’d been sent to prison for causing an affray and had straight away refused all food. And the prison warders were compelled to force-feed them – for their own good – which couldn’t have been very pleasant, Alice remembered thinking.

‘Force-feed,’ Tilda scathingly remarked. ‘Isn’t nobody can make you eat if you don’t let your throat swallow.’

‘Happen not. But they force a tube down your throat,’ Cook had retorted, red-cheeked, ‘then they pour slops down it, so you’d be forced to eat. Force-feed, see? That’s what they mean by it.’

‘Meeting, miss?’ Alice closed her mind to the horror. ‘One of Mrs Pankhurst’s meetings? I don’t think her ladyship would like that, nor Miss Sutton.’

‘But my mother isn’t here, nor Aunt Sutton.’

No. Nor Miss Sutton’s maid, either. Indeed, they were alone in this house – apart from the cleaning woman who came mornings. It was unheard of, Alice brooded. Lady Helen would never have allowed the London trip had she known her sister-in-law’s live-in maid would be away in Bristol for a family wedding, and staying on there for a holiday.

‘I don’t know why Miss Sutton didn’t think to mention it to her ladyship – about us being here on our own, I mean.’

‘Nor do I,’ Julia grinned, ‘but I’m glad she thought she’d mentioned it.’ Always forgetful, her father’s elder sister – when it suited her, that was. ‘And you aren’t going to mention it when we get back home, are you, Hawthorn?’

Alice said she wasn’t, though she didn’t like being a party to deceiving Lady Helen. Suffragette meetings were illegal now; had been since last year when there’d been terrible trouble over breaking windows and knocking off policemen’s helmets and the forced feeding in prison. But Miss Julia was set on going, though if they ran away quickly when the police arrived, then surely no one need be any the wiser.