Трейси Шевалье - Falling Angel

I dunno how much she knows-Mrs. Baker thinks not a lot, that she’s still an innocent lamb. But I don’t know-sometimes I catch her staring at me or her mother and I think: She’s no fool.

Her mother-now, there’s a strange thing. I come back on my tippy-toes, dreading to see her after how we parted. I thought she’d be awkward with me, but when I arrived she squeezed my hand and said, “So lovely to see you again, Jenny. Come in, come in!” She brought me into the morning room, where a fluttery little woman, a Miss Black, jumped up and shook my hand too.

“Jenny is our treasure,” the missus said to Miss Black. Well, I blushed at that, thinking she was teasing me. But she seemed genuine enough, as if she’d forgot all about the blackmail.

“I’ll just settle my things in my room and get started,” I said.

“Miss Black and I are plotting great things, aren’t we, Caroline?” the missus said like she didn’t hear me. “I’m sure you could be of great help to us.”

“Oh, I don’t know, ma‘am. Perhaps I’ll just fetch you some tea.”

“Tell me, Jenny,” Miss Black said, “what do you think about woman’s suffrage?”

“Well, we all suffer, don’t we?” I said carefully, not sure what there was to say.

Miss Black and the missus laughed, though I’d not made a joke.

“No, I mean votes for women,” Miss Black explained.

“But women don’t vote,” I said.

“Women aren’t allowed to vote, but they should have every right to, the same as men. That is what we are fighting for, you see. Don’t you feel you have as much right as your father, your brother, your husband, to elect who is to govern this country?”

“Haven’t got none of them.” She hadn’t mentioned sons.

“Jenny, we are fighting for your equality,” the missus said.

“That’s very kind of you, ma‘am. Now, will you be wanting coffee or tea?”

“Oh, coffee, I think, don’t you, Caroline?”

Them two are together all the time now, plotting against the government or some such thing. I should be pleased for the missus, that she seems happier than before. But I ain’t. There’s something about her don’t seem right, like a top that’s been wound too tight-it’s spinning like it should, but it might just break.

Not that it matters so much to me now-I got others to think of. The first Saturday I went back to Mum’s I cried when I saw Jack. Only five days away and he looked like someone else’s baby. I’d still a little milk left in me then, but he wouldn’t take it-he wanted the girl across the way who’s nursing him after losing her own. I cried again to see him at her bubbies.

How I’m to pay her all these months I don’t know. Wish I’d thought of that when I were securing my job here with the missus. Four months ago she’d have given me anything, but now if I asked for better wages she’d probably just lecture me about women suffering. One thing I’ve learned-you’ve to be scared of blackmail for it to work. I don’t think she cares about nothing now except votes for women.

Here’s another funny thing-the missus is busy acting like nothing happened to her this summer, but someone ain’t forgot. I were putting the shoes out in the hallway, all polished and ready for the next day, when a letter gets slid under the front door, addressed to Mr. Coleman. I picked it up and looked at it. It were in a funny hand, like a schoolgirl writing it on a wobbly chair. I opened the front door and looked out. It were a foggy night and I could just make out Miss Lavinia running up the street before she disappeared.

I didn’t put the letter on a tray for the master, but kept it with me. Next morning I sat down for a cuppa in the kitchen and showed it to Mrs. Baker. Funny how she and I are friendlier since Jack. She don’t know about the blackmail, but she must suspect as much. She never asked how I got my job back.

“What would she be writing to the master for except to make trouble?” I said.

Mrs. Baker studied the letter, then took it over to the kettle and in a minute had steamed it open. That’s what I like about her-she can be horrible mean sometimes, but she’s definite.

I read over her shoulder. When we’d finished we looked at each other. “How does she know about all that?” I wondered aloud, before I realized Mrs. Baker mightn’t have known about the missus’s predicament.

But she did. Mrs. Baker’s no fool. She must’ve worked it out for herself.

“That silly girl,” she said now. “Trying to stir things up.” She opened the door of the range and threw the letter into the flames.

As I said, she’s definite.

When she opened the door I thought for a moment that I was dreaming. But I knew very well that I was wide awake-1 am not the dreaming type. Of course there was a smirk on her face to tell me she knew I was surprised.

“What on earth are you doing here?” I asked. “Where is the char I hired?” I had taken on the running of the house while Kitty was ill and had been hiring chars until we could find a proper maid.

“I work here again, ma‘am,” the impertinent girl replied.

“According to whom?”

“Best ask my mistress, ma‘am. May I take your coat, ma’am?”

“Don’t you touch my coat. Go and wait in the kitchen. I’ll see myself up.”

The girl shrugged and I thought I heard her say, “Suit yourself.”

I wanted to say something but didn’t bother-it was not she I must speak to. Clearly Jenny would not be here if Kitty had not let her come back-behind my back and against my orders.

I walked into the morning room unannounced. Kitty was sitting with Miss Black, whom I had met briefly on another occasion. I had not thought much of her at the time. She had gone on and on about woman’s suffrage, a subject I find intolerable.

They both stood now and Kitty came and kissed me. “Let me take your coat, Mother Coleman,” she said. “Why didn’t Jenny take it at the door?”

“That is what I should like to discuss with you,” I replied, keeping my coat on for the moment-I was no longer sure that I would be staying. It was unfortunate that Kitty was not alone, as I was reluctant to talk about Jenny in front of others.

“Mother Coleman, you have met Caroline Black before,” Kitty said. “Caroline, you do remember my mother-in-law, Mrs. Coleman.”

“Of course,” Miss Black said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Coleman.”

“Will you sit with us?” Kitty asked, gesturing toward the sofas. ‘Jenny’s just brought up the tea and Mrs. Baker has made some lardy cakes.“

I sat down, feeling very awkward in my coat. Neither woman seemed to notice.

“Caroline and I have been discussing the Women’s Social and Political Union,” Kitty said. “Did you know that they have opened an office in London just off the Aldwych? It’s very handy for the newspaper offices, and they can lobby Parliament about woman’s suffrage much more effectively from a base here rather than from Manchester.”

“I don’t approve of women voting,” I interrupted. “They don’t need to-their husbands are perfectly capable of doing so on their behalf.”

“There are plenty of unmarried women-myself included-deserving of representation,” Miss Black said. “Besides, a woman doesn’t always have the same views as her husband.”

“In any sound marriage the woman is in perfect agreement with her husband. Otherwise they shouldn’t have married in the first place.”

“Really? Would you always vote the same way as your husband, Kitty?” Miss Black asked.

“I would most likely vote Conservative,” Kitty said.

“You see?” I said to Miss Black. “Colemans always vote Conservative.”