Трейси Шевалье - Falling Angel

“But that is only because a Conservative candidate now seems more likely to agree actively to support woman’s suffrage,” Kitty added. “If a Liberal or even a Labour candidate were openly supportive, I would vote for them.”

I was horrified by such an announcement. “Don’t be silly. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“I’m not concerned with the political parties. I’m concerned with a moral issue.”

“You should be concerned with moral issues much closer to home,” I said.

“Whatever do you mean?” I noticed Kitty spoke without looking at me.

“Why is Jenny here? I dismissed her in July.”

Kitty shrugged and smiled at Miss Black as if to apologize for me. “And I hired her again in October.”

“Kitty, I dismissed your maid four months ago because her conduct was immoral. Such behavior is irreversible, and she is not fit to work in this house.”

At last my daughter-in-law met my eye. She looked almost bored. “I asked Jenny to come back because she is a very good maid, she is available, and we need a good maid. The chars you hired were unacceptable.”

Something in her face told me that she was lying, but I did not know what the lie could be.

“Have you forgot what she has gone and done?” I asked.

Kitty sighed. “No, I have not forgot. I just do not happen to think it is very important. My mind is on other matters, and I simply wanted to hire someone I knew would work well in the house.”

I drew myself up. “That is ridiculous,” I said. “You can’t have a girl here who has-” I stopped and glanced at Miss Black, who was gazing at me calmly. I did not wish to mince my words, but it would be unseemly to be so frank in front of a stranger. I did not complete my sentence, knowing that Kitty could. Instead I said, “What kind of example does that set for Maude or my son?”

“They don’t know of it. They think Jenny was ill.”

“The moral foundation of this house will be undermined by her presence, whether they know of the circumstances or not.”

Kitty smiled, which seemed to me to be a most inappropriate response. “Mother Coleman,” she said, “you know that I am so very grateful to you for looking after this house while I was ill. You have been generous with your time and efforts. Now, however, it is time that I took charge of my own house once more. I have decided that Jenny may work for us again, and there is really nothing more to be said about it.”

“What does my son say to this?”

“Richard is blissfully ignorant of household matters. That, I believe, is what you taught me about running a house: never worry your husband.”

I ignored her remark, but I did not forget it. “I shall have to have a word with him.”

“Do you think he would welcome that?”

“I think any man would want to know if his house is morally threatened.”

“Will you stay for tea?” Kitty said it pleasantly enough, but her words implied that she thought I might wish to go.

I did wish to go. “I will not stay to tea,” I said, standing up. “I will not set foot in this house while she is here. Good-bye, Kitty.” I turned and walked out. Kitty did not follow me, and it was just as well that the impertinent maid was not in the hallway to see me out, or I don’t know what I might have said to her.

One of the unfortunate consequences of being of what I would call a definite disposition is that occasionally I am caught in a dilemma. I had no qualms about cutting off contact with Kitty if necessary, but I could not say the same for my son and granddaughter. After all, it is not their fault that Kitty is morally lax. However, I was reluctant to involve Richard in what, as Kitty herself reminded me, are women’s affairs.

Nonetheless, I did feel he should know something of his wife’s impropriety-if not about her decision to take Jenny back, then at least about her friendship with a dubious woman. I invited him over one evening on his own, under the guise of discussing something about his late father’s property. The moment I saw him, however, I knew I would not say a word to him either about Jenny or about Caroline Black. He was glowing, even after a day at work, and I was reminded of how he looked when he and Kitty had returned from their honeymoon.

So that is how it is, I thought frankly. She has taken him into her bed again so that she can do what she likes outside of it.

She is no fool, my daughter-in-law. She has come a long way since the day Richard first introduced her to me, a slight, gawky girl from the provinces wearing dresses two years out of fashion. I do not like to play games, and as I looked at my son now, I knew that she had outplayed me.

This year we will be staying at home for New Year’s.

Oh, dear-I have just returned from one of Kitty Coleman’s At Homes with such a headache.

In January something happened that I had always dreaded might one day. Kitty Coleman changed her At Homes to Wednesday afternoons so that she could attend some sort of meeting in Highgate on Tuesdays. (At least that means she will not be coming to my At Homes!) Now I have felt obliged to go-not every week, I should hope, but at least once or twice a month. I managed to get out of the first few, saying I had a chill, or that the girls were unwell, but I couldn’t use that excuse every time.

So today I went along, taking Lavinia and Ivy May with me for support. When we arrived the room was already full of women. Kitty Coleman welcomed us and then flitted across the room without making introductions. I must say it was the loudest At Home I have ever attended. Everyone was talking at once, and I am not sure anyone was actually listening. But I listened, and as I did my eyes grew big and my mouth small. I didn’t dare say a word. The room was full of suffragettes.

Two were discussing a meeting they were to attend in Whitechapel. Another was passing around a design for a poster of a woman waving a sign from a train window that read “Votes for Women.” When I saw it I turned to my daughters. “Lavinia,” I said, “go and help Maude.” Maude was serving tea across the room, and looked as miserable as I felt. “And don’t listen to what anyone around you is saying,” I added.

Lavinia was staring hard at Kitty Coleman. “Did you hear me, Lavinia?” I asked. She shook her head and shrugged, as if to shake away my words, then made a face and crossed the room to Maude.

“Ivy May,” I said, “would you like to go downstairs and ask the cook if she needs help, please.”

Ivy May nodded and disappeared. She is a good girl.

A woman next to me was saying she had just been speaking at a rally in Manchester and had rotten tomatoes thrown at her.

“At least it wasn’t rotten eggs!” another woman cried, and everyone laughed.

Well, almost everyone laughed. A few women like myself were very quiet, and looked just as shocked as I felt. They must have been Kitty’s old friends who came to the At Home expecting pleasant conversation and Mrs. Baker’s excellent scones.

One of them, less timid than me, finally spoke. “What is it that you speak about at these rallies in Manchester?”

The tomato woman gave her an incredulous look. “Why, for women to have the vote, of course!”

The poor woman turned bright red, as if she herself had been hit by a tomato, and I was mortified for her.

To her credit, Caroline Black came to her rescue. “The Women’s Social and Political Union is campaigning to have a bill brought before Parliament that would allow women the right to vote in government elections, just as men do,” she explained. “We are rallying the support of women and men all over the country by speaking publicly, writing to newspapers, lobbying MPs, and signing petitions. Have you seen the WSPU’s pamphlet? Do take one and read it-it is so informative. You can place a donation for it on the table by the door when you go. And don’t forget to pass on the pamphlet when you are done-it is really surprising how much life there is in a little pamphlet when you hand it on to others.”