Трейси Шевалье - Falling Angel

The cell was very small-perhaps five feet by seven, not much larger than our scullery. I could see very little-a plank of wood leaning against a wall, a towel hanging from a nail, and a woman sitting on a stool in the corner. She had dark brown hair piled on her head, olive skin, and a strong jaw and mouth set in the manner of a soldier as he marches in a parade. She held herself very straight, as Grandmother is always nagging me to do. She wore a dark green dress with white arrows sewn on it-the badge of a prisoner-a checked apron, and a white cap like the one caught in the net outside the cells. A ball of wool and knitting needles sat in her lap.

I wanted her to look at me. When at last she met my eye, I knew exactly who she was. I had never seen Mrs. Pankhurst before-the remarkable Emmeline Pankhurst, leader of the suffragettes. Mummy always hoped she would come to an At Home, but she never did. I heard Caroline Black once describe her leader’s eyes as “deep blue and so penetrating that you would do anything for them-take a spade to Mount Snowdon if she said it ruined her view.”

Mrs. Pankhurst smiled at me.

“Maude!”

I jumped back from the peephole. Daddy was staring at me in horror. The wardress was still rushing forward but stopped when she heard Daddy’s shout.

I ran to him.

“What in hell’s name were you doing?” he whispered, grabbing my arm.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

The wardress grunted. “Look sharp, keep up with me, or you won’t see ‘er at all.”

Farther along the gangway two women were standing at a cell door-one a wardress, the other Caroline Black. Under her gray coat she was wearing a brilliant white dress with several rows of lace trim across her chest, and a hat trimmed with wilting primroses. She looked as if she should be strolling in Hyde Park. My own plain blue coat and old straw hat were very drab in comparison.

As we approached she was saying into the cell, “The colors are to be purple for dignity, white for purity, and green for hope. Isn’t it a splendid idea? I would’ve worn them myself today except I wanted to wear primroses for you. Think how striking it will look in public gatherings to see everyone dressed in the same colors!” She glanced at us, smiled, and announced, “More visitors!”

“Who has come?” I heard from inside the cell.

“Mummy!” I cried. I darted forward, but then stopped-although the door was open, there were still bars across the doorway. I wanted to cry.

Mummy’s cell was identical to Mrs. Pankhurst‘s, down to the ball of gray wool sitting on the stool, a gray sock with red stripes at the top almost finished between the knitting needles. Mummy stood against the back wall. “Hello, Maude,” she said. “Come to see your old mother locked away, then?” Like Mrs. Pankhurst, she, too, was dressed in dark green serge dotted with white arrows. The dress was too big for her-it covered her feet and hid her waist. Big as it was, I could see from her pinched face that she had lost weight. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was blotchy and yellow. Her eyes were bright as if she had a fever.

“Hello, Richard,” she said to Daddy, who hovered behind me and Caroline Black. We were all three standing awkwardly in the doorway, stepping from side to side and peeking around each other, as if trying to look at an animal at the zoo. The two wardresses stood on either side of the doorway like sentinels.

“For God’s sake, Kitty, haven’t you been eating?” Daddy said.

I flinched, and Caroline Black shook her head slightly, the primroses fluttering on her hat. I wished he had said something else instead of blurting out the first thing that popped into his head, but I felt sorry for him too-he looked so strained and uncomfortable.

Mummy didn’t seem bothered, though, but smiled as if he had told a joke. “If you saw what we get as rations, you wouldn’t eat either. I cracked my tooth on a bit of gravel in my bread the other day. It’s rather put me off.”

“Mummy, I wrote to you,” I said quickly, “but the letter was returned.”

“We’re not allowed letters for the first four weeks,” Mummy said. “Caroline could have told you that. And how much did you raise during self-denial week? A good amount, I hope.”

“I-I don’t remember,” I whispered.

“You don’t remember? Of course you do. It was only four weeks ago, and you’ve a good memory for figures. Or are you embarrassed that it wasn’t much? I don’t mind-I didn’t expect you to raise what I would have. How much did you get-ten pounds?”

I bowed my head. I had raised barely a tenth of that. I had been meant to ask neighbors and visitors for donations, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead I had given up all my pocket money for a month, and Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Waterhouse had given me a few shillings. I had come to hate that collecting card.

“Did you know,” Caroline Black said, “that some women ate only brown bread and gruel for the whole week, in tribute to you lot in here? They donated the money they saved from eating a‘prison diet’ to the WSPU!”

She and Mummy laughed, Caroline Black showing her side tooth.

“How is Mrs. Pankhurst?” she asked. “Have you seen her?”

“We’re a bit worried,” Mummy said. “She didn’t come to exercise yesterday, nor to chapel this morning. I do hope she isn’t ill.”

“I saw her,” I declared, pleased to be able to say something useful.

“Saw her? When did you see her?” Mummy demanded.

“Just now. A few cells down.”

Mummy and Caroline Black gazed at me with delight. Our wardress, however, frowned.

“How did she look?” Mummy asked eagerly. “What was she doing?”

“She was knitting.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No, but she smiled at me.”

“Stop this at once!” our wardress cried. “You’re not to talk about such things. I should march you right out of here.”

“That’s good news,” Mummy declared, ignoring the wardress. “Knitting, was she? Just like me.” She glanced at the wool on her stool and laughed. “The thing I’m worst at they’re forcing me to do. By the time I leave I’ll be an expert, at knitting socks, anyway.”

“Are those for you?” I had a hard time imagining Mummy wearing gray socks with red stripes.

“No, no! They’re for male prisoners. Something to keep us busy. Otherwise it really is agonizingly dull in here. I thought at first I might go mad. But I haven’t. Oh, and I’ve got my Bible to read.” She pointed at a shelf that held two books as well as a tin plate and cup, a wooden salt cellar, a piece of yellow soap, and a small brush and comb. “And look what they’ve given us!” She held up the other book. I squinted at the title: A Healthy Home and How to Keep It. “I’ve read it cover to cover. And d‘you know what it tells us-sleep with your window open at night!” Mummy looked up at the small barred window high above her head and began to laugh again. Caroline Black joined her.

“Kitty,” Daddy said quietly.

To my relief, Mummy stopped laughing.

“Have you learned your lesson in here?” Daddy asked.

Mummy frowned. “What do you mean by lesson?”

“Enough is enough, now. When you get out we can get back to normal.”

“That rather depends on what you mean by normal.”

Daddy did not reply.

“Are you suggesting that I give up the fight when I’ve got out?”

“Surely you’re not going to continue.”

“On the contrary, Richard, I think prison has been the making of me. Oddly enough, dullness has made me into a rod of iron. ‘That which does not defeat me makes me stronger.’ That’s Nietzsche, you know.”

“You read entirely too much,” Daddy said.