The Secret Letter. Kerry BarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
cheered again and I’d sat down feeling buoyed up by their support. I was a part of something, I’d thought. A part of something very important.
But later in the meeting, while someone else was talking, things had taken a turn. I was suddenly aware of a flurry of noise and movement at the back of the hall as women got to their feet.
‘Is there a problem?’ the woman on stage had called. But no one had answered. I’d stood up, trying to see what was wrong. Next to me another woman had shrieked.
‘Rats,’ she’d gasped. ‘There are rats in the hall.’ She’d clambered on to her chair and others followed.
At the back of the hall, someone had thrown the doors open and women had begun streaming outside.
Bewildered I’d looked round and saw to my horror that the woman on the chair was right. There were several large brown rats scuttling along the floor in the hall. They were darting this way and that under the chairs, while women had held their skirts up, trying to avoid them.
Agnes had been next to me, looking disgusted.
I’d clutched her arm. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Please.’
We’d both hitched up our skirts and – grateful that we were sitting towards the back of the hall – we’d made a dash for the door.
Outside, and across the road, we’d shaken out our skirts.
‘Ugh, I feel dirty,’ Agnes had said. ‘How on earth did that happen? We’ve used that hall often and never seen vermin before.’
‘Someone put them there,’ a passing suffragette had said, still holding her dress up above her knees. ‘Heard about it happening a few times in Manchester.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’ The hatred we drew was nothing new, but it still shocked me every time I experienced it.
She’d shrugged. ‘Coppers?’
‘Miss Whitehouse?’
Startled out of my memories of the rat-infested meeting, I almost ignored the voice behind me, until it said again: ‘Miss Whitehouse?’ and I remembered the false name I’d given the young man who’d helped me to my feet last week.
I turned to see Joseph Fairbanks – I found I had no trouble remembering his name – grinning at me. My heart – my foolish heart – gave a flutter as I looked at his handsome face and I cursed myself inwardly. All this talk of women being equal to men, and there was I going giddy at the first sight of a crooked smile and friendly blue eyes …
‘How lovely to see you,’ Joseph said.
For the first time I noticed he was wearing his police constable uniform, holding his hat under his arm, and I felt a rush of something. Fear? Trepidation? My only dealings with constables had not been good and the horror of the rats in the meeting was still raw. Despite Joseph’s smile and handsome face, and my absolute certainty that he was a good man unlike some of the others I’d come across, I found I wanted to spin on my heels and run away.
But instead, I nodded politely. ‘Likewise.’
‘Enjoying the spring sunshine?’
‘Indeed.’
‘It seems a shame to walk alone,’ he began, but he stopped as Meg skipped up to me.
‘Esther, we have found a patch of daffodils, which means winter is truly gone now – come and see.’
She tugged at my skirt and I smiled down at her, happy both at her enthusiasm and that she had given me an excuse to leave.
‘One moment, Meg,’ I said and she darted off again.
‘Not alone then?’
I smiled, properly this time. This truly was a nice man. Not someone to fear. Someone, in fact, I felt I liked although we’d only met recently.
‘I’m a governess,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure I am ever alone.’
Joseph laughed and his whole face lit up. ‘I’ve got four brothers,’ he said. ‘I know how that feels.’
‘I should go and admire the daffodils.’
‘And I should get to work.’
We smiled at each other again and I felt a pull towards him. I may have been twenty-one years old, but I’d never had a romance. Some of the girls I’d known at school were married already but I’d been so busy dealing with my father’s death and the mess he’d left behind and then getting involved with the WSPU, that I’d not really had time to think about finding myself a suitor.
‘Until next time,’ he said.
He sauntered off down the path, spinning his hat on his hand as he went.
I watched him go, thinking – somewhat wistfully – that if things were different, and he wasn’t a policeman and I wasn’t, well a criminal in the eyes of the law, then perhaps we could have spent some time together.
But instead, I went to find Meg and the daffodils, which were indeed very lovely and I thought about what to say to Agnes if Meg mentioned me chatting with a constable in the park.
We’d not been home five minutes before Meg brought it up, just as I knew she would. She was a bright little girl and she was endlessly fascinated by people.
‘Esther was talking to a friend in the park,’ she said to her mother as she wrestled off her boots. ‘A man.’
Agnes looked at me with raised eyebrows. ‘A man? Is that so?’
I braced myself, waiting for her to say he was a policeman. Like me, most of the suffragettes did not think much of the constables who were a thorn in all our sides. Agnes would not be happy about me chatting with one, I thought. Especially after last night.
‘Yes,’ Meg said looking rather too pleased with herself. Here it came. She was surely about to announce he had been wearing a uniform. But it seemed that wasn’t what had interested my charge about my exchange with Joseph Fairbanks – she’d been watching me instead.
‘Esther did laugh a lot, and she tilted her head on the side when she talked so the whole world must have looked the wrong way around.’
‘Meg,’ I said, embarrassed, but Agnes just chuckled and Meg was undeterred.
‘And Esther’s cheeks were all red like they are now.’
I put my cool hands to my face. She was right, the wretched child. My cheeks were flaming.
‘Edie has made lunch for you all in the kitchen,’ Agnes said, dropping a kiss on Meg’s head. ‘Go on.’
The children raced off for their food and I busied myself gathering their boots to take upstairs.
‘Oh leave all that for now,’ Agnes said. ‘Come and have tea and tell me all about this handsome chap you’ve been chatting to.’
To my surprise, I discovered I had quite a lot to say about Joseph.
‘I met him the other day when I fell over on my way to Mrs Pankhurst’s house,’ I told Agnes. ‘He picked me up and brushed me off.’
‘He picked you up,’ she repeated, delighted.
‘He did.’ I paused. ‘He was nice. Another man stepped over me and trod on my petticoat but he stopped to help.’
‘A gentleman.’
‘Handsome, too.’
‘So that’s why your cheeks were red,’ she teased and I felt myself blush again.
Agnes clapped her hands. ‘It’s like a fairy story,’ she said. ‘You fell over and he fell in love.’
‘Heavens, Agnes, no. You are getting ahead of yourself.’