Poor Richard. I didn't think I would ever be embarrassed for the chap, but I am. I always said his wife would be a handful.
He and I were on the roster to roll the cricket pitch tonight, and were just walking over to the Heath when we saw her. I must say I'm glad Trudy has never asked for a bicycle. Kitty Coleman was riding along merrily, her dress rising to her knees as she pedalled. I caught a good glimpse of an ankle — and a fine one it was, too — before I managed to look away.
Richard made as if he didn't see her, so I pretended not to as well, but then she rang a little bell and we had to raise our hats at her. She waved, then went on her way with a flash of the other ankle.
I thought she was looking remarkably well for having been six weeks in Holloway, but I did not say so to Richard. In fact it seemed best not to say anything at all.
But Richard did, which surprised me, as we're not ones for confidences. ‘Tell me, Albert, how do you handle your wife?’
I stumbled over a paving stone. ‘How do I handle my wife?’ With firm affection, I thought, as I regained my balance. I did not say so aloud — there are things men do not say aloud.
‘Kitty has blackmailed me,’ Richard continued.
‘How so?’
‘She says that if I try to forbid her to work for the suffragettes she will begin giving speeches at rallies. Can you imagine the Coleman name all over those infernal handbills they pass out? Or plastered on posters, or chalked on the pavement? Holloway almost killed my mother from the shame of it — this would finish her off. What would you do in my situation?’
I was trying to picture Trudy making such a threat, but it was impossible to imagine. If anything she is more concerned about the Waterhouse name than I am. And she would rather eat a plate of coal than speak in public. The kinds of threats she makes to me are to do with the colour of the front parlour curtains or which seaside town we are to go to for a holiday.
Richard was looking at me as if he expected a response. ‘Perhaps it's just a phase your wife is going through,’ I suggested. ‘Perhaps the suffragette movement will die out. They're planning a demonstration in Hyde Park in June, aren't they? Even Trudy knows of it, and she's no suffragette. Perhaps that will satisfy them, and afterwards your wife will settle down.’
‘Perhaps,’ Richard repeated, but I am afraid he did not sound convinced.