“No sister of mine is staying in gaol. Not for any – cause.” Jack, his voice shaking with anger, invested the word with heavy sarcasm. “Not if I can help it.”
“But Jack, it’s up to her, surely? If she doesn’t want her fine paid—” Molly knew it was useless to argue, but was equally certain that she ought to try.
“I don’t give a damn what she wants!”
Sitting bolt upright in a fireside chair Sarah winced at the violence in her eldest son’s voice.
“Has she given a single thought to anyone else’s feelings in all of this?” Jack continued, stationing himself in the centre of the room, his raised, pointed finger sweeping from one of his listeners to the other. “Has she? What about Mam?” The finger jabbed. “How in hell is she supposed to feel with a daughter in prison?” Sarah stirred but did not speak. “And what about you two? Fine gossip in the shop, eh? What to say to a customer who asks how your sister’s liking it in Holloway?”
Charley lifted his head. Molly, as always, felt a pulse of shock at the painful contrast between the strong, clear-featured face and the blank and lifeless eyes.
“No, Jack.” Charley’s voice was gentle, it almost invariably was. The rage that had first accompanied his disability had gone, subjugated by necessity and courage. “I’ll not have that. The lass is going her own road. I’ll not go against her for my own sake, nor for Annie’s. What worries me is what conditions in prison might do to her. Six weeks can be a long time, and our Nancy’s not been strong since—” He stopped.
“Aye. That’s what’s on my mind.” It was the first time Sarah had spoken.
“But to Nancy, to all of them, it’s a matter of principle.” Molly could not keep a quiet tongue; she could still see Nancy’s inspired face as she had stood in the dock with the other women and girls who had been charged with her. “They want to stay in prison. That’s the whole idea. To draw attention to their cause.”
Jack turned on her, his face thunderous. “It sounds as if you’d like to be in there with her? You’ve done nothing but defend the girl. Don’t you think there’s enough to fight for, enough to suffer for, without inventing senseless and futile ‘causes’? If they want a fight, I’ll give them something to fight for! A decent living wage for every family. Housing. Medical care. Security in old age. Votes for women?” His voice cracked in his effort not to shout. “When we haven’t been able to get the vote for most working men yet? When up and down the country wages are being cut, men are being thrown out of work, locked out, tossed into the street to starve, kids and all, so that the masters can keep their profits? What’s the matter with our Nancy? Has she gone clear off her head?”
“That isn’t fair.” Anger lifted like a sudden, bright pennant and despite herself Molly marched into battle – the last thing she had intended to do. “Nancy cares every bit as much about those things as you do. More, perhaps. My God, I should know – between you two I get more lectures than a working man’s club! Nancy just has a different way of going about things, that’s all. Why can’t you see that? Can you blame her? You men have had your chance over the years, haven’t you? With your Parliaments, and your armies, your unions and your wars and revolutions? And what’s changed? Nothing. Who are you to get on your high horse because someone – a woman – dares to try something different? In every city in this country unionists are in prison at this moment for doing exactly what Nancy and her friends have been doing. For going against the established order of things. For trying to make their voices heard, trying to get people to listen, trying to change things. I don’t hear you calling them lunatics. You raise money to defend them. You support them. You treat them as heroes. You’d be one of them if it came to it, you know you would. And, tell me, what would you expect us to say if it came to that? Would you expect us to consider it a disgrace? If they tried to lock you out of the docks tomorrow and it came to a fight, what would you do to a policeman who stood in your way? Ask him politely to step aside?”
“At least,” Annie said into the furious silence, “I don’t think Jack would be reduced to using his teeth. Not with fists like his.”
Charley chuckled. Jack and Molly eyed each other like fighting cocks, both aware that Nancy was not the only, nor even the basic, cause of hostilities. Jack took a breath that visibly lifted his massive chest, ran his fingers through thick and tangled hair. “Fighting amongst ourselves isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“I’m not fighting,” Molly said promptly. “I’m defending someone who isn’t here to defend herself. If this matter is to come to a vote—” she glared into Jack’s exasperated face “—then I vote ‘no’. Nancy doesn’t want the fine paid. She’s a grown woman, she’s entitled to do as she sees fit. Six weeks isn’t a lifetime. If you pay her fine and get her released while her friends stay in prison I doubt if she’ll ever forgive you.”
Jack let his bright gaze rest on his wife’s rebellious face for a long moment before he turned to Sarah. “What about you, Mam?”
“I want her out of that place,” Sarah said quietly. “It isn’t that I don’t understand what Molly’s saying. She may even be right, for all I know. But, as Charley says, my lass isn’t very strong, whatever she may think. I can’t bear the thought of her in—” Her voice broke at last and tears came. She bowed her head.
Jack threw a sidelong glance at Molly, turned to Annie and Charley. “What do you two think?”
Annie didn’t hesitate. “Nancy’s a birdbrain ever to have got herself involved with the coppers in the first place. Take it from me, jug’s no place for a girl like our Nancy. Enough of my lot have been inside. Anyone who doesn’t want to get out has got to be touched in the head. Pay up. She’ll be so glad to get back to decent, normal people and a hot bath she won’t be able to stay mad long.”
“Charley?”
Charley did not speak for a considerable time. Jack watched him, as he always did, with unassuageable pain in his own eyes. Seeing it, Molly’s anger drained from her like water from a cracked jug. Nothing that anyone, including Charley, could say or do, would ever enable Jack to forgive himself for something that had been totally beyond his power to prevent.
“Charley?” he said again, gently.
Charley shook his head. “No,” he said, and then, into the surprised silence, “No,” again. “Molly’s right. It’s Nancy’s choice. We shouldn’t make it for her.”
All eyes turned to Jack. He looked from one to the other. Two for, two against. His the casting vote.
“I’m paying it,” he said at last, “and if our Nancy doesn’t like it she can kick me when we’ve got her home.”
“I’d like to kick his head in,” Nancy said viciously, “that I would.”
“Oh, come on, Nancy, he’s only done what he thinks is for the best. And you did agree, in the end.” Molly poured the tea.
“What else could I do? To hear our Jack talk you’d think Mam was suicidal, and Annie and Charley and you going broke because of me.” She stared moodily into her cup, then lifted her head, smiling a little. “I’m a pig, Molly. I haven’t even thanked you for coming to meet me. I’ll bet Jack didn’t know you were setting foot – almost – in the unhallowed halls of Holloway?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Well he might tomorrow.”
“Oh, Nancy, don’t!” It was Molly’s turn to frown. “I didn’t dream those men were reporters when I gave them my name and address. I thought they were prison officers or something. It wasn’t until they actually took the photograph—” She stopped. “They won’t publish it, will they? I mean, two women walking out of a gateway: hardly big news, is it?”
“A prison gateway. And one of them as good-looking as you? Don’t bank on it.”
Molly discovered that Nancy was right the next evening when Jack came home from work.
She heard him come through the front door, gruffly greet the girls who had, as always, rushed to meet him.
“Daddy, I made you a pie. An apple one. You’ve got it for after supper. The crust is all lovely and hard—”
Molly smiled at Meghan’s shrill voice, waited for Jack’s laughter. It didn’t come.
“I peeled the apples—” Kitty was hanging on her father’s hand as they came into the kitchen, “—and I didn’t cut myself at all. Only nearly.”
Molly turned from the stove to greet him, paused at the look on his face. Danny, drawing at the kitchen table, looked up.
“I’m drawing a motor car, like the one Edward showed me at the garage.” Jack did not answer. “Dad? What’s the matter?”
“Nowt’s the matter, lad. I want a word with your mother is all. Take the girls in the parlour for a minute, will you? Here. Share these.” He handed over a sticky twist of paper full of sweets.
“Cor, thanks,” Danny said. “Humbugs!”
“And gob-stoppers? Are there any gob-stoppers?” Meg, jumping up and down, made an impatient grab for the sweets.
“Do as Daddy asked. Take them into the other room. Quietly. Meghan, don’t snatch. And Danny, don’t tease her. And don’t eat them all, you’ll spoil your supper. One each, the rest later.”
Molly watched them squabble through the door. “There’s no gob-stopper here big enough to stop your gob,” Danny said with brotherly rudeness. Jack closed the door behind them.
“What is it?” asked Molly.
In answer Jack tossed the paper he had been carrying, folded, upon the table. Molly stared with sinking heart at one of the clearest pictures of herself she had ever seen. Over her shoulder Nancy’s face was blurred and fuzzy.
“Oh, Good Lord ,” she said.
“Read it.”
In the silence the clock ticked loudly. “I’ll sue them!’’ Molly said with some violence. “I’ll damn well sue them! Why, the cheek of it. They imply that I – that I—”
“What were you doing there, for God’s sake? What were you doing there?”
“I went to meet Nancy. Well, I couldn’t leave her to come home alone, could I? As if no one cared?” She tossed the paper angrily onto the table. “How dare they? Just look at the offensive way it’s written: ‘two valiant Amazons who found that action is harder than words… predictably ready to pay up when the going gets tough’. I hope Nancy hasn’t seen this.”
Jack sat down heavily in the chair by the range, pulled off his heavy boots. “If she hasn’t then she must be the only one between here and the riverside who hasn’t. The lads went to town on me today, I can tell you. Very funny they found it.”
“Oh, Jack, I’m sorry.” Molly laid a hand on his shoulder. “Truly I am. Is there anything we can do about it?”
“It’s not worth it, lass. Leave it. If you kick up a fuss it’ll likely make things worse. It can’t be helped now.”
“And you aren’t angry?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. Even I can see that. Though I was spitting rivets at first, I can tell you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to meet our Nancy?”
“Because I thought you’d try to stop me.”
To her surprise he laughed, throwing his head back in real amusement. “Molly, you’re worth a guinea a box! Stop you? Me? When have I ever actually managed to stop you from doing something that your heart was set on? When has anyone? I’d as soon try to stop the sun from shining.” He reached for her, drew her to him, rubbed his face gently on her breasts. It was months since he had made such a gesture. Stirred, she touched his hair, ran a finger down his dirty, scarred face. They stayed so, in silence, for a long moment.
“Lord, girl, I can be a fool sometimes,” said Jack unexpectedly, his voice muffled by her dress, “I know it. Stiff-necked lot, the Bentons, the whole damned lot of us. Always were. I suppose – it’s just that—” He ran out of words.
“—Just that you should have married a little thing who would cook and clean and mend your shirts and care for your children, with no nonsense?” Molly asked very quietly. “Who’d never fight with you, nor make a decision on her own? Who thought her own two feet were there for someone else to step on?”
He leaned back, looking up at her with eyes that were crinkled with laughter. “And look what I got landed with – a self-willed hussy who argues with me every time I open my mouth, runs my house in her spare time, adds insult to injury by earning more money than I do, and caps it all by getting her picture in the paper as she walks out of Holloway. Bit of a come-down from the paragon you just described, isn’t it?”
Her fingers, that had been playing with his tangled hair, buried deep and tugged.
“Owch! And an Irish temper as well.” He stood up swiftly, imprisoned her with arms that well knew their own strength.
“Supper’s spoiling.”
“I don’t give a damn.” He kissed her, hard, then again, longer, quieter.
If it could just always be like this… The very thought seemed treachery. She tightened her arms around him.
“Mum, Mr Ed—” Danny, bursting through the kitchen door, stopped wide-eyed “—monton’s here,” he finished composedly. “He wants to see Aunt Nancy. Can I take him up?”
Molly disengaged herself from her grinning husband’s arms. “Yes, please, Danny. Then wash your hands. Supper’s ready.”
From the hall beyond the open door Christopher Edmonton had seen the little tableau, had stood abashed, unable to look away, an uncomfortable prickling warmth rising in his body. He could not conceive what it would be like to be a man like Jack Benton. He could not take his eyes off him. The man was enormous; he radiated strength, sheer physical power. His scarred, striking face might have been chiselled from rock. He drew the eye and the attention; people listened when he spoke. Christopher admired him, envied him, was frightened of him – as he was frightened of so many things. He was even afraid of Molly: of her sharp tongue, her energy, her bright, determined eyes. Her very beauty frightened him. He could rarely speak to her without stammering.
“Mum says I can show you upstairs.” The little red-headed boy was standing in front of him, head tipped back, looking at him with no trace of shyness or fear. By God, even the children in this house were terrifying.
“Er – thank you.”
Christopher trailed up the stairs behind Danny, his heart thumping like a traction engine. Now what? Would Nancy be angry that he had disturbed her? Would she be busy? Or tired? Should he have come?
“Here we are.” Self-importantly Danny bashed hard on the door. “Aunt Nancy. A visitor. I can’t wait,” he added to Christopher with a man-to-man smile, “supper’s ready and my mum’s got a temper on her like a bee-stung cat if we’re late.”
Christopher watched him down the stairs with some admiration. He could not somehow visualize young Danny Benton in ten years’ time trembling before a woman’s door.
“Come in.” Nancy’s voice was oddly flat. “Door’s open.”
She was sitting, staring out into the rain, her shoulders slumped. It was bitterly cold in the little slope-ceilinged room. At the sight of the insubstantial frame, the light-boned boyish face, which was highlighted by the single lamp that burned on the table, Christopher felt a twist of physical pain. She looked absurdly vulnerable, hopelessly miserable.
She looked up. “Oh, hello, Chris. Come to see the conquering heroine, have you? The—” she pushed a crumpled newspaper with her foot “—‘valiant Amazon’?” Her voice was choked with self-disgust.
Christopher found his voice. “You aren’t letting the Express get you down, are you? You know how they feel about the Cause. Why, Mother says that to get your name in the Express is the next best thing to making a speech at Hyde Park Corner—”
That brought a very small smile. “Tell Molly that. I don’t expect she’s exactly over the moon about having her face plastered all over London.”
“She seemed all right when I saw her just now.”
“Wait till our Jack comes home.”
Christopher flushed. “He’s home. They were – together. I’m sure your brother wasn’t angry.”
“Oh well, that’s a relief anyway.” Her voice was listless.
Christopher shivered. “It’s freezing in here. Why haven’t you lit the fire? Have you had anything to eat?”
Nancy shrugged, shook her head.
The dim light, the miserable droop of the slight figure in the chair brought stirrings of confidence. “How silly. You’ll do no good sitting here in the freezing cold and pretending you’re back in prison, you know.” He surprised himself with the briskness of his tone. “There’s a meeting at home tomorrow—”
Nancy moved her head vaguely. “I’m not sure I can make it tomorrow…”
“Nonsense. If you’re afraid of what the others will think, or that they’ll look down on you because your brother paid your fine, then you don’t know them. They understand, of course they do. Mother’s delighted you’re back. She said so. Now, where are the matches? Look at you – the fire laid and ready and you’re shivering with cold. Here, put this round you—” He picked up a shawl that was draped over the back of a chair. “No, don’t move. Just sit there until I get the fire going. Then I’ll make us a cup of cocoa and some toast. Have you any eggs?”
Bemused, Nancy nodded.
“Good. Because scrambled eggs are all that I can do that’s edible.”
“Scrambled eggs?” A gleam of amusement lit her brown eyes.
More than anything he had ever known he loved every line, every expression on the tired face. “I may be one of the fairly-idle almost-rich,” he said with unusual lightness, “but a few years ago I fagged for the most awful chap named Wellington. He had the strongest right arm in the school. And he liked scrambled eggs. Therefore I learned to scramble eggs.”
Nancy laughed. “Very sensible.”
Christopher winced. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I am. Most of the time anyway.”
He busied himself with the fire, watched the first unwarming yellow flames lick wood, catch, sputter, dance around the as-yet-untouched coal. Sparks, a puff of smoke; he coughed, blew into the glowing wood, felt the early stealings of warmth.
‘There. That’ll be going marvellously in a minute. Come closer. That’s it. Now stay there and get warm while I get some supper.”
He worked at the little stove, quietly happy, whistling softly and tunelessly between his teeth, glancing every now and again at the still figure beside the fire. Nancy had extended her thin hands to the blaze, and the flame glowed bloodily through her fingers.
“Eggs au Edmonton coming up.” With a flourish he scraped the golden mixture onto the plate. “Oh, cripes, the plate’s cold. It’s a good job you aren’t Wellington Major.” As he laughed the firelight caught his young face, drawing its fine and sensitive lines, sharpening angles, hardening the jaw, mapping the future. “Eat it quickly before it gets cold.”
The first mouthful showed her how hungry she was. She ate every scrap, wiped the plate with a crust of toast while he looked on delightedly.
“Cocoa,” he said, handing her a mug. “Strong and with lots of sugar, just as you like it.”
She took it, cupped her hands around the warmth. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “Jack used to smuggle cocoa up to me in bed when I was supposed to be asleep—”
Christopher stared into the glowing coal-cave. “You think a lot of Jack, don’t you? For all that you fight a lot?”
There was a long, thoughtful silence. “Yes,” said Nancy, faint surprise in her voice. “Yes, I still do. The problem with us is that we look at things from different angles. We both see the same things. But we both see something totally different. And we’re both stubborn as mules.”
“But you’re both right.”
She laughed, “Or were both wrong. And neither of us would admit that.”
“He frightens me.” An evening of surprises. How had he brought himself to admit that? And to Nancy of all people? She was watching him, waiting for him to go on. “His size, I suppose. His strength. He has a – potential for violence.”
“Jack isn’t violent. Never deliberately so.”
“I didn’t say he was. It’s a feeling, an impression. I wouldn’t want to cross him.”
“You’d be right.”
Christopher leaned forward and poked the fire. A flurry of sparks flew up the dark chimney. “Jack,” he said thoughtfully, “is a symbol of his kind – of his class if you like. Something is changing. There is an impatience, a self-confidence growing in men who work hard and who know the value of that work. But there is violence too, just beneath the surface. It’s what makes a policeman heft his truncheon when he sees two or three working men talking together on a corner. It’s what brings the troops onto the streets of Wales. It makes fingers jumpy on triggers.” His young voice was very serious now.
Nancy looked at him curiously. “It sounds as if you’re talking of revolution?”
“Perhaps I am.”
“Don’t be silly. Revolution? In England?”
“It could happen.”
The atmosphere between them had changed. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Nancy, in an effort at lightness, said, “What a strange boy you are,” and could not miss the sudden, angry lift of his head, the irritation in the movement as he tossed his hair back from his eyes.
“What have I said?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, now, what is it?”
“Don’t you know? Don’t you really know?” His voice was low.
“Would I be asking if I did?” a faint impatience threaded the words. “Perhaps I should light another lamp—” She made to move, found herself imprisoned by his hands.
“No, don’t. Please.”
She looked down at the hands that, though trembling, determinedly held hers. “All right.” She tried to disengage herself. His cold grip tightened.
“Chris, what is it?”
“I’m not a child. Please don’t treat me like a child.”
“But I don’t—”
“‘What a strange boy you are’,” he repeated. “Would you say that to – to Jack?”
She did not answer.
“Would you?”
“No, of course not. But—”
“I’m not a boy, Nancy. I’m a man. A man. And I love you.”
The echoes of his raised and desperate voice died into the silence. Gently Nancy pulled her hand from his. His brief courage burned out, he could not look at her. He rested his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands.
“You don’t mean that. Not the way you said it.” Nancy kept her tone level. “You can’t. You are too young. Not a child, certainly not that. But a boy of how old? Seventeen?”
He nodded.
“And I am twenty-eight. Twenty-eight. An old maid. Almost old enough to be your mother.” Agonizing thing to say with Edward never far from her mind.
He moved violently. “You’re deliberately exaggerating. Eleven years: it isn’t that much. If it were the other way round; if you were a man and I a girl – who’d care then? Oh, it’s stupid! Stupid! I love you, Nancy, truly love you. It isn’t fair—” He knew himself how those words, the eternal cry of the child, damned him. He turned away from her.
Into the flickering silence she said, “I think you should go.”
“No!” With a movement so sudden she could not prevent it he slipped to the floor at her feet, burying his head in her lap. “Oh, no. Don’t send me away. Please don’t.” It was the cry of a desolate child.
Her hand hovered an inch from the fine, straight hair. “I’m not sending you away. I’m not. But it’s late and it really is time for you to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at your mother’s. But you must promise me something—” He lifted a stricken face, tear-marked in the firelight. Her own eyes blurred at the sight of his distress but she kept her voice calm. “You must promise never to mention this again. We’re friends. We always will be.” His breath was catching in his throat; she had to use every ounce of self-discipline she could muster to prevent herself from gathering him into her arms as she might Edward or Danny. “Don’t be unhappy. Please don’t. These things don’t last. It’s perfectly natural to – to feel something for someone who is older than you. But you’ll see – you’ll meet some pretty girl, and the next thing you know you’ll be inviting me to the wedding—”
He sat back, ungainly, on his heels, his head moving slowly back and forth. “No,” he said.
“Christopher—”
“Please don’t say any more.” He had almost gained control of his voice. “I know I love you. I know how much. It doesn’t matter that you don’t believe me. I know I’m not good enough for you,” he said, ignoring her involuntary, protesting movement, “I’m weak, not strong like you, and Jack and the others. I’m a coward. But I’ll prove to you that my love is the best part of me. I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. I haven’t spoiled things, have I? We are still friends?”
Nancy swallowed. “Of course we are. How could we be anything else? I’ve no one else to read Mr Byron to me with such feeling. No one else to make me cocoa and scramble me eggs when I’m sick of myself. Ah, that’s better—” A tremulous smile had shown through the fiery, glittering tears. “Friends,” she added softly. “When you think about it, it’s a better word than ‘lovers’. More—” she smiled “—comfortable. We’ll be friends, Christopher. Until some young lady takes my friend from me—”
He shook his head, struggled to his feet, brushing the back of his hand across his still-wet face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” His voice was almost normal.
She watched him shrug his coat untidily on, fling his scarf about his neck. “Yes.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight. God Bless.”
In the quiet after his departure Nancy leaned a weary head on her hands and stared into the slowly dying fire.