He got up and strode away quickly, leaving her alone.
It hurt, sharply.It seemed she could never find the words to keep the people she loved at her side.
Chapter six
London
PennyFairweathersatveryupright on a folding chair on the roof-garden of the offices of the Women’s Social and Political Union in Clement’s Inn Road, waiting to be scolded.
But to her discomfiture, when her superior at the Women’s Press sat down across from Penny, the middle-aged woman showed no interest in scolding Penny and instead became absorbed in the business of cleaning her spectacles.
“I’m not sorry I threw the brick,” Penny blurted.
Miss Rivers made no reply.Penny put this down to silent judgement, a reasonable assumption when it came to Miss Rivers.
“Have you seen the things they sell at that shop, Miss Rivers?”Penny demanded, her perpetually rosy cheeks growing hot.
“Among other things,” Miss Rivers murmured to her spectacles, “I believe there is a drinking flask decorated with an unpleasant-looking woman shoutingI demand the vote.Was this offensive object worth your freedom and reputation, Miss Fairweather?”
“And it hasAn Abomination To All Menon the lid!“ Penny protested.
Now, at last, Miss Rivers looked at her—in such a way that Penny was forced to concede in meeker tones, “I don’t know, Miss Rivers.”
“You haven’t ever been in gaol, have you?”Miss Rivers said gently.
“No,” said Penny, for whom this was a sore point.She had got quite close during the deputation to Parliament last year, but her father had intervened.
“Not for any lack of grit, I think,” said Miss Rivers.“But soldiers need discipline as well as grit, you know.And this is war—an exceptionally long one.Disciplinemustbe maintained if we are to prevail.”
Penny fell silent.Discipline was not her strong point.
“It’s all the little things that are the worst,” Penny confessed after a moment.“When some man shrinks everything down and makes it all sopetty.Not one of them has ever had to sit and listen to someone at a party tell them they ought not be able to vote, or inherit, or take a degree, or have custody of your own children.And then if you point out just how beastly it makes you feel, he calls you hysterical.It simply can’t be borne!”
“I know,” Miss Rivers agreed.“That’s why I’m going to suspend you from your work on the paper.”
Penny jumped up.“Oh, no!Oh!Please, Miss Rivers, it’s the only thing I’m really good at—“
“I agree,” Miss Rivers interrupted.“You are, in fact, much too good to stay on forever atVotes for Women.”
Penny faltered.“I beg your pardon?”
“What you need, Miss Fairweather, is a broader scope.I suggest you use your time away fromVotes For Womento write for a more wide-ranging publication.TheMail, for example.”
Penny stared, horrified.“Not theDailyMail?But it’s full of nonsense!”
“Then contribute some sense,” said Miss Rivers firmly.
“But— Miss Rivers, our circulation doubled over the past year.There are thirty thousand people who read our paper now!”
“And there are many more who never will, no matter how many street corners we populate in order to sell them,” she said.“Do you know more women in England read theDaily Mailthan another paper?And if you are worried about bigotry, recall that our Mrs Peacocke worked there very successfully.It was she who came up with the idea of posting Daisy and Elsie to the Prime Minister.I understand it was quite the ‘scoop.’”
Penny found her store of objections depleted.Suffragists had been trying for years to get Prime Minister Asquith to meet with them, just to ask him to consider putting extending the franchise to a vote in the House.When it was discovered that posting ladies through the Royal Mail was perfectly legal, two volunteers were dispatched to Asquith at Downing Street.His private secretary refused to sign for them, but it had made a terrific story, highlighting the absurdities the suffragists had to overcome just to get a hearing.Or not to get a hearing, as it turned out.
Miss Rivers stood and nodded for Penny to look across the rooftops of London.
“Broaden your scope, Penny,” said Miss Rivers.“Take your eyes off the vote for a moment.If you really believe that this is your city as much as it is any man’s, then there is a great deal more in it to interest you than Parliament.”Miss Rivers paused at the stairwell that led into the multi-storied offices of the WSPU.Her spectacles glinted at Penny.“And be patient.When the time is right, we’ll tell you when and where to throw your next brick.”
Penny looked out over the jigsaw-jumble of the city.Fleet Street was not far at all—she could make out the offices of theDaily Mailitself by following the church spires along the way.
