‘What march?’ Clara asked, her interest suddenly piqued.
‘Why the suffragette march, of course,’ Mrs Trimbrell replied.
‘Why exactly are they marching?’ asked Clara.
‘My dear, your mother needs to educate you on such things,’ Mrs Wickham said looking pointedly in Mrs Winton’s direction.
Mrs Winton’s face flushed. She had been caught off guard by the ladies’ forthright opinions.
‘We’ll talk about it later. Come along, Clara, or we’ll be late for tea,’ Mrs Winton said turning away. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’
Clara was in a bad mood all the way home having received no answer to her questions except that it needn’t concern her at the moment. Mrs Winton walked rather more quickly on the way home and kept urging Kate to hurry the children along. Was she being too cautious about joining the suffragettes? Was Mrs Wickham, right? Clara was growing up in a society that might well be different for women like her. She should be prepared for it. There had always been some sort of unspoken rule in most houses that what the man decided was law, but times were changing.
She’d been invited to the Winchester Society meetings on a number of occasions but had found excuses. Yes, she thought it was important that women should hold responsible positions in society and obtaining the vote was an important step in establishing women’s rights but . . . and there were buts, thechief one being what James would say, how it would affect his position.
Mrs Winton debated with herself for several days after that chance meeting in the park, struggling with the arguments for and against. It was a letter that decided her. Four days after her encounter with Mrs Wickham and Mrs Trimbrell, a large envelope was delivered to Woodland House addressed to Mrs Dorothea Winton. She rarely received post herself, except letters from her sister and her aunt. She sat in the study and read its contents. The two items in the envelope were accompanied by a note from Mrs Wickham encouraging her to read and ‘decide for herself what was the right thing to do’. It encouraged her to bring her daughter and her maid too. ‘For this is a fight that affects all women, regardless of class, and they are the next generation. We are doing this for the women of the future as well as today.’
She read the pamphlet first. It was written by a Lord Curzon and entitledFifteen Good Reasons Against the Grant of Female Suffrage. A document that referred to ‘women’s proper sphere and highest duty which is maternity’ and suggested that suffrage would lead to ‘divisions which will break up the harmony of the home’.
Dorothea Winton’s anger began to rise. It was fine for men such as Lord Curzon to talk of women’s duties and breaking the harmony of the home, but they did not have to suffer the pain of childbirth, sometimes to be followed by the pain of losing that child. Nor did they think twice about putting their own success before the needs of their wives and children. Her own husband was not with her and yet she had survived his absence. She had coped perfectly well without him breathing down her neck to sanction and double check her every decision in life.
She turned to the second document entitledFifteen Valid Arguments for the Grant of Female Suffragein which Lady Laura Ridding had discounted all Lord Curzon’s argumentsin a very clever poem exposing his arguments for what they were, opinionated and one-sided. It ended with the lines:‘No valid argument will win of all the great fifteen. They will have vanished into dust as if they’d never been’.
Mrs Winton decided then and there. Mrs Wickham was right. She would attend the Winchester Society’s reception for the suffragettes and she would take Clara and Kate with her.
Chapter Eight
July 1913
The hall was buzzing. Kate had never seen so many women in one place. Not even at the Christmas Bazaar in Micklewell village hall. Purple, white and green rippled across the room. Kate thought she was walking across a Hampshire heath.
The invitation to attend the meeting with Mrs Winton had come as a complete surprise.The mistress had become more relaxed somehow, since the master’s departure and she and Clara seemed closer to each other, there were less disagreements. Perhaps that was why she had been asked to come, or perhaps Clara had asked if Kate could come too? Whatever the reason, Kate was pleased to be there. This was an experience that she would never have had in Micklewell.
Eliza had commented that Kate shouldn’t get above herself ‘hobnobbing with the gentry’, but Mrs B said it was an honour to be included and that Kate should be on her best behaviour.
The three stood just inside and Mrs Winton scanned the room as if she was looking for someone. ‘It’s very crowded,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting quite so many.’
Kate watched as a fulsome figure wearing a bold sash walked towards them. Her purposeful stride making the ostrich plumes on her hat bounce to her rhythm. ‘My dears, welcome. Isn’t it wonderful to see so many of us?’ she said. ‘Now there’s a table over there where you can choose from a sash like mine, or a ribbon. Our seamstresses have all been busy sewing.’
She sailed swiftly on checking the attire of all in her path. It was not a familiar sight to see her mistress take orders from someone else, but she led the way and Kate and Clara followed. Armed with the less conspicuous ribbons, they pinned them to their chests and joined the crowd.
Within a few minutes the ostrich plumes made their way onto the platform at one end of the hall and there was an announcement that there was news of the march. They would be arriving at the outskirts of the village very soon.
‘We have banners against the wall over there.’ Mrs Ostrich Feathers beamed. ‘Volunteers needed, please, to carry them.’
Clara, clearly seduced by the excitement, made a step forward and was barred by her mother’s arm.
‘Well, well, Dorothea Winton, what a surprise?’ a voice called from behind them.
Mrs Winton turned. ‘Mrs Barnes, Amelia, how lovely to see you,’ she replied. Kate couldn’t help but notice that Mrs Winton was anything but pleased to see the face with the inquisitive eyes and a slightly lopsided mouth.
‘And who have we here?’ the woman quizzed, peering out from under her ribboned hat.
‘This is my daughter Clara, and Kate, the twins’ nursemaid,’ Mrs Winton replied.
‘Unusual to bring one’s maid to such events,’ Amelia Barnes commented.
‘I didn’t think the suffragettes discriminated,’ Dorothea Winton replied.
