Suffragette Girl (11 page)

Florrie gazed up at him. ‘I do,’ she said quietly and firmly, though her insides trembled at the thought of what her refusal would bring about.

‘Very well then. You leave us no alternative.’ The wardresses advanced towards her. Two grasped her arms and two more her legs. They wrapped a towel around her and dragged her to lie
flat on the bed, and held her down. One wardress clamped Florrie’s mouth shut whilst the doctor inserted the end of the tube into her left nostril. Her eyes began to water. The pain was
excruciating as the tube was pushed in further and further. She was aware of a burning sensation and her ears felt as if they were going to burst. Pain welled in her chest. But struggling was
futile against the six of them.

One of the doctors stood on the stool above her and the other handed him the jug of liquid. ‘It’s a mixture of milk and egg, young woman. If you do not value your own life, I am sure
there are others who do. We won’t let you die in our custody.’

Florrie made a gurgling noise, longing to shout at him, ‘You stupid old man. I’m young and fit. I could survive for weeks on water alone.’ But she couldn’t speak; she
couldn’t say a word in protest. As the liquid was poured into the funnel and down the tube, her right nostril was pinched so that now she had no way of breathing. She began to struggle,
feeling she was going to suffocate, but the four wardresses were too strong for her. As she fought for breath, the liquid was sucked up her nose and down her throat.

At last it was over as the tube was withdrawn. The rough hands that had held her down released their grip. Slowly, Florrie sat up, retching and spitting. She felt dizzy and sick and her chest
heaved painfully. One of the doctors checked her pulse. He nodded and they all trooped out of the cell, leaving Florrie to fall back on her bed and shed tears of humiliation and remorse at what she
felt to be the failure of her hunger strike.

The dreadful force-feeding went on for several days until Florrie was exhausted and in constant pain. She was lying on her bed, where she now spent most of her time, only dimly
aware that someone she thought to be one of the doctors was standing over her. There were other figures behind him. Any moment now, it would begin again. She tried to brace herself for the rough
handling once more, but she was too weary and dispirited to care. She closed her eyes as she felt a hand on her forehead. But this man’s touch was gentle and the arms that raised her up were
strong and caring. And then she heard a voice she knew. No, no, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here.

‘How is she?’

‘Not good. We must get her out of here as quickly as possible.’

‘What must I do? Who do I have to see?’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll see my colleagues. You stay here with her, if they’ll let you.’

‘They’ll have to drag me out by force,’ he said. ‘And I might just put up a little more resistance than a defenceless woman.’

The doctor chuckled as he turned away. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

The heavy door was left swinging open and, though Florrie was dimly aware of a wardress standing at the door and saying loudly, ‘This is most irregular’, no attempt was made to
remove her visitor.

‘Gervase,’ she croaked. ‘Is it really you?’

‘Yes, my darling, it is. I’ve come to take you home.’

Florrie rested her head against his shoulder and wept tears of exhaustion and relief. She’d stood it all, she’d not given in of her own accord, but now she was thankful to let
Gervase take control. She couldn’t remember ever being so pleased to see anyone in her life as she was at this moment.

Florrie drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. She was aware of being lifted and carried, of being in a hansom cab and finally of being put to bed in the
Richards’ town house.

Isobel sat beside her, spooning nourishing soup into her sore mouth, washing her from head to toe with gentle hands. But she was aware too of angry whispers between the brother and sister.

‘As soon as she’s strong enough, I’m taking her home.’

‘You can’t do that, Gervase. What will her father say – and do?’

‘I don’t care. She can stay at Bixley Manor.’

‘He won’t like that either, if he gets to hear of it. Unchaperoned, her reputation will be in tatters.’

‘I don’t give a fig about her reputation. There’s not much of it left, after this fiasco you’ve involved her in.’

‘Oh, my fault, is it?’

‘Well, isn’t it? If you hadn’t brought her to London, she’d never have become caught up in all this nonsense.’

‘Nonsense now, is it? Just because it’s
Florrie—
’

But he cut her short, saying, ‘Isobel, you know I’ve never agreed with the use of violence. I don’t think it does your Cause justice. In fact, I think it hinders it.’

Florrie waited for Isobel’s heated reply, but none came.

After a few days of Isobel’s tender care, Florrie was well enough to travel. They were driven to the station and Gervase carried her aboard the train.

‘I hardly need to tell you to take care of her, do I?’ Isobel tried to be light-hearted, but Gervase was not amused.

‘You do not,’ he remarked curtly as he set Florrie down gently in a corner seat and turned back to his sister.

‘Meredith’s organizing her trunk into the guard’s van.’ Isobel stood on the platform looking up at him. ‘I’m sorry, Gervase.’

He softened a little and sighed. ‘You do understand, if it’s in my power to stop her, she won’t be coming back again.’

‘She may have to,’ Isobel said. ‘She hasn’t completed her sentence.’

‘Bugger her sentence,’ he muttered. Slamming the carriage door, he turned his back on his sister. He didn’t even wave to her as the train drew out of the station.

Florrie didn’t think she’d ever seen Gervase so angry. He sat stiffly beside her in the compartment, his gaze on the countryside passing by the window.

She was thankful not to have to converse. Feeling weak and ill, Florrie huddled into the corner of the seat, wrapping the warm rug around her. She closed her eyes and dozed fitfully. In her
exhausted state, even the noise of the train and the arrival and departure of other passengers couldn’t keep her fully awake. But her rest was disturbed by dreams – unpleasant dreams
that bordered on the nightmarish. They were holding her down, shaking her, and the doctor was advancing menacingly towards her, that awful tube in his hand . . .

She awoke with a little cry of terror to find Gervase’s hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her awake.

‘We’re here. Bates is waiting for us with the carriage,’ he said and added harshly, ‘You’d better stay at Bixley Manor. I can hardly take you home in this
state.’

Florrie blinked up at him. His face was partially in shadow, yet she could see the anger in his eyes. And there was something else too. A dreadful fear. ‘My dear sister has a lot to answer
for.’

He carried her off the train whilst his coachman, Bates, hovered anxiously.

‘Organize the luggage, Bates, if you would.’

Gervase lifted her into the carriage and then climbed in beside her. With a sigh she settled back against the cushions and slept fitfully until she felt herself being lifted out once more and
carried up the steps and into the house.

The Richards’ housekeeper, Mrs Forrest, took charge at once, and soon Florrie was tucked up in bed in one of the guest rooms, a fire roaring in the grate and a maid tiptoeing in and out
and watching over her.

She slept for the next few hours. She was dimly aware of a man leaning over her and touching her with cold fingers. She moved restlessly, trying to push away the hands, fearing their intention.
Later, she learned it had been the local doctor summoned by Gervase. When, finally, she opened her eyes and recognized her surroundings, she turned to see Augusta sitting beside the bed.

‘Gran . . .’ Her voice was a weak croak.

Augusta took her hand. ‘Just rest, my dear. Don’t try to talk. Not yet.’

But there was one question Florrie had to ask her. ‘Are you – very angry with me?’

‘Angry?’ There was surprise in her grandmother’s tone. ‘Good Heavens, child, whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Gervase is. He’s – disgusted.’

Augusta patted her hand. ‘Dear girl, Gervase is helplessly in love with you. You know that. He’s frightened out of his mind for you, that’s all. As we all are. But some of us
are proud of you too. Very proud. Well – at least
I
am.’

‘Really?’ Florrie whispered.

‘Of course.’ Augusta was adamant.

‘And the violence? The – the painting I damaged?’

Augusta sniffed. ‘Regrettable, but necessary.’

Florrie relaxed and closed her eyes. Now she slept peacefully, her thin hand resting gratefully in Augusta’s comforting grasp. The older woman watched over her, refusing to leave her
granddaughter’s side until she showed definite signs of recovery. At last, Gervase was able to persuade the older woman to take some rest.

‘We’ll have you ill next,’ he said firmly. ‘The maid has prepared the room next to Florrie’s, and Beth has brought your things from the Hall.’

Augusta rose stiffly from her vigil at Florrie’s bedside and followed Gervase downstairs to the drawing room, where afternoon tea awaited them both. ‘She seems a little better. She
took some soup earlier, though I fear her throat is still very sore. What barbarians the authorities are! And to think, when she’s well enough she will have to endure it all again, until she
finishes her sentence. They’ll play cat-and-mouse with her, just like the nickname for their wretched Act implies.’

Gervase’s face was grim. ‘Not if I can help it. I intend to keep her hidden. No one knows she is here, except Isobel and my staff. And they will say nothing if they value their
jobs.’

Augusta glanced up at him. For the first time in days, amusement sparkled in her eyes. ‘You’d really defy the law?’

He returned her gaze steadily. ‘I’d do anything –
anything
– to keep her safe. You should know that.’

‘Oh, I do – I do. But she thinks you’re very angry with her. “Disgusted” was the word she used.’

His mouth was a tight line. ‘I abhor the use of violence. I think it does the Movement more harm than good. They’ll be seen as criminals rather than pioneers.’

Augusta was silent for a moment. ‘I take your point, Gervase, and part of me agrees with you. But non-militant ways didn’t seem to work, did they?’

Gervase paced the room. Augusta had never seen him so agitated. ‘But I can’t see violence working either. It will turn people against the women rather than gain their
sympathy.’

‘Is that what it’s done for you?’

He sighed and the stiffness went out of his shoulders. He sagged, suddenly very weary. ‘No – no. Not really. It’s just that I’m so afraid for her.’

Augusta nodded, satisfied. ‘Go up and see her. Reassure her.’

He looked at her, anguish in his eyes. ‘Does she really care about my good opinion?’

Augusta returned his gaze steadily as she said softly, ‘I think – in time – you’ll find that your opinion of her matters more than anyone else’s.’

He sighed heavily as he turned to leave, murmuring, ‘I wish I could believe you.’

The next time Florrie stirred, she found Gervase sitting beside the bed. She rubbed her eyes and stared at him for a long moment before whispering hoarsely, ‘You’re
very angry with me, aren’t you?’

‘Angry, no. Afraid for you, yes,’ he said simply. ‘If I’m angry with anyone, it’s Isobel for leading you into such danger. She appears to have nine lives the way
she always seems to escape getting arrested.’

‘She’s very clever. Oh, she’s in the thick of it—’ Florrie winced as she cleared her throat. ‘But she keeps her eyes and her ears open all the time and, at
the first sign of trouble, she just melts away. It’s not that she’s a coward or wouldn’t face jail bravely, it’s just that she believes she can be more useful by staying
free. And I think she’s right. If we all ended up in jail, the Cause would founder.’

In spite of his grave anxiety, Gervase smiled. ‘I doubt they would be able to arrest everyone. The prisons would overflow.’ He leaned forward and took her hand. He regarded her
steadily, taking in the lank hair, the hollowed cheeks and the prison pallor. The tiny scar on her forehead was a vivid purple. How very altered his beloved Florrie was. ‘You must stay here
until you’re quite well, and even after that. If you go back to London you will be rearrested at once.’

Florrie closed her eyes. ‘No doubt they’ll find out where I am and come here for me.’

‘No one knows you’re here except your grandmother. And my staff, of course. But they won’t say anything.’

She turned her head on the pillow. Her eyes widened. ‘Doesn’t Isobel know where I am? Or – or Lady Leonora?’ Her memory was so hazy she couldn’t piece together the
last few days.

‘Isobel does, of course, and I expect by now Lady Lee and the Hon. Tim know too. But they’re hardly likely to say anything, are they?’

‘You – you got me out of prison, didn’t you?’ She squeezed the hand that was holding hers in a gesture of wordless thanks.

Gervase nodded. ‘I persuaded our London doctor to accompany me to Holloway. Luckily for us, he knew one of the prison doctors and was able to persuade him to release you on
licence.’

‘I wonder how long it’ll be before they come looking for me,’ she murmured.

‘Never, I hope!’

‘But, if they really want to find me, they’ll surely guess that this is one of the places I might be.’

Gervase even chuckled now. ‘Then in that case I shall hide you in the church and claim sanctuary.’

Florrie smiled weakly and closed her eyes. Weariness claimed her once more and she slept again. But Gervase did not move. He continued to sit beside her, her hand safely in his.

It took a month for Florrie to recover her strength and, in all that time, she did not go home to Candlethorpe Hall. There was no need. Her father, now having heard of her
escapades, had no wish to see her. James, who was desperate to see her, had returned to school after the Easter holidays on the day before Gervase brought her home. Augusta came to stay for a few
days at the Manor at the very beginning, and afterwards visited frequently, even, one day, bringing a greatly daring Clara, though the poor woman was a bundle of nerves that Edgar would find out
where she’d been.