‘Sorry isn’t going to feed the five of us, now, is it? You’re a useless slattern, Cat Morley, and I’ll tell you another thing—’
‘Mrs Bell, that’s quite enough,’ Hester says, as calmly as she can. The housekeeper visibly bites her tongue, her nostrils flaring, and settles into her chins with a sulphurous expression. Faced with her glittering eyes, Hester feels herself flinch. Cat, in contrast, looks pale and exhausted, her clothes dusty and creased, her hair out of its pins, matted. ‘Cat, would you come with me, please?’ Hester says, and turns to go back upstairs. She thinks for a moment that the girl is not following her, but when she turns to look there she is, treading so softly that she makes no sound. More like a wraith than a person.
Hester leads the way into the drawing room and then turns to stand with her hands clasped in front of her. She has been rehearsing the wording of a reprimand for the past three hours of the blazing afternoon, never having had to give one before – not a proper one. But now it comes to it, it hardly seems appropriate. Cat sways slightly on her feet, her face slack, utterly expressionless. Hester notices blood around several of her fingernails, where they have been torn off too close to the quick, and a purple-grey bruise spreading along one collarbone where it juts through the open collar of her blouse. Two buttons are missing from the blouse.
‘Heavens, child! What happened to you?’ she exclaims, filling with concern rather than ire. ‘Were you set upon?’
Cat blinks, and takes a long, deep breath. Hester fancies she sees thoughts flickering fast behind those dark eyes, as if the girl is phrasing her response quite carefully.
‘In a way, madam. I am most sorry to be so late back, and not to have got the meat for dinner tonight—’
‘Never mind the meat. Mrs Bell will think of something, I’m sure. Just tell me what kept you?’
‘There was a woman in town … she was giving a speech. Mrs Hever, she was called. Only the crowd was most discourteous, and wouldn’t let her have her say. They called her all sorts of names, and they threw rotting food at her, and … and a dead animal, madam, which made her faint. I stood up for her.’
‘You stood up for her? How do you mean?’
‘I … stood next to her, and I … told them to let her speak. But they would not. The police came, and I was made to wait in the police house until … Mrs Hever had come to speak up for me. Then they said I could go. But I could not have got away sooner, madam, or I would have,’ Cat says, and sounds sincere enough. For the first time since her arrival, Hester sees some definite, unambiguous expression on her face – anxiety. The girl is deeply troubled by something.
‘I see. And, tell me, what was it the woman was speaking about in the first place? Or trying to?’
‘It was … she was … from the Newbury WSPU. Come to talk about the vote,’ Cat answers, reluctantly.
‘I see. Cat,’ Hester sighs, ‘it will not do. That is all behind you, and there it must stay. No, no – I dare say you were indeed acting honourably towards this Mrs Hever, and it sounds as though the good people of Thatcham were behaving far from honourably in return. But though my husband and I were quite willing to hire a maid with a troubled past, I am not sure we would be able to keep one with a troubled present. Do you understand? Here, you are our maid of all work, and as such you cannot also be a suffragette. Cat? I must stress this. Put it out of your mind. It will not do …’
‘I cannot change the way I think, madam,’ Cat replies, her voice low but strung tight with emotion. ‘Though I may not take part in the campaign, I must be allowed to think as I see fit!’
‘Well! Your thoughts are your own, indeed; though I might find them unnatural …’
‘It’s not unnatural for women to want control of their own lives, their own destinies, madam … it is not unnatural for them to want to better things for themselves, and their daughters after them …’
‘They may by all means want those things. But these militant tactics … this unwomanly behaviour only goes to show that the gentler sex is not fitted for government, nor politics. Women would do better to make sound marriages, and encourage their menfolk to fight to improve the country for everybody. We are angels of the hearth, Cat; not warriors of the battlefield. God ordained it thus, and thus it should ever be. I am quite sure that by improving her husband, by soothing him and imparting a feminine softness to some of his masculine fire, a woman would make far greater gains than she might by … smashing windows and behaving like a common thug …’ Hester takes a deep breath, and glances at Cat to find the girl’s face registering something like pity, or perhaps contempt. Either way, she wipes it quickly, and reverts to her customary glassy stare. ‘Anyway. Go and get yourself cleaned up. I can see you’re very worn out. I would say to rest this evening, but Mr Durrant is due back in time for dinner so I fear we will need your help. Take half an hour now to wash and rest, and let us hear no more about this. Or again in the future. It’s fortunate that my husband has been addressing his pastoral duties all afternoon, and was not around to learn about any of this.’