No Angel (Spoils of Time 01) (14 page)

But it was her trip to New York which was absorbing much of Celia’s energy that spring; she was inordinately excited about it. With only six weeks to go, she had bought an enormous number of clothes for the voyage: day dresses, dinner dresses, sports clothes – she was much taken with the idea of deck tennis and all the other sporting activities available on this wonderful ship. She had invested in a set of new luggage, including a cabin trunk, which was actually a small portable wardrobe and would not even need to be unpacked. She and Oliver had a stateroom on Two Deck, and were promised calm seas and a record speed for the voyage. Robert would meet them at the docks on their arrival in New York, they would stay at the Elliott mansion on Fifth Avenue, and apart from the social delights of the visit – Jeanette was insisting on giving a large dinner party for them, and on taking them out to Long Island for a weekend in East Hampton – there would be plenty of time to meet American publishers and bookshop owners; and for Celia to partake of such New York pleasures as Saks Fifth Avenue and Henry Bendel. She was so excited she was literally unable to sleep.

‘I have been thinking,’ said Jeanette.

‘Really, my darling?’

‘Don’t mock me, Robert. You know I don’t like it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It was true; she liked, indeed demanded, to be taken seriously. ‘Are you going to tell me about it?’

‘Yes. Because it could affect you. I am thinking of investing in Lyttons.’

Robert felt a stab of irritation. When he had needed investment money, she had refused; now that he was doing well, she was seeking to join in his success. And to rob him, to a degree, of his personal achievement.

‘I think it’s a little late for that, my dear,’ he said, trying to keep his voice light, ‘Brewer Lytton are doing very nicely.’

‘No Robert, you misunderstand. Of course they are. I’m so proud of you. No, I mean the other Lyttons. The literary Lyttons.’

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘I am so very impressed by them all. Oliver and Celia, and his rather terrifying sister. It seems to me they are extraordinarily talented. Moreover I find what they are doing quite fascinating. I have always been drawn to the arts, as you know. Here is my chance to be personally involved.’

‘In – what way would you see that involvement?’

‘I thought I would like to help them establish a presence in New York. Oliver mentioned that he was thinking of it when we went over there, but that he lacked the finance, and I know that several English publishers are moving into the city.’

‘I see.’ He felt shocked, almost outraged. That she should bestow upon Oliver what she had refused him; that she should think of it herself, without any prompting, any request. It was monstrously unfair: not to say arrogant.

‘Yes. I thought I could provide some capital: on a strictly business basis of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘So that they could obtain premises, hire staff, all that sort of thing. I should enjoy it enormously.’

‘And would you be looking for an – involvement in this venture?’ asked Robert.

‘Oh – a little, obviously. I should want to know what they were publishing and why, should like to go to board meetings, I would be on the board naturally.’

‘Naturally.’

‘But mostly, I would like to learn about publishing, first hand. I think it would be a most interesting experience.’

‘Yes, I daresay.’

‘You don’t look altogether pleased. Why is that, my dearest?’

She knew as well as he did. But there was no point spelling it out.

He looked at her. ‘I just wondered, Jeanette, if you had considered the possibility that Oliver might not welcome your proposal.’

‘Not welcome it? How absurd. Why ever should he not?’

‘He is a fiercely independent person. And Lyttons is very much a family firm. I don’t know that he would welcome outside interference.’

‘Now that is absurd, Robert. If he was so independent, he would have founded his own firm, not merely taken on his father’s. This would actually be a chance for him to do that. And I am family, or so I had supposed. I am a little hurt that you should consider me otherwise. No, I have made up my mind. I shall write to him, so that he has time to consider the suggestion before they arrive here in April. In fact if you will excuse me, my dearest, I shall go and do it now. There is no time like the present; Jonathan taught me that.’

Damn Jonathan, thought Robert, walking out of the room, closing the door just a little too firmly; damn him and damn his money. He didn’t like this; he didn’t like it at all.

Jago stood in the entrance to the hall in Camden High Street, one of very few men in a turbulent ocean of women – and wondered just for a moment what he was doing there. He was tired, and really needed to get to bed early. He had to be up at five the next day, to get to a job in Clapham, but – well, he had just felt he ought to. He was more than concerned at the exclusion of women from the franchise, he felt actually outraged. And he didn’t understand how LM, who was, after all, a prime candidate for the battle could continue to regard it as in some way beneath her. Well, not beneath, but certainly outside her immediate interest.

He supposed it was because she had never had to fight for her rights. Or indeed for anything really. Her father had obviously been half a century ahead of his time in his attitudes, sending her to university, and then employing her in a proper position, equal to that of her brother, rather than in some kind of token job, looking pretty in reception or typing letters. So she took it as her due. But then surely she should feel she had to campaign for other women, who had not had such opportunities. It wasn’t her background: lots of the famous suffragettes came from quite privileged homes. Christabel Pankhurst herself had hardly had to fight for her position in the world. They cared for other women, they wanted to extend their good fortune. LM should too. They had had words about it: not exactly angry with each other, but certainly annoyed. Well, it was too bad; he felt he had to come and he had said so; and now he was here. And didn’t quite know what to do with himself, or where to sit or—

‘If you don’t want to miss the beginning, you’d better sit down. Plenty of room, over there look.’ It was a light, slightly amused voice, with a London twang to it: a pretty voice.

Jago swung round to look at its owner: she was pretty too, young, with fair hair and large grey eyes, surprisingly well-dressed, in a pale green dress and hat. ( Jago sometimes got rather tired of LM’s uniform, although he would never have said so to her, thought how much nicer she would look in softer, more feminine clothes.)

‘Come on,’ she said, smiling, as he continued to stand there, ‘you can sit with me if you like.’

He followed her in; to his embarrassment she led him to the front row. He looked round; the hall was full. There were several men, a good twenty or so; that was encouraging. His companion saw him checking them out and smiled.

‘You’re not alone, you see. No need to be frightened.’

He smiled back at her.

The speaker raised her hand for silence: a tall, striking woman with black hair and piercing dark eyes.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ she said, ‘it’s good to see so many new faces as well as the more familiar ones. I would urge any newcomers to join the NUWSS; we need all the supporters we can muster. You will find enrolment forms at the back of the hall; please take one as you leave. Now, I want to talk to you first about violence.’

Lord, thought Jago; surely this lot weren’t going to turn to violent protests as well. They must realise it didn’t do their cause much good.

‘As you know,’ the speaker went on, ‘we at the NUWSS have always eschewed violence; we favour peaceful means and the gentle persuasion of such parliamentary figures as Mr Lloyd George and Mr Balfour, rather than the more militant methods of our sisters. The Labour Party has come round very strongly to the idea of supporting votes for women. So what I want to talk to you about next tonight is the establishment of an Election Fighting Fund. This would finance candidates for the Labour Party, at the next election, probably in 1915. If we can get enough candidates elected, then our own battle will be won.’

Jago sat listening intently, wondering if in fact she was right; if a continued peaceful campaign would be more successful than the extremely belligerent one favoured by the suffragettes. To work from within certainly seemed more sensible; on the other hand it required a certain faith in politics and politicians, which Jago personally lacked. Just the same, at the end of the meeting, he found himself signing up, not only for membership of the NUWSS, but as a volunteer for the Election Fighting Fund.

‘Although I don’t know what I can put into it,’ he said to the pretty girl, whose name, he had discovered, was Violet Brown. ‘I haven’t got a penny piece to spare.’

‘No more have I, nor have many of us,’ she said, smiling at him cheerfully, ‘doesn’t mean you can’t help us find people who have. You know anybody who might know anybody with money?’

Jago said, rather too hastily, that he couldn’t think of any off-hand.

He didn’t mention it to LM for a few days. She was – well she was a bit odd about her finances. Protective. Almost secretive. Refused to talk about them. He could never quite work out why. She had so much money: what seemed to him an unlimited supply. He supposed it was partly because she was innately tactful and saw it as an area of difficulty between them, but also because she was, and always had been, completely independent in every way: her money, like her life, was her own, to manage as she wished, and she was answerable to nobody. She once revealed to him, rather uncharacteristically, that she had lost quite a large sum speculating on the stock market, not enough to cause her problems, exactly, but certainly to give her pause for thought. But when he asked her for details, offered her sympathy even, she became edgy, almost truculent.

‘It’s my own business,’ she said, clearly regretting she had mentioned it at all, ‘and if I’ve been foolish then that is for me to worry about, it has nothing to do with anybody else.’

After that he had never mentioned money again.

It wasn’t that she was tight, quite the reverse. Not only had she, over the years, continued to offer him money to start his own firm – which he continued to refuse – but she always bought him splendid presents for his birthday and for Christmas, clothes, books, pictures and ornaments for the small house he was so fond of. At first, being as proud and independent as she was, he had found them difficult to accept; but he had come to see that this would in itself have been mean, that in allowing her to give him presents, he could give something back to her. For his last birthday, she had given him the most generous present yet, an extremely nice silver pocket watch on a chain. That had been almost too much, in fact; he liked it very much, but he hardly ever wore it, except when he visited her; it seemed to him likely to invite hostile comment from his friends and workmates and even the possibility of assault and robbery as he walked home late at night through the mean streets of Kilburn, or sat drinking in public houses. At times it also represented a considerable temptation. It was all very well being the owner of something so splendid, but when he was out of work he would look at it, lying in its dark blue velvet-lined box, and think that if he sold it – or even pawned it – he would have no problems for several weeks, could buy food, coal, a great deal of beer. He could even take LM out for an occasional meal rather than endlessly accept her hospitality. So far he had resisted, aware, of course, that it would be a dreadful betrayal of their relationship, but he sometimes wondered if it had ever occurred to LM that she had bestowed a burden as well as a gift upon him. He rather thought it had not.

‘Well – I suppose so,’ she said, when he finally suggested a donation.

‘I certainly approve of the NUWSS more than the suffragettes. Their approach seems more intelligent to me. Working with the Labour Party seems a much more positive position to start from. I’ll – well I’ll certainly think about it, Jago.’

Jago knew better than to press the matter.

A week later, he went to another meeting; Violet was there at the door again. She smiled at him; he smiled back at her, appreciating her friendly, flirtatious prettiness. She was dressed in the same green coat but a different hat, a jaunty brown affair, with a feather in it. It suited her.

‘Hallo,’ she said, ‘nice of you to come back. Brave enough to go in on your own this time? Or would you like to sit next to me again?’

‘Brave enough,’ said Jago, ‘but I think I’d like to sit next to you anyway.’

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘you can earn it. Stay here, tick off the names, make sure you write down any new ones. I’ll be back in five minutes, just got to check on the leaflets.’

Jago said it would be a pleasure.

After the meeting she asked him if he’d be good enough to help her check through the evening’s donations.

‘Normally Betty Carstairs, our treasurer, does it, but she’s poorly. Would you mind? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. And there’s a couple of beers round the back.’

Jago said he wouldn’t mind at all, even as he wondered if she really needed his help, or saw it as a good excuse to detain him. Either way he was quite happy. It was a long time since anyone had flirted with him. Harmless stuff, flirtation. Harmless and fun.

‘Good God,’ said Oliver.

‘What?’

‘This letter. It’s from Jeanette.’

‘Really? I shall have to look to my laurels, Oliver, if you’re going to start getting unsolicited letters from ladies.’

‘Don’t be rididiculous,’ he said. He always found it hard to realise when she was teasing him. ‘She’s offering to invest in Lyttons.’

‘Invest in it? Surely not.’

‘She is. She says she would like to encourage me to open a New York office, and to provide the necessary financial backing.’