early delivering Sunday newspapers. She heard Susan, who was stirring the porridge, go to answer the door.
Instantly, she recognised Rose’s clear voice.
‘What is it?’ Maggie rushed out to greet her friend, knowing it must be something serious to bring her rushing round on a Sunday morning.
‘Mrs Pankhurst!’ Rose thrust a newspaper at her. ‘They’ve given her three years’ penal servitude. Isn’t it outrageous?’
Maggie scanned the inside page in shock. Emmeline Pankhurst had been given a three-year sentence for ‘incitement’ following a mysterious fire at Walton Heath. The judge had ignored the jury’s plea to show her mercy and women protesters had been cleared from the gallery for shouting ‘shame’ and singing The Women’s Marseillaise.
‘Three years? After all she’s been through already?’ Maggie gasped. ‘They’re trying to kill the woman. We have to do something, Rose.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Susan said, hands on hips. ‘What can you possibly do? You think you’re so important, but you’re no better than the rest of us.’
‘Something will be done,’ Rose said, giving Susan a dismissive look. ‘Maggie, can I have a word alone?’
‘Come in the parlour.’ Maggie steered her friend quickly into the adjoining room and closed the door on Susan’s affronted face. Rose glanced warily at Granny Beaton sitting staring at her Bible on the iron-framed bed.
‘She can’t hear very well,’ Maggie assured her friend, ‘and she wouldn’t tell if she could.’
The old woman glanced up and smiled at Rose who gave her a hasty greeting. Maggie knew her grandmother had always approved of her friendship with the schoolteacher.
They spoke in hushed tones. ‘There’s to be a meeting this afternoon to decide on a response to the prison sentence,’ Rose said.
‘Good,’ Maggie said roundly, itching to take some action. ‘What time?’
‘Three o’clock.’
‘Not till then?’ Maggie felt frustration.
Rose shook her head. ‘It was agreed last night, when news was telephoned through to Miss Pearson.’
Maggie suddenly remembered that Rose had been at a soirée at Hebron House and felt niggled that she had not heard about the news sooner.
‘I’ll come to your house after dinner,’ Maggie said. ‘We can go up to town together.’
‘The meeting’s not at the office,’ Rose told her softly. ‘The police might be keeping an eye on activity there.’
‘Where then?’ Maggie asked.
‘Alice Pearson said we must meet at Hebron House.’
Maggie felt a thrill of expectation. Finally, she was going to enter the mysterious world of the rich and powerful Pearsons and come face to face with the formidable Alice Pearson.
Chapter Four
From the terrace of Hebron House, Alice Pearson could not see the ranks of workers’ houses that hemmed in the mansion and its grounds. The view was of dense mature trees coming into bud and rolling lawns interrupted by circular flowerbeds of daffodils and primulas. Cherry blossom scattered across the terrace like soft confetti as Alice descended the steps with her friend Emily Davison.
‘It was good of you to come, Pem.’ Alice smiled down at the slim woman beside her, noticing a stiffness in her movements as she walked. She had aged dramatically since her last visit to Hebron House, yet her eyes still shone with vitality and the lustre had not quite gone from her golden hair.
‘I had to come,’ Emily answered forcefully. ‘It’s monstrous what they’ve done to Emmeline Pankhurst and I know just what a terrible time they’ll give her in prison. We really must hit back as hard as we can.’
She broke off coughing, her face looking pinched and drawn in the blustery spring wind. Alice slipped an arm through hers in concern.
‘Would you rather return to the house? It was selfish of me to make you walk outside on such a cold day. I can see how your last spell in prison has—’
‘I’m quite all right,’ Emily said to the large
Instantly, she recognised Rose’s clear voice.
‘What is it?’ Maggie rushed out to greet her friend, knowing it must be something serious to bring her rushing round on a Sunday morning.
‘Mrs Pankhurst!’ Rose thrust a newspaper at her. ‘They’ve given her three years’ penal servitude. Isn’t it outrageous?’
Maggie scanned the inside page in shock. Emmeline Pankhurst had been given a three-year sentence for ‘incitement’ following a mysterious fire at Walton Heath. The judge had ignored the jury’s plea to show her mercy and women protesters had been cleared from the gallery for shouting ‘shame’ and singing The Women’s Marseillaise.
‘Three years? After all she’s been through already?’ Maggie gasped. ‘They’re trying to kill the woman. We have to do something, Rose.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Susan said, hands on hips. ‘What can you possibly do? You think you’re so important, but you’re no better than the rest of us.’
‘Something will be done,’ Rose said, giving Susan a dismissive look. ‘Maggie, can I have a word alone?’
‘Come in the parlour.’ Maggie steered her friend quickly into the adjoining room and closed the door on Susan’s affronted face. Rose glanced warily at Granny Beaton sitting staring at her Bible on the iron-framed bed.
‘She can’t hear very well,’ Maggie assured her friend, ‘and she wouldn’t tell if she could.’
The old woman glanced up and smiled at Rose who gave her a hasty greeting. Maggie knew her grandmother had always approved of her friendship with the schoolteacher.
They spoke in hushed tones. ‘There’s to be a meeting this afternoon to decide on a response to the prison sentence,’ Rose said.
‘Good,’ Maggie said roundly, itching to take some action. ‘What time?’
‘Three o’clock.’
‘Not till then?’ Maggie felt frustration.
Rose shook her head. ‘It was agreed last night, when news was telephoned through to Miss Pearson.’
Maggie suddenly remembered that Rose had been at a soirée at Hebron House and felt niggled that she had not heard about the news sooner.
‘I’ll come to your house after dinner,’ Maggie said. ‘We can go up to town together.’
‘The meeting’s not at the office,’ Rose told her softly. ‘The police might be keeping an eye on activity there.’
‘Where then?’ Maggie asked.
‘Alice Pearson said we must meet at Hebron House.’
Maggie felt a thrill of expectation. Finally, she was going to enter the mysterious world of the rich and powerful Pearsons and come face to face with the formidable Alice Pearson.
Chapter Four
From the terrace of Hebron House, Alice Pearson could not see the ranks of workers’ houses that hemmed in the mansion and its grounds. The view was of dense mature trees coming into bud and rolling lawns interrupted by circular flowerbeds of daffodils and primulas. Cherry blossom scattered across the terrace like soft confetti as Alice descended the steps with her friend Emily Davison.
‘It was good of you to come, Pem.’ Alice smiled down at the slim woman beside her, noticing a stiffness in her movements as she walked. She had aged dramatically since her last visit to Hebron House, yet her eyes still shone with vitality and the lustre had not quite gone from her golden hair.
‘I had to come,’ Emily answered forcefully. ‘It’s monstrous what they’ve done to Emmeline Pankhurst and I know just what a terrible time they’ll give her in prison. We really must hit back as hard as we can.’
She broke off coughing, her face looking pinched and drawn in the blustery spring wind. Alice slipped an arm through hers in concern.
‘Would you rather return to the house? It was selfish of me to make you walk outside on such a cold day. I can see how your last spell in prison has—’
‘I’m quite all right,’ Emily said to the large
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