Florrie looked about her. There were grandly dressed women in silks and satins, sporting huge hats with purple, white and
green ostrich feathers. Then there were smartly dressed women who, Florrie guessed, would be the wives or daughters of professional men. Their dress was not so elaborate but nonetheless elegant.
And then, just as Isobel had hinted, there were young women dressed in drab garments as if they’d come from the city back streets. All, it seemed, were welcome in Lady Leonora’s grand
home. Florrie glanced over her shoulder and saw that Lucy was following closely and behind her came Betsy, still in her maid’s uniform but quite at home amongst the gathering. Here she was no
longer a maid, but a suffragette.
Briefly, Florrie wondered what ‘little Beth’, as Augusta called her, would make of all this. But her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival in front of Lady Leonora, who
stretched out both her hands to Florrie as Isobel made the introduction.
‘My dear, I am so very pleased to meet you. And how is your grandmother? I had a letter from her only the other day.’
Florrie’s eyes widened. ‘From Gran – I mean – Grandmother, Lady Smythe?’
Lady Leonora laughed. She was, just as Isobel had said, a very handsome woman and her son was indeed like her. Her black hair was piled high on her head in the style of a fashionable Edwardian
lady and her use of cosmetics was skilful and discreet, yet to her definite advantage. Her exquisite silk gown proclaimed her position in society – a position that she was determined to use
to further the cause of her own sex. She leaned towards Florrie and grasped her hands. ‘Your grandmother and I are old friends and we write to each other regularly. She knows exactly what
you’re getting yourself into, my dear. Have no fear on that score. And please – call me Lady Lee. Everyone does.’
If Florrie still had any misgivings about being here, any lingering doubt now fell away. Augusta had given her granddaughter her blessing, knowing, it seemed, far more about the suffragette
movement than even Florrie herself knew yet. As she took her seat amongst the other women, she felt the thrill of excitement well up inside her and knew that, despite the unpleasantness with her
father and her mother’s tears, there was no place she would rather be.
Lady Lee stood on a small dais at one end of the room, waiting until everyone was seated and the gathering fell silent.
‘Exciting times are ahead of us,’ she began. ‘Support for our cause is spreading through the country. Women from the northern towns and cities are conducting their own fight
there, but plan to join us on a deputation to the Prime Minister or the Chancellor . . .’
Enthralled, Florrie found herself swept along on a tide of enthusiasm. These women were determined – no matter what – to succeed in their aim. They wouldn’t rest until all
adult women, whatever their station in life, were granted the right to vote.
‘The Reform Bill,’ Lady Lee was saying, ‘is supposedly making its way –
slowly
,’ there was a ripple of laughter, ‘through Parliament. It will shortly
reach the committee stage, where we understand our supporters among the MPs will press to include the right of the
wives
of voters to vote themselves.’ There was a pause and a
murmuring.
‘This,’ Lady Lee declared, ‘is not enough. We want the vote for
all
women. It’s long been suggested that they might grant the vote to women of standing. For
example, women landowners in their own right, who – let us not forget – are obliged to pay taxes.’ The murmuring grew. ‘Oh yes—’ A note of sarcasm laced her
tone. ‘When it comes to paying taxes into the coffers of the Treasury, there is no problem with being a woman then.’ The laughter was louder now. Lady Lee paused until it died down. Now
she was utterly serious once more.
‘Mrs Pankhurst has written to us all.’ She waved a piece of paper in
green ostrich feathers. Then there were smartly dressed women who, Florrie guessed, would be the wives or daughters of professional men. Their dress was not so elaborate but nonetheless elegant.
And then, just as Isobel had hinted, there were young women dressed in drab garments as if they’d come from the city back streets. All, it seemed, were welcome in Lady Leonora’s grand
home. Florrie glanced over her shoulder and saw that Lucy was following closely and behind her came Betsy, still in her maid’s uniform but quite at home amongst the gathering. Here she was no
longer a maid, but a suffragette.
Briefly, Florrie wondered what ‘little Beth’, as Augusta called her, would make of all this. But her thoughts were interrupted by their arrival in front of Lady Leonora, who
stretched out both her hands to Florrie as Isobel made the introduction.
‘My dear, I am so very pleased to meet you. And how is your grandmother? I had a letter from her only the other day.’
Florrie’s eyes widened. ‘From Gran – I mean – Grandmother, Lady Smythe?’
Lady Leonora laughed. She was, just as Isobel had said, a very handsome woman and her son was indeed like her. Her black hair was piled high on her head in the style of a fashionable Edwardian
lady and her use of cosmetics was skilful and discreet, yet to her definite advantage. Her exquisite silk gown proclaimed her position in society – a position that she was determined to use
to further the cause of her own sex. She leaned towards Florrie and grasped her hands. ‘Your grandmother and I are old friends and we write to each other regularly. She knows exactly what
you’re getting yourself into, my dear. Have no fear on that score. And please – call me Lady Lee. Everyone does.’
If Florrie still had any misgivings about being here, any lingering doubt now fell away. Augusta had given her granddaughter her blessing, knowing, it seemed, far more about the suffragette
movement than even Florrie herself knew yet. As she took her seat amongst the other women, she felt the thrill of excitement well up inside her and knew that, despite the unpleasantness with her
father and her mother’s tears, there was no place she would rather be.
Lady Lee stood on a small dais at one end of the room, waiting until everyone was seated and the gathering fell silent.
‘Exciting times are ahead of us,’ she began. ‘Support for our cause is spreading through the country. Women from the northern towns and cities are conducting their own fight
there, but plan to join us on a deputation to the Prime Minister or the Chancellor . . .’
Enthralled, Florrie found herself swept along on a tide of enthusiasm. These women were determined – no matter what – to succeed in their aim. They wouldn’t rest until all
adult women, whatever their station in life, were granted the right to vote.
‘The Reform Bill,’ Lady Lee was saying, ‘is supposedly making its way –
slowly
,’ there was a ripple of laughter, ‘through Parliament. It will shortly
reach the committee stage, where we understand our supporters among the MPs will press to include the right of the
wives
of voters to vote themselves.’ There was a pause and a
murmuring.
‘This,’ Lady Lee declared, ‘is not enough. We want the vote for
all
women. It’s long been suggested that they might grant the vote to women of standing. For
example, women landowners in their own right, who – let us not forget – are obliged to pay taxes.’ The murmuring grew. ‘Oh yes—’ A note of sarcasm laced her
tone. ‘When it comes to paying taxes into the coffers of the Treasury, there is no problem with being a woman then.’ The laughter was louder now. Lady Lee paused until it died down. Now
she was utterly serious once more.
‘Mrs Pankhurst has written to us all.’ She waved a piece of paper in
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