head had allowed him free movement around the workhouse, which he’d used to their benefit.
Calmer now, Mercy half smiled at the memory as she curled against his warm body. They’d found work where they could, mainly on farms, but in the end had grown homesick for Kendal and returned home. Then Amos had offered George a job and they’d been thankful for the sanctuary. But living in the country didn’t suit Mercy one bit. It wasn’t where she wanted to be. She was a town girl, born and bred, and needed the rush and crush of people about her, not smelly animals and empty spaces.
Mercy lay staring out at the waxen image of the moon through the dusty window set high in the barn roof. Wasn’t it supposed to be unlucky to see a new moon through glass? Her life had been plagued with bad luck, so what did that matter? Besides, she had George now so was protected from anything bad happening ever again.
She reached over to stroke a stray lock of hair from her husband’s brow as he slept on. How she loved him. But did he love her half as much? She couldn’t be sure. He kept his feelings very much to himself. He was all she had now that her mother was dead and her father had rejectedher. She didn’t count her two half-sisters. They were merely putting on an act, pretending to care when really they didn’t. Mercy only knew that having got George to marry her, she meant to keep him. At whatever cost.
As she listened to his heavy snores, she thought with regret how there was precious little energy left over for making love these days. And when they did it was hasty and fumbled, over much too quickly. Farm work was grindingly hard from dawn till dusk, and they were both generally bone-weary by bed time.
Oh, and it didn’t help that he was so naughty. George was a good man, hardworking, outwardly placid, but a real box of tricks inside. How could she get him to behave himself and pay her more attention?
By morning, she had the answer.
Following that first disastrous meal and the episode with the sago pudding in her bed, Livia made a point of eating every scrap put in front of her, no matter how lumpy the potatoes or curdled the custard. Still no one spoke to her, conversations between the other girls largely conducted over her head. Today, however, seemed different.
‘Who’s coming to the meeting of the suffragettes early next month?’ one dark-haired girl suddenly asked.
‘That’s for the nobs, not for the likes of us,’ said another.
The girl, whom Livia remembered was called Connie, said, ‘Not a bit of it. The government is trying to bar women from attending political meetings. That’s not right, and we need to speak up.’ She banged her spoon on the table. ‘Just because the Liberals have got back in power doesn’t mean we have to give up. We have to make Asquith listen, whether he wants to or not. It’s a nonsense to say that wives are represented by their husband and don’t need the vote. Is a woman not entitled to a voice of her own? What if he’s a drunken lout, or beats the daylights out of her? And what if a woman isn’t married? So she gets the vote and married women don’t? That’s not right either.’
‘You don’t have to convince us, Con, we’re on your side.’
‘Well then, come to the meeting. The speaker is Emmeline Pankhurst herself. We’re honoured that she can spare the time but she has a soft spot for Manchester, since she used to live there herself. Annie Kenney will be with her, and since she was once a factory girl she talks a lot of sense to folk like us, being more down-to-earth, like. These brave women are willing to do whatever is necessary for the cause, and suffer any amount of torment. They hold rallies and demonstrations,tie themselves to railings, disrupt political meetings, they’ve even been to prison. So far as I’m concerned, they’re all heroes.’
Some of the girls quietly mumbled about not wanting to risk losing their jobs, but Connie was relentless
Calmer now, Mercy half smiled at the memory as she curled against his warm body. They’d found work where they could, mainly on farms, but in the end had grown homesick for Kendal and returned home. Then Amos had offered George a job and they’d been thankful for the sanctuary. But living in the country didn’t suit Mercy one bit. It wasn’t where she wanted to be. She was a town girl, born and bred, and needed the rush and crush of people about her, not smelly animals and empty spaces.
Mercy lay staring out at the waxen image of the moon through the dusty window set high in the barn roof. Wasn’t it supposed to be unlucky to see a new moon through glass? Her life had been plagued with bad luck, so what did that matter? Besides, she had George now so was protected from anything bad happening ever again.
She reached over to stroke a stray lock of hair from her husband’s brow as he slept on. How she loved him. But did he love her half as much? She couldn’t be sure. He kept his feelings very much to himself. He was all she had now that her mother was dead and her father had rejectedher. She didn’t count her two half-sisters. They were merely putting on an act, pretending to care when really they didn’t. Mercy only knew that having got George to marry her, she meant to keep him. At whatever cost.
As she listened to his heavy snores, she thought with regret how there was precious little energy left over for making love these days. And when they did it was hasty and fumbled, over much too quickly. Farm work was grindingly hard from dawn till dusk, and they were both generally bone-weary by bed time.
Oh, and it didn’t help that he was so naughty. George was a good man, hardworking, outwardly placid, but a real box of tricks inside. How could she get him to behave himself and pay her more attention?
By morning, she had the answer.
Following that first disastrous meal and the episode with the sago pudding in her bed, Livia made a point of eating every scrap put in front of her, no matter how lumpy the potatoes or curdled the custard. Still no one spoke to her, conversations between the other girls largely conducted over her head. Today, however, seemed different.
‘Who’s coming to the meeting of the suffragettes early next month?’ one dark-haired girl suddenly asked.
‘That’s for the nobs, not for the likes of us,’ said another.
The girl, whom Livia remembered was called Connie, said, ‘Not a bit of it. The government is trying to bar women from attending political meetings. That’s not right, and we need to speak up.’ She banged her spoon on the table. ‘Just because the Liberals have got back in power doesn’t mean we have to give up. We have to make Asquith listen, whether he wants to or not. It’s a nonsense to say that wives are represented by their husband and don’t need the vote. Is a woman not entitled to a voice of her own? What if he’s a drunken lout, or beats the daylights out of her? And what if a woman isn’t married? So she gets the vote and married women don’t? That’s not right either.’
‘You don’t have to convince us, Con, we’re on your side.’
‘Well then, come to the meeting. The speaker is Emmeline Pankhurst herself. We’re honoured that she can spare the time but she has a soft spot for Manchester, since she used to live there herself. Annie Kenney will be with her, and since she was once a factory girl she talks a lot of sense to folk like us, being more down-to-earth, like. These brave women are willing to do whatever is necessary for the cause, and suffer any amount of torment. They hold rallies and demonstrations,tie themselves to railings, disrupt political meetings, they’ve even been to prison. So far as I’m concerned, they’re all heroes.’
Some of the girls quietly mumbled about not wanting to risk losing their jobs, but Connie was relentless
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