Read Online The Trial of Marie Montrecourt by Kay Patrick - Free Book Online
Authors: Kay Patrick
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She nodded encouragingly. “And butterflies. I collect butterflies. I’ve always liked butterflies, ever since I was a small boy. I used to cup them in my hands and look at them through my laced fingers. I could feel them fluttering. Then they would escape and I would be left with nothing. It wasn’t until I read in some newspaper about a man and his butterfly collection that I realised there was a way to keep them with me always. Now, I collect butterflies for a hobby. I bought my first case when The Emporium opened. I’ve added a case to my collection every year since.”
It was the longest speech she’d ever heard Stanley make. “And what do you do with them?”
He seemed surprised by her question. “I look at them. I like to look at them.”
“But aren’t they dead?”
“Yes, but their beauty is preserved forever.”
It seemed so cruel to Marie, to kill something just to have the pleasure of looking at it. She didn’t know how to respond. The subject was dropped. Luckily, they both became distracted by the antics of a tiny mongrel dog that was obviously determined to challenge the St Bernards to a fight. She laughed as the mongrel’s owner struggled to drag his dog away, while Damson and Major stared after it in amazement. Even Stanley managed a smile.
*
It was the day of the march at last. Marie woke early, with excitement fluttering around her stomach. She’d been unable to sleep all night and she was pretty certain that Daphne wouldn’t have slept either. She knew her friend was anxious because word about the march had begun to spread through Harrogate, and she was concerned about the possibility of adverse reaction.
Marie was able to slip out of the house unnoticed by the Mintons and make her way to the Majestic Hotel, outside of which the marchers were gathering. Apart from Daphne and Marie there were a dozen or so factory girls taking part in the protest, and their numbers were swollen by a handful of society women sympathetic to the cause – not as many as Daphne would have liked, however, but more than she had expected. There was a carnival atmosphere among the women. Clogs and shawls darted in and out between fashionable dresses and plumed hats. There was laughter and chatter that was full of nervous anticipation. It was a perfect June day with only the slightest breeze to stir the banners the women were carrying.
Silence fell as Daphne blew her whistle to attract everyone’s attention. “Welcome ladies and thank you all for your support. We will march to the end of the street and turn right; then at the edge of town, turn left and stop outside the gates of the factory. This is a peaceful demonstration, but we must expect some animosity from passers-by – women as well as men, I’m afraid. Do not respond to it. We shall stand outside the factory for an hour and then disperse, leaving a small group behind to keep vigil. Any questions?”
None being asked, Daphne instructed the group to form into a double line. Still chattering and laughing they obeyed, with Daphne and Marie in the lead, carrying their banner high. It was painted with the words: FAIR TREATMENT FOR WOMEN.
After a while, the laughter and the chatter began to fade as it became clear that the march was not popular with the people of the town. There was thinly disguised hatred on their faces as the women marched past.
“Shame on you,” someone shouted. “Get back home where you belong,” was one of the least crude suggestions. Someone else shouted: “Whores”.
Marie glanced behind her at the others. The factory girls were looking grim but determined. On the faces of the society ladies, however, she could read shock. It was a relief to reach the edge of town where there were less passers-by. Spirits began to revive even more as the women saw their goal ahead: the wrought iron gates dominated by the sign that read BRIDGEWATER DYES.
Suddenly, the double line of women faltered and then stopped. Uncertain glances were
It was the longest speech she’d ever heard Stanley make. “And what do you do with them?”
He seemed surprised by her question. “I look at them. I like to look at them.”
“But aren’t they dead?”
“Yes, but their beauty is preserved forever.”
It seemed so cruel to Marie, to kill something just to have the pleasure of looking at it. She didn’t know how to respond. The subject was dropped. Luckily, they both became distracted by the antics of a tiny mongrel dog that was obviously determined to challenge the St Bernards to a fight. She laughed as the mongrel’s owner struggled to drag his dog away, while Damson and Major stared after it in amazement. Even Stanley managed a smile.
*
It was the day of the march at last. Marie woke early, with excitement fluttering around her stomach. She’d been unable to sleep all night and she was pretty certain that Daphne wouldn’t have slept either. She knew her friend was anxious because word about the march had begun to spread through Harrogate, and she was concerned about the possibility of adverse reaction.
Marie was able to slip out of the house unnoticed by the Mintons and make her way to the Majestic Hotel, outside of which the marchers were gathering. Apart from Daphne and Marie there were a dozen or so factory girls taking part in the protest, and their numbers were swollen by a handful of society women sympathetic to the cause – not as many as Daphne would have liked, however, but more than she had expected. There was a carnival atmosphere among the women. Clogs and shawls darted in and out between fashionable dresses and plumed hats. There was laughter and chatter that was full of nervous anticipation. It was a perfect June day with only the slightest breeze to stir the banners the women were carrying.
Silence fell as Daphne blew her whistle to attract everyone’s attention. “Welcome ladies and thank you all for your support. We will march to the end of the street and turn right; then at the edge of town, turn left and stop outside the gates of the factory. This is a peaceful demonstration, but we must expect some animosity from passers-by – women as well as men, I’m afraid. Do not respond to it. We shall stand outside the factory for an hour and then disperse, leaving a small group behind to keep vigil. Any questions?”
None being asked, Daphne instructed the group to form into a double line. Still chattering and laughing they obeyed, with Daphne and Marie in the lead, carrying their banner high. It was painted with the words: FAIR TREATMENT FOR WOMEN.
After a while, the laughter and the chatter began to fade as it became clear that the march was not popular with the people of the town. There was thinly disguised hatred on their faces as the women marched past.
“Shame on you,” someone shouted. “Get back home where you belong,” was one of the least crude suggestions. Someone else shouted: “Whores”.
Marie glanced behind her at the others. The factory girls were looking grim but determined. On the faces of the society ladies, however, she could read shock. It was a relief to reach the edge of town where there were less passers-by. Spirits began to revive even more as the women saw their goal ahead: the wrought iron gates dominated by the sign that read BRIDGEWATER DYES.
Suddenly, the double line of women faltered and then stopped. Uncertain glances were
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