The Balliols (5 page)

Almost before the women had settled round their coffee, before anyone had had a chance of asking anyone whether they had seen anything recently of so-and-so, she set the ball moving with a sound, energetic kick.

“It's quite clear that Campbell Bannerman doesn't intend to do anything about giving us the vote. He's going to prevaricate just as the Conservatives did. It just shows how short-sighted our leaders were to believe that they only had to wait for a Liberal government. They ought to have remembered Gladstone.”

Jane gave a sigh. She might have known what to expect. A suffragist debate. The most that she could hope for was a moderately calm passage. There were four of them in all. On herself she could rely. She never cared enough about the things people argued over to disagree violently with them. The things she did care about were never topics of discussion. Neither was Mrs. Fury likely to become embroiled. She was one of those women whose conversation is in the main interrogatory, who interject an occasional “Yes, I suppose that is so, really,” in the tone of voice that makes it clear that they actually believe the exact opposite, and on their way back tell their husbands that “that Balliol girl talked the most foolish nonsense.” She was less certain of Mrs. Shirley. Ruth's criticism of her was very apt. She was one of those cool, long-necked women, whom you associate with a riding habit. She dropped her “g's.” She had a slow, high-pitched voice. Her treatment of her friends was that of the lady of the manor towards the committee of a flower show. With alarm Jane watched Mrs. Shirley deploy her troops for action. Her preliminaries were gentle. She began by asking a number of questions, in the manner of the county lady who is anxious to discover the exact opinion of the committee so that she shall be enabled to say at the end, “Well, now, I think I have heard how you all feel about this matter. What I propose to do is this——”

To anyone unfamiliar with her tactics she would have appeared an ally rather than an opponent.

She began by meeting Stella on her own ground.

“I am quite sure,” she said, “that very few of us realize the slavery in which women lived. I think I'm right in saying that a hundred years ago a married woman had no legal existence. She was her husband's wife. At marriage her money became her husband's. Any money she might earn, though she had scarcely any way of earning it, became her husband's. She had no private or public rights. She could not sue in court. No professions were open to her. She had no right to her own children, no matter how her husband might behave.”

Then by a series of friendly, if condescending, questions she led Stella to a recapitulation of the various details of that campaign. Caroline Norton and her Infants' Custody Act. Florence Nightingale and her School for Nurses. The rapid acquisition of fresh privileges; the right to a university career; the right to enter the professions of the law and medicine; the Married Women's Property Act; the commencement and development of the suffrage movement.

Mrs. Shirley listened, commenting, interrogating, with what seemed the friendliest concern. Only Jane realized that that concern was the steady baiting of a hook; like the cross-examination where a witness is led step by step into a fatal, unguarded admission.

Jane fidgeted nervously, wondering how she could change the subject before a danger point was reached; glancing at the clock; wondering how soon the men could be expected to leave the dining-room; realizing that it was only twenty minutes since they had been left; knowing that they would be at the least another ten minutes yet.

In her smooth, suave voice Mrs. Shirley continued her interrogation.

“In all these things: property, education, facilities to enter the professions, the tendency has been to place women on an equality with men.”

“Yes.”

“Now will you continue this grantin' of the vote to women to its logical conclusion? If women are allowed to vote, it will be difficult to prevent them from electing their own representatives. Would you be in favour of women going into Parliament?”

Stella hesitated. It was a point on which suffragists were usually reluctant to commit themselves. They did not want to advance too fast. Actual representation in Parliament was not part of their
declared policy. But in private there seemed no reason for conceding what every suffragist agreed to be her right.

“Certainly. I see no reason why women should not be represented in the government of a country that they support by taxation.”

“You would have, that is to say, complete equality between men and women as regards legislation?”

“Yes.”

“You would admit, though, that in certain fields women cannot compete on terms of equality with men. The services, for instance. You could hardly have women as Admirals and Generals. Certainly not as private soldiers and able-bodied seamen.”

“Naturally not.”

“Then don't you think men would be entitled to argue that they have a right to govern the country they protect?”

“Women could reply that as mothers they produce the armies and the navies.”

“At the same time you would admit that there is a point at which it ceases to be desirable or even possible for women to compete on terms of equality with men?”

“Certainly.”

“Then you do recognize that the opposition to the suffrage movement not only on the part of men but on the part of a great many women also, is based on their belief that that point has been already reached. You can hardly expect a great many people not to be impressed by the opinion of a woman like Mrs. Humphry Ward, who has been extremely active in the movement for women's education that—I remember memorizing her phrase—”the emancipatin' process has now reached the limits fixed by the physical constitution of women.”'

Stella flushed. Like every other suffragist she had had to answer many times that attack directed against the movement by those whom it had thought its most staunch supporters. That manifesto in the
Nineteenth Century
signed by a number of well-known feminists was still, after eighteen years, a most powerful weapon in the hands of the opposition.

“The rebel is always reactionary to an immediate successor.”

Mrs. Shirley smiled. It was an extremely charming smile. It was the look that came into her face at Bridge when she produced an unexpected card. Jane knew that smile, and knew what it portended. Mrs. Shirley was preparing to join action. If only the men would hurry. Jane strained her ears. She fancied that she
heard the sound of a shutting door; but she could not be certain. Was that, or was that not, the sound of voices in the hall?

“It may be as you contend,” said Mrs. Shirley. “But what I, and a great many women like myself, feel is this: there are admittedly these fields where men and women cannot compete. We consider that politics is one of them. Women have not the time. Women, that is to say, like myself, who live the life for which nature designed us—as wives and mothers. I think it very admirable that women should be properly educated; it makes them better wives and mothers. I think it admirable that they should own property; it allows them a voice in the education of their children. The enterin' of women into business and into the learned professions is also admirable. There will always be a number of women who for various reasons will not be mothers and will not marry. If they have inherited no money, they will want to lead useful and profitable lives. They have a right to make the best use possible of their talents. At the same time, such women are and always will be in a minority. Women with homes and children cannot give the undivided attention to a career that men can. That is outside their province. And it is for that reason that they resent and oppose the attempt of the minority to drive them into that for which they have not sufficient time—I mean politics. They feel that they would be represented in Parliament by members of a minority; so that the woman's point of view would be presented by women who were unrepresentative; who did not really understand how the majority of women feel. It is for this reason that the average woman who knows that she will never have the time herself for politics would prefer to be represented by her father, husband, brothers or sons: she feels that they understand her better than a woman out of a minority.”

She paused: her voice was sugar soft. But there was no doubt of her words' implication. “You feel like this because you are an exception, a freak. You are not one of us; you have no right to speak for us. You are the mouthpiece of a very small minority.”

“And that's why,” Mrs. Shirley was continuing, “I don't really believe that this movement will come to anything. It will only be supported by a few. My daughter now, aged fifteen, is tremendously enthusiastic. She wants to join—now what is it she wants to join? You could tell me probably, Miss Balliol—the organization for young suffragists.”

“The Drummers' Union.”

“Exactly. The Drummers' Union. My husband is very much against it. He says we are layin' up trouble for ourselves, lettin'
her get ideas of that kind in her head. But I say, ‘What does it matter? Before very long she'll have met some very ordinary young man or other whom she'll think is like no one that's ever lived and by the time she's stopped thinkin' that, she'll have far too many responsibilities to worry about suffrage movements.'“

It was said so lightly, that it evoked a benign smile from Mrs. Fury. But there was no doubt of what had been implied.
“you
only think like that because no man has ever thought it worth his while to make
you
feel differently.”

Stella did not miss the implication. She lifted herself forward in her chair. Her sister-in-law was to be spared her retort, however.

As the defenders of Lucknow welcomed their relief, Jane heard the sound of masculine voices outside the door. She shut her eyes in thankfulness. There could be a respite now. She turned brightly to her rescuers.

“We are discussing,” she announced with brisk decisiveness, “whether there is time in one lifetime for both love and a career. Mr. Rickman, I know you must have a great many ideas on that subject. Come over here and tell me what you think.”

Within two minutes general conversation had been abandoned for a group of duologues.

At last the evening came to an end. Mrs. Shirley, as was appropriate, making the first move. Stella, as was a sister's right, staying a little after the last guest had gone. She had had a letter from her father by that evening's post. He had mentioned a cold. She was worried about him.

“I heard from him three days ago,” said Balliol. “He seemed to be perfectly well then.”

“He's over seventy. April's a treacherous month.”

“Our grandfather lived till he was eighty. Our father's sturdier that he ever was.”

“Perhaps.… Well, it's been a delightful evening, but then your parties always are. Give my love to the nieces and nephews.”

“Ah, that reminds me. I had so many messages for you from Lucy. She made me promise to ask you to go up and see her.”

“The darling. But it's too late now, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, much.”

“Tell her I'll take her to a matinée one day.”

“And lunch here first.”

“That would be lovely. We must fix that up. Ask her what she'd like to see.”

With his hand on his wife's shoulder, Edward Balliol watched his sister walk with a firm resolute stride towards Marylebone Station.

Balliol shook his head.

“I don't think we can boast of having found a husband for Stella in Roy Rickman. They seemed to be making very heavy weather of it during dinner.”

Jane smiled.

“I can't imagine Mr. Rickman falling in love with anyone like Stella.”

“So there's another name to be wiped off our list.”

“If you look on him simply as a suitor for Stella.”

“That's why we asked him.”

“I know.… All the same.…” She hesitated, flushing slightly. “I thought he was rather amusing; gay and talkative. The kind of person who makes a party go. He might be worth remembering, to fill a gap sometimes. If you like him, that's to say.”

“Oh, I like him. I shouldn't have asked him otherwise.”

“I didn't mean that. Amusing, I meant to say. Among you other men, did he talk well? What did you talk about down here? You stayed a long time.”

“Did we? Yes, I suppose we did. We were talking golf. And when one once gets on to that.…”

They laughed. They had made frequent play with the stale jokes about “the golf widow,” and the fishing bore swopping reminiscences with a golf bore.

“I shouldn't think Mr. Rickman would have much to say on that.”

“As a matter of fact, he started it. With a very good story, too. It may be a chestnut. But it was new to all of us. You'll see the point of it. It's your honour. It's a short hole. You hole out in one. What's the correct thing to say to your opponent? Only one thing. ‘You've got that for a half.' Pretty good, that. Yes, he's a nice fellow; nicer than I thought. Yes, we must have him here again. He helps to make things go. It was a nice party. All your parties are.”

He put his arm round her shoulder, fondling it, smiling down at her. This was for him the happiest moment of the day: the moment when they were left alone at a party's end. The few minutes' talk in which they compared the various guests; how this one had reacted on this other, rounded off the day. It gave everything a direction and significance.

He led her back into the drawing-room, pausing by a side table
to mix himself a drink. He watched her as she walked slowly over to the fire-place, placing one foot upon the fender, leaning one arm along the mantelpiece, resting her cheek in its soft hollow. How graceful she was, still; like a flower. He was a lucky fellow to have a wife like that.

She turned slowly round.

“Edward,” she said. “I don't want to live here any more.”