Chapter Seven
While Mr Winton pursued his business dealings in London, Mrs Winton continued with her usual routines and maintained her social engagements and as time passed she began to rather enjoy the personal freedoms that her husband’s absence gave her.
She made several decisions without consulting him, including the ordering of new drapes for the sitting room, despite their planned move.
She just couldn’t bear their dowdiness any longer, she said, and it was she who had to suffer the indignity of inviting ladies into a less than perfect room.
She had also decided upon other changes that she had been contemplating for a while and, since James had been in London, she had enjoyed the luxury of time to think. She rang the bell. When Eliza appeared at the door she dispatched her to fetch Kate.
‘I have decided that I will walk with you and Clara today, Kate,’ Mrs Winton announced. ‘Let me know in good time when you will be leaving for the park so that I may prepare myself. And by the way, how are you getting on with The Mill on the Floss? It’s one of my favourite books.’
Kate’s face turned pink.
‘It’s all right. Philip told me of your love of reading.
I’m pleased to hear it, Kate. It’s good to know that a young woman interested in literature is looking after my children.
They seem very happy that you are here and if they’re happy, I am too.
Please let me know when you would like to borrow another book.
As you have discovered, I have plenty of them. ’
Kate bobbed and smiled. The appointment of this young woman was the right decision, Mrs Winton thought to herself.
She had a spark about her and seemed to have more than the usual level of intelligence expected of a maid.
George Eliot was not the average reading matter for a servant.
She detected an expression of puzzlement on Kate’s face.
It was unusual for Mrs Winton to ‘take the air’, it was true, but she’d decided she was going to do more to keep her own body and mind in good order instead of attending to her family’s needs all the time.
So, walk they did and it was a beautiful afternoon.
The flower beds in the park were a picture and the bright sunlight showed them in their truest colours.
The vibrant reds and yellows of the stately lupins saluted the women as they entered the park.
There were many people strolling along the pathways, some nodded and smiled, some men lifted their hats, others were deeply engaged in conversation.
Nursemaids pushing prams congregated near the pond area and pointed out the antics of the ducks, tails bobbing, heads down.
One over-adventurous child was being rescued by the collar of his jacket, his toy boats a little too far to reach.
His loud objections, heard all over the park, appeared to be more to do with the lost boat than his dripping wet clothes.
‘Time to move on, I think,’ said Mrs Winton, not attempting to cover her intolerance of other people’s wailing children.
As they entered the shrubbery, two older women came towards them. As they came closer, Mrs Winton recognized them.
‘Mrs Wickham, Mrs Trimbrell, how delightful to meet you,’ she said.
‘Likewise,’ replied Mrs Wickham. ‘We don’t often see you out and about, Dorothea. Perhaps you have more time on your hands since James’s departure for London?’
‘We heard of James’s new venture, many congratulations. You’ll be joining him soon, of course,’ Mrs Trimbrell added.
‘Yes, just as soon as we can. Will you both be coming to tea at Mrs Hargraves’ next Friday?’
‘No, we must decline,’ Mrs Wickham said.
‘We have other commitments, in Shawford. We go to join with the Winchester Society to meet the march from Land’s End to London.
We need to show our support. If women like Emily Davison are prepared to sacrifice themselves for the cause then it’s the least we can do. ’
‘She threw herself under the king’s horse, you know,’ Mrs Trimbrell added. ‘I presume you’ve seen the papers?’
‘What march?’ Clara asked, her interest suddenly piqued.
‘Why the suffragette march, of course,’ Mrs Trimbrell replied.
‘Why exactly are they marching?’ asked Clara.
‘My dear, your mother needs to educate you on such things,’ Mrs Wickham said looking pointedly in Mrs Winton’s direction.
Mrs Winton’s face flushed. She had been caught off guard by the ladies’ forthright opinions.
‘We’ll talk about it later. Come along, Clara, or we’ll be late for tea,’ Mrs Winton said turning away. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’
Clara was in a bad mood all the way home having received no answer to her questions except that it needn’t concern her at the moment.
Mrs Winton walked rather more quickly on the way home and kept urging Kate to hurry the children along.
Was she being too cautious about joining the suffragettes?
Was Mrs Wickham, right? Clara was growing up in a society that might well be different for women like her.
She should be prepared for it. There had always been some sort of unspoken rule in most houses that what the man decided was law, but times were changing.
She’d been invited to the Winchester Society meetings on a number of occasions but had found excuses.
Yes, she thought it was important that women should hold responsible positions in society and obtaining the vote was an important step in establishing women’s rights but .
. . and there were buts, the chief one being what James would say, how it would affect his position.
Mrs Winton debated with herself for several days after that chance meeting in the park, struggling with the arguments for and against. It was a letter that decided her.
Four days after her encounter with Mrs Wickham and Mrs Trimbrell, a large envelope was delivered to Woodland House addressed to Mrs Dorothea Winton.
She rarely received post herself, except letters from her sister and her aunt.
She sat in the study and read its contents.
The two items in the envelope were accompanied by a note from Mrs Wickham encouraging her to read and ‘decide for herself what was the right thing to do’.
It encouraged her to bring her daughter and her maid too.
‘For this is a fight that affects all women, regardless of class, and they are the next generation. We are doing this for the women of the future as well as today.’
She read the pamphlet first. It was written by a Lord Curzon and entitled Fifteen Good Reasons Against the Grant of Female Suffrage.
A document that referred to ‘women’s proper sphere and highest duty which is maternity’ and suggested that suffrage would lead to ‘divisions which will break up the harmony of the home’.
Dorothea Winton’s anger began to rise. It was fine for men such as Lord Curzon to talk of women’s duties and breaking the harmony of the home, but they did not have to suffer the pain of childbirth, sometimes to be followed by the pain of losing that child.
Nor did they think twice about putting their own success before the needs of their wives and children.
Her own husband was not with her and yet she had survived his absence.
She had coped perfectly well without him breathing down her neck to sanction and double check her every decision in life.
She turned to the second document entitled Fifteen Valid Arguments for the Grant of Female Suffrage in which Lady Laura Ridding had discounted all Lord Curzon’s arguments in a very clever poem exposing his arguments for what they were, opinionated and one-sided.
It ended with the lines: ‘No valid argument will win of all the great fifteen. They will have vanished into dust as if they’d never been’.
Mrs Winton decided then and there. Mrs Wickham was right. She would attend the Winchester Society’s reception for the suffragettes and she would take Clara and Kate with her.