Impossible Saints Read online

  “I wasn’t aware I had to report all our activities to you,” was Lady Fernham’s cold reply. “Besides, I wasn’t there myself, so I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.”

  “I’ve been patient with you and your causes, Marian, but this is too much. Where will it end? I thought the Wells girl’s death would make you realize the folly of your actions, but you continue to encourage your friends’ foolish and even dangerous behavior. This Miss Brooke, I’m told, is one of the worst of them. Why don’t you counsel her to be more moderate?”

  “You know nothing about her or anyone else I associate with,” Lady Fernham snapped. “You’re merely worried about how you’ll look to your colleagues in Parliament.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be worried? It’s clear enough they perceive me as a fool who allows his wife to control him. I won’t have it any longer. I insist upon knowing in advance when and where these public meetings and demonstrations will occur.”

  “Why? So you can stop them? We had an agreement, John.”

  “Damn the agreement! I’ve lost so much credibility in Parliament that it no longer matters which cause I support. I can do nothing more for you and your causes. At this point, all I want is to try to repair the damage that has already been done.”

  Lilia had only a few seconds to withdraw behind a large potted fern before Lord Fernham stalked out of the room and up the stairs. Fortunately, he didn’t see her, but she didn’t know whether she should enter the drawing room or give Lady Fernham time to recover from the quarrel. She slowly emerged from behind the fern and hesitated in the doorway. Lady Fernham saw her and beckoned her inside. To Lilia’s surprise, her friend looked calm, even relaxed, as she motioned for Lilia to sit down in a chair next to hers.

  “Would you like a cigarette?” Lady Fernham asked, taking a silver cigarette case from a drawer in a small side table.

  “Yes, please.”

  Lady Fernham handed Lilia the cigarette. “I apologize for that unpleasant conversation. No doubt it was loud enough for most of the household to hear.”

  “I did hear it, I’m afraid. Will he make your life very difficult now?” Lilia spoke quietly, worried that Lord Fernham would return, or worse, eavesdrop at the door as she’d been doing.

  “Don’t worry about him. We have these conversations all the time.”

  She lit Lilia’s cigarette, then her own. Lilia didn’t know what to say.

  Lady Fernham sighed, put her cigarette to her lips, and inhaled deeply. Then she smiled and looked around the room. “I love smoking in the drawing room,” she said. “It drives John mad. He tells me that a drawing room is meant for ladies, not cigarette smoke. In his mind, of course, the two can’t coexist. It gives me great pleasure to smell the stale smoke in the draperies, in my clothes and my hair. I suppose it’s childish, but smoking is one of my many little ways of rebelling.”

  Lilia nodded sympathetically.

  Lady Fernham closed her eyes, looking older than her forty years. “John and I married for love, you know. He was a dashing young man, the brother of one of my childhood friends. He had such energy and ambition back then—you’d never know it to see him now—and he was madly in love with me. Although my parents approved of him, I was an independent young woman—like you in many ways, Lilia—and I would have none of his attempts to make love to me. I sent back his letters unopened, refused to dance with him at balls, and spoke as little as possible when I couldn’t escape his presence at social gatherings.

  “His persistence impressed me, though, as did his interest in women’s rights. Would you believe there was a time when he was more of an advocate for women’s suffrage than I was? I was quite a beauty in those days, and I enjoyed the power I believed I had over men. I wasted a good deal of time on coquetry. I’m glad you’re not like that. You’re more serious than I was, and you don’t get caught up in the little vanities that enslave so many young women.”

  “If Lord Fernham believed in women’s suffrage back then, what happened?” Lilia asked.

  “I married him.” Lady Fernham waved her cigarette in the air as if to blame the drawing room furnishings for her husband’s transformation. “Once we were married, he modified his views to conform to what his peers and especially his superiors believed. His ambitions became focused on what he must do to rise in the political world.

  “You may find this strange, but I still consider myself fortunate in my husband. He has given me far more freedom than most husbands allow their wives, and he has tolerated my involvement with the women’s movement—indeed, he has supported the women’s suffrage bills in Parliament, as you know, albeit only when it’s been convenient for him.”

  Lady Fernham leaned forward, looking at Lilia intently. “I don’t know if you realize how lucky you are. You’re free. No man has a claim on you. No man has conquered and enslaved you mentally, physically, or spiritually. You’re not free from all struggle and suffering, of course—you must feel lonely, you must have desires—but you haven’t bound yourself to a man you’ll come to despise.

  “The fundamental truth is this—all men are cowards. I’ve never met a man who can hold to his convictions when other temptations come his way, whether they be greed, power, or lust. Perhaps men suspect that we are the stronger sex, and that’s why they still hold out against our cries to be recognized equally under the law. When we get the vote, when we get equal pay for equal work, and when we are allowed into every profession, it will become clear how much stronger we really are.

  “I’ll say it again—all men are cowards. Even your young priest, Canon Harris. Indeed, clergymen are more cowardly than the rest of them because they have more to lose.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lilia said, startled. Though Lilia had sensed she didn’t like him, Lady Fernham had tolerated Paul’s presence in Lilia’s life thus far without comment.

  “Ambitious men will make whatever sacrifices are necessary to rise to the top of their profession. For a clergyman, the desire for position and power is combined with a faith that’s always in danger of being shaken, especially in these modern times. Canon Harris may tell you he supports women’s suffrage—indeed, he may even believe it—but the moment that belief interferes with his position in the church, he’ll abandon it. And anything you do that interferes with his faith will make him resent you later.”

  “But you don’t know him,” Lilia began, then stopped in confusion.

  A slight smile appeared on the older woman’s face. “I know his type. But I hope I’m wrong about him, for your sake.”

  “He’s just a friend,” Lilia said.

  “Is he?” Lady Fernham looked skeptical. She added in a softer tone, “I keep forgetting how young you are, my dear. Despite your intelligence and education, you know little about men. Even in the midst of that horrible scene when Ellen died, it was clear that the only person that young man saw was you.”

  “I’m sure he understands … that is, I don’t think …” She stopped again.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, of course, if you have no feelings for him,” her friend said. “But even the slightest attraction will cause no end of trouble.”

  The slightest attraction? Lilia, who never blushed, felt her face grow hot as she remembered what she’d said to Paul in the schoolroom and the kiss that had almost happened.

  Her blush must have given her away, for Lady Fernham said quietly, “It’s more than friendship, Lilia.”

  “I don’t want it to be.”

  “Then you must end it. It’s best for both of you.”

  Lilia was silent.

  “Let us speak of him no more,” Lady Fernham went on. “You can tell me what plans are afoot for the next demonstration. Oh, and I nearly forgot to tell you that your last speech effectively raised Ellen to the status of a martyr, according to the Guardian. Imagine, a speech by a suffragette being reported in a major newspaper and, I might add, commented on favorably! I saved a copy of the article for you—let me find it.”
r />   As Lady Fernham rose to rummage through a drawer in a nearby desk, Lilia was relieved the conversation had turned from Paul to a safer topic. But she continued to feel unsettled, and when she went home that night, what she had seen and heard that evening stayed with her. Lilia felt Lady Fernham’s disappointment with her husband acutely, and it depressed her. Was he really an example of the best an intelligent woman could hope for in a life companion? She tried to dismiss Lady Fernham’s words about men, specifically Paul, as biased by her unhappy marriage, but she couldn’t. She had heard similar stories from other women, and she wasn’t prepared to take the risk of trusting any man, even Paul, with her heart.

  Before Lilia went to bed that night, she wrote a reply to Paul’s letter:

  Dear Paul,

  I have indeed been working long hours and have had little time to think, much less see friends. The WSPU requires all of my energies, and I can think of nothing else right now. You might consider the possibility that a woman’s work can be as all-consuming as a man’s.

  Please forget what happened in the schoolroom. You didn’t offend me, but I regret the stupid things I said and did. My only explanation is that I wasn’t in my right mind after witnessing Ellen’s death. Let it pass.

  Lilia

  That night, she dreamed of violent clashes with faceless men and of women falling from rooftops and church spires. But she also dreamed of kissing Paul—and of doing other things with him, too. She awoke in hot, breathless confusion, and it wasn’t until the gray light of dawn seeped into her room that she was able to fall asleep again.

  10

  Stretching my unreasoning arms

  As men in dreams, who vainly interpose

  ’Twixt gods and their undoing, with a cry

  I struggled to precipitate myself

  Head-foremost to the rescue of my soul

  In that white face …

  —Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh

  OCTOBER 1907

  Paul was having a terrible day. He had been restless and distracted during his morning prayers, which sounded empty and hollow to him, and the two hours he had set aside for work on his book were spent staring at a blank sheet of paper, writing a phrase or two, then striking them out. The afternoon was even worse. During his weekly meeting with Cross regarding the penitentiary project, his colleague, with unseemly relish, picked apart the report Paul had written about one of the penitentiaries he’d visited the previous week.

  Paul had a new reason to be angry with Cross. A week earlier, Paul had been summoned to a private meeting with the bishop, who had cautioned him about his involvement with the women’s suffrage movement. The conversation had taken Paul by surprise, as he hadn’t thought anyone knew about his hovering at the margins of suffrage meetings. And anyway, that could hardly be termed “involvement.” Paul had asked the bishop who had given him that information, but he’d been told only that it came in a letter from a credible source who wished to remain anonymous.

  Paul had immediately suspected Cross, who could have easily investigated Paul’s connection with Lilia after she’d insulted him at the cathedral. Cross likely considered her suffrage activities excellent fodder with which to blacken Paul’s name. The bishop hadn’t delivered his admonition harshly, but it had been an unmistakable warning. It was the first time the bishop had expressed displeasure with him.

  After enduring thirty minutes of criticism on this day, Paul lost his patience and interrupted Cross. “Why must you thwart me at every turn? What have I done to you that justifies your writing a letter to the bishop to try to undermine me?”

  Cross stared at him. “What are you talking about? I didn’t write such a letter.”

  “Telling falsehoods is unbecoming of a clergyman, Cross.”

  “Be careful what you say, Harris. I could give you the same advice.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t admit it. But what I do when I’m not working is no business of yours, and you had better stay out of it.”

  “I don’t care what you do in your private life,” Cross shot back, “though perhaps it would be a good idea to spend more time praying for a better temper. Then you might be able to take advice about your writing without flying into a rage. Not every word you write is divinely inspired, you know.”

  Paul stalked out of the room without replying.

  Once alone and walking in a cool wind that helped clear his head, Paul became ashamed of his outburst. He had behaved childishly, no matter how justifiable his reason for being angry. At the same time, it had been a relief to give vent to his anger instead of letting it build up inside him as he usually did. After several weeks of working with Cross on the penitentiary project, Paul was dismayed, though not entirely surprised, to realize no real progress had been made either with the project or in their ability to work together. They had split up the work in a predictable way: Cross took on most of the social and physical requirements of the work, though they both visited the penitentiaries, and Paul wrote the reports. It wasn’t a satisfactory arrangement, as that day’s meeting had made abundantly clear, but neither of them had discovered a better one.

  Feeling unusually weary, Paul entered his house with the hope that Mrs. Rigby wouldn’t wish to consult with him about household matters. He wanted to be alone in his study. Unfortunately, that respite was not to be, as he found Mrs. Rigby and Harriet Firth waiting for him in the front hall. Paul was surprised to see Harriet—he hadn’t known that she knew where he lived—but he greeted her politely and invited her into the study.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Firth?” Paul asked, sinking into the leather chair behind his desk.

  Harriet ignored the chair Paul indicated and stood in front of his desk, looking more stern than usual.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, Canon Harris, but have you seen Lilia today?” she asked.

  “No, I have not.” He hadn’t seen Lilia since the day Ellen Wells died, though not for lack of trying.

  “She canceled her afternoon lessons and I haven’t been able to find her. I must speak with her before the protest.”

  “What protest?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” She looked surprised. “Hundreds of WSPU members are going to Parliament Square this afternoon to protest the prime minister’s refusal to receive a small deputation of women to discuss the suffrage bill. Many suffrage groups have worked together on this bill for nearly two years, and now it looks as though the government will kill it.”

  Paul was beginning to recognize the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever the WSPU was mentioned. It had been a month since Ellen’s death, and he had hoped the incident would discourage the suffragettes from making public protests, though it clearly had not. And he still didn’t understand why Lilia was suddenly so involved with the militant wing of the suffrage movement. Had she abandoned the more moderate, respectable NUWSS entirely?

  “I overheard something today that I need to tell Lilia,” Harriet went on, “but the protest is scheduled to begin in less than an hour—” She stopped abruptly and her face took on a grayish cast.

  Alarmed, Paul rose and said, “Miss Firth, please sit down and rest for a moment. I’ll call Mrs. Rigby to bring you some water.”

  She sat down, but shook her head. “I’m all right, really. I just need a moment.”

  The moment seemed to last forever, but eventually the color returned to Harriet’s face.

  “As I was walking to school this morning,” she went on, “I passed two constables who were talking about the planned protest. They seemed to know too much about it, but what concerns me the most is something they said about bringing in reinforcements to, as they said, ‘put those women in their place.’ I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t want Lilia to go.”

  Paul couldn’t agree more. “If we leave now,” he said, “we may be able to get to Parliament Square before the protest begins. We can take a cab.”

  “We’d better walk. The roads here and around the square will be c
logged with traffic at this time of day. We’ll get there faster on foot.”

  Paul hesitated. He was quite willing to walk—or even run—all the way to Parliament Square, but Harriet wouldn’t be able to keep up with him and he didn’t want to slow his pace for her.

  As if she had read his mind, she said firmly, “I’m used to walking quickly and will have no difficulty.”

  Paul agreed, and the two of them set out immediately. Neither of them spoke as they walked, as if they were both trying to prepare themselves for whatever awaited them.

  As they approached the square, Paul noticed that this crowd was larger and more diverse than that of a month ago, and at first he couldn’t see Lilia or anyone else he recognized.

  “I don’t think we’re too late,” Harriet said with evident relief, but then she pointed to the east end of the square, where Lilia was ascending a makeshift platform with two other women. “Oh, I was wrong. We should have been here five minutes ago.”

  Paul and Harriet had reached the edge of the crowd, which was packed together tightly, making it impossible to move forward. Paul saw that one of the women with Lilia was Lady Fernham. The other was a small, dignified woman he didn’t know.

  Lilia began to speak. He wasn’t close enough to hear what Lilia was saying, but her slim, upright figure communicated her usual confidence and determination.

  What happened next was a nightmare. Only much later would Paul remember how strangely quiet the crowd was during those few minutes at the beginning of Lilia’s speech. The momentary, eerie stillness of these people from every walk of life made what came later all the more shocking. The first person to break the calm was a man a few yards in front of Paul who cursed Lilia loudly, his crude words piercing the calm dignity of her speech. That curse seemed to release the inhibitions of the other members of the crowd. To Paul, it seemed as though they rose up as one united entity against the defenseless body of the woman he loved.