The Devotee

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Sun 29 October 1905

I took an early train and was in the city by eleven.

I climbed four flights to IP's attic flat.

It was a dark and rainy morning. We stood facing one another, across the main room, with a small fireplace and an ottoman and a small table.

Her glasses frame her face differently. Before them, she seemed to be always reaching out, looking for the world.

With them, she stands back, defiant, and lets the world come to her, and her broad shoulders are as if braced for the shock that the world brings.

'Thank you for having me,' I said.

'Of course,' she said.

'Is your roommate here?'

'Out with 'er fiancay.'

'So we are alone.'

'Yeah.'

We have shared so many intimacies the past weeks, without seeing each other, that it was like meeting for the first time. We stared at each other in silence.

'I do not know what we must talk about first,' I said. 'The Freeholds' money problems, or... you and I.'

'Let you and I wait,' she said. 'We need to talk about the manoovers.'

I knew what she meant.

'I wish you had told me sooner,' I said, 'about things like the unpaid bills, and the car. And the talk that Kate overheard.'

'I know that,' she said. 'But you 'ave to understand why.'

'I think I do,' I said.

'You and I 'ad barely talked,' she said. 'We'd 'ad that day at the pond. I was smitten with you, and then...'

She trailed off, looking unhappy.

'I broke your heart,' I said.

'Yes,' she said, simply. 'You did. Thank you for sayin' it.'

'I am desperately sorry, Ida. But, all right. I know why you were not able to be more free with me.'

'I don't want to talk about you and I,' she said, 'just, for now. This business with the book, what the bloody 'ell is goin' on.'

'I can't tell,' I said. 'I pick up hints, from you and elsewhere. I can't tell if the Freeholds are desperate, or if they just want more money.'

'They haven't the money at all, Ediff,' she said, with a bitter smile. 'They put on a bloody good show, but they ain't nearly as well-off as they pretend.'

'But how can that be,' I said. 'They both come from good families.'

''Ow does 'e make 'is money,' she said.

'I don't know, actually,' I admitted. 'I mean, he was in the army, so he must have an army pension.'

'She's got two older brothers and three older sisters,' Ida said. 'And whenever they're in town, it's you-know-who 'as to 'ave 'em to dinner, 'cos the others all live off in the shires. And when the brothers and sisters and mamma and pappa come up to London, the bloody boat gets pushed out. But they don't get invited down to 'Ampshire. I've seen the brothers and sisters in Iverna Gardens loads of times. Never been down to the big 'ouse. Not in four bloody years. They rack up the bills to look like they're posh. They ain't nuffin'.'

I was slightly appalled at her cynicism, and impressed by her insight into the economics of Mary Freehold's family.

'Ida,' I said, 'this is all valuable information.'

'You never asked me about them,' she said. 'I mean, also, I dint think it meant so much.'

'Well,' I said, 'to be fair to you, it did not, before a few days ago. But now it does. The Freeholds are kept in place because powerful people want them there. But there are others, almost as powerful, who wish to bring them down.'

'I know,' she said, 'I want to bring 'em down meself, and I ent even powerful.'

'I do too. But we have to proceed very carefully. Mr. Casaubon, for instance, is potentially very powerful, but we must take care around him.'

'I know,' she said. 'I mean, it was one thing when I was just someone who got let go 'cos they didn't like me. But now there's this bloke and 'e writes for theTimesand 'e knows that Mrs F called me a thief. An' now that could all get in the papers.'

'You did not steal anything,' I said. 'It makes no sense that you would steal a book and then sell it, and give your own name. He knows that.'

'Does 'e?' she said. ''Cause I been here before, Edith. I know what people like 'er can get away with.'

'I do too,' I said. 'I have seen her do it. And it is up to us to make sure that she does not get away with it. No?'

She looked at the floor for a moment, then up to me.

'If it all went wrong,' she said, 'if you lost everythin', who've you got to go back to?'

'I suppose,' I said, 'my parents.'

She nodded.

'Mine are gone,' she said. 'I got nothin'.

'You do have someone,' I said, my heart in my mouth.

She was standing with one arm folded across her, the other arm resting with her elbow on the first arm, her thumb at her mouth, her teeth chewing furiously on her thumbnail. She was silent for a long moment.

'Words, eh,' she said, bleakly, looking at me.

I said nothing; after that, there seemed nothing I could say.

However, biting her nail seemed to calm her down, for presently she took her hand away from her mouth and swallowed.

'Anyway,' she said, 'I don't want to talk about us just now. This Mr Casaubon.'

'What about him,' I said.

'I think he might be sweet on Kate.'

'Your friend?'

'Mmm. Can't be sure but 'e seems to be.'

'I see, but what good is that to us?'

'Don't know,' she said, 'but, you don't know Kate.'

'What is she like?'

'She's my best friend. Think she's the best person I know.'

'Is Kate sweet on him?'

'She likes 'im all right, but she's not a goof. She won't do anythin' silly.'

'So you trust her to be discreet.'

'I do. She 'as a good head.'

'Very well,' I said.

I thought for a moment.

'All right,' I said. 'We have not been very good at making ourselves clear to each other. I hurt you, and you were too angry with me to tell me all you knew. That is where we went wrong.'

She nodded and said nothing.

'I'm very sorry,' I said.

'Me too,' she said.

'Can we now talk about the other part of your letter,' I said.

'If you like.'

'It is a lot easier to write to each other about these things, than to talk about it.'

'Innit, though,' she said. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her skirt and shifted uneasily.

'I am glad you found someone who gave you pleasure,' I said.

'Fank you.'

'I... envy her.'

'Do you.'

'I wish I had been her.'

'Well, you weren't.'

'I want very much to make love with you now.'

She looked at me, her mouth hanging open slightly, as it often does, and she slowly licked her lower lip.

There was the slight drop of moisture.

'Well,' she said, 'reckon we shouldn't.'

'Do you not want to,' I said. 'I would understand that, after everything that... has happened.'

'Oh,' she said, her voice trembling, a bleak smile on her face, 'I really, really want to, Ediff. I don't know 'ow I'm still standin' 'ere. I want you so much it's burnin' me up.'

She stopped, and I could hardly breathe, my heart was pounding so hard.

To hear that from her. Her eyes were blazing at me.

'But I reckon we 'ave to put that off till it is just us,' she said. 'Because there is a lot of dirty business to clear up. Wouldn't you say?'

'All right,' I said, swallowing. 'And continue as we are?'

'And continue as we are,' she said, her eyes fixed on me. 'If you don't know by now 'ow I feel about you...'

'I hope I do,' I said.

Ida squared her shoulders, and straightened up.

'So we do what we 'ave to do by others, and we sort out this Freehold business, and then we will see who you and me are. All right?'

I took a deep breath.

'All right,' I said. 'We shall do what you want.'

She let out a little breath, and looked at me steadily.

'I don't care 'ow many men or women you go to bed with,' she said softly. 'You're still mine.'

My breath caught in my throat and I gave a half-sob.

She abruptly walked over to me, took me in her arms and kissed me on the mouth.

It was a very long and slow kiss, and I felt her body softening against mine, just as mine did against hers. I shut my eyes and let my tears flow. She wiped my face with her fingers, and pressed us together. I submitted to her completely.

Then we detached our mouths and she stared into my eyes.

'You understand,' she murmured.

I could not speak. I merely nodded.

Then we slowly parted our bodies from one another and backed away, until we faced each other with our backs against opposite walls of the room, once more. She looked only a little less breathless than I felt.

I ached,achedwith need for her. I wanted only to find harbour in her arms.

But, looking at her, I knew she was the stronger.

She reached up, took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.

'I reckon that will keep me goin' for a bit,' she said quietly, glancing at me as she put her glasses back on. I managed a smile.

We stood again, for a moment, in silence. The pain was still there, but we had made some sort of promise to each other. I was no longer in an agony of doubt.

'Do you plan to take Miss Napier to bed again?' I asked.

'I dunno. Do you plan to let H fuck you silly again?'

We eyed each other, a little like wrestlers, in between rounds, waiting to re-enter the clinches.

'Do you still want to hear about it, if I do?' I said.

'Oh, yes,' she said, smiling almost pityingly, 'you 'ad better tell me what you do. 'Cos if I do anythin' I plan to tell you.'

'Then I had better leave,' I said, 'because if I stay any longer, you will have to take me to bed.'

'Off you go then,' she said, stepping aside and pointing at the door.

I sidled towards the door, locking my eyes with hers, and she stood there, her gaze fixed upon me, smiling her odd, knowing smile.

As I reached the door, I raised my right hand and clenched it to a fist, and touched it to my heart.

She raised her right hand to her mouth, kissed her fingers, and touched them to her heart.

I opened the door, turned and left, closing it behind me.

Edith Fawcett to William Casaubon

Sun 29 October 1905

Dear Mr Casaubon,

Regarding the Freeholds:

Mr Squire is under some pressure from them to transfer the handling of his will to their preferred legal firm, Butterworth. I have been disturbed to see that Butterworth propose to take his existing investments and re-invest the money elsewhere.

I did not know of the ventures that they propose to invest him, so I wrote to all of them whose addresses I had. That was nearly a month ago. So far only half have written back, with blandly reassuring letters about their plans, many of which have to do with businesses conveniently elsewhere in the Empire.

I am not in a position to do detective work, but today I was in London, on personal business (I write this in St Pancras station, about to board the train back to Kent), and I visited the address of the firm which had written the least detailed letter. (I have to admit that this was also the only firm I had time to visit, before catching my train.)

The address was on the first floor of a rather dingy stair in Bayswater. There was a smell of cabbage and steamed puddings. I managed to obtain ingress by slipping in when someone else was coming out.

None of the apartments on the stair had business signs. I reached my destination. It being Sunday, I assumed that the office was shut, but out of curiosity, I knocked on the door anyway.

Nothing happened, of course. I knocked again.

It was very quiet on the stair, and I was able to hear footsteps, inside, approaching the door and stopping: the creak of floorboards was audible.

I knocked once more. Nothing happened. I waited some minutes, and then went down the stairs.

I question what sort of business is in a residential stair, and occupied on a Sunday, by someone who chooses not to answer the door.

We must talk. I enclose a copy of the names and addresses I have of the firms mentioned by Butterworth. Please keep this to yourself.

*

Beatrice Webb to Percy Merrill

Mon 30 October 1905

Dear Mr Merrill,

I viewed with pleasure your acceptance of the candidacy in the forthcoming election at Southwich. And I greatly admired your piece in theObservercalling for a relief of tariffs. Mr Balfour and his party seem to be utterly out of touch with the public mood.

The incumbent, Mr Freehold, having held the seat for ten years, is doubtless confident, given his bland optimism about everything else. However, it has come to my attention that there appear to be irregularities in his financial affairs.

Under the present system, those like him, who preach thrift to the poor, but live an expensive lifestyle with no obvious source of income, deserve to be asked how they come by their wealth.

Any enquiries you can make will be welcome. I may be able to point you in certain directions.

Sidney and I would love to have you and your wife to one of our dinners, if you are free in the next ten days.

*

Arthur Balfour, First Lord of the Treasury, to Jonathan Freehold, MP

Tue 31 October 1905

My dear Freehold,

I hope you and Mary are well.

I am hearing vague rumours that your finances are a little unsteady. I trust that there is no truth to these.

However, I would be most reassured by a note from you assuring me that there is nothing in them.

Yours,

Balfour

Jonathan Freehold, MP to Arthur Balfour, First Lord of the Treasury

Thu 2 November 1905

Dear First Lord,

Thank you so much for your note.

I can assure you that rumours of my financial troubles are, as the American humourist Mr Twain said of reports of his death, an exaggeration.

We are in fine fettle and are looking forward to campaigning.

Yours,

J. Freehold

Arthur Balfour, First Lord of the Treasury to Jonathan Freehold, MP

Mon 6 November 1905

My dear Freehold,

Thank you for your prompt reply.

My memories of school lessons in mathematics are not so good as they were, at the present distance; but I understand enough about the subject to know that one can only exaggerate a quantity higher than zero. Zero is a null. It can be neither exaggerated nor downplayed.

Are you, or are you not, experiencing troubles with your finances?

I ask this because the Liberal feeling in the country has been building for some time, as anyone with discernment cannot have failed to notice, and I wish to know if you have the resources to push your campaign home and defend your seat. If you do not, I would view the matter with some concern.

Yours,

Balfour

Jonathan Freehold, MP to Arthur Balfour, First Lord of the Treasury

Wed 8 November 1905

Dear First Lord,

Have no fear. We are primed and ready, and we have a reliable source of funding, which we shall be tapping into very shortly.

I can assure you that I will be in an unbeatable position against Merrill.

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Fri 10 November 1905

The Freehold family descended upon the house this afternoon. Including their children, Edwin, who is or was at Oxford (his status is curiously unclear), and Isabella.

Mr Freehold, who I have not met before, is a curiously inert person. He seems to be uninterested in subjects other than politics or money.

At drinks before dinner, Mrs Freehold was able to engage with Mr Squire about subjects such as the perhaps not altogether sterling quality of Mr Scope's latest book, and while her contributions were not up to his standard, at least she was talking. Mr Freehold stood silent, his sherry in his hand, staring blankly at them. When I attempted to make small talk by asking him how his son and daughter were getting on, he replied 'Oh, adequately,' and then fell silent.

However, once we were at dinner, I began to perceive a strategy at work between them.

Over the hors d'oeuvres, Mrs Freehold hit on the subject of Mr Squire's will, and how Karlin & Sons could not, in her opinion, be trusted to handle it properly. I began to detect an undercurrent in her conversation: she referred to Karlin as being 'very keen to make a profit, like all their kind', and it did not take me long to connect this to the fact that the Karlins are Jewish.

I am glad to say that this line of attack did not seem to have much effect. But she then seemed to see this, for she shifted tactic, and began to emphasise the Englishness of Butterworth, pointing out how they had been established since the 18th century, &c.

Mr Freehold backed this up from a different angle, by emphasising how he had found Butterworth to be a reliable firm because they are 'our own' and 'know how we do things', &c. I know that these lines of assault are fatally effective upon Mr Squire, because although he is not English by birth but American, he has a sentimental but deep attachment to anything he considers intrinsically English.

And, indeed, as time and dinner went by, Mr Squire seemed to wilt, until by the time we had reached dessert, he was agreeing to contact Karlin & Sons and enter into talks about switching to Butterworth.

I sat and watched this happen, frankly appalled. I already do not consider the Freeholds to be trustworthy. And now they have persuaded my employer to let their lawyers handle his will.

However. I am not without weapons of my own.

Edith Fawcett to Henrietta Griswold

Fri 10 November 1905

My dear H,

Please tell me you have been well. The last I heard from mamma you had become a suffragist. I hope you will not get into any trouble. I long to see you again.

Since April I have been working as the secretary to the novelist Lionel Squire. It has been tremendously rewarding, with some downs as well as ups.

I heard that Mr and Mrs G. were perhaps not terribly delighted with you at present, which makes my next question a little awkward. Could you consult them for a matter for me? Or answer it yourself?

I would like to know if the law firm Butterworth, address [*redacted*], is considered good and reliable by those that know. I would ask papa, but he and mamma are holidaying in Italy and my letter would not reach them in time or at all.

I promise not to cite you in a case. I just want to know opinion and rumour.

Please send my love to your M & P, if you can, and accept my apologies for such a short letter,

Write soon, my darling,

E.

*

Henrietta Griswold to Edith Fawcett

Mon 13 November 1905

Dearest E,

How lovely to hear from you.

Yes, I have given up teaching for suffragism and journalism. After the terrors of the classroom, being occasionally struck on the head by a police truncheon is far less strain on one's nerves.

So proud of you for working for Mr Squire. I know it is the kind of job you always longed for. I do hope that you haven't abandoned any intention of writing anything yourself.

M and P are very well. I expect you heard that they were not best pleased with my suffragistic tendencies (and please send my love to your ma and pa), but, after a certain amount of absence and distance, there have been some sensible conversations, with good questions and honest answers.

I am glad to say that, while they may notwhollyagree with what I have been up to, they at least understand why I have been up to it, and they can see for themselves that I am not changed into the straw harridans they see caricatured in the newspapers. They accept the sincerity of the cause, and I am still welcome at the family table.

I have been in good form, and have formed a friendship that we each find very rewarding.

I should like you to meet D. She is delightful, and reminds me of all the good things about you, while having sterling qualities of her own.