A Stitch in Time (11 page)

Sarah closed her eyes. On the other hand, there was evidence against it all being unintentional. Davison had hurled herself from a balcony at Holloway prison the year before. And it did seem unlikely that an educated woman would not have calculated the risks of running out into the path of a racehorse thundering towards her at full gallop.

Poor Emily, right at this moment she was somewhere not too far away, breathing the same smoggy air, planning for the next day, and very much alive. Sarah hoped to God that she still would be at the end of Derby Day tomorrow.

An earthquake of at least seven on the Richter scale shook the heavy iron bed with Sarah in it, as if both weighed no more than a feather. Sarah closed her eyes tight, curled her fingers around the metal bed head and hung on for all she was worth. What was happening? They didn’t have earthquakes of this strength in Britain … perhaps she’d been taken to the American West somehow before her mission was completed …

‘Sarah, what are you doing? Can’t you hear me? Let go of the bed, and get up; you’ve overslept!’

Forcing her eyes open, Sarah realised that the earthquake was in fact Rose shaking her shoulder and the bed head roughly. ‘Mm … What do you mean, overslept?’

‘Oh, at last! I’ve been shaking you for ages and you just lay there as if you were a dead fing. It’s 6.30 and you have to get the floor washed outside the kitchen. Ruby dropped a coal scuttle and soot’s gone everywhere.’

Sarah sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Hang on, if Ruby dropped it, why have I got to clean it up?’

Rose gave a sad smile. ‘I’m afraid Cook has got it in for you now, love. She’ll make your life hell, and Mr Grayson will, too. I heard them saying that they’d make life so uncomfortable that you’d be glad to leave.’

‘Oh, great,’ Sarah said, dragging herself out of bed and pulling the uniform on over her head. ‘What time are you meeting Miss Davison, where are you meeting, and is it just you two?’ She tried to make her voice casual as she splashed water into the basin from the ewer.

‘I’m meeting her at 9.30, we’re getting the ten o’clock train … there may be another friend, I’m not sure.’ Rose knelt by the bed and pulled out a box containing a green hat with a small black plume. ‘Do you fink this hat needs a spruce up?’

Sarah patted her face dry with a parchment-thin towel. ‘Err, I think so, yes. Perhaps you could find another feather. The ladies will all be wearing their finery after all.’ She swept her hair up into a clip and fixed her cap on top. ‘Whereabouts in Victoria station did you say?’

Rose looked up and made a face. ‘I never did say Victoria as it happens.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Sarah’s heart fluttered. She hoped she wouldn’t start belching, giggling, or pulling brightly coloured scarves out of her mouth, because she nearly let slip that Davison had a return ticket to Victoria. ‘Oh, well I assumed that’s where you would go from. It’s not too far away, is it?’ She held her breath, hoping she’d guessed right.

Rose looked back at the hat and dusted the brim. ‘It’s a good half an hour’s walk, but I’m not wasting my pennies on an omnibus.’

‘And are you meeting on the train?’ Sarah pushed, lacing her boots up.

‘Lord love a duck, you’re a nosy parker, ain’t ya? ’ Rose shook her head. ‘No, we’re meeting at the entrance, is that alright for you?’

‘Just taking an interest that’s all,’ Sarah said, patting Rose on the shoulder as she hurried past and out of the door.

Two hours later, Sarah had cleaned the floor, peeled potatoes, scrubbed the range, and had been allowed five minutes to drink a cup of tea and eat a dry crust of bread. Cook hadn’t said very much, just barked orders and clapped her hands, as if Sarah was a performing seal. Sarah didn’t really give a damn about that. She was worried about catching Rose before she left, though.

Whilst she had scrubbed and peeled, Sarah decided that the best option wasn’t to follow Rose as she’d first intended and persuade Davison not to go, but to stop Rose from going to meet her in the first place. Sarah would then go to meet Davison alone and say that Rose was in trouble because of her affiliation to the WSPU. Cook had locked her in a cupboard and Grayson was preparing to give her the belt. A scenario like that didn’t seem too farfetched for the time. Hopefully, that would lead Davison to abandon the Derby and come to Rose’s rescue. It didn’t seem like a bad plan, and besides, she couldn’t think of anything else. Trouble was, how was she going to stop Rose?

‘Right, I’m just going to polish my shoes, and then I’m off for the day, Cook,’ Rose said, popping her head round the kitchen door a few minutes later.

‘Right you are. Where are you going today?’

‘Probably just around the park and then see what they’re giving away at the market.’

‘Hmm, mind you don’t talk to no young men, and don’t have plums again. You know how your stomach don’t agree with ’em.’

‘Yes, Cook,’ Rose said, and nodded briefly at Sarah before disappearing.

Sarah jumped up. ‘I better use the privy before I carry on with my jobs, Cook.’

‘Well don’t you be too long, madam, be back here in five minutes.’

Sarah hurried out of the kitchen. Bloody hell, five minutes to get to the loo, do your business, and back again? Cook ought to be a prison guard. Luckily she didn’t need the loo; she needed to find Rose. Rose was out in the yard by an old table, a tin of polish and her good shoes sat upon it.

‘Hello, Rose, I was hoping we could spend a few hours together today, you know at the park and at the market?’

Rose frowned, spat on her shoes and dipped a cloth in the polish. ‘You gone cuckoo? You know as well as I do I’m off to the Derby.’

‘Yes, but seeing as how you said we were getting to be pals and that, I thought it might be nice to do something together instead.’

Rose pressed the cloth on to her shoe and rubbed in quick circular motions. ‘Well, even if I wasn’t going to the Derby, which I am, we couldn’t both be off work at the same time, you ninny.’

‘No, but I may have a sick stomach again like I did yesterday. I could pretend to go to my room and then come and meet you.’

‘No, Sarah. It’s too risky.’ Rose spat on the other shoe. ‘If we were found out we’d both lose our jobs, even if Cook is my auntie … Besides, I want to go to the Derby. I may not get a chance like it again.’

Sarah sighed and folded her arms. She could tell by Rose’s tone that she wouldn’t change her mind.
There must be another way to stop her
 …

‘There you are, skiving out here! Get back inside. Ruby has spilt milk on the floor in the passageway. Get it cleaned up!’ Grayson clapped his hands and shooed Sarah past.

As Sarah mopped, she decided that she’d have no choice but to tell Cook what Rose was really up to. Her gut told her that this was not a good idea, but her brain was going from a slow simmer to a rolling boil under the pressure of getting it right.

Rose tiptoed through the milk. ‘Gawd, just polished these shoes, that’s all I need. Anyway see you later …’

Before Sarah knew what she was doing, she dashed the mop under Rose’s feet and down Rose went on her knees, with her left leg twisted awkwardly underneath her bottom.

‘
Arrgh
, what the bleedin’ ’ell did you do that for, you mad cow!’ Rose stretched her legs out and gingerly prodded her ankle.

‘Sorry, Rose it was an accident!’

‘An accident? You jabbed that fing at me feet on purpose!’

Grayson, Cook and Ruby came running out into the passageway. ‘What on earth happened here?’ Grayson demanded, struggling to help Rose to her feet.

‘She tripped me with that bleedin’ mop!’

All eyes focused on Sarah. ‘It was an accident,’ she said in a small voice and wondered how she was going to get out and away to Victoria. The clock in the kitchen said nine o’clock.

Cook strode forward and grabbed her shoulder. ‘Get in the kitchen, my gel, and we’ll get to the bottom of what you’ve done to my poor Rose.’

Luckily, Rose wasn’t too badly hurt. Grayson thought the ankle was slightly sprained and that a cold poultice should do the trick. She would have to take to her bed now, and miss her day off. Rose looked at Sarah with undisguised contempt and kept shaking her head when Sarah pleaded that it was an accident.

That wasn’t surprising; because of course it had been deliberate. They’d questioned Sarah for about five minutes and, obviously, had taken Rose’s word over hers. The whole circular argument struck up again, but the tedious repetition and recriminations were seriously eating into the time left. Sarah held up her hand to silence them.

‘I’m sorry to inform you that I have an urgent message to take for Her Ladyship. She asked me expressly, on account of my excellent vocabulary and confident manner. I have to meet with an important personage at 9.30 and I fear I shall be late if I listen to any more of your inane prattle.’

‘An important personage … at 9.30?’ Rose said, her eyes flashing. Those flashes said, ‘You dare go to meet Miss Davison and I’ll murder you.’

Grayson drew himself up. ‘I think you are a liar and a danger to all in this house, madam.’ He pointed a finger and backed to the door. ‘You will stay there while I confirm this with Her Ladyship! Make sure she stays put, Cook.’ He dashed out.

‘Sit down there and don’t move, you witch!’ Cook snapped, her bosom heaving and her eyes lit with vengeance.

‘I’m sorry, no can do,’ Sarah said, turning to leave.

Cook ran to the door and blocked her way. She was surprisingly light on her feet for one so large. Her face flushed and sweaty and her feet splayed, she spread her arms each side of the door.

‘Out of my way, you big tub of lard, before I tweak your nose off!’ Sarah said, trying not to giggle, given the situation.

Cook’s hands flew to her nose as protection against the threatened tweaking, so Sarah stamped on her foot. ‘
Ow!
’ she shrieked, hopping on one foot as Sarah pushed past and ran for the main entrance.

Once outside, Sarah removed her hat and apron, wedged them down beside the steps and ran. Minutes later, she leaned on a lamppost, breathless, and tried to get some sense of where she was. She had only been to London a few times, but the last time was with a school trip about six months ago. They had actually visited Victoria Station to look at the architecture and Sarah remembered it was on Victoria Street, but where was she now?

The area looked very upmarket. A few horse-drawn carriages rattled past and one or two cars, but the only people she could see were a group of five or six businessmen. As they rushed along the street towards her, dressed in dark suits and top hats, she plucked up courage and said, ‘Excuse me, could you tell me the right direction to Victoria Station, please?’ The men looked at her disdainfully, carried on walking and didn’t reply.

A younger one at the rear said, ‘Well, you are at the end of Pont Street now. I think you need to—’

The one at the head of the group said, ‘Come, Rupert, we have no time to dally with the likes of her. She looks like a deranged scarecrow,
and
she’s hatless in public; one can’t be too sure these days.’

Rupert looked sheepish but ran after the others.

Deranged and hatless? Good grief, they would have a shock if they could see how women dressed in the present. The scarecrow bit she could identify with. Her hair had come free of its clip and must look a fright to the eyes of 1913 folk. Sarah was just glad the weather was pleasant. Even though she expected the ‘done thing’ was to wear a coat, the black dress would just have to do.

Putting her hand to her head she turned in a circle and then followed the men. They looked like they were on their way to somewhere important, so she guessed that they might lead her to a more densely populated area. Turning a corner, she saw an old-fashioned bobby on the beat, strolling across the road. She ran up to him. ‘Excuse me, Constable, could you tell me the right direction for Victoria Station, please?’

He stopped and folded his arms. ‘Now are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down on that wall over there and get your breath, miss? You look most giddy.’

‘No, thank you, I’ll be alright; I’m just in a hurry.’

He frowned and waggled his Kitchener walrus moustache at her. ‘You must be, to come out without a hat and coat, and your hair …’ He flapped his hand. ‘Right, if you’re sure, miss, now let me see.’ He pinched his chin between forefinger and thumb. ‘I think this might be the quickest … no, on the other hand …’

‘Oh, please, just give me a clue and I’ll be on my way.’ Sarah hopped on one foot and then the other. At this rate she’d get there by midnight.

‘No need to be impatient.’ He pointed to his right. ‘Right, you need to go along this road here and left on to the King’s Road, then right into Grosvenor Gardens and then you’ll see the station, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Thank you very much, and can you tell me what time it is?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course I can. We policemen always have the time, you know.’ He patted his pocket and pulled out a watch on a chain. ‘It is nearly five and twenty past nine. Now can I help you with anything else …?’

Sarah never replied as she was already haring off like a speeding bullet towards the King’s Road. Dodging a few carriages, people and omnibuses, Sarah, hot and sticky, eventually arrived at the station. The large clock above the main archway entrance said 9.50.

No, the train leaves at ten!
Sarah scanned the length of the entrance and though there were lots of people milling around, she could see no one who was obviously Miss Davison. There were women waiting, but with men and children, with older women, with dogs, but not alone, or even in pairs.
Damn it!

Sarah flew through the entrance and towards a gate manned by a station porter.

‘Help, I need to get on the platform for the ten o’clock train to Epsom. I need to give someone a message, urgently!’

The porter looked at her over his half-rimmed spectacles. He looked less than impressed and wrinkled his nose as if he had a bad smell under it. ‘Have you got a platform ticket, madam?’

‘No, I haven’t, but you need to let me through; it’s a matter of life and death!’ Sarah tried to squeeze past him.

The porter took her firmly by the arm and dragged her back. ‘Excuse me, but I think you’ll find that I don’t! How long do you think I would keep my job if I let every tomfool through who said it was a matter of life and death?’

‘Well, I’m sure it doesn’t happen every day, for God’s sake! What does it matter if you let me through … What do you imagine I’m going to do, steal a train?’

The porter shook his head and pointed over her shoulder. ‘If you wish to behave like a polite human being instead of a fishwife, buy a platform ticket from over there and I will consider letting you through.’ He inclined his head and looked down his nose. ‘I will, of course, expect an apology.’