The Secret Letter. Kerry Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ my first Saturday with the family, Agnes knocked on my bedroom door.

      ‘I know it should really be your day off but I have some jobs to do for Mrs Pankhurst,’ she said. ‘And Christabel is breathing down my neck, too. Could you possibly take the children to the park?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said. I had nothing else to do, though I was itching to get back to meetings. ‘What sort of jobs do you have to do?’

      ‘Lord, I almost forgot you were one of us,’ Agnes said, pleased. ‘It’s mostly frightfully dull newsletter bits but I can show you this afternoon, if you like? And I have a meeting this evening – would you like to come along?’

      I was thrilled. ‘Yes please,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling a little out of touch.’

      ‘You can tell us all about your exploits in jail,’ Agnes said.

      I picked up my shawl. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said. ‘But I’d like to come, thank you.’

      After a delightful morning with the children, who were really a lovely bunch, I tracked Agnes down in the dining room. She was sitting at the table, a typewriter in front of her. She was surrounded by reams of paper and looking flustered.

      ‘Oh, Esther, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘Can you help me?’

      I pulled out another chair and sat down. ‘I can try.’

      ‘Christabel and I want to get this all to the printer next week, but we’re missing a few pages, and I need to fill them.’

      She looked up at me and gasped in delight. ‘Of course!’

      ‘What?’ I said, warily. I may only have known Agnes for a week but I was already getting to understand her spontaneity didn’t always work out for the best.

      ‘You have to write something about your time in jail.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘I heard a whisper that you were the one writing to Mrs Pankhurst about her experiences in Holloway,’ she said. ‘Is that true? I heard the letters were wonderfully detailed. Evocative.’

      I bowed my head, embarrassed by the praise.

      ‘Come on, Esther,’ Agnes urged. ‘You’re educated and witty, which is more than I can say about some of the writers we have contributing to the paper. Don’t tell Christabel I said that.’

      I smiled briefly but then shook my head. ‘I’m not sure, Agnes.’

      She took my hand. ‘You’ve been through an ordeal,’ she said, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. ‘I believe it would be good for your own peace of mind to share your experiences.’

      I nodded. ‘That is true. It always helps me to write things down.’

      ‘It would certainly be good for others to read about them. So they’re prepared, if needs be.’

      She pushed the typewriter towards me.

      ‘You want me to do it now?’

      She held out a piece of paper and slowly I fed it into the typewriter.

      ‘I shall do my best,’ I said.

      Agnes smiled at me. ‘That’s all I can ask.’

       Chapter 10

       Esther

      The next day should have been my day off again but after church I found I couldn’t settle to anything. It was a glorious spring day and I wanted to be outside so I put my book to one side and went to find the children to see if they wanted a walk.

      The idea was met with a great deal of enthusiasm so we all pulled on boots and hats, and went out to the park. They liked going to the ponds to see the ducks so we headed in that direction, the children running ahead and me walking more sedately behind, feeling the weak sun on my face and revelling in the fresh air. I felt at peace, for the first time in weeks, and also determined.

      Last night’s meeting had been astonishing. I’d spent the afternoon writing about my time in Holloway and when Agnes read what I’d written, her face had gone pale.

      ‘How awful,’ she’d said.

      ‘It was certainly no fun but I didn’t have it bad, compared to some. I had only just started my hunger strike when I was released so I’d only suffered being forcibly fed once. But believe me that was enough.’ I’d felt bile rise in my throat at the awful memory and had to take a moment to swallow before I could carry on. ‘My friend Minnie went through it twice and it was much worse the second time. She was in a bad way.’

      ‘Well, I’m very pleased you are sharing your thoughts,’ she’d said.

      And at the meeting she had stood up and introduced me.

      ‘This young woman is Esther Watkins,’ she had said. ‘She was recently in Holloway and I would like her to tell you all a little about her experiences there.’

      I’d spoken slowly at first about prison. I’d told them about the women I’d met, and how we were treated.

      ‘I still dream I’m there,’ I’d said. ‘I wake up in the morning not sure where I am. And I think about the women I met in there all the time. I wonder how they’re getting on – the ones who stayed longer – and I find myself looking at the clock and thinking they’ll be sending round supper now. Or wondering if Mrs Flintoff has recovered from her cold, or if Miss Bolton has managed to sleep through a whole night without a bad dream.’

      ‘Are you frightened you’ll go back?’ one woman had asked me.

      I’d thought for a moment. ‘No,’ I’d said. ‘I don’t want to go back but if I have to, then I will. Because this is important. Women are not second-class citizens, to mop up men’s mess and do their bidding. Not any more.’ I’d looked around the room at the women. ‘They’re the ones who are scared,’ I’d said. ‘Not us. They’re scared that giving us a voice means things are going to change. And they’re scared because they know we’re right.’

      Some of the women had cheered and suddenly I’d felt bolder.

      ‘I’m frightened of going to jail again, but I’m not stopping.’

      They’d cheered again and I’d sat down feeling buoyed up by their support. I was a part of something, I’d thought. A part of something very important.

      But later in the meeting, while someone else was talking, things had taken a turn. I was suddenly aware of a flurry of noise and movement at the back of the hall as women got to their feet.

      ‘Is there a problem?’ the woman on stage had called. But no one had answered. I’d stood up, trying to see what was wrong. Next to me another woman had shrieked.

      ‘Rats,’ СКАЧАТЬ