Prologue

James Granger sat with his feet resting on the mahogany wood of the table leg, his face buried deep in the Times Newspaper. He absentmindedly flicked through its pages, crisply ironed by the maid that very same morning. He glanced across the polished, flawless surface of the breakfast table towards his wife. Madeline Granger sat, demurely nibbling away at a slice of well-buttered toast, occasionally placing it down onto the pretty bone china breakfast plate, decorated with pale pink roses, and drawing a cup of tea to her lips, part of the same set of delicate crockery.
As it was usually, Madeline was dressed immaculately in a beautiful cream day dress, tied in neatly at her small, trim waist with a chocolate brown sash. Below the waist, the dress fell down towards the floor in soft ruffles. Her golden hair was neatly pinned back in an elaborate bun, two curls sweeping down the side of her ivory hued cheeks, framing her delicate, feminine face. She raised her head as she noticed her husband’s eyes lingering on her.
“James, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, my dear,” her husband replied. He smiled, and turned his head in the direction of his daughter. Victoria Granger, newly turned five years old, ate her toast with great gusto, spreading butter all over her face.
“Victoria, stop that!” snapped Madeline. “Show some decorum! You’re spreading butter across your face!”
“Sorry, mother,” murmured the little girl. She turned her head in her Father’s direction, as if pleading him to stand up for her.
“Do what your mother says, Victoria,” said her father sternly. Victoria turned away, and one big fat tear slipped off her rosy cheek, and into her breakfast.
“Victoria! Stop crying! Show some manners in front of your parents!”
Victoria, in a desperate effort to stop her tears, wiped her face with the crisp white cotton of her summer dress.
“Victoria, stop that! You’re wiping your disgusting little germs across your new dress!” her mother sighed. “Honestly, I am at my wits end with you, my girl. Surely at your age you should be able to show some manner of decorum. You never listen to a word I say, you ungrateful little child. I done my best to raise you properly, and in the way of God, but time and time again you disobey me...”
By now tears were streaming down the young child’s face. James cleared his throat.
“Now, Victoria, stop all this nonsense at once!”
Victoria began to calm down. She stared at her father, her wide blue eyes still full of tears.
“Now, go to Betty, the nurse, and have her clean you up,” said James sternly. “I expect you to present yourself to your mother and I in the drawing room to say goodbye to me before I leave for work and Betty takes you to school. Do you understand?”
Victoria nodded, her coppery curls bouncing around her delicate head.
“I said, Victoria, do you understand me?!”
“Yes, Father,” replied Victoria, a little louder.
James gestured towards the door.
“You may leave us.”
Victoria sniffed again, and made her way towards the door, her red hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window. Madeline sighed, and continued eating her miniscule breakfast. They sat in silence, whilst James read through his paper. After a minute or so of silence, he let out a frustrated sigh.
“What is it?” asked Madeline curiously.
“It’s those suffragettes again, dear. They’ve been at it again. This time one of them attacked a policeman outside Richmond Park. It’s a scandal, I tell you! They should know better!”
“It angers me too,” Madeline agreed. “Of course, women have always been there to support our men for all the time since God created the very first man and woman- We weren’t there to rule, we were there to support, and to be supported by our loved ones! Theses disgusting women are insulting the entire female population!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said James gently, laying a hand on his wife’s arm. “But I’m sure, with the grace of God, this whole scandalous mess will be sorted out by our Lord’s great hand.”
Madeline nodded, and together they moved into the drawing room. James continues to read his paper, whilst Madeline continued her embroidered tapestry. A moment or so later a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” said James.
In walked Victoria, very slowly; and very demurely. With a loving smile on her face, stood before her parents, and curtseyed. James smiled down at his daughter. When guided in the right direction, his daughter was an angel.
“Stand up, Victoria,” James said. Victoria stood. James leaned forward, signalling to his daughter. Victoria kissed him gently on the cheek. James smiled, and glanced across at his daughter and wife.
“Ah, my beautiful, meek family,” he said. “What wonderful women you are! I love you both, ever so much.”
On the matter of his daughter at least, at this moment in time, James Michael Granger had no idea how wrong he would be.

Chapter I

“Victoria! Stop milling about and come over here this instant!”
The little bird, a tit I think, flew away at the sound of my mother’s piercing voice. I sighed. How was it that no one else at this entire party could simply understand the beauty of the little birds, instead of stuffing their faces, laughing at bland jokes, and trying to look for a partner for their next money-stricken relationship? As my mother was trying to find for me. As usual, whenever I was forced to attend these matchmaking parties, my own personal form of torture, I tried to imagine myself somewhere, anywhere, else. My favourite nonexistent place to visit in my mind was the Dales. Soft, green hills... Quaint dry stone walls... A million miles away from the fumes and smells of London, the only ‘home’ I knew. I would bet anything that plenty of blue tits flew there.
“Victoria!” my angered mother cried, bordering on a scream. Shook form my daydream, I walked over to her, lifting my overly long silk dress away from my feet, so as not to trip. Lord, how I hated this dress! I would rather have worn a suit to this goddamn party. If I had had to imagine a dress I would have least liked to wear, I would have probably designed something along the lines of this. Long and ruffled, it was ridiculously girly, and the silk was incredibly easy to stain. Which, with me, was unavoidable. It was too long as well, trailing along the floor, frequently causing me to trip up. Worst of all, it was rose pink, which as well as being the sickliest colour imaginable, clashed terribly with my hair.
Out of habit, I ran a finger along the top of my head. I sighed. Why was it I who had the hair that refused to obey the commands of my hair pins? It really was rather disheartening. And the colour of my hair, well, the less said on that the better, I think. The sickly pink of my dress looked horrible next to the bright scarlet of my hair. I have to say, the reddish hue of my hair has contributed greatly to the amount of pain I have suffered in the first sixteen years of my life. Having almost every other stranger comment on me as ‘spawn of the devil’ had hardly helped my maturity.
“Get a move on, girl! We haven’t got all day!”
I sighed, and stood next to my mother.
“Who are you going to introduce me to this time, mother?”
I could tell that if we had not been in the company of others mother would have slapped me hard across my face. Her hand was trembling, as it always did when she was trying to control her violent side. Which, by the way, she only ever vented out on me. She sighed, and looked at me sternly.
“Behave, Victoria. Now, you have met this gentleman before. His name is Lawrence Irving.”
I sighed inwardly. I had known Lawrence Irving, when I was five. Our mothers were friends, and we once shared a picnic in the Irving’s garden. The only reason I remembered this early memory was because Lawrence had thrown jam all over me when the adults weren’t looking, and had just laughed at me. My best dress had been ruined, and I had received all the blame. Mother had sent me home in disgrace. I prayed he had matured.
“Look, here they come now,” said mother. I peered along the wide expanse of grass, and, sure enough, Lawrence Irving and his mother were approaching us across the lawn. As he came closer, I noticed his muscular, long limbs; his well defined jaw smoothly jutting out from his beautiful face, his dark hair gently curling at the ends. Two bright eyes twinled out at me.
“Ah, Charlotte,” said my mother, stepping forward towards Lawrence’s mother. They embraced with open arms.
“Madeline,” said Charlotte Irving, smiling. “Oh, it’s been so long!”
Both me and Lawrence stood there awkwardly whilst our mothers embraced. I kept my eyes cast towards the ground, but after around five seconds I could hardly resist looking up at the young man who stood opposite me. Seeing his eyes were firmly focused on me, I blushed. Lawrence smiled back, and, forgetting my many lessons of decorum, I could hardly resist grinning back. The look i his eyes seemed to say, ‘Will they ever finish greeting each other?’, and it took all my effort to stop myself from bursting out in laughter. Lawrence smiled back, a sparkle of laughter in his dark eyes.
“And who is this?” Asked Mrs Irving, finally finished greeting my mother. I only just managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes. She knew perfectly well who I was! Although I prayed against it, the look must have shown on my face, because Lawrence Irving burst out laughing. The four of us lapsed into silence. Remembering my lessons in decorum, i realized I should introduce myself.
“Ma’am,” I said, awkwardly curtseying, “I am Victoria Granger.” Mrs Irving nodded gently at me. Taking a deep breath, I continued. “How have you found the party today?” I said quietly, keeping my hands joined together in front of me, “Has it been to your liking?”
“My, what a charming girl you have, Madeline!” Mrs Irving exclaimed. A look of what could be called pride gradually appeared on my mother’s face. I quickly shook the thought from my head. My mother never had, and never would, be proud of me. She may be impressed, perhaps, but she would never feel pride.
“Why, thank you, Charlotte,” she replied, smiling at her friend. She turned to Lawrence. “And who is this?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. From just behind my mother, I glanced at Lawrence with a look of mischief in his eye. Why did out parents have to act like such idiots?! Lawrence briefly smiled at me, then focused his attention on my mother. It was barely a reply, but he had a more pressing engagement to fulfil, speaking to my mother, but I knew he had seen me.
Lawrence bowed low. “I am Lawrence Irving, Ma’am,” he said, an enchanting smile on his face. “A pleasure to meet you.” He reached forward, and took mother’s hand, gently kissing it. Mother positively blushed with pleasure. I stored this rather entertaining image in the back of my mind till the next time I needed mental stimulation.
Next, Lawrence turned to me, and bowed even lower.
“And, Miss Granger, a pleasure to meet you,” he said, kissing my hand. His lips remained on my skin for a while longer than they should, I suspected, and I prayed no one else had noticed.
It seemed they hadn’t. Lawrence straightened, and smiled at me.
“Oh... Yes... As it is to meet you, Mr Irving,” I stammered in reply.
“Oh, please call me Lawrence,” My charming companion smiled in reply, utterly confident, and enchanting. And, I couldn’t stop myself, I was enchanted.
“If we are on first name terms, then you must call me Victoria,” I replied, smiling what I hoped was prettily. Well, by the look on Lawrence’s face, I’d say it was.
“Well then, Victoria, would you do me the honour of coming for a walk?” he offered me his arm. Suppressing a gasp, I walked over, and linked my arm gingerly around his. Turning to my mother, the look on her face was one of astonishment but seeming approval. Giving her and my companion’s mother a Parthian smile, we left.
“Would you like anything to eat, Victoria?” asked Lawrence. I shook my head.
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”
Lawrence nodded, and led me towards a pretty walkway. Away from the hustle and bustle of this wretched party, it was a welcome retreat. Roses hung upon archways along the walk bordering the side of the house, in all array of colours. Very romantic. I shook the thought from my head. Romantic?! Where on earth had that idea come from?! Well, as if I needed to contemplate that.
I turned my head to the left, and allowed my gaze to rest on the charming young man who I was walking alongside. I suppose I did not realize the intensity of the stare, but eventually I became aware of Lawrence staring back at me. After a moment I noticed that we had both stopped walking, and were standing motionless in the middle of the archway. Almost feeling his eyes on my face, I felt the colour rising in my cheeks, and turned away, embarrassed. The moment was lost.
Tugging on Lawrence’s hand, I insisted that we keep on walking. The arches bordered the house, and, after rounding a corner, we came across a little alcove in the bricks, a cosy swing seat nestled into the back wall of the townhouse. Had I not come this way, I would never have noticed it.
Giving a little squeal of joy, I ran towards it. Lawrence laughed, and followed me. Smoothing out my skirts, I sat down, Lawrence following my move.
“Why the inexplicable joy?” he asked with a smile.
“I’ve never sat on one of these before,” I said, somewhat wistfully.
“Surely not?!” You poor deprived child!” cried Lawrence. His voice sounded so sincere that for a moment I thought he really did feel pain on my behalf, but as soon as I caught the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his face I really could not help but smile back.
“Well, our house does not really have a garden such as this, and I have never really been allowed to explore the gardens of others when I have attended parties,” I replied. “I would love one though. It would be the perfect spot to read.”
Lawrence nodded, a look of sincere interest on his face. “You read then?” he said, a smile on his face. Although, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t quite place what the smile meant... I seemed to be a mixture of, perhaps, pride, and maybe... Expectancy?
“Oh, I love to read!” I replied wildly. “Why, I would spend all day reading if I could. Well, that is, when I am not playing my violin.”
Lawrence nodded again. “And what do you read?”
Well, everything I can possibly acquire!” I smiled back. “Dickens, the Bronte sisters, George Elliot... oh, and Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.”
“Sherlock Holmes, really?” Lawrence replied, “I must say, I do enjoy reading them myself. They can, at times, be quite enlightening.”
“Perfectly elementary!” I exclaimed. We burst into laughter simultaneously at my poor attempt at a joke. Eventually, we managed to calm down.
“You mentioned you play the violin as well?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I am quite obsessed with the instrument.”
“Do you have lessons currently?”
“I do,” I answered, “Though I am quite surprised I am allowed to. I do not think that my mother includes violin playing as one of the traits of a demure young lady.”
“Oh?” Lawrence raised his eyebrows. “Well, I must say, I consider female string players women of great intellectuality.”
“I thank you,” I replied, “But you forget that the young Edwardian lady is not supposed to possess great intellectuality. We are supposed to sit around all day looking demure and pretty.”
“Fair enough,” Lawrence replied. We lapsed into an awkward silence. I racked my brain for something, anything to say.
“Do you play any instruments?” I asked, a vain attempt to break the awkwardness. Lawrence turned.
“As a matter of fact, I do, he said. “The cello.”
“Really?” I said. “How interesting.”
“You know,” Lawrence smiled, “We could play a duet, if you like.”
I smiled back. “Yes, I would love to, thank you.”
For some inexplicable reason, my brain paused, as if I had hit a snag. “We could play a duet.” That meant... That meant he was willing to meet me again! My heart sang. I only realized the look of elation that must have appeared on my face when Lawrence smiled knowingly at me. By the looks of his face, he had read me like an open book. I turned to him quizzically. He nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
Amazed that he had understood my thoughts exactly, I just sat there next to him with my mouth hanging open. In the words of my mother, very mature. Lawrence twined a loose curl around his finger, and my heart nearly skipped a beat.
“You, are so, so beautiful,” he murmured.
“No, I’m not,” I murmured back softly.
“But you are!” Lawrence persisted. “Eyes the colour of the august sky, and that hair, the colour of the reddest autumn leaves...”
Now, as someone mentions my hair in a positive way, I know they are lying. That was where I drew the line.
“Now I know you’re making it up,” I replied, turning away. “My hair is disgusting. Spawn of the Devil, that’s me.”
“Victoria!” Lawrence cried. He rested his hand gently on my cheek, and slowly turned my head back around to face him. “You are beautiful, trust me. I would not say it if you weren’t. And Spawn of the Devil?! Whoever told you that?!”
Do you want a list, I thought to myself.
“Now, listen,” continued Lawrence. “You are beautiful, and it would upset me terribly if you did not know that rather obvious fact. Which is why I am informing you now. Please, Victoria, tell me you will believe me.
For a moment, I could not speak; I was so full of elation. Finally recovering sense, I nodded thickly.
Lawrence sighed contently, and pulled me closer to him. His hand caught the pins of my hair as he did so; resulting in my hair cascading down over my shoulder. I sighed with relief as the uncomfortable; piercing pins released their constricting grip on my scalp. Lawrence buried his face in my hair. I could only just make out what he was murmuring quietly.
“So beautiful.... So, so beautiful...”
I didn’t know whether it was the heat of the day, the intoxicating scent of the roses, the amazing aura of his wonderful man, or a combination of all three, but suddenly, something snapped inside me, and all the lessons of decorum, all the attempts at being a virtuous young lady that I had tried and failed to perfect; all of them, they just seemed to melt away, like a heavy burden being lifted away from my heart. The ominous presence of my mother now seemed like a distant raincloud too far away to ruin the beautiful blue sky, instead of a violent storm. I didn’t care anymore.
As carefully as I could, I lifted Lawrence’s heavy head off my shoulder.
Oh, shut up and kiss me,” I breathed.
Lawrence did.
As soon as his lips touched mine, a sense of bliss overpowered me. Silently I thanked some divine entity that I was sitting down, as my knees may have given way otherwise. All of a sudden, I felt... Complete. Although I had never realized it before, the missing piece of the jigsaw of my heart had just been found, and Lawrence had slotted it back in place.
I could have happily stayed there forever.
And, to a certain extent, I had planned to, until the two of us heard the footsteps on the flagstones a few feet away from us.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.09.2011

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Widmung:
To all the suffragettes of 1903-1918, the inspiration for this book. Particularly Millicent Fawcett, Emmilene, Christabel and Sylvia pankhurst, and, of course, Emily Davidson. Deeds not words!