this mess of war it seems almost immaterial; even darling Emmeline has sided with the politicians.’ Whereas Tilly and most other militant suffragettes, as well as their non-militant sisters, had gone into war work, Mrs Pankhurst was still heavily embroiled in politics.
‘So what are you going to do now? Get married?’ Caroline asked.
Caroline meant it as a joke, but Tilly did not take it so. ‘You were a suffragette too once, Caroline. Is that the way you think now? That once the war is over, women will return to purdah behind closed doors? Is that what you would do if you remained with Yves?’
It was her own fault. Caroline knew she had brought this on herself, and must bear the consequences. ‘I can’t remain with Yves, so it’s no use even considering that question,’ she replied evenly. ‘And what will I do? I haven’t the slightest idea. Though’ – she searched for a painful honesty – ‘I most certainly won’t look for the first man to marry me.’
‘You can go back to the Rectory.’
‘To creep back into the womb of comfort?’ Caroline tried for honesty. ‘I would try not to.’
‘Well done,’ Tilly said approvingly. ‘Nothing wrong with doing so, but it just seems a pity after all you’ve achieved. I’m sure there’s scope for us both after the war.’
‘Yes, but—’ Caroline hesitated, but if Tilly could intrude on her private life, then so could Caroline on hers. ‘Tilly, don’t not marry Simon just to prove a point, will you?’
There was a silence, then Tilly replied amiably: ‘No.’
Chapter Five
Margaret tried very hard not to show her irritation. Granted, it wasn’t usual for her to be in her own sitting room and not the kitchen, but this was her free time and today she wanted to be alone, not available for all and sundry to come wandering in.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Isabel. ‘I know how annoying it is to be interrupted when one’s reading, but I wanted to discuss something with you and I shall have to be off to the cinema soon.’
She waited hopefully, and there wasn’t much Margaret could do except to say, ‘Sit down, Mrs Isabel, I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ Government-controlled it might be now, but even if it tasted like sawdust it was still wet and warm.
‘No, don’t bother, Mrs Dibble. I can see I’m in the way.’
Margaret was so touched by Mrs Isabel’s thinking of her for once that she made the tea all the same. And broughtout some of the duchess buns she’d reserved for herself as a treat. They didn’t need the flour that most cakes did, and so her conscience was clear, and after all, Mrs Isabel was eating for two.
‘I know you’re busy with your Tunbridge Wells talks,’ Isabel said through a mouthful of bun, ‘and that’s why you’ve cut down on your cookery demonstrations at the cinema—’
‘They’ve heard all I’ve got to say,’ Margaret interrupted defensively.
‘Yes, but with the government pressing for a cinema propaganda campaign, and the National Food Economy League running this poster campaign and issuing recipe leaflets, I wondered whether you could begin again? With meat rationing coming in for the whole country in April, it’s the ideal time. You could display the amount of meat rations on the table, show what you can make out of it, and the same for marg and butter when that gets rationed.’
Margaret sighed. ‘I’ll do what I can. I suppose we’ve got to get this war over with somehow. I’ll be serving up the same old thing though.’
‘That doesn’t matter. It will help keep the village together, and anyway, rationing isn’t going to be straightforward in the countryside, even if it is in towns. There’s going to be a lot of trying to beat it by going direct to the farmers—’
‘Are you saying good Ashden folk will be trying to bribe the farmers, Mrs Isabel?’
‘Haven’t you ever asked for the extra chicken for the Rectory?’
‘That’s different,’ Margaret snapped. Of course it was.
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