Revenge in Rubies by A. M. Stuart

Author:A. M. Stuart [Stuart, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Scotts Road

Tuesday, 16 August

As she climbed the steps to Lavinia Pemberthey-Smythe’s house, Harriet swallowed hard. Her stomach roiled with nerves and she’d already thrown up once that morning. The chatter of women’s voices drifted out from the house and she told herself it was no different to a social gathering or a meeting to discuss the next charity drive, but she knew she was only lying to herself.

She had dressed in the uncomfortable “walking” outfit she had worn on her last visit to Lavinia Pemberthey-Smythe, and as she waited for the door to be answered, she fingered the pretty brooch she wore at her neck. She had hesitated in wearing it. In fact she had never worn it before. It had lain in its little box untouched since the day her sister, Mary, had given it to her.

It had been her last day in London before leaving for Singapore and Mary had taken her to lunch at the Savoy. Sitting across from her elegant but conventional sister, Harriet had felt, as she always did feel in Mary’s company, gawky and out of place and ten years old. Even as grown women the six years age difference yawned like a gulf between them.

They had talked of trivialities—Mary’s children, sixteen-year-old Fleur and fourteen-year-old Edward, and her stuffy, boring solicitor husband, Roger.

As the meal came to an end, Mary opened her handbag and produced a small jewelry box that she pushed across the table.

“Open it,” she said.

Harriet had complied, almost dropping the box at the sight of the brooch. At first glance it appeared to be just a pretty circular floral arrangement, but the violet of the amethyst flowers, the green enamel of the leaves and the small seed pearls were the colors of the suffrage movement. Purple stood for freedom and dignity, green for hope and white for purity. Together the message was clear.

She looked up at her sister and saw tears in Mary’s eyes.

“Do you know what this means?” she had asked her sister.

Mary’s hand closed over hers. “I didn’t know how else to say it,” she said. “I am so very proud of you, Harri. Proud of what you have done, and what you will do.”

“I don’t understand?” Harriet said.

Mary withdrew her hand, rummaging in her handbag for a handkerchief. “I don’t have your courage. I couldn’t put myself into the fight the way you have or suffer what you have done. I have too much at stake—the children, Roger’s career . . .” She dabbed at her nose, restored the handkerchief and brought her gaze up to meet Harriet’s again. “But I send money when I can and I subscribe to the WSPU newsletter”—she paused—“and I have a sister I love more than life itself who has carried the fight to places I would never dare.”

As Harriet had sat at her dressing table that morning, she had brought out Mary’s gift. She thought of her sister and the sentiment behind the gift, and pinned it to the high neck of her white cambric blouse.

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