Page 27

Mr Selfridge wasted no time and no opportunity.

As soon as the Christmas season was over, the windows were changed to reflect the celebration of the New Year.

The day fell upon a Sunday, and to celebrate New Year’s Eve, Mr Selfridge closed early and arranged a fireworks display on the roof of the store.

Elizabeth marvelled again at her luck to work for such a man.

It was the culmination of a demanding week’s work for Lizzy and Jane.

Wasting no time on sentiment, The Chief wanted all the windows cleared of Christmas displays and filled again with fashions for the new year.

Elizabeth was grateful for it. The more she had to concentrate on work, the less she dwelt upon Mr Darcy and the impending departure of her favourite sister.

January turned into a rainy February, and Jane increasingly spent her Sundays at home in Longbourn, which wasn’t a great distance by Underground and train.

Elizabeth liked to do work for the WSPU on most of those days but needed to keep a close eye on Lydia.

Luckily, her youngest sister made friends easily, and a group of them, young men and women, mostly from Selfridges, would call on Lydia to take her to a music hall performance, or even a tango tea.

Elizabeth was not terribly concerned about Lydia straying too far as she always came and went with a group.

After a long talk with Lydia about the dangers of friendships with older men, and more specifically, with a certain Mr Wickham, Lizzy was pleased to see her youngest sister begin friendships with some of her peers at work.

After all, Lizzy could not watch her every second and Lydia was, surprisingly, making a success of herself at Selfridges.

This winter might be a turning point for all of them.

***

George Wickham entered the dining room with a flair: Beef Bourguignon for table five balanced perfectly on his right arm, whilst holding two filets of sole in each hand.

Today, to his surprise, he found Matilda Maxwell flipping her menu impatiently, glaring at him.

He would attend to her presently, but there were other customers waiting.

Every time he stole a look in her direction, he found her staring at him.

Now that he safely delivered a pair of a filet of sole and roast partridge to table seven, he was free to wait upon his paramour.

She did, as she always did, come straight to the point.

“He’s home.” She regarded him with hooded lids and a pout. Taken by surprise, he didn’t understand at first.

“Who’s home?”

“My husband. Henry. Back from Egypt. Home for the New Year.” The ma?tre d’ seated another couple nearby and caught his eye, motioning with his head to the new arrivals.

“ Ah, yes, madame. The fish is very fresh today.” Wickham let his voice carry a bit louder and more strained than he intended. She didn’t take the hint to keep this formal.

“ This is the end, George. He can’t find out about us.”

Wickham couldn’t imagine that it would take very long for someone to whisper in his ear about the tango teas and the subsequent late-night goings-on involving his wife and a certain waiter.

“ Is he a violent man?” Wickham pointed to something on the menu to continue the charade of waiter and customer. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He felt that everyone in the restaurant watched them.

Matilda gave a huff. “No, of course not. He spends most of his life with a pick and brush uncovering shards of pottery.” She was looked at the menu. “I’ll have the cassoulet and a lemonade.”

“ Excellent choice, madame.”

“ And, George…” She slowly raised her gaze to meet his. “I am deadly serious. It is over between us. Don’t ever speak to me again.”

“ Very good, madame.” He tried to keep his expression neutral, but conflicting emotions ran rampant through him.

His pride was hurt. That was certain. On the other hand, he had come away from this entire affair with some very nice gifts: gold cufflinks, a new suit, silk shirts, a gold watch, a nice flat, not to mention the eradication of more than one gambling debt.

As he turned to take the order from the newly seated customers, relief flooded him.

This parting could have been so much worse.

They could have been caught in flagrante delicto , followed by a great deal of screaming and perhaps a bit of swordplay, despite Matilda’s assurances that her cuckold wasn’t a violent man.

By the time he reached the kitchen with his order pad, he was positively grinning.

He’d done it again. Had his cake and eaten it too.

Now, he could concentrate his energies entirely on the enticing young thing from the cosmetics department, little Lydia Bennet.

***

Wickham kept watch from the pub across the street from the music hall. His patience was rewarded only a few minutes later. The gaggle of chattering teenagers approached from the opposite direction. Now was the time for him to move.

“ Oh, fancy meeting you here.” He arrived at the box office just as Lydia and her compatriots queued up for tickets to the night’s performance.

They stopped chatting at once and exchanged looks of disbelief.

He was ten years the senior of some of them, and he knew they had little or no use for him, with one exception.

“ Oh, Mr Wickham, are you here to see the show?” Lydia’s eyes shone when she looked at him.

“ I thought I might, but as you see, I’m on my own.”

“ Oh, do join us. The more the merrier.” She spoke for all of them, and it didn’t escape his notice that many of them, especially the young men, were not of the same opinion.

“ Only if you will allow me to sit next to you.”

She giggled. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She took his arm. He paid for her ticket. The innocent beginning of the seduction sent chills up his spine. Wickham could hardly contain his grin as he escorted the youngest Miss Bennet into the cavernous and opulent depths of the music hall.

***

With Jane’s imminent departure, the aim of Elizabeth’s life began to veer away from her girlish dream of being a shopgirl at the most glamorous and exciting store on Oxford Street.

The women’s suffrage movement took hold of her with a ferocity, and she poured all the energy she had to spare into it.

The work she and her fellow suffragettes were doing would change women’s lives forever, and with that, the course of history.

March blew in lustily, and the WSPU was again armed and ready for another protest. Standing in her room, Elizabeth read aloud her invitation from Emily Pankhurst herself:

MEN AND WOMEN I INVITE YOU TO COME TO PARLIAMENT SQUARE ON MONDAY, MARCH 4TH 1912 at 8 o’clock to take part in a GREAT PROTEST MEETING against the government’s refusal to include women in their reform Bill.

SPEECHES will be delivered by well-known Suffragettes, who want to enlist your sympathy and help in the great battle they are fighting for human liberty.

“You can’t go.” Jane wrung her hands as she came over. “You’ll lose your position. Remember what happened last time.”

“It must be done. Deeds not words.”

“Working at Selfridges is your dream. How can you sacrifice it for… for… for something that may not succeed?” She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “You could go to prison.”

“I’m in a better position than most. If I do lose my position, I can always go home. I’ll not starve in the street… or worse.” Her time in the cell had given her some perspective.

Lydia seemed lost in one of her fashion magazines and didn’t take her attention from the pictures when she piped up. “What do you mean, worse ?”

Lizzy scowled at her. “Never mind. There’s always something worse in any situation.”

“I’d never risk my position for something like that. I think that you are wasting your time.” With a yawn, Lydia went back to casually flipping pages.

“You were lucky last time,” Jane whispered to Lizzy. “If you’re arrested this time, I don’t know if Charles can help you… or Mr Darcy. I don’t believe he is even in town.” Jane’s voice broke as she spoke.

“Will Mr Bingley break off your engagement if I am arrested and sent to prison?”

Jane looked at her in astonishment. “Of course not.”

“Then there’s nothing to stop me. Whatever consequences I incur from my actions, I bring them down on my own head. Not on yours.” She took Jane’s hand. “I couldn’t bear that.”

Jane held her gaze. “I should have told you that he would break off the engagement. That might have stopped you.”

Elizabeth smiled and hugged her. “I would have known you were lying. You’re terrible at it.

” Drawing back, she studied her sister’s worried expression.

“This is so important. Don’t you see that?

We must do whatever it takes to get women the vote.

As things stand now, it’s as if we don’t count at all. ”

“Whatever I say, you will do what you believe must be done. Do be careful. The police are brutes to the suffragettes.”

Elizabeth remained silent. She sat on the edge of the bed. How far was she really prepared to go? How much could she endure? The most important question remained: if she didn’t go and do her part, could she live with herself?

***

The first time Wickham suggested that Lydia abandon her friends and accompany him, she balked. They stood under the marquee of the music hall out of the rain.

“ Oh, I will return you to this spot before the show is over.” He crossed his finger over his chest in an unspoken oath.

Lydia looked back at her friends, who were riveted to the drama unfolding before them.

“ I don’t think you should go, Lydia. What will your sisters say?” That dreary Constance Maguire always looked daggers at Wickham whenever he joined their jolly little group.

“ If you’d rather not, I will understand. After all, I realise that you might be afraid.” He baited the trap and waited for Lydia to spring it on herself.

“ Afraid? What do I have to be afraid of?” She turned to Constance. “My sisters won’t say anything because you won’t tell them. Will you?” The last two words were laced with threat.

“ Well, Lydia Bennet, then do as you like. See if I care.” Constance turned her back on Lydia and Wickham, and the rest of the group wordlessly entered the theatre.

Wickham took Lydia by the arm, and when she raised her gaze to his, trepidation filtered through. He needed to assuage it at once. “Perhaps a bit to eat, m’lady?” He turned on his most charming and least threatening manner.

“ That would be lovely, m’lord.” Lydia squeezed his arm as he led her down the street to a quiet bistro.