London - Edward Rutherfurd [571]
The English had been rather slow to make use of the internal combustion engine. There were some motor-buses now and a few motorized cabs; but so far the small numbers of motor cars in use were only for the very rich. Rolls-Royce had only been going for half a dozen years, but Penny owned one and early on Saturday, 17 June 1911, he came to pick up old Edward Bull.
The Penny family had always remained close to their Bull cousins; and thanks to his marriage to Gorham Dogget’s daughter Nancy and to the huge success of the Penny Insurance Company, he was quite as rich as old Edward. The plan was that they would drive over to pick up Bull’s two grandsons, the Meredith boys, who were both at Charterhouse now, and take them back to Bocton. The following day at tea-time, Penny would take them back. Even old Edward Bull, who had scarcely been in a motor car, was secretly rather excited by this expedition. “Though I don’t know whether I should let you drive me in this contraption with your short sight,” he had cheerfully remarked.
The day was fine, the country road beautiful. They averaged nearly twenty miles an hour and arrived at Charterhouse comfortably before lunch. Far from being tired, old Edward felt in excellent spirits and was considerably put out when Penny, having been given a telephone message by the boys’ housemaster, announced that he had to go back to London.
The boys’ faces fell too. It seemed the drive in the car and the week-end were to be lost, but Henry leaned forward.
“I wonder, grandfather,” he said politely, “if I could make a suggestion.”
There was no doubt about it, Bull thought, as the Rolls-Royce bowled into London two hours later: his grandson Henry Meredith was a fine young man. He knew what he’d been through at school, and not just on his own account either. Several times he’d been in scraps defending his younger brother from merciless bullying after their mother’s name and photograph had appeared in newspapers. Finally Henry had declared that he personally supported the Suffragette cause – which he didn’t in the least – and that anyone in the house who didn’t like it would have to fight him first. As he was now tall and very strong, few cared to dispute with him.
“I do respect Mother because she believes in her cause,” Henry had told his grandfather. “It may even be that women should have the vote, I suppose. I hate the Suffragettes’ methods, but when she tells me that the polite, old-fashioned way gave women nothing, I can’t deny it. I wish she could drop them, or at least support them quietly, but she feels she cannot. So in the end, grandfather, I support her because she’s my mother.”
“If you’re going to return to London anyway,” he had suggested, “couldn’t we go too? We could spend the night at home instead and go back on the train to school tomorrow.” And then, giving his grandfather a sidelong glance, “We’ve seen the newspapers, grandfather, so we know Mother’s going to be out marching today. Why don’t we all of us go round and give Helen a surprise? We could take her out for tea.”
It was early evening and Helen’s feet were quite sore when she and her mother reached the house. Even so, she felt a sense of triumph: they had marched on a famous day. She was surprised when the maid who opened the door looked rather frightened, and said something to her mother that she did not hear. Then, from the doorway to the drawing room she heard a familiar voice. Her mother whispered, “Go up to your room, Helen,” but she didn’t, and a moment later, unnoticed, peeped round the door.
Her grandfather was in there; so was Henry. If Frederick had come with them, he must have been sent to another part of the house. Her grandfather looked frightening and even Henry looked grave, and somehow older. Her grandfather spoke first.
“Am I to understand that you have dressed up Helen, an innocent