thought, if women had the vote.
With Ethel were a dozen working-class women plus one man, Bernie Leckwith, secretary of the Aldgate Independent Labour Party. The party approved of Maud’s paper and supported its campaigns.
When Maud joined the group on the pavement, Ethel was talking to a young man with a notebook. “The separation allowance is not a charitable gift,” she said. “Soldiers’ wives receive it as of right. Do you have to pass a good-conduct test before you get your wages as a reporter? Is Mr. Asquith questioned about how much Madeira he drinks before he can draw his salary as a member of Parliament? These women are entitled to the money just as if it was a wage.”
Ethel had found her voice, Maud reflected. She expressed herself simply and vividly.
The reporter looked admiringly at Ethel: he seemed half in love with her. Rather apologetically he said: “Your opponents say that a woman should not receive support if she is unfaithful to her soldier husband.”
“Are you checking on the husbands?” Ethel said indignantly. “I believe there are houses of ill fame in France and Mesopotamia and other places where our men are serving. Does the army take the names of married men entering such houses, and withdraw their wages? Adultery is a sin, but it is not a reason to impoverish the sinner and let her children starve.”
Ethel was carrying her child, Lloyd, on her hip. He was now sixteen months old and able to walk, or at least stagger. He had fine dark hair and green eyes, and was as pretty as his mother. Maud put out her hands to take him, and he came to her eagerly. She felt a pang of longing: she almost wished she had become pregnant during her one night with Walter, despite all the trouble it would have caused.
She had heard nothing of Walter since the Christmas before last. She did not know whether he was alive or dead. She might already be a widow. She tried not to brood, but dreadful thoughts crept up on her unawares, sometimes, and then she had to keep from crying.
Ethel finished charming the reporter, then introduced Maud to a young woman with two children clinging to her skirts. “This is Jayne McCulley, who I told you about.” Jayne had a pretty face and a determined look.
Maud shook hands. “I hope we can get justice for you today, Mrs. McCulley,” she said.
“Very kind of you, I’m sure, ma’am.” The habit of deference died hard even in egalitarian political movements.
“If we’re all ready?” said Ethel.
Maud handed Lloyd back to Ethel, and together the group crossed the road and went in at the front door of the charity office. There was a reception area where a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk. She looked frightened by the crowd.
Maud said to her: “There’s nothing to worry about. Mrs. Williams and I are here to see Mrs. Hargreaves, your manager.”
The receptionist stood up. “I’ll see if she’s in,” she said nervously.
Ethel said: “I know she’s in-I saw her walk through the door half an hour ago.”
The receptionist scurried out.
The woman who returned with her was less easily intimidated. Mrs. Hargreaves was a stout woman in her forties, wearing a French coat and skirt and a fashionable hat decorated with a large pleated bow. The ensemble lost all its continental chic on her stocky figure, Maud thought cattily, but the woman had the confidence that came with money. She also had a large nose. “Yes?” she said rudely.
In the struggle for female equality, Maud reflected, sometimes you had to fight women as well as men. “I have come to see you because I’m concerned about your treatment of Mrs. McCulley.”
Mrs. Hargreaves looked startled, no doubt by Maud’s upper-class accent. She gave Maud an up-and-down scrutiny. She was probably noting that Maud’s clothes were as expensive as her own. When she spoke again, her tone was less arrogant. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss individual cases.”
“But Mrs. McCulley has asked me to speak to you-and she’s here to prove it.”
Jayne McCulley said: “Don’t you remember me, Mrs. Hargreaves?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You were very discourteous to me.”
Jayne turned to Maud. “I told her to go and poke her nose into someone else’s business.”
The women giggled at the reference to the nose, and Mrs. Hargreaves blushed.
Maud said: “But you cannot refuse an application for a separation allowance on the grounds that the applicant was rude to you.” Maud controlled her anger and tried to speak with icy disapproval. “Surely you know that?”
Mrs. Hargreaves tilted her chin defensively. “Mrs. McCulley was seen in the Dog and Duck public house, and at the Stepney Music Hall, on both occasions with a young man. The separation allowance is for wives of good conduct. The government does not wish to finance unchaste behavior.”
Maud wanted to strangle her. “You seem to misunderstand your role,” she said. “It is not for you to refuse payment on suspicion.”
Mrs. Hargreaves looked a little less sure of herself.
Ethel put in: “I suppose Mr. Hargreaves is safe at home, is it?”
“No, he’s not,” the woman replied quickly. “He’s with the army in Egypt.”
“Oh!” said Ethel. “So you receive a separation allowance too.”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“Does someone come to your house, Mrs. Hargreaves, to check on your conduct? Do they look at the level of the sherry in the decanter on your sideboard? Are you questioned about your friendship with your grocer’s deliveryman?”
“How dare you!”
Maud said: “Your indignation is understandable-but perhaps now you will appreciate why Mrs. McCulley reacted as she did to your questioning.”
Mrs. Hargreaves raised her voice. “That’s ridiculous-there’s no comparison!”
“No comparison?” Maud said angrily. “Her husband, like yours, is risking his life for his country. Both you and she claim the separation allowance. But you have the right to judge her behavior and refuse her the money-while no one judges you. Why not? Officers’ wives sometimes drink too much.”
Ethel said: “They commit adultery, too.”
“That’s it!” shouted Mrs. Hargreaves. “I refuse to be insulted.”
“So does Jayne McCulley,” said Ethel.
Maud said: “The man you saw with Mrs. McCulley was her brother. He was home on leave from France. He had only two days, and she wanted him to enjoy himself before going back to the trenches. That was why she took him to the pub and the music hall.”
Mrs. Hargreaves looked abashed, but she put on a defiant air. “She should have explained that when I questioned her. And now I must ask you please to leave the premises.”
“Now that you know the truth, I trust you will approve Mrs. McCulley’s application.”
“We’ll see.”
“I insist that you do it here and now.”
“Impossible.”
“We’re not leaving until you do.”
“Then I shall call the police.”
“Very well.”
Mrs. Hargreaves retreated.
Ethel turned to the admiring reporter. “Where is your photographer?”
“Waiting outside.”
A few minutes later, a burly middle-aged police constable came in. “Now, now, ladies,” he said. “No trouble, please. Just leave quietly.”
Maud stepped forward. “I am refusing to leave,” she said. “Never mind about the others.”
“And who would you be, madam?”
“I am Lady Maud Fitzherbert, and if you want me to go you’ll have to carry me out.”
“If you insist,” said the policeman, and he picked her up.
As they left the building, the photographer took a picture.
