The play proved so popular that suffrage societies all over the country clamoured to perform it, and the League involved themselves in these local productions, providing the costumes and leading performers where they could. Sophy offered herself as one of the actresses who could direct such undertakings, having no children of her own or family commitments as some actresses did.
Although her prime motive was wanting to encourage women to express themselves through theatre and to stand up for what they believed, there was another reason for her decision to take to the road again and leave the comforts of home and the delights of little Josephine, who was the sweetest baby imaginable. She needed to put some distance between herself and Kane. She knew she had been avoiding him since their shared confidences, making excuses when he invited her to lunch or dinner and refusing any invitations to social occasions he might also attend, but she couldn’t help it. She was in turmoil, the more so since she had become unsure of exactly how he viewed her. She hadn’t liked it when she’d thought his feelings were fatherly; now she suspected they might be of a different nature, it had thrown her into a state of panic. All the misery she had endured with Toby had come to the fore again, haunting her dreams and colouring her days.
She was a mess, she acknowledged ruefully, which was why, for the first six months of 1910, she travelled the country, encouraging local suffrage societies to go beyond performing the Pageant and put on their own plays. The tradition of drawing-room amateur theatre dating from the Victorian era made it comparatively easy to break down the delineation between amateur and professional theatre, and with the policy of the League to provide scripts and expert assistance in the form of experienced actresses and directors, Sophy felt she was really making a difference, albeit a small one, in the fight to open up men’s – and women’s – minds to the wind of change sweeping the country.
In the middle of June she returned home to join a demonstration in support of the latest Women’s Suffrage Bill. The King’s unexpected death from pneumonia in the first week of May had plunged the country into mourning, thus delaying the first reading of the important Bill, but after a month’s delay it was introduced to the House of Commons on 14 June.
Sophy arrived home three days later, the night before the huge march which had drawn together all the suffrage societies. She had been away since before Christmas. On entering the house, she felt a strange little pang at how life had gone happily on without her. Sadie and Harriet were a team now. Harriet had taken over the more demanding physical jobs which Sadie, who was getting on for seventy-two, had begun to find difficult. Sadie had settled comfortably into the role of cook and supervisor to Harriet, who saw to the cleaning, washing, lighting the fires and other household chores. Little Josephine had flourished in the convivial atmosphere, and Sophy fell in love all over again with the dimpled tot who gurgled and held out her fat little hands to her as though she knew Sophy had helped deliver her into the world.
When Harriet had gone to bed, Sophy sat with Sadie before the fire in the kitchen as she had often used to do, and the two talked – of the things Sophy had been doing – at how well Harriet had been absorbed in the household – of little Josephine, who was, according to Sadie, the most remarkable baby who had ever drawn breath. The one thing they didn’t mention was Kane. Not, that is, until Sophy rose to go to bed herself. It was then Sadie, with the privilege of an old friend, said quietly, ‘He’s called by every week without fail since you’ve been gone, ma’am.’
Sophy could feel herself flushing. ‘You mean Kane?’
Sadie nodded, her eyes tight on Sophy’s face. She had known for a long time how Mr Gregory felt about Sophy – you only had to catch him unawares when he was looking at her – but until recently she hadn’t been sure if Sophy returned his affection or not. Of course, while she had been married it wouldn’t have been right to mention such a thing, and afterwards, with the nature of Toby’s passing and the ramifications which had gone on and on, well, the last thing Sophy had been thinking of was another husband. But all that was two years ago. And heaven knew, the poor man had been patient.
‘He got the man in when the drains got blocked and the smell was enough to knock you backwards, and when Josephine fell out of her pram and bruised her head, he sent for his own doctor and wouldn’t let us settle the bill,’ she told Sophy. ‘He’s ever so good with her – Josephine, I mean. It’s a crying shame he hasn’t got children of his own, don’t you think, ma’am?’