Sophy had thanked Dolly but declined the offer. No one knew about the opium habit, and it would take more than Arnold and one of his brothers to stop Toby returning to the illegal dens like a dog to its vomit.
Sophy paused, lifting her face to the gentle rays of a spring sun. She was on her way to hear Emmeline Pankhurst’s account of her recent imprisonment in Holloway Jail after she was convicted for obstructing the police within the Strangers’ Lobby in Parliament. She had never attended a meeting of the Women’s Social and Political Union before, although Cat had joined the new militant movement shortly after it had been formed five years ago. Their motto, ‘Deeds not Words’, had appealed to the recklessness in Cat, along with Mrs Pankhurst’s determination for a radical change in future tactics. Previous Suffragists had met regularly with sympathetic Members of Parliament to plead their cause, but the frustration caused by Parliament’s refusal to debate the subject or even consider the idea of female emancipation had led to the birth of the new society. Christabel Pankhurst, Emmeline’s daughter, had been one of the first suffragettes to go to prison three years ago, and since meeting her, Cat had been even more fired up, spending most of her free time working for the Society. She even took minor roles in the theatre in order to devote more time to the cause. But, as she had said on more than one occasion to Sophy, ‘I was never going to make it big like you, darling. I was never going to be a star.’
Sophy didn’t know about that. What she did know was that her work demanded much of her time and what remained was devoted to holding what was left of Toby together. She was often exhausted, constantly worried and mostly heartsore. When he was in the real world Toby was either bitter and spiteful, or pathetically needy of her. Not as a wife, that had finished years ago, but as a nurse, a mother, someone he could cling to when the night terrors caused by the poison in his system turned him into a gibbering idiot, terrified of things only he could see.
He had killed all love within her, for nothing could survive the things he’d said and done, still said and did, but each time she told herself she couldn’t go on, there would be another agonising night where he became a petrified child. And it was the child she couldn’t abandon, not the man.
She began walking again, clearing her mind of her own problems and letting the first mild weather of the year caress her skin. She could have taken a cab to the meeting but she had wanted to walk in the sunshine along the streets, a chance to feel like any other woman, someone with a normal existence and a happy home life.
She didn’t glance at the couple making their way down the steps of a small hotel to her right; the lovely weather had brought the world and his wife out and the pavements were bustling with Londoners. Since she had become a success, Sophy had found that fame could be a two-edged sword on occasion, so if she ever took a walk alone – which was rare – she tended to keep her head down and walk swiftly, thereby remaining largely unnoticed by her fans. So when her arm was grabbed, and a voice in her ear said, ‘Sophy? It is you, isn’t it?’ she was taken aback, the more so when she saw who had accosted her.
‘Patience?’ She stared at the woman who was Patience and yet not Patience.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ Patience was holding on to her as though she was afraid Sophy would disappear if she let go of her arm. ‘Oh, Sophy, I can’t believe it’s you! I’ve longed to see you again. Thank you for your letters. Father passes them on to me and it’s been good to know you are all right.’
Sophy didn’t know what to say. For one thing this Patience, with her bright face and sparkling eyes, was as different to the girl she’d known as chalk to cheese. For another, she had always felt a little guilty about the letters – not only their infrequency, since she had only written five or six in the years since she had left the northeast, but also the fact that she had never given a return address. Her mind caught at Patience’s last words. ‘You’re not living at the vicarage then?’
‘No, no. I left there about eighteen months after you had gone, to train as a nurse.’ Patience now blushed, turning to the tall, rather distinguished-looking gentleman at her side. ‘This is my husband, Dr Aldridge. William, this is my dear cousin, Sophy Shawe. You did say your husband’s name is Shawe when you wrote to say you had got married?’
Sophy nodded, smiling as she took the doctor’s outstretched hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Dr Aldridge.’
‘William, please.’
Sophy liked Patience’s husband immediately. His handshake was firm, his brown eyes were warm with a twinkle in their depths and his smile was open and friendly.