A Mad, Wicked Folly Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sharon Biggs Waller
and the cab moved forward.
I turned to Freddy. “What are they doing in front of
Parliament?”
“Never you mind.”
“Oh, come off it, Freddy!”
Freddy sighed. “They picket Parliament every day
demanding the vote, leafleting, fixing their ruddy propaganda to the railings, and mucking things up. Christabel
Pankhurst and her cursed mother have led their merry
band of suffragettes into all sorts of shenanigans, as of late.”
He grimaced. “They do it for attention, to grab newspaper
headlines. But not for much longer. You see the chaos they
cause—traffic and all sorts. The prime minister is going to
put a stop to that nonsense soon enough.”
I pressed my cheek against the window of the cab,
eyes straining to keep the spectacle in sight for as long as
I could. The cab turned a corner, and the suffragettes vanished from view. I sat back. “They meet there every day?”
Freddy looked alarmed, sensing looming disaster.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to join them.”
My fingers began to itch as they always did when I saw
something that I wanted to draw. “I have no plans to join
them. But I’d love to draw them.”
My brother muttered something under his breath. I
couldn’t hear what he said exactly, but it was something
along the lines of here we go again .
four
Berkeley Square,
Darling residence, number 2
F
REDDY ESCORTED ME
home, and I begged him
to come inside so as to dilute some of Mamma’s
anger toward me.
Freddy stayed for tea. Our mother was too
civilized to chastise me in front of him, but she eyed me
above her teacup, pinky crooked somewhat accusingly in
my direction.
Finally, Freddy made his good-byes. I sat nervously
while Mother saw him to the door. Freddy leaned in to kiss
her cheek and then paused. I couldn’t hear what he was
saying, but from the look upon her face she didn’t like it.
She closed the door behind Freddy and walked back into
the sitting room.
“Do you want to explain yourself?” she asked in an
even tone that I recognized as controlled anger.
“I—”
“I know not what to do with you, Victoria! Undressing
in front of men?”
“It was for art, Mamma,” I said, trying to keep the defiance out of my voice. That would only lead me into more
trouble.
My mother had an artistic bent herself, but she turned
her talents to the decorative, drawing her own patterns for
needlework, painting the odd watercolor landscape for
the hallway. She could never understand what it took to
become a real artist.
She played with the pearls at her throat. “Such reckless
behavior will lead you down the path to ruin. And now, your
brother has just told me that you wish to go to art college. I’ll
tell you that your father will not allow you to attend.”
I said nothing. What could I say? My opinions, thoughts,
and desires meant little in my own home and always had.
Freddy was right. I should have known better.
“You’ve disappointed us, Victoria.” She crossed to the
credenza to look through a pile of fabric swatches that lay
there. She picked up her embroidery hoop and sank into
the chair.
“I’m sorry, Mamma. I really am. But . . . please don’t
punish me so harshly. I really want to go to art school. How
about this? At least let me apply. If I get in, then—”
“Denying you art school is not a punishment, Victoria!
It’s for your own good. What kind of mother would set her
child up for failure?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” I could hold back no
longer.
My mother smacked her hoop down on the seat so hard
the bamboo cane snapped. “What you did, Victoria, was
beyond the pale. You’re very lucky that you didn’t do this
after you came out. The scandal would have been irreparable, and your father and I would have been unable to save
you. You would have been lost.”
Her blast of anger caught me so unawares that I took a
step back. My mother had never raised her voice to me in
that way. Never.
“You’ll not walk out of the door until your father and I
have
I turned to Freddy. “What are they doing in front of
Parliament?”
“Never you mind.”
“Oh, come off it, Freddy!”
Freddy sighed. “They picket Parliament every day
demanding the vote, leafleting, fixing their ruddy propaganda to the railings, and mucking things up. Christabel
Pankhurst and her cursed mother have led their merry
band of suffragettes into all sorts of shenanigans, as of late.”
He grimaced. “They do it for attention, to grab newspaper
headlines. But not for much longer. You see the chaos they
cause—traffic and all sorts. The prime minister is going to
put a stop to that nonsense soon enough.”
I pressed my cheek against the window of the cab,
eyes straining to keep the spectacle in sight for as long as
I could. The cab turned a corner, and the suffragettes vanished from view. I sat back. “They meet there every day?”
Freddy looked alarmed, sensing looming disaster.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to join them.”
My fingers began to itch as they always did when I saw
something that I wanted to draw. “I have no plans to join
them. But I’d love to draw them.”
My brother muttered something under his breath. I
couldn’t hear what he said exactly, but it was something
along the lines of here we go again .
four
Berkeley Square,
Darling residence, number 2
F
REDDY ESCORTED ME
home, and I begged him
to come inside so as to dilute some of Mamma’s
anger toward me.
Freddy stayed for tea. Our mother was too
civilized to chastise me in front of him, but she eyed me
above her teacup, pinky crooked somewhat accusingly in
my direction.
Finally, Freddy made his good-byes. I sat nervously
while Mother saw him to the door. Freddy leaned in to kiss
her cheek and then paused. I couldn’t hear what he was
saying, but from the look upon her face she didn’t like it.
She closed the door behind Freddy and walked back into
the sitting room.
“Do you want to explain yourself?” she asked in an
even tone that I recognized as controlled anger.
“I—”
“I know not what to do with you, Victoria! Undressing
in front of men?”
“It was for art, Mamma,” I said, trying to keep the defiance out of my voice. That would only lead me into more
trouble.
My mother had an artistic bent herself, but she turned
her talents to the decorative, drawing her own patterns for
needlework, painting the odd watercolor landscape for
the hallway. She could never understand what it took to
become a real artist.
She played with the pearls at her throat. “Such reckless
behavior will lead you down the path to ruin. And now, your
brother has just told me that you wish to go to art college. I’ll
tell you that your father will not allow you to attend.”
I said nothing. What could I say? My opinions, thoughts,
and desires meant little in my own home and always had.
Freddy was right. I should have known better.
“You’ve disappointed us, Victoria.” She crossed to the
credenza to look through a pile of fabric swatches that lay
there. She picked up her embroidery hoop and sank into
the chair.
“I’m sorry, Mamma. I really am. But . . . please don’t
punish me so harshly. I really want to go to art school. How
about this? At least let me apply. If I get in, then—”
“Denying you art school is not a punishment, Victoria!
It’s for your own good. What kind of mother would set her
child up for failure?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” I could hold back no
longer.
My mother smacked her hoop down on the seat so hard
the bamboo cane snapped. “What you did, Victoria, was
beyond the pale. You’re very lucky that you didn’t do this
after you came out. The scandal would have been irreparable, and your father and I would have been unable to save
you. You would have been lost.”
Her blast of anger caught me so unawares that I took a
step back. My mother had never raised her voice to me in
that way. Never.
“You’ll not walk out of the door until your father and I
have