her hands together and her stormy expression switched to delight as she bobbed up and down in her seat.
‘It’s not up to me, Gertie. We’ll have to speak with Ma …’
As soon as Essie said it, the smile slipped from Gertie’s face and the child closed her book, eager to be gone.
Miss Barnes walked back to her desk, and reached down into her bag. As she rummaged around Essie saw green and purple ribbons and felt of flash of envy. Miss Barnes tucked them back into her bag, and retrieved a crisp new envelope with neatly stencilled letters on the front: For the parents/guardians of Gertrude Murphy. She handed the envelope to Essie.
‘I had Gertrude sit some short tests in class last week when the others were taking their arithmetic test and the results were very promising. I can’t say for certain, of course, but I know there are scholarships for a few students every year. You’d have to come to the school in Cheltenham for a weekend …’
Essie quietly shook her head, and Miss Barnes turned pink, realising her mistake as soon as she said it. She shuffled some papers on her desk and avoided eye contact as she said under her breath, ‘I understand. Of course. How thoughtless of me.’ She finished shuffling her papers and placed them in a pile on her desk. Then she ran her hands over her hair, fixing an imaginary stray strand into her bun.
Miss Barnes lowered her voice so far that Essie had to lean in to hear.
‘What if I were to arrange for the entrance exams to be done here, during school hours? I could do it on a Thursday when Mr Morton has his weekly meeting with Father McGuire.’
Gertie had finished packing her bag and stood outside the classroom window, wisps of dishevelled hair moving with the breeze. Essie studied the line of Gertie: her shoulders were starting to stoop, her hair was growing dull. As the clever child was becoming a young woman, all hope was being leached away.
Essie wanted her sister to stand tall. Perhaps she could even become a teacher, like Miss Barnes.
Essie studied her own scarred palms and knew that Gertie deserved better than a life lived on the factory floor. And Essie was determined she would have it.
Essie took the letter from Miss Barnes’s hand. ‘Thank you. You are so kind. Our mother, she can be diffi—’
‘I understand … Honestly, Essie. If I could take everyone in this class with me I would. But trust me when I say Gertrude is special. She has a magnificent mind. Deft and curious. Do you know, every day I leave here and I go to a meeting—’
‘The suffragettes?’ whispered Essie, as if she might be arrested for the mere mention of the word.
‘Yes. And do you know why I go to those meetings?’
‘For women to have the vote?’
‘Partly. But I go to different meetings in the East End, with Sylvia Pankhurst. Miss Pankhurst is arranging for children to be cared for while women work or study. Soup kitchens. Clean clothes. Forget about what you see in the newspaper, Essie: this isn’t just girls in pretty petticoats and ribbons. We want change. Education. Choices. And the best thing I can do to further our cause is to educate girls. Those girls will educate more girls. Then they will demand a voice in parliament. Law courts. Hospitals. Anywhere you name, they will have to let women work there one day.’
Essie studied her too-big boots, hoping Miss Barnes could not see the doubt on her face. University for women? Higher office? Both seemed less likely than the vote for anyone from Essie’s part of London.
Miss Barnes placed her hands over Essie’s. They were warm.
‘Please, I beg you. Find a way for your mother to sign that letter.’
‘I will do my best.’
And she meant it. Gertie could finish her page of translations, spelling lists and algebra before most children finished the first set task. When Gertie drew a portrait it was as if she captured a person’s very soul. Gertie was more than clever—there were plenty of children in the class who were sharp-tongued, could do arithmetic in their heads or had the gift of the gab. But like Miss Barnes said, Gertie was special. Gertie’s sense of justice raged within her skinny chest like a candle wick just waiting to be lit. She belonged with Miss Barnes and those fierce women in white. Gertie could have a life beyond the factories