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it?’

      ‘Someone draped a suffragette banner across a marble bust of Queen Victoria,’ her mother whispered, muffled by the handkerchief. ‘And the Prince Consort, too, God rest his soul.’

      Violet tried to keep a straight face. It had been such a perfect opportunity.

      Two legs. Two banners. Two marble busts. They’d been perched on plinths halfway up the wall, each set back in a gilt-scrolled niche. The banners had ballooned up and landed. Queen Victoria’s banner around her marble shoulders, like a shawl. Quite fitting for a monarch. Prince Albert’s on his head, falling over one eye, giving him a rakish look. She hadn’t been able to reach to fix it.

      ‘The ladies told me all about it.’ Her mother wrung her hands together. ‘At the end of the ball, when everyone came out into the hall, there they were, bold as brass. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.’

      Laugh, Mama, Violet wanted to say. How she wished her mother shared her views about women’s suffrage, but her mother was content with her status as a wife and mother. She didn’t want to vote—she’d declared that on more than one occasion. Politics was the business of men and she had no interest in it. No, her mama would never understand.

      Her father finally turned around from the fireplace. He appeared smaller than usual, almost deflated. It was because he wasn’t smiling. His jolly demeanour usually filled the room.

      ‘We know they were your banners, Violet.’

      His tone shocked her. The usual warmth was quite gone.

      ‘I don’t intend to deny it, Papa,’ she said quietly. ‘They were my suffrage banners. I made them and I draped them across Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, too.’

      ‘Queen Victoria. Prince Albert,’ her mama echoed the names, reminding Violet of a parrot they kept for a while, when the birds had been fashionable. It had driven her papa quite cocky, he’d declared.

      It wasn’t the moment to remind her parents of the parrot.

      ‘The parents of our King.’ Her father shook his head. ‘King Edward the Seventh.’

      She nodded. She’d have draped a banner around a marble bust of King Edward, too, but there hadn’t been one, and in any case, she’d only had two banners.

      ‘Queen Victoria and Prince Albert are in their graves,’ her mama choked. ‘It’s unseemly. Disrespectful.’

      ‘Oh! I didn’t think of it that way,’ Violet said, horrified.

      ‘Why did you do it?’ her father asked, still in that empty voice.

      Violet lifted her chin. ‘I’m a suffragette, Papa.’

      ‘A suffragette!’ came her mama’s echo.

      ‘Votes for women, eh?’ asked her papa.

      With a gulp, she nodded.

      Her father wiped his sleeve across his eyes. ‘So it’s all been for nothing.’

      ‘Papa,’ Violet whispered. Her throat constricted. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

      He sank into the leather club chair by the fireplace. He appeared bewildered. ‘All we’ve done for you. All I’ve worked for. And you’re not grateful.’

      Violet knelt beside him, seized his hand. ‘I am grateful, Papa. You’ve given me everything that anyone could ever dream of.’

      ‘They why did you do it?’

      ‘Surely you understand,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m like you. You’re a self-made man. Didn’t you long to be considered an equal, to make your way into the world? Look what you’ve achieved, the business you built. You started from nothing. Please listen to me. I just want the same opportunity as you, to contribute to the world.’

      He shook his head. ‘It’s different for a man.’

      ‘A woman’s place is in the home,’ her mother said tremulously from the chaise longue.

      ‘I want more,’ Violet said simply.

      Her father stared as if he hardly knew her.

      ‘I’ve never had cause to criticise you. I’ve always been proud of you, so proud.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But this. You’ve gone too far. You’ve become selfish, Violet.’

      She fell back on her heels. Tears smarted in her eyes. ‘It’s not selfish to want to be part of the world. To vote. To become educated. To work. Why, there are even women working in factories now.’

      ‘No daughter of mine will ever set foot in a factory! That’s not why I worked day and night.’ He shook his head. ‘Your place is in the home. Your mama is right.’

      ‘The world is changing,’ Violet said. ‘There are new ideas. Not just votes for women, but opportunities for work, for education—’

      Her father held up his hand. ‘Stop. I don’t want to hear such talk.’

      ‘A suffragette. How could you, Violet? We’ll be shunned in society.’ Her mother dabbed at her eyes. ‘The ladies made that quite clear this morning.’

      ‘Oh, Mama, we were shunned already,’ Violet replied wearily. It was made patent at the ball in their lack of welcome, except for Adam Beaufort, swirling her into his arms.

      If they were no longer invited into London society, she’d definitely never see him again.

      Her heart sank.

      ‘We’re ruined!’ exclaimed her mother.

      ‘Surely it’s not that dreadful.’ But it explained the outright snub from the girl at her riding lesson, Violet recalled uncomfortably.

      Had she gone too far?

      Her father breathed heavily. ‘I suppose we ought to leave London, before we’re run out.’

      From the chaise longue came a muffled sob.

      ‘Leave London! Surely that isn’t necessary,’ Violet cried, aghast. What had she done?

      ‘Just when Violet had danced with a Beaufort,’ her mama mourned. ‘I never thought I’d see such a thing. Oh!’

      If they left London...

      ‘We won’t be run out of London,’ Violet protested. ‘What does it matter what a few society people think?’

      ‘The Coombes are a respectable family,’ her father said. ‘We always took pride in that, more than anything else. You’ve taken our good name away.’

      Full of remorse, Violet gripped her fingers together. ‘I’ll apologise to the ladies who invited us to the ball.’

      ‘Aye, you ought to do that. But the damage is done.’

      ‘Ruined,’ her mother repeated in a choked voice. ‘Ruined.’

      Her father put his head in his hands.

      Violet reached out to him. ‘Papa, please listen. Would it be so terrible to go back to Manchester? We were happier there, not trying to fit in with London society. I could learn to help you in the business, make your load lighter.’ Anything, she thought, her heart like a sinking stone, to make him smile again.

      ‘No, Violet. I told you. Your place isn’t in the factory.’

      ‘But, Papa...’

      ‘No!’

      Violet jumped. Her father had never raised his voice at her before. Not once, in all her life.

      He stood up, his elbows akimbo. ‘Men and women aren’t the same. If you’d been a son...’ His voice trailed off. ‘We pinned our hopes on you making a fine match. But now...’

      ‘Ruined,’ her mother chimed in from the chaise.

      Violet’s

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