Not only did Mr Chesterton accept Lucy’s overtures – he welcomed her with open arms. He welcomed her, in fact, even before Lucy managed to show him some of her clumsy drafts.
Once again, her title proved to be an unexpected asset; once again, the arsenal of illusions gave her a weapon. Naturally, this time it was not the flair of elegance, but the might of tradition. It promised to give clout and respectability to the rough young movement.
It was a lesson for her to remember: not even the most daring, inspiring leader could ignore the realities of power. And who said that illusions have no power? They certainly hold significant power over people’s minds, whether those people read The Blackshirt, The Times, or Tatler. And isn’t the power over people’s minds the ultimate power, in the end – the one from which all the other kinds of power stem?
The more she pondered it, the more reasonable it looked. After all, people don’t usually tend to respond enthusiastically to the prospect of being swept aside.
Lucy moderated the tone of her own articles accordingly: fewer exclamation marks and radical statements; more gentle suggestions and solid numbers. The dissatisfied youths from the destitute industrial towns, who joined the BUF by thousands, could be responsive enough to the flaming rhetoric. But smart people, educated people, people holding important posts – in short, people who mattered – would demand a sound proof of each claim.
Well, then Lucy wasn’t going to disappoint them.
Fewer exclamation marks. More gentle suggestions.
I am certainly far from saying, that the current Party system is intrinsically vile and ineffective, she wrote. However, it was designed by and for another century. It worked well enough during the days of Queen Victoria; under its reasonable guidance Britain became the greatest empire in the world. But, as much as we laud the successes of the past, we must look to the future.
A decade ago, we declined to follow other countries’ examples and invest in the research on diesel; we clung stubbornly to our steam technology, the technology that made us so prosperous during the last century. This failure has cost us millions. Now, in a similar vein, we stubbornly refuse to be inspired by the examples of strong leadership, unhindered by the bulky Party machine, which we can see on the Continent …
The North, where she had to spend her winter and spring, certainly provided her with enough research materials as well as inspiration, however horrid. But, deep down, she always longed to return to the capital. That was where everything happened; that was where she could feel the pulse of life.
Besides, this year everything would be different. She was no longer a clumsy debutante, knowing nothing and no one, meeting only at closely supervised receptions with the fellow clumsy debutantes. Now, she had some connections, and an income, and a degree of freedom, and prospects, and a cause …
And, last but not least, she had her Hester.
Lucy smiled softly, thinking of her maid’s (her friend’s!) dark, perceptive eyes. No doubt she would be delighted to see London.
Yes, she thought, drifting at last to sleep. This is definitely going to be an interesting Season.
***
County of Northumberland, May 1929
The crowd outside the cinema was enormous. Even Hester, whom everyone considered to be too tall for her fourteen years, had to stand on her tiptoes to see the end of it. The ‘children’s afternoon’ on Saturdays always attracted hundreds of hungry viewers, but today they looked like an army ready to charge.
Hester resented the name of the programme; she was not a child, after all. She cheered the special prices, though. One penny for the stalls – that was something! The balcony was still off limits, though.
She would always sit in the balcony, once she got a job of her own; Hester promised that to herself.
‘Thanks for holding my spot!’ Susan stood before her now, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy. Had she run here all the way from that corner shop?
‘I thought they’d stamp me to death! No need to run, actually. They won’t open the door for five more minutes at least.’
‘Oh well. Didn’t want to be late.’ Susan was still trying to slow her breath down, her fair hair glinting with sweat. ‘If I was, I’d never find you here. It’s madness, isn’t it?’
‘I know!’
The cinema bore the majestic name of Embassy. It was built to resemble an Egyptian temple, a grand structure of black and gold. The craze for Egyptian mysteries, prompted by the discovery of that tomb a couple of years ago, was dying down now; but the cinema remained as alluring as ever.
Every afternoon crowds gathered outside the entrance, and Hester never failed to be annoyed with these people, despite being one of them. She stretched her neck impatiently now, awaiting the signal that the doors were open. Her heartbeat measured out the seconds.
‘Have you got it?’ she asked Susan, turning to her again.
‘They had no more Mint Imperials.’
‘Oh!’
‘I bought some Fry’s instead. Is it okay?’
‘Yes! I love chocolate. I’ll give you the halfpenny back after the movie. Will it do?’
‘Ab-so-lu-te-ly!’
When Susan spoke, she often tried to emulate the glamorous gangster sweethearts she’d seen on screen. Hester found it adorable, and honestly tried not to laugh.
They both loved ‘talkies,’ even though some of their friends derided the silly accents now uncovered.
‘I hope they won’t screen the old movies today,’ Susan breathed.
‘Me too! They showed that one with Lillian Gish last Saturday.’
‘Oh, but I love Gish! Isn’t she a doll?’
‘I know! Did they say how long this one would last?’
‘Nae. Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve got to be home by evening. I’ve a lot to do. I still have to blacken Da’s boots for Sunday, and …’
‘Oh, Hettie! You should relax for once. Naebody will die there without you. And won’t Sophie help you?’
‘Sophie isn’t here any more,’ Hester reminded her.
‘Oh, damn. I always forget. It’s so strange, isn’t it? The thing she’s done. It’s … well, it’s really like in the movies! It usually ends badly in the movies, but still.’
‘Well, thanks for cheering me up; I wasn’t worrying enough myself.’
‘You can always count on me!’ Susan giggled.
Hester almost stumbled as the crowd to both sides of her started to move. Her own feet carried her forward, caught up in the momentum. She clutched Susan’s hand, slippery with the sweat of excitement. Soon, they would enter the palace of dreams, where she wouldn’t need to think of boots to blacken, or stockings to mend, or breakfasts to cook.
When the last of the young spectators had crossed the threshold, the door shut behind them with a deafening thud.
London, May 1934
Hester was privately grateful that the taxi ride from the station took so long.
The distance to their new home – their home for the next four months – wasn’t actually