November 1912 - London, UK
It had been an exhausting day at work. The tailor's shop had been Rose's first real roof over her head. She was born there, in between sewing machines and piles of leftover cabbages. Her hands had quickly gain an extensive understanding of the art of embroidery and general needlework. Her works were known to be meticulous and elaborate. Jack, like the rest of the male employees, was in charge of delivering the manufactured goods at the doors of wealthy buyers.
"I'll deliver Mrs Bitchurch's linen myself, Jack", her pleading eyes met no resistance in his. He gave her shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "Watch out, not many lamplighters would be still around. I'll make dinner".
…
Camden Square, London, UK.
The crisp evening air was filled with murmurs of excitement, the entire leafy moonlit square, and garden were packed with suffragettes raising their banners to the sky and marching. Rose was a dot in the sea of women of all social classes gathered together singing, whooping and stomping their feet on the hard cobblestone.
"Rise up, women, for the fight is hard and long;
Rise up in thousands singing loud a battle song.
Right is might, and in strength we shall be strong
And the cause goes marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah! The cause goes marching on".
Suddenly, the distant beam of a car headlamps flicked up, grazing the women's faces, bringing urgency to the march. A police whistle blowed, two police vehicles pushed into the crowd. More and more men were revealed, aiming at breaking up the female demonstrators. The police officers pushed and shoved, attempting at pushing through the women's barricade. Rose fell face down on the pavement, someone must had elbowed her, causing her to lose her balance. Rose's eyes struggled to focus, her hands were stinging, as she stood to examine them better, she noticed how her own blood had stained her cuffs.
"No surrender!"
Rose smiled to the women around her, nodding in agreement, but she hadn't the time to leave the square like most of them, a policeman grabbed her by the shoulders. The warrant officer pushed his face closer to Rose's, breathing his cigar's smoke on her. "Don't bother arresting her" he held Rose's defiant look. "Let her husband deal with her. Drop her at his front door".
The police van stank of sweat and some other body fluids. Rose sat in silence, facing the police officer in front of her, as did two other women with her. One had her eyes casted to the floor, staring at her own feet, while the other was visibly upset, twisting her hands and stealing glances at the man besides her.
…
Jack was pacing the room, Rose was supposed to be home hours ago, yet there was no sign of her. He had cooked dinner, and even managed to bathe their daughter, who had finally fall asleep after having cried for her mummy to sing a lullaby. Jack was getting more worried by the minute, it wasn't like Rose to be late and not tell him.
The police van entered Rose's street. As soon as the vehicle stopped, she was forced out. Rose stared at the illuminated window of their three-roomed house, Jack was already opening the door. He carefully looked beyond the to van, a sickened expression on his face. He nodded to the police officer and turned his back to Rose.
Jack's voice was low and guttural, she trembled.
"I thought I had straighten you. Inside, now!".
Rose entered their house dropping her hat on the table, Jack followed her in, scanning her figure with his alert sweet blue eyes.
"Is Maud sleeping?" Jack nodded.
"Are you hurt?" She shook her head no,
"Just a few scratches" Rose showed him her reddening palms.
"You are bleeding",
"I'm okay, I'm sorry I wasn't here for supper".
Rose turned to kiss him, but he had disappeared, she heard muffled noises coming from the bathroom. He soon came back with a bottle of alcohol and a gauze. "Give me your hands, love" she hesitated, flinching at the inevitable pain. "T-they didn't do this to you" Jack's voice quivered, afraid that she would correct his statement, but she didn't. Rose kissed him and breathed reassuring on his lips "I fell, the police started pushing us back". He smiled cupping her cheeks in his hands "Just be careful".
"That police officer bought your words, he looked rather pleased". Jack's eyes darkened "I'll never lay a hand on you, never forget that".
"What if one day I end up in prison? What would you say, then?" She spoke quietly, startled by what she thought was unknown. Her heart was beating fast, Rose could hear it in her ears and she swore that Jack must have heard it, too. Although she had known his answer all along.
"Will you be my partner in crime, Jack?" He smirked touching the curve of her nose with his fingertips, then he went down, on her moist lips.
"Rose, I'll be your partner for life, but don't you ever call what you're doing a crime, you are fighting for rights. I want our daughter to live in a more equal society, she'll thank you one day, I'm sure of it".
She held him close to her, nuzzling against his neck, feeling safer than ever.
"The house is getting cold, let's go to bed". Before letting her reach their bedroom's door, Jack handed her a bowl of soup "Here, to warm up".
"I love you so much",
"I love you too".
Author's Notes:
Thank you so much for reading, I truly hope you liked it!
This little story came to me while watching "Suffragette" (2015) a few weeks ago. I was wondering "what if…?", well this few words are pretty much my answer to it. I originally wanted him to be Cal, but I couldn't just write it that way. What are your thoughts?, did you like it?, do you think Jack could have supported her like this?.
Further clarifications regarding the setting: Like you've read, we're in 1912, but our couple never boarded the RMS Titanic, instead, they're here to tell a total different story.
The song should be historically accurate, or so says the Internet.
The title comes from Carey Mulligan's tattoo - a memorial to a woman widely considered to be one of the revolution's martyrs. When suffragist Emily Wilding Davison (1872-1913) whose death, drew much-needed attention to the cause of voting rights for women. Carey's tattoo features the word "Love that overcometh", taken from a newspaper illustration announcing Davison's passing.