Publisher: Idée Fixe Press
Series: White Feathers, Book #1
Pages: 398
Genre: Historical Fiction Book Description "Anti-war and anti-patriarchy without ever saying so - a bravura performance of effortless elegance" - Irish Echo in Australia SHORTLISTED FOR THE ROMANTIC NOVEL OF THE YEAR AWARD 2015 In 1913, Irish emigrée Eva Downey receives a bequest from an elderly suffragette to attend a finishing school. There she finds friendship and, eventually, love. But when war looms and he refuses to enlist, Eva is under family and social pressure to give the man she loves a white feather of cowardice. The decision she eventually makes will have lasting consequences for her and everyone around her. Journey with Eva as she battles through a hostile social order and endeavours to resist it at every turn. Excerpt Order of the White Feather Eva’s stepsister Grace has dragged her along to a meeting of the Order of the White Feather, convened by famed anti-feminist novelist Mrs Humphry Ward. The women came from all classes, the feathers from a variety of birds: pigeon, cockerel, ostrich. Along the edge of the dais, brushing the floor, a banner read ‘Order of the White Feather’ – and there, in mid-speech, old, dumpy, squinting and with a weak chin, stood the famous authoress Mrs Humphry Ward herself. ‘She’s just started,’ hissed Catherine. ‘… and Admiral Fitzgerald,’ Mrs Ward declared – she rolled the word ‘Admiral’ as if it were a particularly pleasant petit four she had just popped into her mouth – ‘has entrusted me to bring to you, my sisters, the message of solidarity we women must show the men who defend us at our hour of most need.’ A woman sitting in the front row fanned herself vigorously; the hall was too warm, and there was a fetor in the air from too many clothes and a lack of washing. Eva was sure she could detect the smell of menstrual blood. She felt dizzy and wondered if she could stay standing. ‘Our new order, the Order of the White Feather,’ Mrs Ward continued, ‘has proved very successful over the past few weeks. Why, just last Tuesday, outside the Opera House, our friends the suffragettes …’ – some of the audience grew restive – ‘Wait! I have not finished. Those ladies stopped a good hundred fellows out of uniform and presented them with a white feather each, so they would know exactly what their womenfolk thought of them.’ The tumult turned to cheering, and a wan-looking girl in a crocheted shawl had to call the females to order before Mrs Ward could resume. ‘Our aim is to be watchful of our men and to make sure that none shirk that most sacred of duties. As mothers, sisters, daughters, we must offer their blood as Christ offered His to save mankind!’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘The foul Hun has perpetrated the wickedest of deeds upon our sisters in Belgium, taking away their lives, their very chastity!’ Eva felt a headache coming on. Mrs Ward concluded: ‘I would ask each woman here to seek out every man of fighting age who is not in uniform and to present him with a feather. If the men of our empire will not save women from the Hun’s depredations of their own free will, then they shall be shamed into it! They shall be shamed!’ The audience stamped, clapped and cheered. Catherine, in particular, forgot herself entirely, roaring like a fishwife, a vein throbbing in her neck, her small eyes glazing over. Women shouted ‘Death to the Hun!’ and ‘God save the King!’ as Mrs Ward stood there and lapped it up, her eyes glittering. The assistants distributed the feathers. Grace took two fistfuls. One of the girls with the trays stopped beside Eva. ‘Here, take one.’ Eva recognised the girl with a start. ‘Don’t I know you?’ She looked at Eva with cool, contained surprise. ‘I don’t think so, no.’ ‘But I do!’ Eva said, ‘I met you in Trafalgar Square, three years ago. You were campaigning for votes for women. You inspired me to go to the Census Night party in Wimbledon Common. I heard you speak.’ The girl shrugged. ‘Oh, that.’ Eva couldn’t believe it. ‘Why are you giving women white feathers? What happened to giving them the vote?’ ‘Did you not know?’ the girl said sharply. ‘Mrs Pankhurst organised for a whole lot of us to be here.’ ‘Eva!’ Grace hissed. ‘Are you refusing to take a feather?’ Eva took a few feathers from the tray and slipped them in her pocket. She felt sick. ‘Don’t hide them away,’ the girl said, eyes shining now, ‘bear them in your hands for all to see, so they know your mission.’ Eva gingerly took the feathers out again, holding them at some distance. ‘Forget the other business,’ the girl said. ‘We are at war now.’ The meeting broke up. Eva did not keep her feathers, throwing them on the ground when they were crossing the road back to the Tube station. Grace still had hers, and a man out of uniform was coming their way. Eva watched as Grace speeded up. ‘For God’s sake,’ Eva pleaded with her, ‘he’s forty if he’s a day.’ ‘Forty’s not too old to fight.’ ‘Grace, please!’ But she was off. The gentleman was, Eva guessed, not particularly wealthy. His coat was too long for the heat, his briefcase a little battered. Perhaps a commercial traveller down on his luck. Or maybe even a teacher. But Grace didn’t care. She marched up to the man and declaimed in a clear, high-pitched voice, ‘I hereby bestow on you this white feather for your cowardice in refusing to fight in the war. God save the King!’ The man looked at her as if she were speaking Portuguese. ‘What? … What?’ But Grace was so quick that by the time he was aware of what had happened, she had already pinned the white feather in his lapel. A few other women walking past noticed and began to titter. The man glanced around, a trapped look on his face. Now the women were chanting, ‘Fight, fight, fight …’ while Grace folded her arms with a smile, watching her new allies. On they went, inexorable, relentless. Something inside the man broke. He bent his head and shuffled away around the corner, his sunny demeanour of a few moments before quite gone. Catherine watched him go with satisfaction. ‘Ten to one he’ll enlist first thing tomorrow.’ The Tube ride home was cheerless. Even with the windows open, the carriages stank of armpits and underclothes. Nearly every station had notices saying ‘Join the Army – You Will Like It – The Kaiser Won’t’. Eva felt soiled by what she had witnessed. She had let that poor man walk away, shamed. What would he do that evening? Would he go home to his wife and children and tell them he had no choice but to enlist, that some thoughtless bitch had taken it upon herself to present him with a white feather? The whole business felt deeply, dreadfully wrong. The only consolation was the certainty that she would never consider doing such a thing herself. Where to Purchase Universal Buy Link HERE Meet the Author
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Thanks so much for hosting Susan Lanigan today, with such a moving excerpt from White Feathers.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
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