Book details:
Book Title: Strait Lace
Series: Loxley Hall Books
Author: Rosemary Hayward
Publication Date: March 8th, 2025
Publisher: Rosemary Hayward
Pages: 400
@RosemaryHaywardAuthor @cathie.dunn1 @thecoffeepotbookclub
@margaretleaving @thecoffeepotbookclub
It is 1905. Edwardian England. Harriet Loxley, the daughter of a vicar and niece to a prominent Nottingham lace manufacturer, spends her days playing cricket with her brother, scouring the countryside for botanical specimens, and never missing an opportunity to argue the case for political power for women. Given the chance to visit the House of Commons, Harriet witnesses the failure of a historic bill for women’s voting rights. She also meets the formidable Pankhurst women.
When Harriet gets the chance to study biology at Bedford College, London, she finds her opportunity to be at the heart of the fight. From marching in the street, to speaking to hostile crowds, to hurling stones through windows, just how far will Harriet go?
The ring of watching wardresses were doing nothing to stop the ball game. Harriet stepped nervously beyond them. Football, the game played by men in factory yards all over the north of England. Could she do this? The women’s hair was flying out of their pins and their faces were flushed red. The game had none of the grace of cricket.
“Go on, twenty-three.” A voice sounded softly behind her. “You won’t often get the chance. Once the governor finds out, he’ll put a stop to it.”
She turned. It was Ainsley, the first time she had seen her since her admission. She nodded, took off her coat and laid it on top of one of the piles that were marking the goals.
Emily Davison ran up close, panting. “You’re on my team. Do what I do.”
The game seemed simple; kick the ball between the other side’s goal posts. Except other people got in the way and some of them could kick the ball along in front of them while running. Harriet was soon hot and out of breath. Emily Davison ran up and down the yard with the zeal of the newly converted. Other women seemed to have played the game before. One was acting as a supervisor, reprimanding, in signs, women who pushed or tripped others, which was apparently not allowed, although frequently done.
Harriet had the ball. There was a clear view of the goal. She kicked hard, and fast, before anyone could get between her and it. The ball flew to the side, well away from her intended target. She bent over, laughing. Who knew kicking a ball straight was this hard? Someone clapped her on the back. There was no talking allowed at exercise time, but who needed it?
The ball was coming her way again. This time, she tried the business of kicking it along in front of her. She got three kicks in before someone came at her, chipped the ball to the side, and ran it back the opposite way. She turned and ran after them, panting. Now, someone on her team had the ball, a young woman with her black hair flying free. She shot past Harriet; the ball obeying every little nudge it was given. She drew back a leg and kicked.
“Goal!”
The young woman’s shout had gone up unthinkingly. Harriet looked round at the wardresses stationed around the perimeter of the yard. They were making no move. Indeed, they appeared to be smiling.
And then the bell rang. Exercise time was over. Women swirled around the piles of clothes, laughing and clapping each other on the back. The young woman with the loose hair winked at Harriet. She grinned back. Emily was pulling on her jacket, sweat running down her face in a manner Harriet would once have believed unladylike, but today seemed empowering, heroic even. She hoped they would be allowed to keep the ball for another day.
A week later, Emily was not at chapel, nor in the yard. By this time, Harriet’s name was known to all the women, and she knew theirs. The opportunities for passing notes and whispering were many; in the washrooms and the slop rooms, at chapel and in the yard, and, for those not confined to their cells, at communal work. The loose-haired young woman slipped her a pencil stub and Harriet soon knew she was Lydia and that she was from Yorkshire and a fustian cutter.From the age of fourteen she had walked the length of bolts of cloth spread on long tables, cutting through the tiny loops of cotton with a sharp blade to create the ridges of corded cloth that was fashioned into working-men’s trousers. She walked miles, day in and day out. It was no wonder she was so fit. Confinement was hard on her.
Through a note Harriet learned that Emily Davison was on hunger strike. Three days later, she heard banging and screams from further along her corridor. She lay on her bed and pulled her pillow over her head, but still a white coat loomed over her and she stared into a pair of nostrils lined with greasy hairs. She muffled a scream of her own.
Four more days to go, Tom. Only four more days.
The wardresses don’t want to do it, Tom. Most of them, at least. They are women who have to work. The doctors? I don’t know. I think they could afford to refuse. I think some of them enjoy it. The women have been usurping their power and they are taking it back.
Why did she do it, Tom? Emily, I mean. We got the concessions we wanted.
They’re singing the Marseillaise throughout the block. It’s a wonderful tune and a powerful declaration of unity, but the words are hateful, filled with violence and gore pour la gloire et la patrie. I’m starting to hate the sound of it.
Rosemary Hayward is the author of Margaret Leaving, a historical mystery uncovering little known events that occurred in the immediate aftermath to World War II. She is also the creator of Your Next Book, a deeply nerdy monthly newsletter describing a book picked from her bookshelf, or Kindle.
She is British by birth but now lives part of the year in California and part in southern Spain.
Author Links:
Website: www.rosemaryhayward.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/margaretleaving/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Rosemary-Hayward/author/B06XR7GZR4
Tour hosted by: The Coffee Pot Book Club
Thank you so much for hosting Rosemary Hayward today, with an enticing excerpt from her new novel, Strait Lace. Take care, Cathie xx The Coffee Pot Book Club