Uncle Eb wiped his moustache with his napkin and peered at his niece as if she was a strange animal from a faraway country.

‘You’re not one of them suffragists, are you?’ he said warily.

Margaret watched in trepidation. Whenever Annie started to argue with their father at home, she found herself in a state of horrible tension. She had never found the strength to take issue with him herself, not just because she was timid, but out of fear of wounding his feelings. She knew that her father was not a happy man.

And whenever they had tried to discuss women having the vote at home, this never developed very far because however much Annie argued, Father wasn’t having it. Women were of course equal in the sight of God, but a woman in a loving and godly marriage did not require the vote.

‘Husband and wife are at one in marriage,’ he would pronounce. ‘There is no need for a woman to have a separate vote when her will is that of her husband’s.’

‘But what about all the women who aren’t married?’ Annie objected on one occasion.

William Hanson looked disconcerted, as if they were a category of people that until this moment he had barely considered.

‘Likewise – there is no call for it. There are enough men to decide the politics of the nation without women having to trammel themselves in it. Women have enough toil of their own.’

‘Yes,’ Annie announced now to Uncle Eb. ‘I suppose I am a suffragist. Why should women not vote like men do? We are their equal in intellect and energy. And in some things, I’d say more than equal – certainly doing work that demands the same effort and intelligence. After all, look at the way Aunt Hatt runs the office here!’

Margaret was horrified. Uncle Eb looked stunned, wounded even.

‘But –’ He turned to his wife. ‘You wouldn’t want the vote, would you, Hatt?’

Margaret waited to see what her aunt would say. In the scarce times when her mind was not on the business, Aunt Hatt’s main preoccupations were her clothes, the cleanliness of her house and her dreams of furnishing the new one in Handsworth. After the Hanson household, where most conversations turned upon the will and urgent mission of God, she found Aunt Hatt rather restful. It seemed shameful to admit this, though.

Aunt Harriet looked doubtful. ‘Well – to tell you the truth, I’ve never given it a lot of thought. I mean, I have quite enough to do . . .’ She frowned, glanced at her husband, then said uncertainly, ‘No – I don’t suppose so. Not really.’