Wayward Winds

by Michael Phillips

He stood aside and let them through the wide doorway. Christabel led the way into the exhibit hall. Amanda and the others followed. Amanda detected a glint in Christabel’s eye. Other things than ancient porcelain were apparently on her mind. A subtle motion of her head gave a signal to her sister and the others.

  The five immediately spread out through the room.

  As the strange tour of the porcelain exhibit was in progress, in another part of London little groups of women, all carrying oversized purses and bags, nonchalantly drifted along Piccadilly and the Haymarket. Suddenly out came hammers and stones. Within seconds the whole area resounded with the tinkling and smashing of broken plate-glass windows. No sooner had the police rushed to the scene and rounded up the expensively dressed hoodlums than a similar outbreak began against the glass in the Strand and along Regent Street. Once more arrests were made. Then along Bond Street and in Oxford Circus dozens more windows came falling in.

  Still not divining her danger, Amanda strolled casually about the exhibit, looking at the unusual shapes and designs and the exquisitely colorfully painted displays.

  Suddenly a crash sounded behind her.

  Amanda’s heart leapt into her throat. All at once the horror closed in upon her of what she had not wanted to allow herself to suspect. She turned to see Christabel standing beside an empty pedestal, whose former contents now lay on the tile floor shattered in a thousand pieces. Her eyes shone with the fire of triumph.

  “Christabel, be careful!” cried Amanda. “We’ll be—”

  Whatever words had been on Amanda’s lips never left them. The next instant another great shattering crash echoed from the opposite side of the room. Amanda spun around, this time to see Sylvia, face aglow, with the fragments of a large vase still bouncing and sliding across the floor where she had thrown it.

  Suddenly the purpose of the entire affair was clear!

  Throughout the room now echoed the shattering of a dozen priceless artifacts, mingled with the guard’s angry voice as he ran into the room.

  Shouts of “Votes for women!” and “End male domination!” sounded along with continuing wreckage.

  “Stop,” cried Amanda in horror. “Sylvia, Christabel—”

  But her voice could not be heard in the pandemonium. “Suffrage for women!” screamed one of the women, amid continuous crashing and breakage.

  Whistles filled the air. The pounding feet of more guards hurried to the scene.

  At the opposite side of the room from the two Pankhursts, Amanda crept behind a huge oak display case and hid.

  Three more guards now ran in, then two more. Lumbering across to join their colleague in his attempts to subdue the wild women, none saw Amanda where she had taken refuge.

  Suddenly the way to the door was clear. She darted from behind the case and slipped noiselessly from the room.

  She glanced back and forth. All the guards seemed to be in the exhibit hall. Shouting and yelling and arguing came from inside.

  Suddenly she was running . . . running down the corridor away from the scene, terrified that any moment she would hear sounds of pursuit behind her.

  Amanda flew down the stairs, reaching the landing of the floor below.

  She slowed and took in two or three deep breaths, then continued toward the right, then along the wide entryway into a hall of tapestries, where people were milling about.

  A guard . . . he must be looking at her! She walked slowly through the room, trying to blend in, pretending to be interested in the priceless hangings.

  Her eye spotted a washroom.

  She walked toward it, forcing herself to move slowly. A minute later she was safely inside. She moistened a handkerchief with cold water and wiped her face and neck, trying to compose herself.

  But she couldn’t delay. She had to get out and away before the search from upstairs involved the entire museum.

  Amanda exited the washroom, glancing about, then left the room of tapestries. She found the next stairway, continued down to the ground floor, and made her way as quickly as she dared outside.

  The cool afternoon breeze felt wonderful on her face!

  She drew deep breaths into her lungs, trying to steady her nerves, then walked along the street away from the museum as quickly as seemed safe. When she was far enough that she dared, she broke into a run.

  Amanda ran and ran until exhaustion compelled her to stop. In the distance she heard the sound of police sirens and whistles.

  She stopped and turned into an alley. There she waited in the cool darkness of the shadow of the great brick building. The sounds grew louder. Three police cars screamed past. She waited several minutes more, then crept out of the shadows and made her way again along the sidewalk.

  Turning several more corners, when she was certain she was out of danger, she began running again. She ran for several blocks, until she came to a small wooded park. She turned in, found a bench, and sat down.

  At last fatigue overtook her. She would wait here awhile, until she could decide what to do. She had been involved with the Pankhursts for over three years now. Why she was so shocked by what had just happened she didn’t know exactly. Was it because this went further than anything they had done till now?

  Even as Amanda sat reflective and alone, throughout the West End of London the cost of the destruction was mounting into the multiple thousands of pounds. The well-known business establishments of Swears and Wells, Hope Brothers, Cooks, Swan and Edgar, Marshall and Snelgrove, and many others were assaulted by the hammers and stones of the suffragettes. Emmeline Pankhurst herself, with two of her associates, had managed to hurl four stones from a taxi through the prime minister’s windows in Downing Street, before making a temporary getaway.

  60

  Argument

  When Amanda Rutherford approached the Pankhurst house, still her home in London, a few minutes before six, it was with a cautious step. She had paid the cab and had been let out three blocks away in case trouble might have followed them from the museum. As she approached, however, she saw no sign of the police.

  She walked inside. Most of the women from that morning had gathered again. All were obviously in high and exuberant spirits.

  “Amanda!” she heard her name called out. “You’re safe . . . Amanda dear, we were worried about you!—Amanda’s back, everyone!”

  A general hubbub broke out as the women clustered about, asking a dozen questions at once. It soon became clear that she was the only one to yet return from the museum. Briefly she recounted what had happened.

  “A triumph!” exclaimed Emmeline. “After everything else—to disrupt the prized new exhibit at the British Museum. The day could not have gone off more perfectly according to our plans!”

  “What plans?” said Amanda. “Do you mean there was more?”

  “More! Why, Amanda dear, the whole city is in an uproar over what we have achieved today.—Is that not right, ladies?”

  Laughter and general celebration broke out again.

  “The police will no doubt be here for me within the hour,” continued Mrs. Pankhurst. “Once again it seems I will join my daughters on a new hunger strike for the cause!”

  She laughed, as if anticipating the experience as an adventure.

  “Why—what did you do that will bring the police?” asked Amanda.

  “Nothing more than set off a small bomb in the middle of Trafalgar Square,” laughed Emmeline.

  “You should have seen the people running for their lives!” cried one. “There were cries of being attacked by the Austrians!”

  “And I only returned a few minutes ago from Downing Street,” laughed Emmeline.

  “You had a meeting with the prime minister?”

  “Not exactly, my dear. I sent four rocks through his window!”

  Now the rest of the women began boasting of their various exploits of the day throughout the many parts of the city.

  “We cut the main telephone wires between the city and Chelsea!” cried Mrs. Tuke. “It will be
weeks before the telephones are all working again!”

  “We incited a crowd of women in Westminster to throw stones over the fence toward the Houses of Parliament!” added Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson. “Several windows were broken.”

  Amanda suddenly felt as though a nightmare was closing in around her. Was this what she had come to London for, breaking the law, violence, and bombs!

  “But, Emmeline,” Amanda cried, “this is all horrifying! What kind of people would do such things?”

  “Amanda, dear—what do you mean? There is no other way to make people listen. Our speeches and leaflets have changed nothing. The Conciliation Bill is going nowhere. We must force them to stand up and take notice.”

  “But . . . bombs, Emmeline! Destruction of property. These things are criminal. I thought we were trying to get the vote for the good of the country, for the good of society, for the good of women. What does it accomplish if we have to break the law to achieve that good?”

  “We will do whatever it takes,” rejoined Mrs. Pankhurst, suddenly sounding very determined. It was obvious she was not appreciative of Amanda’s challenging words in front of her troops.

  The room grew suddenly quiet. The other women listened to the argument between the renowned leader of the women’s movement and one of her protégées, grown suddenly full of hostile questions.

  “What about people? What about loyalty?” said Amanda. “Where do they come into your plans?”

  “I have no idea what you mean, Amanda.”

  “Don’t you understand—they lied. They used me.”

  “Who?”

  “Sylvia and Christabel.”

  “Men have been using us for centuries, Amanda. It is time the women of the world redressed that.”

  “But I am not a man. I thought we were friends. They used me and lied to the guard at the museum.”

  “Whatever is necessary for the cause, that we will do.”

  “I did not intend to be a pawn in your game!” shouted Amanda.

  “It is no game, Amanda. It is a cause.”

  “I have been willing to help. But you left me in the dark, and then just used my name.”

  “It is your cause as well as ours.”

  “Suddenly I’m not so sure it is!”

  Frustrated, angry, confused, Amanda turned and ran from the house, slamming the door behind her.

  61

  Confusion

  Down the sidewalk and away from the Pankhursts Amanda ran, heedless of how disheveled she looked, heedless of direction, heedless even of the hot tears running down her face.

  How could everything have gone wrong so suddenly? It was a nightmare come true.

  Where she ran, where her steps took her over the next hour, she could never recall. She vaguely remembered taking a cab to Cousin Martha’s house, thinking to seek refuge there. But as she approached the gate, something checked her steps. Somehow she could not endure the humiliation of facing them. Perhaps it was the realization that word of her predicament could not help but get back to her parents.

  She turned and walked away, and again walked and walked, where she did not know. It was getting late, but she was not paying attention to time.

  When next she came to herself, she found herself standing in front of the Daily Mail building. Whether she had arrived on foot or had hired a cab, she did not know. She stood several moments staring up at the imposing structure, then walked into the building. By now she did not care what people thought. Let them stare. She had nowhere else to go.

  She asked the receptionist if Mr. Halifax was still here at the late hour. The woman replied that she thought he was, then pointed Amanda toward the stairs where, up two flights, she would find the world editorial department.

  The moment Halifax saw her he knew something was seriously wrong. Amanda had determined to maintain her composure and not cry, but he could see trouble written over every inch of her face. Quickly he excused himself from conversation and led Amanda to a room where they could be alone.

  “Amanda, what in the world has happened?” he said the moment the door was closed. He gestured toward a chair. “You haven’t been involved in what’s been going on all over London?”

  Amanda nodded as she sat down.

  Ramsay sighed, and now sat down opposite her with serious expression.

  Amanda took a breath and tried to be stoic. “I’m sorry to bother you here, Ramsay,” she said, “but . . . but I didn’t know where to turn.”

  “No trouble, Amanda,” replied Ramsay. “You should have come to me. Tell me what happened.”

  Briefly she recounted the day’s events at the museum, followed by her blow-up with Mrs. Pankhurst.

  The journalist took the information in with interest. His expression grew yet more somber.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I hardly think I will be welcome at the Pankhursts again. Although they will probably all be in jail before tonight, if what Mrs. Pankhurst said is true.”

  “Believe me, it is true,” replied Halifax. “The whole city’s abuzz. Our tomorrow’s edition will have the Pankhursts and their dirty tricks all over the front page. That’s why everyone’s here so late. The police are looking for her now. They’re reported to have Sylvia and Christabel in custody, but I’ve heard nothing to confirm it.”

  “I suppose I could go back to the house,” said Amanda. “I have a key, and who knows, maybe by now there is no one there but a servant or two.”

  The journalist was silent another moment, thinking to himself.

  “From what you’ve told me,” he said at length, “you may not be safe there. Your name has come up a time or two around here today, although I let on nothing.”

  “Come up—how do you mean?” said Amanda.

  “The police are looking for you too. That’s big news that the daughter of Sir Charles Rutherford was involved in the museum incident, and was the only one to escape without apprehension.”

  “Oh, Ramsay, what am I going to do!”

  “I thought jail was an honor for you suffragettes.”

  “The rest may think it so, but I’ve about had my fill of jail and the whole movement altogether. I’m frightened, Ramsay. What they did today was the worst by far.”

  “That’s why the news is full of it. Your colleagues upped the stakes considerably today.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  Again he thought.

  “Hmm . . . it’s a risk,” he said, “but I think she’ll go along. It will give us overnight to think of what should be done.”

  “Go along—who?”

  “You go back downstairs, Amanda,” he said. “I just need to wrap something up here briefly. I’ll meet you down on the street. I’m taking you to my mother’s for the night.”

  62

  What to Do

  It was not until she arrived at the home of Ramsay’s mother that Amanda began to grow conscious of her appearance. Mrs. Halifax and Mrs. Thorndike were seated in the drawing room. They rose when the two young people entered.

  Ramsay explained briefly what had happened, that Amanda had had a falling out with the Pankhursts and needed a place to stay for the night.

  “Heavens . . . such a frightful business,” said Mrs. Thorndike, shocked to learn that Amanda was involved with such people as the Pankhursts.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” said Mrs. Halifax. “We will have you bathed and in a fresh dress, and you will feel much better before you know it.”

  Amanda was not inclined to argue. She was too exhausted mentally and physically. After what she had been through today, she was willing to do whatever anyone told her.

  “Amanda,” said Ramsay, “I’m going to go back to the office, then maybe down to the police station. I want to see if I can find out anything.”

  He saw the look of alarm that passed across Amanda’s face.

  “Don’t worry,” he went on quickly. “I won’t tell anyone you’re with me. But we have t
o be careful. I want to learn how serious is the situation. It may be that you will have to turn yourself in tomorrow.”

  “You cannot be serious, Ramsay,” interposed his mother.

  “I simply want to know where things stand,” he replied. “We cannot turn your house into a refuge for suffragette fugitives, or the police would be around here just like they are the Pankhurst place.”

  Mrs. Halifax nodded soberly. She knew the necessity for avoiding such a development even better than her son.

  “Don’t worry,” Ramsay went on, “I have no intention of placing Amanda in harm. We simply must be prudent.”

  He turned and left the house. The moment he was gone, the two ladies busied themselves getting Amanda bathed, dressed, and fed.

  As the evening progressed and dusk began to fall, Amanda could not prevent misgivings creeping in. She had never noticed it before now, but being in Mrs. Halifax’s home made her realize that she was a little afraid of Ramsay’s mother.

  This arrangement wasn’t really proper anyway, staying in the home of an unmarried man. It would be far more seemly to go to Cousin Martha’s.

  And yet . . . she might be in trouble with the police—serious trouble. And Ramsay was the only one who could help her. She had to stay here.

  What am I worried about? she said to herself. She could trust Ramsay. He would let no danger come to her.

  Ramsay returned at half past nine. The four sat down at the table, and as he partook of a modest tea, Ramsay gave his report.

  “The situation is serious, as I suspected,” he said. “Besides the incident at the museum and the bomb at Trafalgar Square, there were telephone lines cut, hundreds of windows broken in the business districts, and tar put in the mailboxes of many M.P.s. It is clear to the police that Mrs. Pankhurst has changed her tactics.”

  “What about Amanda—is she in danger?” asked Mrs. Thorndike.

  “To a degree—yes,” replied Ramsay. “The guard at the museum reported what happened and that he let the women into the exhibit on the basis of Miss Rutherford’s request. They are looking for Amanda. But it has not yet come to the point of a warrant being issued for her arrest. The bomb at Trafalgar is more serious, though no one was injured. The fact that they presently have Mrs. Pankhurst in custody makes the police less inclined to press the matter with Amanda.”