‘Why do you think Archie keeps coming here?’ Martha watched him as he sauntered along the street.
‘That’s obvious,’ Lila said. ‘He’s attracted to you. Hadn’t you noticed?’
‘I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Besides, he’s married to Constance,’ Martha snapped, feeling unsettled and annoyed. ‘I’m off to hand out leaflets.’
She gathered up a bundle and left the office as the first group of volunteers arrived. Lila would have her hands full preparing them for the demonstrations today but, despite a brief pang of guilt at leaving Lila to do it all, she walked to the city centre to distribute the leaflets.
She enjoyed her job as an organiser for the Women’s Freedom League and she liked Dundee. The women here were warm and friendly, though the men were more aggressive. However, that was nothing out of the ordinary because men, in general, resented the suffragettes who aroused violent emotions and reactions from them. Educated men were always the worst because of their own unrecognised fear that women might question the God-given right men had to wield authority over them and change the order of society.
Martha had been fortunate. Her family had never treated the female members any differently from the males. She had been brought up to regard male dominance of women as something to be detested. Unfortunately, many women accepted this dominance as normal having been subservient, first to a father, then to a husband. Martha’s mission in life was to educate as many women as possible into believing they didn’t have to accept this state of affairs; women had rights. Her involvement in the WFL allowed her a free rein to do this, and she took pride in recruiting as many women as possible to the cause.
She smiled as she handed out leaflets and it pleased her when a woman took time to read what she’d pressed into her hand, frowning ever so slightly when it was screwed up and thrown away. Sometimes, she thought leaflets did no good, although every little thing helped. She was good at the small things but, with something bigger, she was a failure.
Martha never forgot that she’d been tested and found wanting. Oh, she’d done all the things that suffragettes were supposed to do. She’d demonstrated in London, broken her share of shop windows, been thrown out of meetings. Once, she even tried to get into Buckingham Palace to present a petition to the King. She didn’t get anywhere near him, but it generated a fair bit of publicity.
Where she had failed was prison. She’d been proud when they arrested her. It had been the apogee of her career as a suffragette. She had held her head high in court and been offensive to the magistrate, who’d responded by sending her to Holloway Prison along with Mary Phillips and Annot Robinson.
Martha could have coped with prison if it hadn’t been for the hunger strike and forcible feeding. But she couldn’t tolerate the tubes and the savagery of the prison staff, so she’d given up. The Women’s Freedom League didn’t hold it against her, though she knew if she had been in the WSPU, the Pankhursts would have taken a different view. Still, she felt it was a failure and she had never stopped trying to make up for it.
‘Leaflet, madam.’ She thrust a leaflet into the hand of a stylishly dressed lady who looked at it in disgust and pushed it back at her. Martha sighed. It was time she went to the meeting. With luck, she’d be thrown out and spark more publicity for the cause.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kirsty lifted her skirts to run across the grass. The house had become oppressive. She needed to escape, and there was only one place to go. The gazebo stood at the end of the lawn, within sight of the house but far enough away to offer privacy. It had always been where Kirsty hid when she needed a quiet place to think; she longed for that now.
She sat, leaning her head against the wooden panels, and looked over at the distant river. A sailing ship drifted seawards on the outgoing tide, a whaler off to the Arctic, perhaps. She envied the men on board, able to go anywhere they wanted; they didn’t have to fight for their freedom.
From her vantage point, she could see most of Broughty Ferry. The streets, busy with passers-by, looking more like ants from this distance, horses pulling their carts, a few cars, and a train chuffing and puffing its way out of the station, bound for Dundee. It appeared to Kirsty that everyone in the world had more freedom than she did. She pressed her lips together in annoyance. It was time she asserted herself, but before that, she had to decide what to do about Ailsa.
Meggie’s words still echoed in her mind: ‘Kirsty’s bastard.’ It would tear her apart if that were how her daughter came to be known. But it would also break her heart to deny her.
A peacock strutted past the gazebo, stopping to fan out his tail-feathers in a colourful display of eyes. It reminded Kirsty of all the eyes that watched her and how many more there would be if the truth about Ailsa became known.
She couldn’t hurt her daughter. She would have to leave, maybe not now but some time in the future, when she was financially independent. She groaned. The money her parents gave her wasn’t enough for her to live on. If she were to survive on her own, she would have to find some way of earning it. But her father was right – there was nothing she was qualified to do.
In any case, the world frightened her. Everything she had ever done involved her family. How would she survive on her own? The peacock screeched. Even he was contemptuous of her ability to win independence, but she determined to assert herself and show them all. Her mouth pursed in a stubborn line. She could begin today and go to the meeting her father had forbidden her to attend. That, at least, would feel like a start. And, when the time came to leave home, she promised herself she would be ready.
The breeze ruffled her hair while she listened to the birds singing in the orchard behind her. The ship in the estuary was moving out of sight now, while the peacock had evidently decided she wasn’t worth bothering about and had moved to a different part of the garden.
Distant sounds, voices and hammering, impinged on the quiet of the afternoon. Strange men scurried about the lawn in front of the house, pulling and pushing at a massive red-and-white-striped, tented structure. Workmen hammered guy-ropes into the ground; it wouldn’t be long before the marquee took shape. It was the preparation for her mother’s garden party.
Kirsty’s mood plummeted. She should be there helping, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She didn’t even want to be in the house while the preparations were going on and she didn’t want to attend the party. A black cloud settled on her. She had to escape. Gathering up her skirts, she slipped out of the gazebo, around the side of the house, up to her bedroom for a wrap and what little money she had, and left without a backward glance.
* * *
Ellen had no time to worry about Kirsty after the men turned up to erect the marquee.
‘We’ll have it at this end of the lawn,’ she had instructed, pointing out the preferred spot. A quick glance told her that Kirsty was still sitting in the gazebo, so she hurried inside to give cook instructions on how she wanted the tables laid out. Everything had to be ready before the guests appeared and she didn’t think she should ask Kirsty for help. The girl might have another outburst; Ellen shuddered at the thought.
Ailsa came running out of the door, her feet skimming across the grass until she crashed into Ellen’s skirts.
‘Mama, Mama!’ the child squealed, her eyes round with wonder. ‘Can I come to the party?’
‘Of course you can, my darling, but it doesn’t start until later.’ Ellen swung the child into her arms. ‘Come and watch the strong men putting up the tent. Isn’t it gay?’ She held Ailsa close to her as they looked at the red-and-white-striped canvas tent, Ellen with critical eyes while Ailsa’s grew even rounder.
‘Will there be ice-cream, Mama? And cakes and jelly and sweets?’
‘All that and more.’
Meggie panted her way towards them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘the little minx ran away from me.’ She held out her arms for Ailsa. ‘Come on, we have to get you cleaned up.’
‘Not dirty.’ Ailsa wriggled.
‘Yes, my love, but what about your pretty dress? The one your mama bought for you. Don’t you want to wear that?’
Ellen watched them return to the house before she continued with her inspection. Once that was done, she would join Kirsty for a short time so they could chat.
She strode towards the gazebo, but Kirsty was no longer there. Neither was she in the orchard nor any other part of the garden. A tiny pang of fear fluttered in Ellen’s breast and she tried to fight it down. Kirsty must be in the house, there was nowhere else she could be. Still, the niggle was there. Kirsty had been strange today, talking about freedom and being cooped up here with nothing to do.
‘Meggie will know where she is,’ Ellen muttered aloud.
But Meggie hadn’t seen Kirsty. Together, they searched the house but there was no sign of her.
‘Where do you think she can be?’ Ellen wailed. ‘She couldn’t have left home. Where would she go?’
‘She’s probably just gone to the town,’ Meggie soothed. ‘She wasn’t looking forward to the party, and she said something about a meeting today.’
‘But her father forbade her to attend it.’ Ellen’s voice held a tone of horror.
‘In the mood she was in,’ Meggie said, ‘that’s probably the reason she’s gone. Don’t worry about her. She’ll be back.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Ellen twisted her handkerchief between her hands. ‘What on earth am I going to tell her father?’
‘She’ll probably be back home before he is, so don’t concern yourself too much,’ Meggie said. ‘Let’s just concentrate on the party.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kirsty sped down the drive, determined to continue on her way even if she were challenged. But the drive was quiet; everyone was busy at the other side of the house. She supposed she should have told her mother what she intended to do, but that didn’t fit in with her mood of defiance and act of rebellion. She would face her parents when she came back. They couldn’t keep her captive any longer, though she had to admit, at times it had been a willing captivity requiring neither lock nor key.
The walk to the railway station was invigorating and her mood soon lifted. She had never travelled alone on a train before, but it couldn’t be too difficult. Other people did it every day. When she got to the station, though, it felt strange and alarming. Men and women bantered with each other on the crowded platform while Kirsty hung back and listened. She had never been part of such a group before and their sidelong glances convinced her they had marked her out as different.
When the train chugged to a stop at the platform, it frightened the life out of her with its puffing and blowing out great clouds of steam, smoke and sparks. She almost regretted not telling her mother and arranging for their carriage to take her to town. She told herself not to be silly. If it was independence she wanted, she’d have to face up to a lot more than this, so she gathered her skirts together and got on the train.
Mama, Aunt Bea or Meggie usually accompanied Kirsty to Dundee, so it was strange being in the town centre on her own. Strange, but exciting. The crowds thronging the pavements were daunting at first, but Kirsty soon became used to them and walked among them as if she had been doing it all her life.
Now and then, she stopped to look in shop windows and even ventured into Draffen and Jarvie’s department store, where she fingered fabrics and considered the latest pattern designs. Maybe Mama would allow her to have more up-to-date fashions the next time the dressmaker called for orders.
It was still early, so she walked to the Queens Hotel in the Nethergate. This was always where Mama went for tea and scones when she was in Dundee. Kirsty had never entered a hotel on her own before and wasn’t sure if that was what ladies did. She inhaled deeply, pasted a confident smile on her face and climbed the stairs to the dining-room, even though her insides were quaking. Several tables were occupied; with her confidence waning a little, she allowed herself to be led to a quiet one in the corner. She peeled off her gloves for, even though it was a warm June day, ladies always wore gloves. The waitress hovered at her side, making her nervous, but she steeled herself.
‘Afternoon tea, please,’ she said, in her best imitation of Mama.
‘Certainly, madam.’ The waitress appeared almost immediately with a three-tier cake stand filled with dainty, triangular sandwiches on the bottom plate; scones, pancakes and muffins on the middle one; and, on the top, the most delightful variety of iced cakes.
Kirsty, feeling independent, poured tea from the silver teapot and helped herself to one of the floury scones for which the Queens Hotel was renowned.
She left the hotel more confident than when she first arrived. With a spring in her step, she walked to Bank Street and the Kinnaird Hall, where the size of the crowd gathered outside astonished her. She hadn’t realised so many women would be interested in attending, but she supposed Winston Churchill was becoming well-known in politics and it wasn’t often he came to speak in Dundee.
As she hovered, uncertain how to proceed, a young woman approached.
‘Is this your first time?’
‘Yes.’ Kirsty nodded. ‘It’s all a bit overwhelming.’
The woman laughed.
‘I suppose it is, but stay with me and I’ll see you get in.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Kirsty said.
‘My name’s Martha.’ She held out a hand and grasped Kirsty’s.
‘I’m Kirsty Campbell.’ Kirsty returned the handshake.
‘Well, Kirsty –’ Martha tucked Kirsty’s arm through her own ‘– just follow me and look demure so we don’t get thrown out before we’re in.’ Martha looked her up and down. ‘I’m wasting my breath. You don’t need to act, just be yourself.’
Martha was a small, dainty woman with dark-gold hair and the most amazing blue eyes. The hat perched on her curls at a jaunty angle was much more fashionable than Kirsty’s own bonnet. Her dress was the latest model, and she carried an exquisite, frilly parasol. But she had a gleam in her eyes that Kirsty couldn’t quite identify and an air of excitement that seemed totally inappropriate for a political meeting.
Despite Martha being smaller than Kirsty, she pushed her way through the crowd with an expertise Kirsty envied. Once inside, she found them two seats near the front of the hall.
‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ Martha said as she settled in her seat. She looked around, waving to a few women in the audience.
‘You know quite a lot of people here,’ Kirsty said.
‘I’ll introduce you to some of them later.’ Martha fell silent as the meeting began.
Kirsty was a bit disappointed with Winston Churchill. She’d thought he would be a man like her father, but he was younger and didn’t have as much presence.
He’d hardly started to speak when Martha stood up.
‘What do you intend to do about the franchise for women?’
Martha’s voice was clear and audible, ringing out and attracting the audience’s attention, making Kirsty think how brave she was. Kirsty would never have dared to stand up or ask a question.
Stewards, who were parading the hall, descended on Martha, pinning her arms behind her and forcing her out of her seat. Martha kicked and screamed and hit out with her parasol as the two burly stewards attempted to twist her arms up her back. One of the men tore the parasol out of her grasp, tossed it on to the floor and then swiped her face with the back of his hand, knocking her hat off. Her hair, escaping from its fastenings, flew all over the place, cascading down her back and flopping over her face. Two more men descended on her and between them, they manhandled her out of the hall, one of them taking the opportunity to rub her breasts with his hands.
Kirsty stared in horror. She’d never seen a woman treated so violently before and it left her shocked, shaken, and at a loss. She wanted to jump up and protest but feared she might receive the same treatment. The thought terrified her. She gripped the wooden arms of her seat, forcing he
r attention back to the speaker while Martha’s hat and parasol lay at her feet, reminding her of the nice young woman who had befriended her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Martha’s face stung from the steward’s vicious slap, but he had her arms pinned behind her back and she couldn’t retaliate.
‘Take your hands off me, you brute.’ Martha struggled, feet flailing toward the men’s shins as they lifted her from her seat in the hall. ‘Beasts, pigs, animals!’ she hissed, as her feet struck flesh. ‘Although that’s an insult to animals.’
‘Ouch!’ The man who uttered the screech twisted Martha’s arm further up her back, making her squeal in pain. ‘Kick me again, and I’ll break your bloody arm.’
‘Oh, come off it, Sid.’ The second man twisted her other arm up her back. ‘We’re only meant to eject them, and if you haven’t learned to keep your legs out of the way of their feet, that’s your lookout.’
‘Too bloody soft for this job, that’s what you are,’ Sid muttered. ‘I’ll be glad when we get this spitting cat outside.’
‘See how these two brave men treat women,’ Martha screamed. Her feet kicked the air with vicious swipes as the two men carried her by the arms out of the hall. They flung her out the door and she tumbled down the steps, landing on her knees in the road. She turned to spit at them, but they grinned at her, dusted their hands and returned to the hall.
‘Are you all right?’ Helen Archdale bent over Martha and helped her to her feet. ‘They threw me out earlier, but they were rougher with you. The stewards who ejected me were gentlemen by comparison.’
Martha winced as she brushed earth from her skirt; her arms and hands stinging from the stones embedded in her scraped skin.
‘It’s the luck of the draw. Anyway, rough handling hurt no one, and it’s all meat for the cause.’ Her arms ached from the pressure of the men’s grip and her breasts were sore, but she was sure nothing was broken. She would have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. She was accustomed to them and it made up for her other failings.
Dangerous Destiny Page 6
