Misery surrounded Kirsty as she flung herself on to the bed and lapsed into a crying fit. Bea sat beside her. Not knowing what else to do, she laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder to offer comfort and human connection. Eventually, as Bea made soothing noises, Kirsty’s sobs subsided, and she raised her head again.
‘I have no freedom. They won’t let me out of their sight because they don’t trust me. They blame me for bringing disgrace on the family. They think what happened to me that night was my fault when it wasn’t. Why can’t they understand I could never allow that to happen to me again?’
‘I’m sorry, Kirsty. I should have taken better care of you.’
‘I know whose fault it was, Aunt Bea. It wasn’t your fault, nor was it mine. But try to get Mama and Papa to understand that? It’s a hopeless task.’
Bea pulled Kirsty into her arms.
‘The pain will lessen, Kirsty. You need to give it time.’ Bea wasn’t entirely convinced she was right. She’d never had a child, but she could imagine what it must feel like to give birth and then have your baby taken away. It must be worse than a bereavement, especially with a constant reminder.
‘You know, Aunt Bea, while I was in Dundee this afternoon, I felt alive again. But that only made me realise how unhappy I’ve been. Watching Mama and Papa take over Ailsa’s care since she was born . . . it’s as if something died inside of me.’
‘I can understand that. I can also understand you want to live again and to do that you feel the need to be away from Ailsa.’
‘But that will never happen. They’ll never allow me to leave home.’
‘Leave it to me, Kirsty. I’m going to suggest to your parents that you come to visit me, and we can make sure the visit is an extended one.’
‘You would do that for me?’ Kirsty’s face brightened.
‘Of course. You’re my favourite niece, after all.’ Bea smiled as she patted Kirsty’s hand. ‘Now, you get some rest and I’ll sort things out.’
* * *
The flicker of hope fluttering inside Kirsty at the thought she might live with Aunt Bea deserted her once her aunt left the room. While her mother might agree, persuading her father would be a nigh-on impossible task. Papa was set in his ways and intent on ensuring his daughter behaved in a way he felt was fitting to his status. He wouldn’t want her to live anywhere away from his influence.
Kirsty’s shoulders slumped. It was hopeless; he would never agree to Aunt Bea’s proposal. She stared at the empty fireplace where no fire burned, and no vestige of ash remained. It seemed as dead as her heart.
Music drifted up to her window, reminding her she should be outside, mingling with her mother’s guests, presenting herself as the perfect daughter in an idyllic family. No doubt her father would call her to task when he arrived home, but she didn’t care. At least he wouldn’t shout; that wasn’t his style. He would be polite, perhaps sarcastic, but he would leave her in no doubt about his displeasure.
Kirsty sat still for a long time, staring into the fireplace, allowing her thoughts to drift and her resentment to increase. At some point, the music outside stopped and the voices died away, but she didn’t notice. When the summons came, ordering her to come downstairs because her father desired her presence, she had no comprehension of the passage of time.
Refusal was the first thought that crossed her mind. Why should she do what her father demanded? But she had obeyed her father all her life, and the habit was difficult to shake. Besides, the request came from Aunt Bea, and she didn’t want to disappoint her.
‘I’ve talked to your father and mother.’ Aunt Bea handed Kirsty a hairbrush. ‘You might want to tidy your hair – it’s all mussed.’
Kirsty rose and walked to the vanity dresser, peered into the mirror and brushed her hair back from her face.
‘Will I do?’ Anxiety overcame her. ‘Is Papa very angry?’
‘You look lovely.’ Her aunt smiled, taking the hairbrush from Kirsty and replacing it on the dresser. ‘The best way for you to respond to your father is to forget your resentment, be calm, and act like an adult. Show him you have a sense of responsibility.’
‘Has he agreed?’
‘Yes, Kirsty, he has agreed. Now you have to convince him he hasn’t made a mistake.’
Bea took her niece’s arm and they walked downstairs together.
Kirsty paused at the door of the lounge, taking a deep breath.
‘Are you ready?’ Bea nodded her approval and pushed open the door.
Kirsty’s mother was seated in an armchair and her father stood in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘Ah, there you are, Kirsty,’ he said. ‘I understand from your mother you have been suffering from anxiety over the past few days. We have arranged for you to visit your aunt for a time, to allow you to rest and recover.’
Kirsty nodded, unable to speak.
‘I am not too happy with this arrangement. But your mother and aunt think you need a holiday, and your aunt has kindly agreed to allow you to reside with her in Dundee until you are more rested. However, you are no longer a child and you will do nothing to bring shame or disgrace on this family. Do you understand, Kirsty? You will, at all times, act with propriety and you must remember your position in Dundee society as my daughter.’
‘Yes, Papa.’ Kirsty wondered if she should say more but decided against it. Far better to agree.
‘I am putting my trust in you, Kirsty. I hope you will not disappoint me.’
‘I won’t. I promise, Papa.’
Her mother rose from her chair and wrapped her arms around Kirsty.
‘I will miss you,’ she said. ‘But I hope this will give you a chance for your mind to recover. I hope you find peace.’
Tears pricked the back Kirsty’s eyelids. Her mother’s arms around her made her feel safe and wanted. But this was no time to regret her decision to gain independence. She couldn’t stay a child in her mother’s arms forever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ethel tried to suppress her excitement as she and Martha hurried along the street to join the demonstration. Tuesday’s gathering, listening to Christabel Pankhurst, had been inspirational. Tonight, though, was different. This was a political meeting for men only. Winston Churchill had been voted in as Dundee’s parliamentary representative in May and he was here to address his constituency.
They joined a group of women standing in front of the Kinnaird Hall. Three stewards stood at the doors, trying to prevent them from entering. The women, not to be thwarted, pushed and jostled, forcing the stewards to spread their arms to form a barricade.
‘I’m sorry, ladies. This meeting’s for men only.’
‘We’re entitled to attend meetings.’ One woman at the front squared her shoulders as if to prepare for a fight.
‘That may be so,’ the steward replied. ‘But the ladies’ meeting was this afternoon, so we haven’t prevented you from hearing Mr Churchill speak.’
‘Some of us couldn’t attend this afternoon, and we wish to hear what our member of parliament has to say.’
‘Makes no difference,’ the steward in the middle said. ‘You have to leave, otherwise, I’ll be obliged to call our security guards and the police.’
A raucous laugh erupted from one woman.
‘They’d like that, so they would. Give them a chance to rough us up again and put their hands where no respectable man would dare.’
Laughter echoed through the rest of the crowd, though several women looked a trifle embarrassed at the coarseness of the woman’s speech.
Ethel tugged on Martha’s arm.
‘Will we force our way into the hall?’
‘We could but what good would it do? They’d throw us out again. I’ve no doubt men with truncheons are waiting at the other side of the door, and they’d love to leave us with sore heads. And anyway, we wouldn’t get much sympathy for the cause because they held a women’s meeting this afternoon.’
‘Were you there? At t
he meeting this afternoon?’
A rueful smile twitched at the corners of Martha’s mouth.
‘Oh, yes. I was there. Got thrown out within the first half-hour and they were none too gentle about it.’
‘Were you hurt?’ Ethel’s eyes widened.
‘No more than usual,’ Martha replied. ‘You get used to it.’
‘What did you do to make them throw you out?’
‘Asked a question. I wanted to know what Mr Churchill’s plans were in relation to women’s suffrage. They don’t like that because we all know he is not in favour of women having the vote.’
‘Do you think we’ll ever get the vote?’
‘If we do nothing, it’ll never happen. Our job is to make ourselves visible, let the people in power know we won’t give up. Most of all, we need to work on them to change their minds. Convince them that as women and taxpayers, we are entitled to vote and have issues affecting women discussed in parliament.’
Martha reached into the satchel hanging from her shoulder, pulled out a batch of leaflets, and thrust them into Ethel’s hands.
‘We make a start by giving everyone who attends the meeting one of these. Not everyone will want to take them, but if we can persuade even a few of the men who attend the meeting tonight, that will count as a success.’
More suffragettes arrived, some of them carrying banners, others handing out leaflets, and yet others haranguing the men arriving for the meeting. With a few exceptions, it was a good-natured demonstration, although many of the men aimed derogatory remarks in their direction.
Ethel continued to hand out leaflets although her arm ached, and she was sure a bruise was forming where the toff with the cane had landed a vicious blow.
‘You’re a disgrace to womanhood,’ he’d snapped as he lashed out.
She’d wanted to give him the rough side of her tongue, but she’d smiled instead.
‘And you, sir, are a credit to your station in life,’ she’d responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
With a glare and a snort in her direction, he’d hurried into the hall. However, he’d been the exception. Most of the men had either accepted a leaflet or shaken their heads and she was pleased with her contribution to the suffrage cause.
After the last of the men entered the hall there was a lull; the women formed groups and chatted. But it wasn’t long before the doors opened again, and the stewards hurled a woman out on to the street. She landed with a thump in the road and lay there for a moment before struggling to her feet.
Martha, followed by several of the women, rushed to her side and helped her up.
‘Did they hurt you?’
‘Ask a daft question,’ the young woman said. ‘What do you think?’ She brushed at her skirt, but it remained soiled. ‘Lost my best hat in there. Don’t suppose I’ll get it back.’
Martha laughed.
‘I’m sure the funds will help you get another one. But never mind the hat. How did our plan work?’
Ethel hovered behind the group gathering around the woman. Was she the only one who didn’t know what was going on?
‘It worked beautifully, and I scattered leaflets throughout the hall as I lowered myself from the skylight. But as soon as I got within reach of the stewards, they grabbed me.’
A buzz rippled through the women. Some congratulated her and some expressed admiration. Several voices shot questions at her.
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘How did it feel dangling from a rope?’
‘What if the rope broke?’
The questions and comments continued, but the young woman shrugged them off with a laugh.
Ethel pushed to the front of the group when Martha beckoned her.
‘I want you to meet Gladys Burnett. She’s just invaded the men’s meeting by lowering herself on a rope from the skylight. I’m sure the Dundee Courier will give it prominent positioning in tomorrow’s paper.’
Gladys turned to appraise Ethel. Her eyes were sharp but kind.
‘New recruit, Martha?’
‘Yes. Ethel’s keen to support the cause. I believe she’s capable of great things.’
Heat warmed Ethel’s cheeks.
‘Martha always has good judgement.’ Gladys turned to Ethel and smiled. ‘Welcome to the sisterhood.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Ethel grasped the hand Gladys offered her. Few people wanted to shake a mill girl’s hand, and she was still adjusting to these interactions with, as she considered them, her betters.
The meeting broke up an hour later and it gave them another chance to push leaflets into the hands of men emerging from the building. Apart from some ribald comments and pamphlets thrown back at them, it went without a hitch, although Ethel made certain she stayed well clear of the toff with the cane. One thump from that was enough for one night.
As the street quietened, the women dispersed. In small and larger groups, they left the front of the Kinnaird Hall to walk along the road. Excitement hung over them and Ethel could hear the buzz of voices as they left.
‘We’ll hang back and wait for Gladys,’ Martha whispered to Ethel. ‘She’s talking to the reporter from the Dundee Courier.’
Ethel sneaked a glance at the man talking to Gladys. He was tall and good looking, and younger than she imagined a reporter should be. After a few moments, he shook Gladys’s hand, tucked his notebook and pencil in his pocket, and lifted his hat in a farewell gesture.
‘Did he say whether it will be in tomorrow’s newspaper?’ Martha asked when Gladys rejoined them.
‘He’s going to give it top billing.’ Gladys grinned. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Come back to the house with us – you can tell me all about it. And I’m sure Ethel will be interested in your other exploits.’
It was midnight when Gladys eventually left.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said when Martha suggested they walk her home. ‘It’s only a few streets away and there won’t be anyone around at this time of night.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Martha’s voice was hesitant.
‘Of course, I’m sure. I can look after myself.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Martha responded warmly and hugged Gladys. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
* * *
Outside, the hollow sound of Gladys’s footsteps broke the silence as they echoed along the deserted streets. Perhaps she should have accepted Martha’s offer to accompany her home. But that was silly. She’d walked these streets at all times of the night and day before and thought nothing of it. Tonight, however, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that all was not right.
The streetlight which lit the steps to her front door and allowed her to see the keyhole was in darkness. It was while she was fumbling with her key that the noose slipped around her neck.
‘Thought you were clever tonight, didn’t you?’ The whisper sounded sibilant in the darkness.
Gladys dropped her key and tore at the scarf tightening around her neck.
‘Not so clever now.’ The sinister whisper was the last thing she heard as she slumped to the ground.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, 26th June 1908
Martha hurried downstairs, eager to get to the WFL office so she could inspect the Dundee Courier for any mention of last night’s meeting. The reporter had promised Gladys he would write an editorial on her invasion of the Kinnaird Hall and Martha was impatient to see it.
Lila Clunas and Florence Dakers were already in the office when she entered.
‘I’ve brought the Courier.’ She threw the newspaper on to the counter and spread it open. ‘It’s in the Stop Press bit – I suppose it went in too late for the main pages. See, here it is, “Suffragette Invades Churchill’s Meeting”. He kept his promise,’ she said. ‘Gladys will be pleased.’
Lila rummaged in a drawer and brought out a pair of scissors.
‘I’ll pin it on the noticeboard so everyone can see it,’ she said, brandishing the scissors. She snipp
ed around the edges of the editorial and, following a further rummage in the cluttered drawer, she pinned it on the board with a brass tack. She stood back and admired it. ‘We should applaud Gladys. This is bound to bring women’s suffrage to the attention of more people.’
Martha nodded.
‘I’ll put the kettle on and make a pot of tea before we decide what to include in the next news-sheet. Gladys will take pride of place, of course.’
A room led off the main shop-front, and it was here that the women gathered to discuss their plans and share the latest news items. A sink filled the space in front of the rear window, which looked on to Martha’s courtyard and the stairs to her house. A small gas hob sat at one side of the sink and a sideboard at the other. In the centre of the room was a large table and enough chairs to seat several women.
‘Yes, we have a lot to discuss before Sunday’s meeting.’ Lila closed the paper and placed it on the top of the sideboard. ‘Will your new recruit be attending?’
‘Ethel moved into my house at the beginning of the week. I thought it for the best – her home life would have interfered with her wish to work for the cause. Her father, I believe, has a vicious temper.’
‘Is that wise?’ Florence struck a match and held it to the gas ring while Martha poured water into the kettle. Martha replaced the lid and set the kettle on top of the flame.
‘I think so. I have more room in my house than is necessary for one person. Besides, she’s keen and she’ll be company for me.’
‘You have a big heart.’ Florence pulled a chair over to the table.
‘I may have another recruit.’ Martha poured boiling water on to tea leaves inside the teapot and set it aside to brew. ‘I met this young girl, Kirsty Campbell, at the afternoon meeting. She expressed interest, so I’ve invited her to Sunday’s meeting.’
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