Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  Martha had never been afraid during her forays on behalf of the cause. Not even on the few occasions when she’d travelled to London to join protests. But now, flickers of fear shivered through her when she found herself alone. It was as if a dark cloud hung over her, and she wondered whether it was a warning. A premonition.

  Several times, she caught Kirsty and Ethel looking at her with concern in their eyes, and she resolved to ignore her misgivings. She had no time for such foolishness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sunday, 5th July 1908

  Over the next few days, Kirsty spent several hours working on Amelia’s banner while Ethel continued to learn how to manage the shop.

  ‘Martha thinks I might have the makings of an organiser,’ she confided in Kirsty. ‘Fancy that! Me, an organiser.’ She was wearing her new skirt and blouse, although Kirsty knew Ethel had been embarrassed by the gift.

  ‘You can’t refuse to accept them,’ she’d told Ethel. ‘You’ll offend Martha if you do. Think of it this way – Martha is grooming you to become an organiser, and that means you need to look smart.’

  Once Ethel accepted that she took pride in wearing her new clothes.

  At home, Aunt Bea remained quiet and thoughtful. Kirsty couldn’t fathom whether this signified disapproval of her continued interest in the suffrage cause. She felt she was waiting, anxiously, for the time when her aunt would share those concerns with Kirsty’s parents.

  ‘I worry when you leave the house,’ she told Kirsty.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about. All I do when I go out is meet my friends. Besides, I thought you liked Martha.’

  ‘That is true, but I noticed in the newspaper that a third woman had been found dead in suspicious circumstances. According to the talk on the streets, they were all suffragettes. I would not like to think you were at risk when you leave this house.’

  ‘I’m no more at risk than any other woman in Dundee, and I don’t wear the colours or a sash, so my interest in the cause isn’t obvious.’ Kirsty shrugged off the pang of guilt she felt. She wasn’t as brave as Ethel or Martha, who were open about their commitment.

  ‘It doesn’t stop me worrying.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll restrict my visits to the daytime and spend the evenings with you.’ Kirsty hoped that would mollify her aunt, though she had no intention of staying away from Tuesday’s suffragette meeting in the Kinnaird Hall.

  * * *

  Sunday dawned bright and sunny, and the dark cloud lifted from Martha. She loved the special at-home meetings, and she bustled about the house preparing for the afternoon. Aggie didn’t work on a Sunday, but Martha enjoyed the domesticity of providing for her guests.

  ‘Let me help,’ Ethel said as they finished breakfast.

  ‘Aggie baked scones yesterday and she’s left a Victoria sponge and a Dundee cake.’

  ‘I can make sandwiches if you like?’

  ‘That would be lovely. I think we have ham, and there is always cucumber. The ladies do love a cucumber sandwich.’

  The morning passed in a haze of activity and Martha cast her eye over the refreshments. The sandwiches were not as dainty as Martha was accustomed to, but she said nothing to Ethel. The girl had been so keen to help, and Martha recognised someone trying to fit into a world she didn’t feel entirely comfortable in yet. Ethel was learning fast but had not yet acquired the social skills to feel at ease in society gatherings.

  Lila was first to arrive, followed closely by several others. They gathered in the drawing-room, seating themselves on sofas and chairs. Martha was pleased Ethel had shown the foresight to bring the dining-room chairs through to increase the number of seating options.

  The only people missing were Kirsty and her aunt. Martha wondered whether Bea Hunter had decided to ignore her invitation. If she had, it was likely she thought it not in Kirsty’s interests to attend.

  * * *

  Kirsty hoped her aunt couldn’t hear her heart thumping as she walked, arm-in-arm with her, through the close into the courtyard. Aunt Bea’s acceptance of Martha’s invitation had seemed a good idea at the time but now, Kirsty didn’t feel so sure. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, trying to bolster her courage before climbing the small flight of steps curving upwards to Martha’s front door, which swung open before Kirsty reached for the knocker.

  ‘I was watching from the window and saw you coming.’ Ethel’s eyes moved to the woman standing behind Kirsty. ‘You must be Kirsty’s aunt. It’s so nice to meet you at last.’

  Kirsty hid a smile as she watched a bemused expression cross her aunt’s face when she heard Ethel’s Dundonian accent.

  ‘You must be Ethel.’ Bea held out a white-gloved hand.

  Ethel, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it with more energy than normal. It was obvious she was unused to shaking hands, and Kirsty saw her aunt flinch slightly and try to hide her reaction from the younger woman. It was enough to change Kirsty’s amusement to worry, making her lag behind as they climbed the internal stairs. Would Aunt Bea think Ethel wasn’t suitable to be her friend? Would this be another concern to be added to the ones she already had about her niece’s involvement with suffragettes?

  Kirsty shivered. If her father found out, he would whisk her home without a moment’s delay. Doing her best to blank the worries from her mind, she fixed a smile on her face before they reached the drawing-room.

  Martha broke off her conversation with Lila and hurried across to greet them.

  ‘How good of you to come. Let me introduce you to our ladies.’ She led Bea across the room and, after the introductions, she offered her a seat beside the window. ‘I kept this chair for you – I thought you might want to chat to Constance. She’s been involved with the cause for longer than most of us.’

  Bea settled herself in the chair and removed her white, cotton gloves before spreading and smoothing her skirts. There was deliberation to her movements, which Kirsty recognised as subtle clues she was not at ease.

  ‘Come,’ Martha said to Kirsty. ‘I think Ethel might appreciate your assistance in handing around the refreshments.’ As soon as they were out of Bea’s hearing, Martha whispered, ‘Constance will put your aunt at ease.’

  Kirsty nodded, but as she handed out plates of sandwiches and cakes, she couldn’t avoid glancing at her aunt and Constance. She only relaxed when she observed her aunt laughing at something Constance had said.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Tuesday, 7th July 1908

  The speeches were over and the audience was becoming restive inside the Kinnaird Hall, where the heat was suffocating. The questions directed at the speakers focused more on the recent murders and whether a killer might still be stalking the streets of Dundee rather than on the scheduled activities.

  ‘Be careful at all times,’ Lila Clunas told them. ‘However, we need to continue our endeavours to bring our cause to the attention of those who matter. Until we are certain the police have caught this man, make sure you are never alone during the evening.’

  Ethel shared a smile with Martha. It had not escaped their notice that Kirsty had barely been able to sit still while the speakers were on stage and her enthusiasm was contagious, affecting them both.

  Martha rose from her seat and placed a hand on Kirsty’s shoulder.

  ‘I am pleased you enjoyed the meeting.’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’ Kirsty followed Ethel and Martha out of the building.

  ‘You will make a good advocate for the suffrage cause.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Go on ahead, girls. I want to have a word with Constance.’

  Ethel and Kirsty joined hands and descended the steps.

  ‘There ye are, ye wee bitch.’ Hughie pushed Kirsty out of the way, grabbed Ethel by the shoulders, and rammed her against the wall. ‘Thought ye could get away from me, did ye?’

  His whisky-laden breath made Ethel gag as she struggled to free herself from his grip, but his hands were like vices and he shook her so
hard her teeth rattled.

  Kirsty grabbed his arm, but he shoved her aside and punched her in the stomach before turning his attention back to Ethel.

  ‘Ye’ll give up this suffragette nonsense or ye’ll never see the light of day again,’ he growled before his hands closed around her throat. The last thing Ethel saw before everything went dark was the mad gleam in her father’s eyes.

  * * *

  Kirsty landed on the steps in front of the hall. She grasped her midriff and shook her head to get rid of the ringing in her ears. The madman had Ethel by the throat! Kirsty struggled to her feet. She had to help Ethel – but how? The man was too strong for her. She launched herself at him, catching him by surprise. He glared at her, eyes wild with fury. He removed one hand from Ethel’s throat and lashed out. Kirsty, unable to stop him, screamed. If she couldn’t fight him, she could make enough noise to attract attention.

  The sound of running feet echoed up the street as women turned back. Kirsty drew in a ragged breath. Help was coming.

  ‘Get off me, ye bloody witches.’ The man staggered under the onslaught of several suffragettes.

  One of them thumped him repeatedly until her parasol broke.

  ‘I won’t be forgetting you,’ he snarled, glaring at her, before striding off along the street.

  Ethel lay in a heap on the pavement in front of the Kinnaird Hall. Kirsty knelt beside her, cradling her in her arms. She’d never experienced such violence before. She feared Ethel might be dead.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Martha’s voice sounded anxious above her.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  As Kirsty spoke, Ethel’s eyes fluttered open, and she moaned.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Martha said, bending over her. ‘We must get you home and have a doctor examine you.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, I’m just sore.’ Ethel struggled to her feet. ‘Nothing that won’t mend.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Constance,’ Martha said to the woman holding the broken parasol. ‘We won’t be able to walk home with you, after all.’

  ‘Not to worry. Archie, bless him, instructed me to make sure I came home in a hansom cab, and that nice reporter offered to go to the cab rank to arrange for one to collect me here. I’ll be safe enough.’ She threw the parasol into the gutter. ‘This will be of no further use.’

  Kirsty’s stomach ached from the punch she’d received, while her head felt as if it would burst; a result of the fall on the steps. She dreaded to think what effect this encounter, and the bumps and bruises she wouldn’t be able to hide, would have on her aunt.

  Ethel swayed and Kirsty grabbed her arm to prevent her from falling.

  ‘Who was that man?’ The memory of the madness in his eyes sent a shiver coursing through her body.

  ‘My da.’ Ethel’s voice sounded resigned and bitter. ‘My ma told me he wanted to kill me for becoming a suffragette, but I didn’t think he’d find me.’ She looked over to Constance. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m sorry about your parasol.’

  ‘I have other parasols.’ Constance shrugged. ‘The main thing is that you are safe and that he doesn’t attack you again.’

  The clop of a horse’s hooves resounded along the street.

  ‘Ah! If I’m not mistaken, this must be my cab now.’

  Martha pulled Constance into her arms in a quick embrace.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Give my regards to Archie when you get home.’

  ‘I am sure he will appreciate that, provided he can raise his head from the pillow.’ Constance placed her foot on the step and unlatched the cab door. ‘Although I fail to understand why men always feel they are dying whenever the least little thing is wrong with them.’ She completed her manoeuvre and slid into the cab, pausing for a moment to nod her farewell to them before closing the door.

  Kirsty, who had only met Constance on Sunday, wasn’t sure what to say. She settled for an embarrassed smile. Once the cab vanished out of sight at the turn in the road, Kirsty turned to Martha and Ethel.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed tonight. Well, not this bit, but the meeting. Now, I must get back to my aunt’s house, I don’t want her to worry.’

  ‘I haven’t thanked you for coming to my rescue,’ Ethel said. ‘How are you going to explain the bruise and the state of your dress?’

  Kirsty raised a hand to her cheek.

  ‘Ouch,’ she said, touching it. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll explain it. I’ll have to think of something that won’t alarm my aunt.’ She ran her tongue around inside her mouth. ‘At least my teeth are intact. Thank goodness for that.’ She smiled at her friend.

  * * *

  Constance tutted as she climbed into the cab. She could remember a time when cabbies descended from their perches and assisted their passengers, but this man, oblivious to her displeasure, stared straight ahead. The horse pawed the ground while she settled into the seat, before moving off in response to the cabby’s click of his tongue and pull on the reins.

  The motion of the cab, along with the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves, was soothing after the excitement of the evening and she closed her eyes. She opened them again when it jerked to a halt, but instead of the familiar sight of her own front door, there was nothing around but trees.

  The evening light slanted through the leaves and branches overhanging the narrow road in front of the cab. She looked up to peer through the small window in the compartment’s roof, but there was no sign of the cabby. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground, tossing its head in a restless motion.

  Constance waited a moment, her hand resting on the cab door. Perhaps the cabby had gone into the trees to relieve himself. But that didn’t answer the questions at the forefront of her mind. Where was she? And why here? Her breathing grew shallow and nerves fluttered in her stomach.

  This was ridiculous, she thought. She had battled London police, been incarcerated in Holloway more than once and fought prison guards. She was damned if she would allow a mere man to frighten her. She unclipped the door latch and stepped out of the cab, ready to confront the cabby. But her first impression was correct – he wasn’t on his perch behind the cab’s compartment, nor was he anywhere to be seen.

  A slight movement between the trees caught her eye, but it wasn’t repeated, and she decided it must have been the wind or a passing animal. Her sense of foreboding increased, and she gathered her skirts in her hands in readiness to mount the steps to the cabby’s perch. If she could get hold of the reins before he returned, she’d be off and out of his reach.

  A hard punch in the middle of her back knocked her off balance before her foot reached the step. She toppled sideways and slumped to the ground. Darkness swallowed her in its embrace.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Despite her show of bravado, Ethel had trouble quelling the fear that her father might return when the suffragettes dispersed. Martha and Kirsty sensed her anxiety, and each grasped one of her hands, Kirsty on the left and Martha to her right, as they left the Kinnaird Hall and strode along Bank Street.

  When they reached the end where it intersected with Reform Street, Kirsty squeezed her hand. For a moment, Ethel thought the girl intended to hug her. After a slight moment of embarrassment, Kirsty spoke.

  ‘I have to leave you here. I’m late and my aunt will be worrying.’

  ‘We can accompany you to your door.’ Martha took a step forward.

  ‘No need,’ Kirsty said. ‘I can see the house from here, and it’ll take you out of your way.’

  ‘In that case, we will stay here until we see you get inside.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe.’

  Kirsty stopped outside the corner door to her aunt’s house at the top end of Reform Street and waved to them before entering.

  Turning to the right, Ethel and Martha walked along the lower section of the road. Apart from a few stragglers from the meeting the street was quiet until they reached the opening to the Overgate. At this time of night, the Overgate teemed
with people. Ethel scanned the crowds, fearful her father might be lying in wait for them, but there were too many people everywhere for her to be sure he wasn’t amongst them.

  ‘I think we should hurry,’ Martha said.

  Ethel nodded and the two women quickened their pace until they turned the corner into the Nethergate. Crossing the road before they reached the line of hansom cabs in front of the Steeple Church they soon arrived at the close leading to Martha’s house. It was not yet dusk, but the shops at either side were in darkness and no light penetrated the narrow opening through the building.

  It struck Ethel suddenly that she didn’t know whether her father had discovered where she was living. What if he was lying in wait for her? She stiffened her spine and straightened her shoulders. If she remained afraid of him, he had won, and she wasn’t fit to call herself a suffragette. Her decision made and determination bolstered, she strode into the close ahead of Martha. Emerging into the courtyard at the other end, she was relieved to find no one lurking in the shadows.

  * * *

  Kirsty eased the door shut behind her and tiptoed up the stairs. She crept past the open drawing-room door, sighing in relief when she noted her aunt’s attention was focused on a book. With luck, she would reach her bedroom before her aunt noticed the disarray of her clothing and bruised face.

  Halfway up the second set of stairs, which led to the bedrooms, a stair creaked under her foot. Aunt Bea’s hearing was sharp. The sound was bound to have alerted her to Kirsty’s return. She scurried up the remaining steps.

  Her aunt emerged from the drawing-room before she reached the top.

  ‘Is that you, Kirsty?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Bea. I thought I would go straight to bed, and I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  The gaslight in the upper corridor flickered, and Kirsty hoped it was dim enough to mask her dishevelled state.

  ‘I see.’