Suffragette Girl (7 page)

If Florrie still had any misgivings about being here, any lingering doubt now fell away. Augusta had given her granddaughter her blessing, knowing, it seemed, far more about the suffragette
movement than even Florrie herself knew yet. As she took her seat amongst the other women, she felt the thrill of excitement well up inside her and knew that, despite the unpleasantness with her
father and her mother’s tears, there was no place she would rather be.

Lady Lee stood on a small dais at one end of the room, waiting until everyone was seated and the gathering fell silent.

‘Exciting times are ahead of us,’ she began. ‘Support for our cause is spreading through the country. Women from the northern towns and cities are conducting their own fight
there, but plan to join us on a deputation to the Prime Minister or the Chancellor . . .’

Enthralled, Florrie found herself swept along on a tide of enthusiasm. These women were determined – no matter what – to succeed in their aim. They wouldn’t rest until all
adult women, whatever their station in life, were granted the right to vote.

‘The Reform Bill,’ Lady Lee was saying, ‘is supposedly making its way –
slowly
,’ there was a ripple of laughter, ‘through Parliament. It will shortly
reach the committee stage, where we understand our supporters among the MPs will press to include the right of the
wives
of voters to vote themselves.’ There was a pause and a
murmuring.

‘This,’ Lady Lee declared, ‘is not enough. We want the vote for
all
women. It’s long been suggested that they might grant the vote to women of standing. For
example, women landowners in their own right, who – let us not forget – are obliged to pay taxes.’ The murmuring grew. ‘Oh yes—’ A note of sarcasm laced her
tone. ‘When it comes to paying taxes into the coffers of the Treasury, there is no problem with being a woman then.’ The laughter was louder now. Lady Lee paused until it died down. Now
she was utterly serious once more.

‘Mrs Pankhurst has written to us all.’ She waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘I have it here. She asks us to step up our militant activities if, as we fear, we are
unsuccessful in adding an amendment on women’s suffrage to the Reform Bill. We should know the outcome by the end of January – but we need to be ready. We need to be prepared and we
need to be willing to take action.’

Cries of ‘We are, we will’ resounded through the room and even Florrie found herself raising her fist and joining in.

Lady Leonora glanced around the room and smiled.

‘So, what did you think to it?’

They were in the street once more, walking the short distance to the Richards’ town house. Lucy, readily resuming her role as maid, walked a deferential few paces behind them. Although it
was late by country standards – at home Florrie would have been in bed by this time – the streets seemed as if they never slept. Horses’ hooves rang through the night air and even
the chug of a motor car sounded in the distance. Hearing it, Isobel murmured, ‘Tim plans to get a motor car.’

‘Really! Oh, I do hope he’ll take me for a ride in it. Father won’t entertain the idea of such a noisy mode of transport. He says it’ll never replace the horse.’
She forbore to add that her father believed the motor car was merely a plaything for the idle rich.

Isobel linked her arm through Florrie’s. ‘I think he’s wrong. Tim says the motor car is the future.’

They walked a few more paces until Isobel prompted, ‘So . . . ?’

‘It was wonderful,’ Florrie breathed. ‘I’ve never felt so – so
alive
!’

‘And you’re willing to take part in the demonstrations and acts of violence Lady Leonora spoke about?’

‘Yes, oh yes. I can’t wait to
do
something. Instead of just reading about it, I’m really here and part of it all.’

In the darkness, Isobel smiled, but her joy in the girl’s enthusiasm was tinged with anxiety. She wondered if Florrie really understood what it meant to be a suffragette.

No doubt she’d find out soon enough.

Over the next few weeks the two young women attended rallies, marched down Whitehall waving banners, joined a deputation to the Treasury and waited outside the gates of
Holloway to greet the release of one of their number.

It was Florrie’s first sight of a young woman who’d been imprisoned, had gone on hunger strike and been force-fed. The sight appalled her, yet perversely she found it exhilarating
too. These women were so determined to achieve their goal that they’d stop at nothing. They’d suffer the cruellest humiliations to gain their right to vote and she was more determined
than ever to be one of them.

Lady Leonora came in a hansom and, as the huge doors opened, the gathering of five or six women – Isobel and Florrie amongst them – hurried towards the young woman emerging into the
bright winter’s day. They helped her into Lady Leonora’s cab and then stepped back as she was borne away to the Smythes’ residence to recuperate.

‘Will she be all right?’ Florrie asked. ‘She looked dreadful.’

‘I hope so,’ Isobel replied grimly. ‘But she’ll be back as soon as she’s fit enough. In the meantime,’ her eyes sparkled with excitement, ‘we must carry
on where she left off.’

Florrie felt a thrill run through her. ‘What? What are we going to do?’

‘You’ll see,’ Isobel said mysteriously.

When the debate on the Reform Bill began towards the end of January, there was much heated legal wrangling. The Speaker of the House announced that no amendment on
women’s suffrage could be added and, only a few days later, the Bill was withdrawn – just as Lady Lee had feared.

‘Everything we’ve worked for,’ Lady Lee raged, pacing up and down her drawing room. ‘Well, they’ve asked for it now.’

Florrie and Isobel glanced at each other. Until this moment, they’d only joined in relatively peaceful demonstrations and marches. Now, they must do more. Florrie felt a shiver of fear,
and yet excitement too.

‘So, what’s been planned?’

Lady Lee paused a moment, looking at the eager faces of the two girls before her. They were so young and Florrie was so lovely. She couldn’t bear to think of that clear skin and those
innocent eyes being ravaged by prison life. She sighed inwardly, telling herself that she couldn’t shoulder the responsibility for others, and yet she did feel an obligation to look after the
welfare of the members of her ‘little band of sisters’, as she referred to the group of women who met regularly under her roof.

She sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. ‘How are you at breaking windows?’

Isobel laughed. ‘With a toffee hammer?’ She glanced at Florrie. ‘I think we could manage that, don’t you?’

Florrie nodded. ‘Is that all you want us to do? Nothing – nothing more?’

‘Not at the moment. I suggest you try some of the shops in Knightsbridge. Night-time would be best – when the stores are closed. But there are a couple of things you should remember.
Firstly, no one, no one at all, must be hurt by your actions. We aim only to damage property, not to injure anyone. And secondly,’ she ran her tongue nervously round her lips, ‘you will
run a greater risk of arrest and – and imprisonment than hitherto.’

The two young women regarded her solemnly. ‘We’re ready for that,’ Florrie said, speaking for them both.

Late that night, dressed in dark clothing and with a black veil to cover their faces, the two young women set off. Quietly, they opened the front door and crept out.

‘We mustn’t wake Meredith whatever we do,’ Isobel whispered as they closed the door behind them. ‘He’d try to stop us. He thinks it his duty to look after me
– and you too now. Especially as he knows how much Gervase thinks of you.’

Florrie stopped suddenly halfway down the steps and stared at Isobel through the gloom.
‘Meredith
knows?’

Isobel paused and looked up at her from two steps below. ‘My dear girl, servants know everything about us. Especially someone like Meredith, who’s been with our family for
centuries
!’

Florrie giggled. ‘He’s not
that
old!’

Isobel tried to stifle her laughter. ‘Don’t start me off. Someone will hear.’

Nervousness made them want to laugh all the more so that they hurried down the steps and along the street, stuffing their black gloved hands into their mouths. At the corner, they paused and
pulled in deep breaths.

‘We’ll get ourselves arrested for being drunk and disorderly in the street if we’re not careful. Now, a little decorum wouldn’t come amiss, Miss Maltby, if you
please,’ Isobel tried to say sternly. ‘After all, we’re supposed to be in mourning.’

Florrie pulled her face straight and walked with her head bowed dutifully, but every so often a stifled giggle welled up inside her and forced its way out.

‘Stop it, Florrie. You’ll set me off again. Just concentrate on what we’ve got to do.’

The thought sobered the girl at once.

It was the first time Florrie had seen the busy streets in the hours of darkness.

‘It’s deserted,’ she said in surprise.

‘Not quite. There’s always someone about – even if it’s only a policeman,’ Isobel added, glancing nervously around her. ‘Come on, we’d better get on
with it or we’ll get ourselves arrested for something quite different.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh nothing, dear.’ Isobel hid her smile. ‘Right – now this looks a good window to start with. Nice and big. It’ll make a lovely mess. Glass all over the clothes
displayed in the window. You keep a watch out up and down the street while I. . .’

Isobel stepped towards the huge window, took the little hammer out of her reticule and hit the window. It cracked, but didn’t break. She hit it again and this time the whole pane
shattered, glass flying everywhere. The sound echoed through the still night.

‘Are you all right?’ Florrie asked anxiously, afraid that shards of glass might have caught Isobel.

‘Yes – yes, I’m fine.’ Isobel stepped back and, arm in arm, they hurried away. ‘Walk slowly,’ she panted. ‘It looks more suspicious if we’re
hurrying.’

After a short distance, they stopped and listened. All was quiet.

‘My turn now,’ Florrie said, taking a deep breath as she held out her hand for the hammer. She stepped towards the window of another shop and, raising her arm high above her head,
brought the hammer down. The glass shattered at once and a splinter hit her forehead just above her left temple. She turned and once more they hurried on, putting as much distance as they could
between themselves and the scene of their crime.

They had just broken the eighth window when they heard the sound of a police whistle in the distance.

‘Right, that’s it for tonight,’ Isobel pronounced. ‘Throw the hammer away.’

‘Throw it away?’ Florrie repeated. ‘But—’

‘We don’t want to be caught with it in our possession. Do as I say, just drop it on the ground. Come on, round this corner and into the next street. Now, if we’re stopped, our
story is that we’ve just been visiting our dear sister-in-law. We’ve just lost our brother. If they want names and addresses, we both become too distressed to talk any more. No
policeman will want a couple of wailing women to deal with when he has criminals to chase.’

Florrie giggled. They walked and ran a little until they rounded the corner. In a different street, they felt a little safer, and now they bowed their heads and walked on, arm in arm, as if in
deep mourning and comforting each other.

Running footsteps sounded in front of them and they held their breath, but continued on slowly and sorrowfully. The policeman took no notice but ran by them, heading for the next street. They
walked on, still afraid that any moment they would feel a hand on their shoulder and a gruff voice ordering them to stop. But at last they reached their own street safely and hurried up the steps.
Once inside the front door of number six, their legs gave way beneath them and they sank to the floor in the dimly lit hallway, thankful to be home. They threw back their black veils and stared at
each other.

‘We did it! And without being caught too—’ Florrie began triumphantly, but Isobel’s eyes were full of concern.

‘Oh, my dear, you’re hurt. Your forehead’s bleeding.’

‘Is it?’ Florrie put her fingers up to her temple. When she withdrew them, there was a smear of blood on her fingertips. Isobel pulled herself up and held out her hand towards the
girl. ‘Come, let’s bathe it at once. Perhaps it isn’t as serious as it looks.’

The cut was tiny, but quite deep. ‘It might leave a scar,’ Isobel said worriedly.

But Florrie only murmured, ‘My first battle wound. Now I’m truly one of you.’

‘We never doubted it for a moment,’ Isobel said softly.

Two days later their actions were headlines in the newspapers.

‘“Outrageous attacks were perpetrated on Monday night on Knightsbridge shops,”’
Isobel read out over the breakfast table.
‘“Nine front windows .
. .
”’ She paused and looked up. ‘Nine? We only broke eight, didn’t we?’

Florrie, her mouth full of kipper, nodded. ‘The papers never get things right,’ she murmured as Isobel read on.

‘“. . .
together with merchandise displayed therein, were damaged. The work is thought to have been carried out by suffragettes. No one was caught in the act and therefore, as
yet, no one has been apprehended for the offence. The police are still making extensive enquiries.”
We were very lucky, you know, to escape,’ Isobel said solemnly. ‘We could
be waking up in a cell this morning.’

Florrie grinned. ‘But instead, here we are, eating kippers and planning what we’re going to do next.’

Above the newspaper, Isobel eyed her with amusement. ‘Got a taste for it now, have we?’ Then her face sobered. ‘Quite seriously, I think we should lie low for a day or
two.’

As they were finishing breakfast, the telephone in the hall shrilled and they heard Meredith’s modulated tones answering. ‘The Richards’ residence.’ A silence and then,
‘One moment, if you please, sir.’ A pause and the door opened.

‘Mr Richards is on the telephone, Miss Isobel.’