Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
Ella warned India that there would be a lecture to endure. Her mother
was frum, observant of the rules of her faith, and was unhappy whenever
Ella went to work on the Sabbath.
"What am I supposed to do?" she said now. "Tell a woman with a baby
coming to wait until Sunday? If a woman labors, I labor. If God doesn't
want me out on the Sabbath, He should stop sending babies to be born on
the Sabbath." She sighed. "You'll stick up for me, won't you, Indy?"
"Not a chance. While you're being scolded, I'm going to sneak into the kitchen and make a start on that brisket."
Ella cocked her head. "Why, Dr. Jones, I do believe you're joking
again! That's twice in a week. Better be careful or people will think
you've a sense of humor."
India made a face at her. They got to the end of Shandy Street,
turned left onto Horse Lane, and headed toward Stepney Green. They'd
planned to take a shortcut through the green, then walk west to Brick
Lane, but as they approached it they found that the green was jam-packed
with people.
"I wonder what's going on?"
"I think it's a rally for the Labour Party. I remember my father saying something about it."
"Oh yes, you're right. Freddie mentioned it. He said that Joe Bristow
was going to be speaking. The man who's challenging him for the Tower
Hamlets seat. One of them. He said that--"
"Jones! Windy Indy Jones! Over here!"
India whirled around. She knew that voice. She turned, eyes
searching, and spotted a young woman in a fashionable straw hat making
her way to-ward her through the crowd.
"Why, Dr. Hatcher, what an unexpected pleasure," she said, as the
woman joined them. She hadn't seen Harriet, a fellow alumna, since their
graduation day.
"Windy Indy?" Ella echoed.
"A childhood nickname that followed me to medical school," India
explained. "Good old Harriet heard Wish use it once and made sure it
stuck. Dreadful, isn't it? And completely undeserved."
"I don't know, India, I rather think it suits you," Ella said mischievously.
India introduced Ella and Harriet, then commented on the size of the crowd that had assembled on the green.
"I came to hear Mrs. Pankhurst," Harriet said. "Have you heard her speak?"
India said she had.
"She's brilliant, isn't she?" Harriet said passionately. "She'll do
it, you know. She'll get us the vote. Mark my words." She squinted up at
the podium. "Is the Honorable Member here?"
"Hardly," India said. "It's a Labour rally, Harriet."
"But he should have Mrs. Pankhurst on his side. I thought Freddie was
an enlightened politician. A new breed of leader. The future of the
Liberal Party. That's what The Times says. Doesn't he believe in woman
suffrage?"
India looked uncomfortable. "Of course he does. In theory, if not in practice."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"He wants women to have the vote, just... not yet. He believes that
the Liberals are too vulnerable to fight on too many fronts at one time.
He thinks they must first consolidate power and win back the
premiership. And once that is accomplished, then they can fight for
woman suffrage."
"Sounds like bollocks to me."
"I'll make sure to tell him that."
"I cannot imagine why you're marrying him, Indy. The two of you are
like chalk and cheese. No, that's not true. I can imagine why. Have you
met him, Ella?"
"No, I haven't."
"He's absolutely glorious. Charming, handsome ...the most golden of
golden boys. Every woman in our class got hot and bothered whenever he
came to call on India."
"Harriet!" India exclaimed, blushing.
Harriet smiled devilishly. "Oh, right! Sorry, I forgot. We women
don't have those sorts of feelings, do we? Not if we're moral and decent
and up-standing. That's what old Brearly says."
"Oh, here we go," India said.
Harriet affected the stern, sonorous voice of Dr. Anthony Brearly,
their anatomy professor. "Vagina, a narrow conduit between the vulva and
the cervix, composed largely of muscle, devoid of nerve tissue.
Clitoris, an extraneous appendage, useless to the process of
reproduction. A locus of mental instability in women, its removal is
often recommended in the treatment of hysteria, psychosis, and
persistent nymphomania..." She burst into laughter, then said,
"Extraneous to him, maybe. Couldn't bloody live without mine."
Ella giggled.
"Good Lord, Harriet," India said. "We're in a public place. Do keep your voice down before we're arrested on obscenity charges."
"Oh, no one even knows what I'm talking about. Clitoris. Sounds like a
brand of tooth polish. Can't you just see the advertisement on the side
of a bus?"
Ella snorted laughter.
"Stop encouraging her!" India scolded.
Harriet winked at Ella, then took a silver cigarette case from her
jacket pocket. She lit one and took a deep drag, eliciting stares. India
removed the cigarette from her lips, threw it on the ground, and
crushed it with her boot.
"First, do no harm, Dr. Hatcher," she said.
"Hippocrates meant to our patients, Dr. Jones."
"And to ourselves. Still smoking twenty a day?"
"Nowhere near."
"They cause cancer of the lung, you know."
"It's never been proven."
"It will be."
Harriet rolled her eyes. "Still a barrel of fun, I see."
India winced at that. She had been a better student, a better
technician, but Harriet had been more popular. She had an easy way and a
wicked tongue and made everyone laugh. India had seen her humor work
wonders with patients. She could put even the most anxious at ease.
India envied her that. Harriet jollied patients, whereas she lectured
them. Windy Indy. Ella was right. The nickname fit her.
"Well, ladies, I'm off," Harriet said. "I want a better view of Mrs.
Pankhurst. Oh, I almost forgot to ask you, Indy... how are you getting
on at Dr. Gifford's?"
"Fine."
"Liar. Look at yourself. You look like a fishwife."
"All right, then. I'm coping. Barely. How's Harley Street?"
Harriet came from wealth. Her surgery was in a prestigious neighbor- hood where the city's most eminent doctors practiced.
"Harley's hellish. I'm bored out of my skin. If I have to listen to
one more pampered little madam tell me how exhausted she is from the
sea-son, or how vexing it is managing the servants, or that her
neuralgia flares every time her sons come home from Eton, I'll scream."
She let out a long, trailing sigh. "Indy, remember when we used to talk
about your clinic? In the wee hours when we should've been studying?"
"Of course I do."
"I still think about it."
"So do I. In fact, Ella and I are trying to make a go of it. We even
have a director of development--Wish. We're currently seeking
donations--both money and goods--and when we have enough collected we're
going to look for a building. In Whitechapel."
"You're really serious, Indy!"
"I am always serious, Harriet."
"How much have you got so far?"
India and Ella traded sheepish glances.
"Um, well, a hundred seventy-eight pounds..." India began.
"And five boxes of rusks," Ella finished.
Harriet laughed. "I don't think I'll be closing my office anytime soon."
"Don't scoff," India said, bristling. "We'll get it opened
eventually. It's just going to take us a bit of time to get the money
together."
"I know you will, India. I wasn't scoffing. Truly. I'm not happy in
Harley Street. Not at all. If you get the clinic up and running, I'll
work there. For free."
"Really?" India asked, astonished.
"Yes. I don't need money. What I do need is a challenge, and it sounds like your clinic would provide it."
India gave Harriet a long look. "I'm going to hold you to this, Hatch," she said.
"I'm sure you will. Get it going, old girl, and I'll be there. And
I'll drag Fenwick with me, too. He's fed up with teaching. Told me that
his current class is an even bigger bunch of blockheads than we were."
"Coming from Fenwick, that's quite a compliment," India said.
"Oh, look! There's one of my patients. The only one I actually like. Mrs. Bristow!"
A beautiful woman in a pink suit and rose-trimmed hat was standing on
her tiptoes a few yards away. She smiled at Harriet, then walked over.
India could see immediately that she was about five months pregnant. Her
well-cut suit probably fooled most eyes, but not hers.
"Are you well?" Harriet asked.
"Very well, thank you," Fiona said.
Harriet made introductions all around, then asked Fiona if she'd come to hear Mrs. Pankhurst.
"Actually I'm supposed to be introducing my husband," Fiona replied.
"I was supposed to have been here an hour ago. I have to get to the
stage, but I'm not sure how I'm going to get through this crowd."
"I'm going to try skirting around the edge of the square," Harriet said. "Do you want to come with me?"
"I've already tried that. There are so many police constables over
there, no one can get by. I think I'll try the direct route. Lovely to
meet you, Dr. Jones... Sister Moskowitz."
"Be careful, please, Mrs. Bristow," Harriet cautioned.
Fiona smiled. "Doctor's orders?"
"Indeed."
When Fiona Bristow was out of earshot, Harriet said, "Now there's a
woman for you to approach. Richer than Midas, and very charitably
minded."
India made a mental note to ask Wish about her, and Harriet said her
goodbyes. As she moved off, India said, "Well, Ella, it now looks like
we have a hundred seventy-eight pounds, five boxes of rusks, and the
head of our children's ward."
"Is she good?" Ella asked.
"Very. An absolute marvel with little ones."
Ella looked at her watch. "It's quarter past four," she said. "I
think they were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago. Shall we stay and
listen to Mrs. Pankhurst?"
"Yes, let's. They'll probably start soon. Probably just waiting for
Fiona Bristow," India said, squinting at the stage. She could see a
handful of peo-ple sitting behind a podium. And one empty chair. "I
wonder if she made it up there? Do you see her?"
India's voice was drowned out by excited cheers and whistles as a woman rose from her seat on the stage.
"Let's get a bit closer," Ella said. They tried, but made little progress. People were standing shoulder to shoulder.
Mrs. Pankhurst took the podium. The cheers increased. India knew that
she was a firebrand. She hardly looks the part, she thought.
Diminutive, with delicate features, she seemed more fragile than feisty.
Until she started to speak. Then she seemed about as fragile as a
bricklayer.
"Welcome. Welcome to you women. And you men. Welcome to the officers
of the law I see stationed three deep! You may ask why we are here
today. We are here not because we are law breakers; we are here in our
ef-forts to become law makers."
Cheers went up again, only this time they were challenged by loud
booing. India looked to its source--a group of men, pints in hand,
standing outside a pub.
"Go home to yer washin', ya meddlin' bitches!" one shouted.
Mrs. Pankhurst ignored him and kept speaking.
More cheers went up, and then a fight broke out near the pub. Several
constables quashed it. It was orderly for a few minutes, then a man's
voice bellowed, "Votes for women when hell freezes over!"
Catcalls were heard, this time from women. India looked behind
her-self uneasily. Not far from where she and Ella stood, a blowsy
group, the cut and color of their dresses advertising their profession,
hooted and laughed. One screeched an obscenity. India squinted at them,
her doctor's eyes automatically searching for any visible signs of
venereal disease, but saw none.
"Ella..."
"Aye?"
"There's something odd about those women over there. They don't look like..."
"Whores," Ella finished flatly.
"They're too healthy."
"Too well fed."
"They look like they're onstage. Like they're only playing prostitutes."
"That's exactly what they're doing."
"I think something bad is about to happen," India said.
"We should go. Now."
India nodded. She turned around and started to head for one of the
square's outlets, then stopped suddenly and said, "Ella, wait! Fiona
Bristow ...did she ever make it to the stage?"
Ella looked around, scanning faces. "No. She's there. Halfway to the podium. See her hat?"
India nodded. "Mrs. Bristow!" she shouted. "Mrs. Bristow! Over here!"
Her voice was drowned out as Mrs. Pankhurst was booed again. A tomato
sailed through the air and hit the floor near her feet. She flinched,
but kept speaking. The tension was growing. It was a tangible thing now.
India could feel it moving invisibly through the crowd like a tiger in
the tall grass. She knew what was coming. She'd treated victims of riots
and she knew how quickly a crowd could turn into a mob. And Fiona
Bristow, five months pregnant, was right in the middle of it.
"We've got to get her," she said.
"We'd better hurry," Ella said grimly. She clasped India's hand and to-gether they fought their way through the crush of people.
When they finally reached her, they were sweating and out of breath.
India placed a hand on her back and Fiona turned toward them. India
wasn't pleased to see that Fiona's face was flushed.
"We're leaving," she told her. "You must come with us. You can't stay here. Not in your condition."
"I've been trying to leave. I can't get through the crowd. There's no-where to go."
"We just fought our way up here, we'll fight our way back. I'll lead.
Stay between us and mind your belly--" Her words were cut off by shouts
and the harsh blast of a police whistle.
A brawl had broken out between one of the prostitutes and two
consta-bles. A man, drunk and shouting, joined in, harassing the
officers. As India watched, a second man swung at the first. A cry went
up; she was pushed forward as the crowd surged toward the combatants.
Suddenly there was the sound of horses. Riot police had entered the
square on its west side and were fording the crowd, truncheons swinging.