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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 her 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.