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Martha’s face stung from the steward’s vicious slap, but he had her arms pinned behind her back and she couldn’t retaliate.
‘Take your hands off me, you brute.’ Martha struggled, feet flailing toward the men’s shins as they lifted her from her seat in the hall. ‘Beasts, pigs, animals!’ she hissed, as her feet struck flesh. ‘Although that’s an insult to animals.’
‘Ouch!’ The man who uttered the screech twisted Martha’s arm further up her back, making her squeal in pain. ‘Kick me again, and I’ll break your bloody arm.’
‘Oh, come off it, Sid.’ The second man twisted her other arm up her back. ‘We’re only meant to eject them, and if you haven’t learned to keep your legs out of the way of their feet, that’s your lookout.’
‘Too bloody soft for this job, that’s what you are,’ Sid muttered. ‘I’ll be glad when we get this spitting cat outside.’
‘See how these two brave men treat women,’ Martha screamed. Her feet kicked the air with vicious swipes as the two men carried her by the arms out of the hall. They flung her out the door and she tumbled down the steps, landing on her knees in the road. She turned to spit at them, but they grinned at her, dusted their hands and returned to the hall.
‘Are you all right?’ Helen Archdale bent over Martha and helped her to her feet. ‘They threw me out earlier, but they were rougher with you. The stewards who ejected me were gentlemen by comparison.’
Martha winced as she brushed earth from her skirt; her arms and hands stinging from the stones embedded in her scraped skin.
‘It’s the luck of the draw. Anyway, rough handling hurt no one, and it’s all meat for the cause.’ Her arms ached from the pressure of the men’s grip and her breasts were sore, but she was sure nothing was broken. She would have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. She was accustomed to them and it made up for her other failings.
Helen leaned against the façade of the building, turning her face to catch the sun.
‘Did you know there’s a new reporter started with the Dundee Courier? He’s moved from a newspaper in Glasgow and he seems more sensitive to our cause than the others.’
‘That will make a change. Good publicity instead of bad.’ Martha brushed her skirt with her hands. ‘Strange, though, coming from Glasgow to Dundee. Isn’t that a step down for him?’
‘I’ll bring him to our meeting on Sunday at the Mathers Hotel if you want,’ Helen offered. ‘You can judge for yourself.’
* * *
AFTER WATCHING HOW the stewards had treated her new friend, Kirsty cowered back in her seat for fear they would return and manhandle her. It had been her own stubbornness that brought her to this meeting, a petty defiance because her father ridiculed her and forbade her to attend. If it hadn’t been for that and her genuine interest in the speaker, she wouldn’t have been tempted to come. When she arrived, it had been confusing, not the orderly affair she’d thought it would be, and Martha had helped her find a seat. The young woman had been polite, helpful, kind and not any different from Kirsty, herself. Kirsty had taken to her and thought she seemed nice.
Kirsty couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t as if Martha had done anything awful. She had only asked a question. And, even though men didn’t like women questioning them, Kirsty could see no reason for the rough treatment meted out. Recalling the steward’s hands on Martha’s breasts brought back memories of her own ordeal and she started to worry what might happen to her new friend outside the hall.
I should have helped her, Kirsty thought. Instead, I sat here like the mouse I am and did nothing. But it wasn’t too late. Sighing at her own stupidity for not minding her own business, she snatched the abandoned hat and parasol from the floor and squeezed her way out of the row of seats before hurrying for the exit.
Clustered in small groups outside were several women, in varying degrees of dishevelment, all of them ejected from the hall. She soon spotted Martha conversing with a tall woman older than herself. Kirsty hesitated, not wishing to interrupt, but she had rescued Martha’s hat and parasol and wanted to return them to her.
Martha saw her coming and turned to her with a smile.
‘Kirsty, isn’t it? Did you get thrown out as well?’
Kirsty handed her the hat.
‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t,’ she apologised, although why she should feel apologetic, she didn’t know. Maybe it was because Martha took so much pride in her ejection. ‘You lost your hat and parasol,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought you’d need them.’
‘That is exceedingly kind of you. Isn’t it, Helen? Few people would rescue a suffragette’s bonnet.’ She took the hat from Kirsty and tucked her curls underneath until she looked presentable.
Kirsty swallowed. What a fool not to have realised Martha was a suffragette. One of the women her father talked about so disparagingly. But Martha wasn’t an ogre or a woman pretending to be a man, she was just an ordinary woman, like Kirsty. The only other time Kirsty had met a suffragette had been at the Albert Square meeting the previous Saturday. Curiosity got the better of her.
‘What is it suffragettes do? Apart from getting thrown out of meetings.’ She laughed self-consciously.
‘It would take a long time to explain,’ Martha said. ‘Although the main aim is to fight for women to have a vote.’
‘What good would that do?’ Kirsty had never felt any need to vote, thinking politics beyond her intellect.
‘It would give women more independence. We’d have a right to say who represented us in parliament and we’d make sure we voted for people who would stand up for women and give them a say in their own lives. Men wouldn’t be able to control us in the way they’ve always done.’ Martha paused for breath. ‘If you’re interested, come to our meeting at the Mathers Hotel on Sunday afternoon. Here, I’ll write the address for you.’ Martha scrabbled in her bag for a pencil and wrote the details on the back of a leaflet.
The thought of independence intrigued Kirsty, fuelling her newly aroused rebellious feelings.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to be there.’
She scurried off, eager to get home but feeling more alive than she’d felt for a long time.
* * *
MARTHA WATCHED KIRSTY hurry away. She had liked the girl when they met in the crowd before the meeting. At first, she had thought Kirsty was a sister, a member of the cause, but after talking to her it was clear she was not. Martha, however, had the knack of spotting women who could be recruited, and she’d taken care to encourage the girl. It had paid off because Kirsty had followed her out of the meeting with her bonnet and parasol.
‘I can tell what you’re thinking.’ Helen also watched the girl leave. ‘Why didn’t you ask her to come along to the demonstration tonight?’
‘I thought about it, but she’s very new to all this and I didn’t want to scare her. Too much too soon can be overwhelming, particularly for someone like Kirsty.’
‘Mmm,’ Helen murmured. ‘She seemed a bit naïve. But there’s also a spark there. Didn’t you feel it? Maybe she’ll be ready earlier than you think.’
‘The meeting on Sunday should be a fruitful one if both Kirsty and this new reporter come along. Isn’t it exciting?’ Martha jiggled from foot to foot. ‘We’re really expanding in Dundee. We’ll soon have as many members as Glasgow or Edinburgh.’
‘Talking about excitement, let’s join the others and plan our action for tonight. I heard tell someone is planning to enter the hall from a skylight on the roof.’ Helen tucked Martha’s hand into the crook of her arm. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘There’s much to do before tonight’s little exercise.’