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Ethel tried to suppress her excitement as she and Martha hurried along the street to join the demonstration. Tuesday’s gathering, listening to Christabel Pankhurst, had been inspirational. Tonight, though, was different. This was a political meeting for men only. Winston Churchill had been voted in as Dundee’s parliamentary representative in May and he was here to address his constituency.
They joined a group of women standing in front of the Kinnaird Hall. Three stewards stood at the doors, trying to prevent them from entering. The women, not to be thwarted, pushed and jostled, forcing the stewards to spread their arms to form a barricade.
‘I’m sorry, ladies. This meeting’s for men only.’
‘We’re entitled to attend meetings.’ One woman at the front squared her shoulders as if to prepare for a fight.
‘That may be so,’ the steward replied. ‘But the ladies’ meeting was this afternoon, so we haven’t prevented you from hearing Mr Churchill speak.’
‘Some of us couldn’t attend this afternoon, and we wish to hear what our member of parliament has to say.’
‘Makes no difference,’ the steward in the middle said. ‘You have to leave, otherwise, I’ll be obliged to call our security guards and the police.’
A raucous laugh erupted from one woman.
‘They’d like that, so they would. Give them a chance to rough us up again and put their hands where no respectable man would dare.’
Laughter echoed through the rest of the crowd, though several women looked a trifle embarrassed at the coarseness of the woman’s speech.
Ethel tugged on Martha’s arm.
‘Will we force our way into the hall?’
‘We could but what good would it do? They’d throw us out again. I’ve no doubt men with truncheons are waiting at the other side of the door, and they’d love to leave us with sore heads. And anyway, we wouldn’t get much sympathy for the cause because they held a women’s meeting this afternoon.’
‘Were you there? At the meeting this afternoon?’
A rueful smile twitched at the corners of Martha’s mouth.
‘Oh, yes. I was there. Got thrown out within the first half-hour and they were none too gentle about it.’
‘Were you hurt?’ Ethel’s eyes widened.
‘No more than usual,’ Martha replied. ‘You get used to it.’
‘What did you do to make them throw you out?’
‘Asked a question. I wanted to know what Mr Churchill’s plans were in relation to women’s suffrage. They don’t like that because we all know he is not in favour of women having the vote.’
‘Do you think we’ll ever get the vote?’
‘If we do nothing, it’ll never happen. Our job is to make ourselves visible, let the people in power know we won’t give up. Most of all, we need to work on them to change their minds. Convince them that as women and taxpayers, we are entitled to vote and have issues affecting women discussed in parliament.’
Martha reached into the satchel hanging from her shoulder, pulled out a batch of leaflets, and thrust them into Ethel’s hands.
‘We make a start by giving everyone who attends the meeting one of these. Not everyone will want to take them, but if we can persuade even a few of the men who attend the meeting tonight, that will count as a success.’
More suffragettes arrived, some of them carrying banners, others handing out leaflets, and yet others haranguing the men arriving for the meeting. With a few exceptions, it was a good-natured demonstration, although many of the men aimed derogatory remarks in their direction.
Ethel continued to hand out leaflets although her arm ached, and she was sure a bruise was forming where the toff with the cane had landed a vicious blow.
‘You’re a disgrace to womanhood,’ he’d snapped as he lashed out.
She’d wanted to give him the rough side of her tongue, but she’d smiled instead.
‘And you, sir, are a credit to your station in life,’ she’d responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
With a glare and a snort in her direction, he’d hurried into the hall. However, he’d been the exception. Most of the men had either accepted a leaflet or shaken their heads and she was pleased with her contribution to the suffrage cause.
After the last of the men entered the hall there was a lull; the women formed groups and chatted. But it wasn’t long before the doors opened again, and the stewards hurled a woman out on to the street. She landed with a thump in the road and lay there for a moment before struggling to her feet.
Martha, followed by several of the women, rushed to her side and helped her up.
‘Did they hurt you?’
‘Ask a daft question,’ the young woman said. ‘What do you think?’ She brushed at her skirt, but it remained soiled. ‘Lost my best hat in there. Don’t suppose I’ll get it back.’
Martha laughed.
‘I’m sure the funds will help you get another one. But never mind the hat. How did our plan work?’
Ethel hovered behind the group gathering around the woman. Was she the only one who didn’t know what was going on?
‘It worked beautifully, and I scattered leaflets throughout the hall as I lowered myself from the skylight. But as soon as I got within reach of the stewards, they grabbed me.’
A buzz rippled through the women. Some congratulated her and some expressed admiration. Several voices shot questions at her.
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘How did it feel dangling from a rope?’
‘What if the rope broke?’
The questions and comments continued, but the young woman shrugged them off with a laugh.
Ethel pushed to the front of the group when Martha beckoned her.
‘I want you to meet Gladys Burnett. She’s just invaded the men’s meeting by lowering herself on a rope from the skylight. I’m sure the Dundee Courier will give it prominent positioning in tomorrow’s paper.’
Gladys turned to appraise Ethel. Her eyes were sharp but kind.
‘New recruit, Martha?’
‘Yes. Ethel’s keen to support the cause. I believe she’s capable of great things.’
Heat warmed Ethel’s cheeks.
‘Martha always has good judgement.’ Gladys turned to Ethel and smiled. ‘Welcome to the sisterhood.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Ethel grasped the hand Gladys offered her. Few people wanted to shake a mill girl’s hand, and she was still adjusting to these interactions with, as she considered them, her betters.
The meeting broke up an hour later and it gave them another chance to push leaflets into the hands of men emerging from the building. Apart from some ribald comments and pamphlets thrown back at them, it went without a hitch, although Ethel made certain she stayed well clear of the toff with the cane. One thump from that was enough for one night.
As the street quietened, the women dispersed. In small and larger groups, they left the front of the Kinnaird Hall to walk along the road. Excitement hung over them and Ethel could hear the buzz of voices as they left.
‘We’ll hang back and wait for Gladys,’ Martha whispered to Ethel. ‘She’s talking to the reporter from the Dundee Courier.’
Ethel sneaked a glance at the man talking to Gladys. He was tall and good looking, and younger than she imagined a reporter should be. After a few moments, he shook Gladys’s hand, tucked his notebook and pencil in his pocket, and lifted his hat in a farewell gesture.
‘Did he say whether it will be in tomorrow’s newspaper?’ Martha asked when Gladys rejoined them.
‘He’s going to give it top billing.’ Gladys grinned. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Come back to the house with us – you can tell me all about it. And I’m sure Ethel will be interested in your other exploits.’
It was midnight when Gladys eventually left.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said when Martha suggested they walk her home. ‘It’s only a few streets away and there won’t be anyone around at this time of night.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Martha’s voice was hesitant.
‘Of course, I’m sure. I can look after myself.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Martha responded warmly and hugged Gladys. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
* * *
OUTSIDE, THE HOLLOW sound of Gladys’s footsteps broke the silence as they echoed along the deserted streets. Perhaps she should have accepted Martha’s offer to accompany her home. But that was silly. She’d walked these streets at all times of the night and day before and thought nothing of it. Tonight, however, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that all was not right.
The streetlight which lit the steps to her front door and allowed her to see the keyhole was in darkness. It was while she was fumbling with her key that the noose slipped around her neck.
‘Thought you were clever tonight, didn’t you?’ The whisper sounded sibilant in the darkness.
Gladys dropped her key and tore at the scarf tightening around her neck.
‘Not so clever now.’ The sinister whisper was the last thing she heard as she slumped to the ground.