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Tuesday, 7th July 1908
The speeches were over and the audience was becoming restive inside the Kinnaird Hall, where the heat was suffocating. The questions directed at the speakers focused more on the recent murders and whether a killer might still be stalking the streets of Dundee rather than on the scheduled activities.
‘Be careful at all times,’ Lila Clunas told them. ‘However, we need to continue our endeavours to bring our cause to the attention of those who matter. Until we are certain the police have caught this man, make sure you are never alone during the evening.’
Ethel shared a smile with Martha. It had not escaped their notice that Kirsty had barely been able to sit still while the speakers were on stage and her enthusiasm was contagious, affecting them both.
Martha rose from her seat and placed a hand on Kirsty’s shoulder.
‘I am pleased you enjoyed the meeting.’
‘Was it that obvious?’ Kirsty followed Ethel and Martha out of the building.
‘You will make a good advocate for the suffrage cause.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Go on ahead, girls. I want to have a word with Constance.’
Ethel and Kirsty joined hands and descended the steps.
‘There ye are, ye wee bitch.’ Hughie pushed Kirsty out of the way, grabbed Ethel by the shoulders, and rammed her against the wall. ‘Thought ye could get away from me, did ye?’
His whisky-laden breath made Ethel gag as she struggled to free herself from his grip, but his hands were like vices and he shook her so hard her teeth rattled.
Kirsty grabbed his arm, but he shoved her aside and punched her in the stomach before turning his attention back to Ethel.
‘Ye’ll give up this suffragette nonsense or ye’ll never see the light of day again,’ he growled before his hands closed around her throat. The last thing Ethel saw before everything went dark was the mad gleam in her father’s eyes.
* * *
KIRSTY LANDED ON THE steps in front of the hall. She grasped her midriff and shook her head to get rid of the ringing in her ears. The madman had Ethel by the throat! Kirsty struggled to her feet. She had to help Ethel – but how? The man was too strong for her. She launched herself at him, catching him by surprise. He glared at her, eyes wild with fury. He removed one hand from Ethel’s throat and lashed out. Kirsty, unable to stop him, screamed. If she couldn’t fight him, she could make enough noise to attract attention.
The sound of running feet echoed up the street as women turned back. Kirsty drew in a ragged breath. Help was coming.
‘Get off me, ye bloody witches.’ The man staggered under the onslaught of several suffragettes.
One of them thumped him repeatedly until her parasol broke.
‘I won’t be forgetting you,’ he snarled, glaring at her, before striding off along the street.
Ethel lay in a heap on the pavement in front of the Kinnaird Hall. Kirsty knelt beside her, cradling her in her arms. She’d never experienced such violence before. She feared Ethel might be dead.
‘Is she all right?’ Martha’s voice sounded anxious above her.
‘I’m not sure.’
As Kirsty spoke, Ethel’s eyes fluttered open, and she moaned.
‘Thank goodness,’ Martha said, bending over her. ‘We must get you home and have a doctor examine you.’
‘I’ll be fine, I’m just sore.’ Ethel struggled to her feet. ‘Nothing that won’t mend.’
‘I’m sorry, Constance,’ Martha said to the woman holding the broken parasol. ‘We won’t be able to walk home with you, after all.’
‘Not to worry. Archie, bless him, instructed me to make sure I came home in a hansom cab, and that nice reporter offered to go to the cab rank to arrange for one to collect me here. I’ll be safe enough.’ She threw the parasol into the gutter. ‘This will be of no further use.’
Kirsty’s stomach ached from the punch she’d received, while her head felt as if it would burst; a result of the fall on the steps. She dreaded to think what effect this encounter, and the bumps and bruises she wouldn’t be able to hide, would have on her aunt.
Ethel swayed and Kirsty grabbed her arm to prevent her from falling.
‘Who was that man?’ The memory of the madness in his eyes sent a shiver coursing through her body.
‘My da.’ Ethel’s voice sounded resigned and bitter. ‘My ma told me he wanted to kill me for becoming a suffragette, but I didn’t think he’d find me.’ She looked over to Constance. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m sorry about your parasol.’
‘I have other parasols.’ Constance shrugged. ‘The main thing is that you are safe and that he doesn’t attack you again.’
The clop of a horse’s hooves resounded along the street.
‘Ah! If I’m not mistaken, this must be my cab now.’
Martha pulled Constance into her arms in a quick embrace.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Give my regards to Archie when you get home.’
‘I am sure he will appreciate that, provided he can raise his head from the pillow.’ Constance placed her foot on the step and unlatched the cab door. ‘Although I fail to understand why men always feel they are dying whenever the least little thing is wrong with them.’ She completed her manoeuvre and slid into the cab, pausing for a moment to nod her farewell to them before closing the door.
Kirsty, who had only met Constance on Sunday, wasn’t sure what to say. She settled for an embarrassed smile. Once the cab vanished out of sight at the turn in the road, Kirsty turned to Martha and Ethel.
‘I’ve enjoyed tonight. Well, not this bit, but the meeting. Now, I must get back to my aunt’s house, I don’t want her to worry.’
‘I haven’t thanked you for coming to my rescue,’ Ethel said. ‘How are you going to explain the bruise and the state of your dress?’
Kirsty raised a hand to her cheek.
‘Ouch,’ she said, touching it. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll explain it. I’ll have to think of something that won’t alarm my aunt.’ She ran her tongue around inside her mouth. ‘At least my teeth are intact. Thank goodness for that.’ She smiled at her friend.
* * *
CONSTANCE TUTTED AS she climbed into the cab. She could remember a time when cabbies descended from their perches and assisted their passengers, but this man, oblivious to her displeasure, stared straight ahead. The horse pawed the ground while she settled into the seat, before moving off in response to the cabby’s click of his tongue and pull on the reins.
The motion of the cab, along with the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves, was soothing after the excitement of the evening and she closed her eyes. She opened them again when it jerked to a halt, but instead of the familiar sight of her own front door, there was nothing around but trees.
The evening light slanted through the leaves and branches overhanging the narrow road in front of the cab. She looked up to peer through the small window in the compartment’s roof, but there was no sign of the cabby. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground, tossing its head in a restless motion.
Constance waited a moment, her hand resting on the cab door. Perhaps the cabby had gone into the trees to relieve himself. But that didn’t answer the questions at the forefront of her mind. Where was she? And why here? Her breathing grew shallow and nerves fluttered in her stomach.
This was ridiculous, she thought. She had battled London police, been incarcerated in Holloway more than once and fought prison guards. She was damned if she would allow a mere man to frighten her. She unclipped the door latch and stepped out of the cab, ready to confront the cabby. But her first impression was correct – he wasn’t on his perch behind the cab’s compartment, nor was he anywhere to be seen.
A slight movement between the trees caught her eye, but it wasn’t repeated, and she decided it must have been the wind or a passing animal. Her sense of foreboding increased, and she gathered her skirts in her hands in readiness to mount the steps to the cabby’s perch. If she could get hold of the reins before he returned, she’d be off and out of his reach.
A hard punch in the middle of her back knocked her off balance before her foot reached the step. She toppled sideways and slumped to the ground. Darkness swallowed her in its embrace.