Suffragette in the City

  His saddle creaked as his lips brushed mine, heat from the contact bursting into life deep in the untouched parts of me. Ask him now, my brain demanded. Tell him the position is his if he wants it.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, his breath fanning across my mouth, his eyes burning into mine.

  “I don’t seem to be able to stop,” I admitted, filled with conflicting emotions. Every sensation seemed to be right with Griffin, and yet I knew that no proper lady acted this way.

  “Good,” he answered, just before his lips fully claimed mine. The kiss was hard at first, hard and aggressive and demanding, then all of a sudden his lips softened. I gasped with surprise at such a marvelous feeling, moaning when he surged into my mouth. It was sinful, it was wrong, it was shameful…it was heaven and I didn’t want it to stop.

  He pulled his mouth from mine as a group of people cantered around the bend, turning his horse. I put pressed my heels against Marianne, and we walked on without speaking.

  “You’re sure you would not consider selling Winston?” I broke the silence a few minutes later.

  “What? No, I wouldn’t.” He seemed distracted and looked at me curiously, as if appraising me. I licked my lips, hoping he wouldn’t think I was a brazen hussy. His gaze shot to my mouth.

  My whole body was tingling now, but I firmly gave it the order to cease, so I could focus on what was important, like asking him if he’d like to fill the duties of a lover. “What will you do with him when you go on your next trip?”

  “It depends.”

  “When do you plan to leave?”

  He frowned briefly. “I’m not sure. Do you desire me gone?”

  “Not at all,” I said brightly, trying desperately to rein in an unreasonable giddy feeling that suddenly filled me. Without my permission, my breasts tightened as I wondered if he would try to kiss me again.

  He didn’t, but his face lightened at my words.

  “I asked because—” I paused as he stared at my mouth. He was thinking about that kiss, I was sure he was. Now is the time, my brain screamed. Ask him!

  I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly nervous. What if he refused me? “I simply wanted to know—”

  “Yes?” he asked quickly, turning in his saddle to look me full in the face.

  “I wondered if you would be interested…that is, if you would like to…er…”

  “What is it you’re trying to say, Cassandra?”

  I stared at him in frustration and desire, mingled together in a confusion of emotion. “I wanted to know if…” I took a deep breath, telling my jangled nerves to just say the words. Be my lover, my brain coached me. I want to know if you’d like to be my lover.

  “Well?”

  The words came out in a rush. Unfortunately, they weren’t the ones either of us were expecting. “I wondered if you might not let me borrow Winston when you are gone. I am sure the exercise would be good for him, and—” I halted in faux surprise at his roar of anger. “Is there something wrong?”

  He seemed choked for words and had difficulty speaking.

  “Women!” he sputtered at last.

  Chapter Ten

  “Oh no. Not another one of those African artifacts from Joshua,” I said when, arriving home, Theodore presented me with a package. “They’re certainly interesting, but some of them are not suitable for mixed company. There was a male one that had an enormous…ahem.”

  Theodore grinned as I closed the library door. Luckily for the peace of minds of the maids who were called upon to dust such things, the package did not contain yet another fertility god, but a collection of books. I lifted the top one off the stack and was surprised to see From Sultan to Sahara by G. H. M. St. John. An inscription inside read: To Cassandra Whitney, May you wander the paths you seek.

  Touched by Griffin’s generosity in sending me the books, I smiled when I noticed that he did not include the volume tirading against women travelers.

  “He does show wisdom in some things,” I told Annie when I was dressing for the rally.

  “That’s good, miss.”

  As I was about to don my blue serge suit, I noticed something amiss in the hem. “Annie, you haven’t removed all of the trimming!”

  “Oh. I…er…it must have slipped my mind.” She looked guilty at my observation.

  I frowned at the black braid trim that was too elaborate for my taste. “This is not like you, Annie. Are you unwell? Is something bothering you? Have you been crying!”

  She avoided my eye and looked down at the garment. “No, miss. I’m sorry about the skirt.”

  “Annie…” I pulled her to a chair, concerned now by her attitude. She looked flushed and close to tears. “If you have a problem, you know I am happy to help. Would you like some time off? Is your mother ailing again?”

  “No, thank you, my mother is well.”

  I patted her on the arm sympathetically, but did not press her any further. We had been together through hard times, the two of us, and I knew when she was ready to tell me what was bothering her, she would.

  The sun was hiding behind several ominous-looking dark clouds, making me glad of my wool dress as I met Helena near the entrance to Hyde Park.

  “You’re here early,” I told her as we strolled into the park.

  “For a reason,” she answered, linking her arm through mine. “You give me such support—I would never dare arrive without you!”

  “Ridiculous,” I said, oddly touched by her warmth. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about attending a rally for women’s rights. There will be no demonstrations, no protests, only speeches. What possible objection could anyone have to you simply listening to speeches?”

  “Harold forbade me to attend.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye as she spoke. “Griffin asked me if I was going to attend the rally with you.”

  “Did he?” I asked brightly. “I take it he successfully voiced the objections he had begun yesterday?”

  “Can you doubt that? But I am being unfair. Griffin didn’t voice an objection, he just asked me if I was attending.”

  We passed one of the many groundskeepers’ sheds as I mused over this strange behavior. “Hmmm. That’s odd. I wonder—”

  My only excuse for what followed is that my thoughts were focused on thoughts of Griffin, and not our surroundings. Thus when a dark shadow loomed up from a nearby shrub, it didn’t register until after I found myself in his foul embrace. A musty black cloth was jammed down over my head and torso, effectively pinning my arms to my sides. Without any warning, I was picked up and carried a short distance, the entire episode so quick, I had neither time to warn Helena or call for help.

  Deposited abruptly on a wooden floor, I struggled to a sitting position. Distressed noises nearby indicated a second person next to me.

  “It’s an easy job, picking off ladies what go out without the protection of a man,” an odious voice crowed as the door slammed.

  “Helena?” I cried, trying to make my escape from the damnable black cloth.

  “Cassandra?” came the answering wail.

  “Thank heavens you’re not hurt.” I rose to my knees and divested myself of the bag before turning my attention to the figure that lay struggling next to me. “Here, let me help you get that off. You’re just tangling yourself up more.”

  Once freed, we sat on the floor, flustered and mussed, and looked around us.

  “This appears to be a gardener’s shed judging by the tools and tea things,” I said, noting a sagging basket chair, filthy windows, and gardening implements.

  “What…what happened?” Helena’s voice quavered, but she was obviously made of sterner material than I had previously thought.

  “For some reason that I am not yet able to explain, we have been abducted.” I rose and went to the door. It was locked.

  “But why should we be abducted?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied, bending down to look through the keyhole. No key was in evidence.

  ??
?Cassandra, what are we going to do?” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence, indicating a corresponding rise in panic.

  I picked up my hat from where it had been knocked onto the floor. “Never fear, Helena. I have the greatest confidence that we shall make our escape.”

  She rose to her feet slowly, watching as I tidied up my tangled hair as best I could before pulling a couple of hatpins from my modest chapeau. “Although I don’t wear the large hats bedecked with dead birds and other such unsavory items that so many women seem to favor, I do need several long, sturdy hatpins to secure a hat to my head. Ah, these will do, I think.”

  I pulled two hat pins free and bent over the lock.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, craning over my shoulder.

  “Rory, the blacksmith in the village where I lived, showed me this trick when I was a girl. My father had a tendency to lock me in the coal room as punishment.”

  Helena made a horrified noise.

  “Later it was the linen closet, and once, a trunk he kept stored in the stables. I haven’t had to do this in some time, but I believe...ah, there it goes.” The lock clicked. I opened the door with a triumphant gesture. “Shall we go on to the rally, or would you prefer to go home and recover from this experience?”

  Helena stood open-mouthed, staring at me with astonishment. I must admit I relished the look of admiration that came over her face as she ran over and hugged me fiercely. “You’re amazing!”

  “My dear, you embarrass me. It is a simple lock—a child could have made his way out of the shed. Besides,” I said with honesty, uncomfortable with her effusive praise, “a groundskeeper was soon to arrive. They are always busy about the area and make, I have noticed, frequent visits to the sheds. I’m sure that we were in no danger at all.”

  We walked quickly across the green, discussing the possible reasons someone might want to abduct us in such a manner.

  “Should we contact the police, do you think?” Helena asked.

  “It must surely have been a prank,” I said hesitantly. “What sane abductor would choose such a public place to enact a nefarious plot? No, I feel confident it was a simple prank . . . that or—”

  I paused as an insidious thought struck me.

  Helena caught my arm, her face pale and distressed. “What?”

  “It could be…” I dropped my voice and whispered my suspicion.

  “White slavery?” Helena repeated, a look of disbelief crossing her face.

  “If not a prank, that’s really the only other explanation that makes sense. You are lovely, and I don’t make people retch when they see me, so what other reason would someone have to abduct us? No doubt the kidnappers left us to fetch a carriage by which they would take us to their headquarters.”

  “But—white slavery?”

  “Can you think of any other reasonable explanation given the words that the villain flung at us as he left?”

  “Well…no.” Helena fell silent, but I suspected I had not convinced her.

  Fortunately, we neared Speaker’s Corner, and our abduction was forgotten in the excitement of the moment.

  “I have been considering what you said before we were diverted from our way,” I said as we waited patiently for the other members to gather.

  “What is that?”

  “Oh…perhaps it is nothing, but doesn’t it seem strange to you that your brother was so calm about your attending the rally today? He was very angry about it yesterday, and I cannot imagine what has made him so unconcerned now, unless he plans to keep an eye on you himself.”

  “You mean he would follow me?” She looked around nervously.

  “No, I doubt if he would follow you, and surely if he did he would have seen us detained by the white slavers, and affected our release before I had a chance to do so. No, it seems to me more likely that as he knows exactly where and when the rally is, he will simply show up.”

  “He wouldn’t! Oh!” We both cast suspicious glances about us.

  There was a sizable gathering of Union members present, but as yet only a handful of onlookers. While a few women set up a large Votes For Women banner, others were donning their sashes. Two women in suffragette suits were passing through the crowd with a basket, accepting donations for the cause. Mrs. Heywood was present, as was the fiery Maggie Greene, the latter holding court with a dozen women from the militant clique. I pointed them out to Helena. She seemed fascinated with their plans.

  “Honestly, Helena, you don’t want to involve yourself with them,” I cautioned, remembering my surprise and dismay at her enthusiasm for the militant’s brutal tactics. “Surely, you don’t wish to become involved with setting fire to post boxes and throwing stones at officials?”

  “No, of course not,” Helena said slowly, watching them enviously. “But I do admire their spirit. They seem…so alive! Not content to just sit and let things happen, they make things happen. Doesn’t that stir you?”

  “All it stirs is a feeling of unease and dread,” I replied grimly, watching her eager expression with a profound sense of dismay. “I know the result of violence, Helena. It ends in fear and subjugation and stirs the embers of bitterness and hatred. I believe their radical policy will do us more harm than good.”

  Our argument was brought to an end when, glancing around casually, my attention was caught by a large, bulky shape half-hidden behind a nearby tree.

  “My cup runneth over,” I muttered.

  “In what way?”

  I smiled at Helena. “Nothing. I am just pleased to be proven right.”

  We devoted the next quarter of an hour to handing out pamphlets advocating the Union’s stand on suffrage while several speakers addressed the small crowd of about forty people. When Maggie Greene took the makeshift podium, there was considerable agitation in the officials’ ranks.

  “I wager they were not expecting her to speak,” I whispered to Helena, who shushed me so she could listen with a rapt expression to Maggie. I had to admit that the little Irishwoman was an excellent speaker, electrifying the crowd and drawing cheers of support from the public, but I soon found my attention wandering from her rhetoric.

  In the excitement of the invigorating speeches, I had forgotten about the shape seen lurking behind a nearby tree. It was brought again to my attention when I turned to Helena, about to suggest that we leave, and saw Griffin striding our way in a determined manner. It was at that point that the crowd attacked.

  Perhaps the word attacked is too harsh for the situation; looking back over the event, I can pinpoint the change in the crowd’s mood to the time of Maggie’s speech. Regardless of whether the attackers came prepared to wreak havoc (and, given their ammunition, there can be no doubt that they did), or whether Maggie was responsible for inciting the less controlled members of the audience, the fact remains that suddenly Union members were subjected to a volley of ripe tomatoes.

  “Cassandra!” Helena shrieked as a particularly offensive tomato sailed past my head and struck a woman standing beside me.

  “Damnation!” I shouted, infuriated. “How dare they throw tomatoes at us? We are peaceably gathered, not doing anyone any harm, promoting a cause that would benefit everyone in the United Kingdom. It is an insult, and I will not stand for it. Take cover, Helena!”

  The situation degenerated into a free-for-all as audience members threw themselves into the fray. Fights broke out around us, men fighting men, women fighting women, and, in a few cases, suffragettes fighting one or two of the men armed with a seemingly never-ending supply of tomatoes.

  “Stay back,” I shouted to Helena over my shoulder as I hefted a slimy, but intact, tomato. “Run to your brother; he will take care of you.”

  As I turned my head back toward the attackers, I was struck by a wet, stinging object.

  “Oh!” I cried, fury filling me. A roar echoed behind me that I assumed was Griffin protecting Helena in the resulting melee. I weighed the tomato in my hand as I considered the best target, and remembering the lessons
learn from my youth in the art of throwing hard, green apples, I took careful aim and let the tomato fly.

  It hit one of the men in the eye, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him go to the ground before a strong arm grabbed me roughly around the waist and jerked me back.

  “Ooof! What the devil?” The arm squeezed the breath out of me, so tightly bound around me that I was left unable to draw another. My hat slid down over my left eye in a rakish manner as I was lifted from my feet and carried outside the fringe of the confrontation. Police whistles blew, people screamed, and hoarse voices shouted unmentionable observations as I struggled against the arm, desperate to catch my breath.

  “Show me a riot and I know who’s in the bloody middle of it,” a familiar voice grumbled from above.

  I was set down roughly, and stood clutching my sides, gasping for air. As soon as my eyes cleared, they landed on the sight of a furious Griffin. He was arguing with Helena, ordering her to leave, but she refused to go until I was able to walk.

  He turned back to me with a look that almost made me flinch. “Of all the foolish … have you no brain in that pretty head?”

  I blinked at him as I held my ribs, still trying to catch my breath.

  “Is that all you can do, stand there and gape at me like a fish out of water?”

  The insult stung me into proper posture. Candidate for the position of lover or not, no one tells me I gape like a fish. I straightened up, closed my mouth, and glared out at him from under the angle of my hat. “You might better ask if I can still breathe after my ribs have been broken by your manhandling!”

  He grabbed my arm and dragged me to where Helena stood. “Walk,” he ordered in a tone that I chose not to challenge. He pushed us forward. We walked.

  “May I inquire as to why you saw fit to remove me, without my permission, from the rally?” I asked as the ache in my ribs faded.

  He kept a hand on my elbow, pushing me forward, the touch starting a wave of sensation that rippled over my torso, pooling in deep, intimate parts that had taken to making themselves known whenever he was around.