Suffragette in the City
Swallowing humiliation, I turned to my uncle, and said quietly, “I don’t wish to be the cause of distress for one of your guests. If you will excuse me, I believe I will retire for the evening.”
Stiffening my back, I walked across the room, opened the door, and shut it softly behind me. Too stunned to think clearly, I stood hesitantly in the hall. On the right, Hargreaves greeted new arrivals at the front door, while directly ahead two footmen advanced with trays of beverages. Unable to face anyone, I turned left and ran up the stairs to my aunt’s boudoir, where I threw myself down upon her Black Watch chaise lounge, and sobbed in an embarrassingly uncontrolled manner into a Royal Stuart plaid silk pillow until I heard the front door slam below. I sat up clutching the pillow, then ran to the window to look out. Griffin had Robert in a firm grip as they looked up and down the street. “What the devil…oh, Griffin, you idiot,” I muttered.
I stepped back quickly from the window and paced the room as I thought. “I need to leave the house. I can’t take any more of Lord Sherringham, or of Mabel’s distraught face, or of Griffin’s cold eyes.” The last couple words were spoken on a sob.
I felt like driven prey, forced from a safe haven out to where I could be attacked by anyone. Flight was the only answer. There were the back stairs, but the servants were sure to be there, great huge swarms of them. In my present mood, I could not face even them. As I paced towards the side window, I glanced out briefly, then stopped.
My uncle’s house was a mellow golden-red brick, with ivy covering the front and sides. Uncle Henry claimed it reminded him of Boston, where he had lived for several years. Below, two floors down, there was a small side yard surrounded by a black railing. It was the tradesmen’s entrance, and I knew the gate was not kept locked. If I could climb down the ivy, I could make my escape by the alley behind the house and no one would be the wiser.
“Oh, I am not sacrificing this lovely gown,” I said, touching its delicate folds. “There has to be another way.”
I crept quietly out of the boudoir to see if the front hall was clear. It wasn’t. Henry was speaking to Hargreaves, and as I watched, Griffin and Robert had joined them.
“Just like men to be in the way.” I made my way back to the boudoir, and with one last reluctant glance at my beautiful, delicate gown, opened the side window as quietly as I could.
The window squeaked in protest as it raised, but the masculine rumble of voices outside the door stirred me. I used to be very good climbing the ivy outside my bedroom window as a child, and I felt sure the technique was not one that I would forget. Taking a firm grip on the ivy, I swung my legs over, digging into the foliage with the toes of my delicate evening slippers.
I was about halfway down when I heard a noise above me. Henry leaned out of the window, looking down at me with disbelief. “Cassandra! What are you doing?”
His head disappeared suddenly, and Griffin’s appeared. He roared something at me, causing me to lose my grip momentarily. I slid down the ivy some six feet before I could regain my hold and continue the climb down. I felt the ivy tremble, and looked back up. Griffin had swung himself over the windowsill and was starting down the wall.
“Oh, the fool!” I murmured to myself, and looked down.
It was about five feet to the ground, but a glance upward decided me. I hit the paving stones hard, but rose to my feet with only a few whispered oaths. Other than ripping my bodice, I was unhurt, and watched with interest as Griffin descended a few feet. Calculating the point at which the ivy would give way under his weight, I moved backwards. I didn’t have to wait long—with a great ripping sound, the ivy separated from the wall, and both it and Griffin fell directly in front of me with a loud thump.
I bent over and peered into his face. “Are you hurt?” I asked solicitously.
“Yes,” he groaned, his eyes closed.
“Good.”
I walked out of the yard to the back alley. Noises issuing from the yard assured me that the household staff had been alerted, making it prudent for me to hurry. As I turned the corner, I ran into two men lounging in the shadows against the side of the building.
“Pardon me,” I said, stepping back.
One of the men grabbed for me and brandished a dark object. My eyes widened as I beheld a black pistol.
“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Whitney.” A gold tooth flashed as the speaker stepped forward into the lamplight.
“Mr. Jones!” I cried, irritation driving out the concern at being accosted in the street. “I knew you would show up again. Unpleasant things always have a way of reappearing when you least desire them. Now will you have the decency to inform me why you are harassing me in this manner? And why is this man waving a firearm at me?”
“Here, Percy, isn’t this a piece of luck?” Mr. Jones ignored my demands and spoke to the man pointing the pistol at me.
“It is at that,” Percy agreed with a leer.
“You’re the man from last night!” I accused Percy, then paused, turning to the other man. “Which means you…I thought your voice sounded familiar.”
“Oh, she’s torn her gown, Percy.” Mr. Jones took a step towards me.
“That’s a shame, it is, a cryin’ shame.”
I moved back slowly, hoping they wouldn’t notice.
“Yes, that it is. Torn right there—” He reached out to touch the fabric.
I slapped at his hand and turned, intending to run back down the alley, but his hand shot out and caught me in a cruel grip. I cried out as his fingers dug painfully into my shoulder, pulling me up until his head was close to mine, his breath soiling my neck as he spoke in a tone that filled me with foreboding. “Now, miss, there’s no sense in being unfriendly. We’re old friends, you and I—”
The thought passed through my mind that for a person who abhorred violence as much as I did, I was indulging in a great deal of it of late. I curled my fingers up into a fist, but Mr. Jones must have anticipated the blow I was about to land. By moving quickly he twisted my free arm up behind my back.
“None of that, or,” he jerked my arm upwards, making me gasp in pain, “you’ll have to be punished.”
A whirlwind slammed into us and sent me flying headlong into a nearby lamp post. I shook my head groggily and wondered if there was some sort of lamp post conspiracy against me. As my eyes cleared, I stared openmouthed at an enraged Griffin. He rolled in the street with Mr. Jones in a violent embrace, while above them, Percy shouted something incoherent as he danced around the pair in an agitated way, waving his pistol, but clearly unable to take a shot without hitting them both. He finally abandoned the idea of shooting and threw himself into the fray.
I thought briefly of assisting Griffin with the duo, but clad in nothing but a delicate, and now sadly torn, evening gown without even an umbrella as a weapon, I felt there was little I could do. Besides that, I’d had ample opportunity in the past to admire Griffin’s impressive physique up close, and I was certain that two men would be no match for him while I sought help.
“Oh, blast!” I swore, remembering the fall Griffin had just taken. I hesitated, unsure if I should run to my uncle’s house, or go back and assist Griffin. There was only one clear choice.
I ran back to the scene and screamed as loudly as I could.
The effect was immediate and satisfying. Mr. Jones shot me a venomous look and ran off into the alley, while Percy struggled out of Griffin’s grip and disappeared after his companion. I looked down on Griffin where he endeavored to sit up in the street, and shook my head sadly, saying, “I would have thought you could have taken both of them,” before I turned and ran down the road.
Directly in front of me was one of London’s smaller parks. Although it wasn’t the cleverest idea to run through the park alone at night, the idea of being exposed to family and friends was unthinkable in my present agitated state of mind. A strange wheezing, roaring noise behind me indicated that Griffin was following, and since his were the eyes I wanted to avoid the most, I
dashed into the park and towards a clump of trees, feeling my chances of evading him would be far greater there than on the streets.
Pausing to catch my breath, I heard the metal gate clang and knew Griffin had followed me in. The park was lined with trees and almost completely dark, only small patches of dappled light reaching the edges. I crept along between the iron fence and the trees, and was surprised to hear the gate close a second time.
I stopped. Had Griffin had left the park? Indecision gripped me as I tried to decide whether or not I could chance racing across the open expanse to the far gate. A bulky silhouette passed in front of me which, due to having spent time in the previously mentioned appreciation of his manly proportions, I easily identified as belonging to Griffin.
He moved with absolute silence, a task that certainly must not have been easy for so large a man. I put it down to his years of travel in dangerous places, and crept out to watch with curiosity as he skirted the front of the trees.
To be truthful, I was feeling more than a little ridiculous. The adrenaline that started my flight was wearing off, leaving me wondering what I was doing skulking around a park late at night, hiding from the one person I wanted so desperately to be with.
Griffin’s cold eyes and the mortifying scene with Lord Sherringham flashed through my head and I felt a little less ridiculous.
“A weapon,” I whispered soundlessly to myself. “What you need is a weapon in case you run into those two thugs again.” I felt along the ground for a stick or fallen branch, but the groundskeepers had done a meticulous job, my search resulting in nothing but a handful of twigs. I hurried forward on the tips of my toes to a large fir tree slightly to the left, where I had spied a low branch. It was small in diameter, but considering the situation, I felt it would make an excellent weapon. I worked the branch back and forth quickly, trying to break it off.
With a soft snap, the branch severed. I clutched it and started off after Griffin. Although I had every confidence in Griffin’s ability to handle two men by himself, I worried that the fall and tussle in the street might have drained his reserve strength. I wanted to be at the ready should he need me.
A woman’s scream pierced the night and was quickly silenced. I froze next to a large shrub, wondering if I should take cover, or if I should go on ahead to assist whatever female the two thugs were now no doubt terrorizing. Angry voices shouting ahead decided me. Although I didn’t recognize Griffin’s bellow, I was sure he was in trouble. As I ran past a large cedar bush, an arm reached out and coiled around me, a hand clamping down over my mouth. I was pulled to the side, flailing my branch in what I thought was a menacing manner until a familiar voice hissed, “Stop swatting that thing around and be quiet.”
Griffin let go of my face and crept forward. I leaned over quietly and put my mouth to his ear. “The man with the bowler is Mr. Jones. He’s the one who has been following me.”
“You mean someone really was following you?” His breath tickled my neck.
“Yes.” I grabbed his ears and made him lean down long enough to kiss him. He pulled me tighter for a second kiss, then gently pushed me behind him.
“Stay here.” He started to leave then turned back as I followed him out. “Stay here!”
“Absolutely not. Where are you going?”
“I have unfinished business with those two. For once, do as I say and stay here.”
I was about to protest when he grabbed me by the shoulders.
“So help me God, woman—” he muttered and pulled me to him a third time. His kiss was hot and hard and quick, and stole all my breath. Before I could blink he dashed off in pursuit of Mr. Jones and Percy.
“Well!” I said to no one in particular, fanning myself with the branch, still feeling the imprint of his kisses. A few moments later, recollection of the embarrassment of the evening drove the many pleasurable thoughts from my mind. I had no intention of remaining where I was, and no desire to wait for Griffin in my present mood. I went after him.
A shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Suddenly I was running, racing down the line of trees, heedless of the noise I made. I flung myself out into the open area and flew at the man bending over a figure on the ground.
Being by nature a passive and peace-loving woman, not at all given to emotions of a turbulent nature, I have never had any violent thoughts before—at least, not before I met Griffin. However, the sight of my beloved lying dead on the ground, his life’s blood flowing away while his murderer stood gloating overhead was too much for me. I hurled myself at the villain, catching him off guard, trying to get my hands around his neck as we crashed to the ground.
“If you’ve killed him—” I yelled, sprawled across the man’s chest, my fingers digging into his neck.
The coward squawked in terror, obviously pleading for mercy, but I was not in a merciful mood. I dug my fingers in tighter around his Adam’s apple. Suddenly his body twisted and I was on my back, pinned to the ground, his face looming over mine.
“Are you mad?” a hoarse voice breathed in my ear. I stopped struggling and flung my arms around his head, kissing every reachable spot.
“Are you all right? You’re not hurt? I thought you had been shot!”
“So I gather.”
I released his head and allowed him to move next to me, laying on the grass, breathing heavily and rubbing his neck. I sat up. “Then who were you standing over?”
We both looked. There was no one on the ground.
“Damnation! He’s gone,” Griffin snarled, and leaped up.
A quick search of the area turned up nothing but the pistol that Griffin had wrestled away from Percy. Griffin put the pistol in his pocket and turned to me, swearing softly to himself. One of his lovely eyes was swelling and starting to discolor, the other glared out at me balefully. I yearned take him in my arms, to comfort him, to kiss him—
“Good night,” I said instead, and ran back the way I had come.
He bellowed my name but I ignored it, bolting across the lit area to where I could see the shadow of a gate. It took me a moment to orient myself, but I soon had my bearings and made my way home at a fast trot, slowing to a walk only when I encountered other people. I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror—my eyes were wild, my hair disheveled and full of twigs, the lovely dress torn, smears of dirt running down my cheeks, and somehow I had acquired a decorative clump of leaves in my bosom.
Later, I sat calmly combing my hair, wondering about the primitive compulsion for flight that had possessed me earlier, and waited for the knock that I knew would come at my door.
“Cassandra?” My sister’s voice accompanied the knock. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. “I would rather be alone tonight, though.”
Listening intently I heard the soft murmur of voices.
“Will you not let me in, dear?”
“No, thank you, Mabel. I just want to sleep.”
More murmuring.
“All right. I will talk with you in the morning. Sleep well.”
I sighed with relief as she left, picked up my once lovely Worth gown, and sat on the foot of my bed.
“Now what do I do?” I asked my reflection in the mirror. “I have disgraced my family and confirmed Griffin’s worst fears as to my character.”
The reflection had no answers. I crawled into bed, fully expecting to stay awake the entire night with my heartache and worries, but fate willed otherwise.
Chapter Eighteen
I am usually at my best in the morning, cheerful and ready to tackle whatever obstacles the day may bring. This day was no different; I awoke feeling refreshed, and laid in bed mulling over my plans for the day.
Until something niggled at the back of my mind, something unpleasant. Suddenly, the full horror the previous evening swept over me.
“It’s obvious that some apologies are in order,” I told Annie as she brought me in a cup of morning coffee.
“If you say so, miss.”
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I had given her an abbreviated version of the evening’s events, knowing I could trust her. “I shall have to make those first. And then there’s Helena. Neither of her brothers deserves an apology, but surely I owe her some explanation for my sudden disappearance.”
“That might be best,” Annie agreed.
A glance at the clock set me into motion. Dressed in a navy and white checked day dress, I ran downstairs before any of the family was up. I wasn’t quite early enough, however, for Helena.
“Oh, miss, you’re up.” Theodore looked surprised to see me downstairs so early, and held out a letter. “This just came for you.”
It was a letter from Helena, pleading with me to let her visit, to apologize for both her brothers’ bad behavior. She offered to come and see me at any hour, or begged me to visit her whenever I wished. I was welcome in her house anytime, she declared.
“I am quite certain that Lord Sherringham would never say that,” I said as I tossed the letter into the fire. Helena’s intentions were good, but I knew just how welcome I was at St. John House. I sent Theodore out to fetch a cab while I contemplated an apology to my aunt.
As luck would have it, my uncle is the one who received it, Caroline not having risen yet.
“My dear, you have nothing to apologize for,” Henry replied comfortingly. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness for allowing the earl to speak to you in such a manner. You must accept my apology for including Lord Sherringham in the dinner party.”
“Never mind, as long as we both forgive each other, all is well.”
“Is it?” he asked, peering from under his bushy white eyebrows.
I felt uncomfortable under his knowing gaze. “I still have to explain myself to Mabel, but yes, other than that task, all is well.”
“And what of Mr. St. John?”
I frowned and pulled back. “I see no reason to apologize or to explain myself to him. I own that I will speak with his sister on the matter, but I hardly feel it necessary to discuss the situation with a man who would stand idly by and allow his lov—a friend to be so mistreated by his own brother. No, Uncle, I cannot see that!”