Suffragette in the City

  We fell silent, thinking about our promising futures. Small groups of people started to arrive, chatting and calling to one another merrily. The audience was made up of mostly low to middle class citizens, a fact I kept in mind when dressing for the event. Rather than wear an afternoon dress or even a suit, I had dressed in a conservative gray skirt and pale blue shirtwaist with a simple straw boater and matching blue ribbon. Recent news stories had hinted that suffragettes were made up of women from the idle class who had nothing better to do with their time, hence my particular pains to appear in a neat but simple costume. I hoped Helena had a similar insight.

  Mrs. Knox arrived looking calm and cool. She motioned me over to her, and spoke in a quiet tone. “Have you explained the situation to Miss St. John?”

  “I have. I must tell you, this will be our last demonstration.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Neither of us wishes to leave the Union,” I hastened to explain. “We both would like to support the cause in a less…physical manner.”

  “I quite understand, my dear. We have many members who support our efforts without stepping foot in a march or holding a single banner. You need not risk imprisonment in order to be of benefit to the cause.” She glanced meaningfully at Robert, standing nearby. “I can understand your decision.”

  I flushed, and was going to correct the false impression, when she continued. “I also wished to tell you that the Union also does not hold it against members if they choose to not serve their sentence in prison. I was happy to see that you and Miss St. John were released early.”

  I shuffled my feet uncomfortably at the subject.

  “Helena’s brother had us released,” I said nervously. “We were prepared to serve our time, but he had us released instead.”

  “There is no shame in obtaining a release, my dear.” Dark circles under her eyes emphasized her fatigue. I was sure Maggie’s destructive plans were the primary cause for her weariness. “No woman is meant for every role.”

  I spotted familiar figures strolling towards us, so thanked her and turned to watch Griffin and Helena approach. My heart performed its usual contractions and physical jerks when I saw Griffin. I wondered idly how long it would take before I no longer received a thrill upon seeing him.

  “A very long time, I hope,” I said out loud as Griffin greeted Robert, then sighed when I took a closer look at Helena. Rather than dressing down to fit in the crowd, she had outdone herself with a rich plum-colored afternoon dress with pink silk inserts. Her hat was large and extravagant, bristling with ostrich feathers. I dragged my eyes from the horror of her hat to her brother. Griffin was taller than most men around him, and presented an impressive picture of physical strength. I was meditating on his many masculine charms—best seen when he was unclothed—when he approached, an endearing grin upon his face. I believe he would have embraced me if I had not stopped him.

  “Cassandra, can it be you no longer enjoy those kisses I thought pleased you so much?” he teased as I held him back with a firm hand.

  “On the contrary, I enjoy them too much. In addition to which, I know you, Griffin. You would not be content with a polite greeting.”

  His grin deepened. “There can be no embarrassment in two engaged persons showing their mutual affection.”

  “There is when that affection is displayed in a public place. And as we are on the subject, I don’t believe we are engaged.”

  “We are!” he rumbled, trying to draw me closer.

  I eluded his grasp. “No, I think not. For an engagement to take place, there must first be a proposal, and I do not recall having received one.”

  “Whether or not you remember it, you did.” His jaw took on a familiar stubborn appearance. “I asked you that day at your sister’s house.”

  I blushed at the memory of our activities on that day. “As I recall, you suggested marriage as a solution to a problem. I hardly think that can be classified as a proposal.”

  “Hrmph.” He frowned, eyeing me speculatively. “But we have already announced our intentions, so we are engaged.”

  “You announced an engagement,” I corrected, enjoying every minute of his discomfort. “I believe I was most adamant about waiting several years before I marry.”

  Griffin glared at me while I smiled sweetly at him. That was how Robert and Helena found us, Helena pointing out that the other suffragettes had gathered, and that we were wanted.

  I glanced at the gathering and a spike of fear gripped me as I saw a face I recognized—one of Maggie Greene’s captains was included in the entourage. She stood with the other three women, waiting expectantly for Mrs. Knox to give the word to go in. I turned back to Griffin as Helena went to join the group. I wanted to tell him, but one look at his calm, unconcerned face made me bite back the urge. I resolved instead to keep a firm grip upon Helena, and make sure she was not anywhere near the militant woman.

  Griffin took my hand, instantly easing my worry. “You remember your promise?”

  “Yes, Griffin, I have already told you I will stay behind the speakers and not interfere. Helena will be behind me. We will not in any way obstruct or attack the audience or other speakers. We will not participate in any—what was your phrase?”

  “Scrummage.”

  “—scrummages. We will not chant slogans or wave signs lest we should inadvertently strike someone. Do you mind terribly if we breathe?”

  “Only if you have to.”

  His lovely amber eyes were full of trust, love, and even—I might have been mistaken—pride. I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him towards me, kissing him quickly, then turned and ran after Helena.

  Three women were clustered around Mrs. Knox, waiting to receive final instructions. As she handed out the Votes For Women sashes, she reminded us that our duty was to stand quietly and make ourselves visible but not vocal or physical. I watched the militant from the corner of my eye, and frowned at her smug look.

  I felt sick then, for I knew her presence meant trouble. Caught in a trap of my own making, I grabbed Helena by her plum-colored sleeve, and held her back until everyone had passed.

  The meeting was typical of its type: working class men and a few women who came to hear their favorite candidates. The rhetoric from the stand was as it usually was, promises that would never be kept, derision against a faulty government that would be corrected under the candidate’s office, benefits and good times ahead. In the middle of the speeches, a sudden movement to the right caught my eye. I glanced down the row and saw to my horror that Maggie Greene and two other militants were seated on the other side.

  “Damnation,” I muttered to myself, worry filling me at the sight of her. I knew the militants were present solely to cause trouble, and I was at a loss as to how to prevent it. Mrs. Knox was clearly out of her element; although she leaned sideways and held a brief conversation with Maggie, it was with an unhappy and concerned face that she sat back.

  Question time came, and several members of the audience rose and asked the standard questions. We sat for thirty minutes or so before the designated speaker from our party rose and made her way to the questioner’s podium. Maggie was among the group, and although I tried, I was not able to keep Helena at a distance from her. Eight of us stood behind Mrs. Knox, on the surface a solid supportive line, but below, a group divided. I was desperately worried and shot several meaningful glances at Maggie.

  “Mr. Chester,” Mrs. Knox called out in a loud, clear voice, “if you are elected, will you do your best to make Women’s Suffrage a government measure?”

  A roar went up from the crowd, and several stewards moved in towards Mrs. Knox. They spoke to her in a low tone. She shook her head, and repeated her question, louder than before.

  I watched the stewards nervously, aware of the four militants standing directly behind them. The candidate consulted with a short man in an appallingly loud checked suit and derby hat.

  “Answer the question, please, Mr. Chester,” Mrs. Knox sai
d.

  “I am afraid,” Chester said finally, “that I am unable to answer that question at this time. It is a matter for some thought, and not one which I have had sufficient time—”

  “You are afraid to answer the question!” Maggie shoved Mrs. Knox aside and took over the questioner’s spot. “You are the same as every other man here, afraid to let women have any power! You would do well to be afraid!”

  I missed the initial assault upon the candidate because I was simultaneously pulling Helena away from where she stood near the militants, and watching Mrs. Knox in hurried consultation with the other moderate member. I heard the horrified gasp from the crowd, however, and saw the results.

  Mr. Chester lay on his back, blood streaming from his head. As I stared in shock, the four militants removed large rocks from their skirts and threw them at the remaining candidates. Two of the stewards grabbed for the women, initiating a brawl that seemed to spread instantly to everyone in the area. Helena struggled against me, trying to reach the women.

  Suddenly, the room was full of police constables, seeming to stream in from everywhere, racing down the aisles, and up from the speaker’s platform. The audience, in a panic, began to push their way toward the doors. I was rudely shoved aside by a large man making a hasty exit, and lost my grip on Helena. Stewards and policemen dragged the militants through the crowds, towards the back of the hall. I struggled to work my way to Helena, who was now pushed into the far aisle. The number of people attempting to rush down the narrow aisles caused a dense backup of bodies, all fighting frantically to reach the two exits.

  As I slipped out of the hold of a constable, I saw Griffin to my left, trying to fight the crowd and make his way down the aisle. He was being pushed backwards by the sheer volume of people, and although I saw him bodily lift people out of his path, I lost sight of him when I was suddenly snatched from behind by a constable. Helena was ahead of me, struggling to help Mrs. Knox. In front of me, one woman was knocked down and trampled by the crowd. I tried to avoid stepping on her as the constable dragged me towards the back of the hall.

  Unlike my prior arrest, this time I fought, but was only rewarded by having my thumb bent backwards until I thought it would break. My arms were wrenched behind me and, blinded with pain, I was dragged down the aisle toward the back entrance. I was stepped on and kicked in the process; the front of my shirtwaist was ripped almost exposing my undergarments.

  As I was being dragged down the aisle, I saw a policeman beating one of the Suffragettes on the breasts. I kicked out toward him, and had the satisfaction of making contact with an extremely vulnerable spot. I could not see Helena anywhere, leaving me with the hope she had made an escape. Our Votes For Women sashes had served as a target for the police who were obviously lying in wait, for only members of our group were being attacked. The thought crossed my mind that the militants had wanted this result, and I felt certain it was Maggie and her group who had tipped off the police to our presence. Just how Maggie had finagled one of her captains into the delegation was a matter for later conjecture.

  I was dragged out to an alley and tossed into a waiting Black Maria. My head hit the side of the van and I saw stars for a few minutes. Shaking my head to clear them, I could feel someone’s leg underneath me. I tried to rise, and was knocked down as another woman was flung into the van.

  The ride to the police station was unthinkably miserable. Not only were we all nursing injuries, I had lost Helena and had no way of knowing what happened to her. Worse, I was sure the militants had sealed our fates—we would be arrested and charged according to their plan. Griffin would have a hard time obtaining a release for Helena and me once we had been convicted of assault for a second time.

  In a repeat of the earlier scene in the police station, we were herded into a small, bare room, then interviewed briefly. When asked whom I would like to notify, I declined to offer any name. I would not have Mabel and Joshua involved, and I knew Griffin would find me somehow.

  We spent the night in cells alone, a torment made worse because I had no knowledge of Helena’s fate. I had inquired of the police, but they either did not know or refused to tell me. I asked the two other Union members, but no one had remembered seeing Helena after the police had swarmed. I did not see Maggie Greene, a fact for which I was eternally grateful.

  I spent the night alternately weeping and pacing the cell in desperation. By morning, I was near frantic with worry.

  “Come along, it’s time for you to go before the magistrate,” the wardress told me.

  “How many members of the Union were arrested, can you tell me?” I asked her on the way there.

  “Couldn’t say, but there were several people arrested last night as a result of the riot.”

  That gave me a minuscule ray of hope that public opinion was beginning to turn in our favor, but it did not answer my question of what had happened to Helena.

  I made a pitiful picture for the magistrate with my skirt and shirtwaist torn and dirty. I had lost my hat, had a bruise on my jaw in addition to the ones Lord Sherringham had left on my neck, my hand was swollen and stiff, and I walked with a pronounced limp. I was, however, defiant, and refused to admit my guilt. This time I was not given the option of paying a fine, instead I was charged with assault upon a policeman and several other individuals, and sentenced to nine months in prison.

  “Nine…months?” I gasped, stunned at the sentence.

  I had assumed I would be asked to pay a fine and would be released upon the payment. Instead, in a nightmarish scene that I will remember for many years, I was driven immediately to Strangeways prison with Mrs. Knox and one other member.

  Our clothes were taken from us, and we were given horrible prison dresses made of coarse material, a flannel singlet and calico chemise, stockings but no garters or drawers, and shoes of different sizes. Both of mine were too small.

  I was led to a dark cell that contained only a chamber pot and a bed. The bed was merely a wooden plank with a raised object at the head, presumably a pillow. I was afraid to get near it, since it looked as if it crawled with vermin, and ended up kicking it into a corner of the cell. I was cold, my knee and hand hurt, and I was numb with shock and fear as I sat in the near-dark on the hard wooden plank.

  The prison doctor came later to my cell to evaluate my wounds. After a superficial exam, he dismissed them.

  “Nothing serious. The swelling will go down in time,” he said, handing his nurse his bag. “I assume you are on a hunger strike?”

  “I am,” I answered with as much dignity as I could muster. I knew it was a badge of pride amongst imprisoned suffragettes not to take any food until they were released.

  He made a notation on a chart. “You have three days to change your mind. After that we’ll be forced to give you hospital treatment.”

  I had no idea what he meant, but I was so depressed that I did not give it much attention. I refused the evening meal, and lay on my bed, cold, hungry, and sick with worry. That I had only myself to blame for the situation did not make me feel better.

  “Once again, you have created a situation that would try a saint’s patience,” I told myself. “Only this time you’ve involved Helena.”

  Guilt over her mingled with my misery, both weighing heavily on me. I sat on the hard wooden cot, heart-sore and sick of myself, until I fell into an uneasy sleep.

  The next morning the prison matron visited me. A short, gray-haired woman with a long face, she explained the rules, and asked if I wish to eat some fruit.

  “Thank you, no. I will continue the hunger strike.”

  She had brought me some water to drink. That I accepted.

  “Do you have any questions?” she asked kindly. I had expected the prison matron to be a cold and harsh woman, and was surprised by her warmth.

  “I have two, if you would be so kind as to answer them. Can you tell me if a friend of mine who is also a suffragette was arrested? Her name is Helena St. John.”

  She thought
for a moment, and said, “Yes, she is three doors down. She was injured in the arrest, but is doing better.”

  My heart fell into my stomach. I had promised Griffin I would not allow harm to come to Helena, and I had failed him. He would never forgive me, of that I was sure.

  “How many women were arrested, do you know?”

  “I know that seven were charged, including you. Was that your second question, my dear?”

  “No, my second question was about something the doctor said. He called it hospital treatment, and said I would undergo it in three days. What is this treatment?”

  “Oh, dear. I hate to tell you, but you should know—this is why I urge you to start eating. If you will not eat in three days, the doctor will subject you to forcible feedings.”

  “Forcible feedings?” I questioned suspiciously. I had heard whispers of force feedings, but had always assumed the horror of them was greatly exaggerated. “How can he make me eat if I don’t wish to?”

  She told me in detail how the feedings were done. The very description made me sick, and after advising me again to think about the hunger strike, she left. I sat hunched on my bed, my feet tucked under me in an attempt to warm them outside of the binding shoes, and considered my new life. Force-feedings! Prison! The thought of Helena lying injured just a few doors down was maddening; I wanted to comfort her, but was unable to leave my cell.

  The day passed slowly, with no interruptions except the wardresses coming at each meal to ask me if I would eat. I refused all food.

  I thought I had reached the depths of my depression that day, but I was wrong. The following morning I was told I had a visitor. My spirits rose at the thought of Griffin, but it was Mrs. Prince, one of the Union’s head officers, who stood outside my door and talked to me through the grill.

  “Is there anything I can do for you? Anyone you would like contacted?”

  “Yes, I would like to see Miss St. John, who has also been imprisoned. She is in the cell a few doors down, and has been injured. She is very delicate, and should be released for medical reasons. Can you arrange it that I might see her? Or can you contact her brother, Griffin St. John, and alert him to her condition?”