parents
will
find out.’
Connie’s shrug looked almost complacent, as if it didn’t matter to her any more. ‘We knew it could happen when we joined,’ she murmured.
The gesture irked slightly. Eveline wished she could feel as easy in her mind as wealthy Connie. Knowing she must soon do more than just join the odd rally or attend a few meetings had made her see that this was no game. If called upon she mustn’t fail her friends and what they stood for, fought for, often suffered for. It was the prospect of her dad finding out that made a coward of her.
‘Don’t it worry you at all?’ she snapped, grammar blown to the wind.
‘So far we’ve been lucky not to have got into trouble.’ Connie’s change of tone took her by surprise. ‘But one day it’ll happen, and then …’
The sentence was left unfinished; she saw Connie was in fact far from complacent, as much in fear of her family’s reaction as Eveline of hers once her secret was out. It was inevitable. Having money didn’t buy security and peace of mind. One look at Connie’s face told her that and she felt momentarily humbled.
They had narrowly missed arrest on a previous demonstration on June the nineteenth. They’d gone with a sizeable body of the WSPU to the House of Commons to distribute leaflets quoting part of the 1689 Bill of Rights on the right of any subject to petition the king’s representative and render any attempt by the police to obstruct their passage illegal. It had all ended unsuccessfully and in confusion with a hundred and twenty-two women arrested.
At their first militant foray, she and Connie had only just avoided being caught, scurrying off as the police arrived. She’d felt a coward, a traitor. It plagued her for days after. At the next George Street meeting she was hardly able to look others in the eye even though no one blamed her. Connie said she felt exactly the same, but arrest would mean complications regarding her family. Although the cause was beginning to take precedence over fear of family reaction, they still dreaded that day even above the possibility of arrest.
After the skirmish, they had parted company, neither of them caring to join in an evening’s spate of window breaking at the Treasury and Home Offices, later to hear that thirteen more women had been arrested.
Convicted, the thirteen were taken to Holloway where they had gone on hunger strike. After six days they were released. Eveline had to admire them. Six days voluntarily starving themselves!
She who enjoyed every meal Mum put before her wondered where they found their courage, many being women of good breeding who usually ate far better than she ever did. She was aware that one day she too could expect to stand in court alongside those brave souls for a cause that mattered more to them than anything and on whose actions hung the right of women to be included with the voting masses.
‘Perhaps going on hunger strike might not be as bad as it sounds,’ she said to Connie, thinking of the artist Marion Wallace Dunlop who had stencilled the extract from the 1689 Bill of Rights on the wall of St Stephen’s Hall in the House of Commons and been given one month’s imprisonment for refusing to pay her fine. Her demand that she be placed in the First Division as a political prisoner denied, she went on hunger strike.
‘They released her after only four days,’ Eveline went on. ‘I suppose a person can put up with not eating for four days. It’s a surer way of getting out of prison before your time’s up.’
Connie was rueful. ‘If they did let you starve yourself to death it’s an even surer way of getting out before it’s up.’ Which made Eveline think.
Connie was aware she was being too melodramatic. There’d be such an outcry were a woman to be left to starve to death. But at the moment she was more worried about the repercussions should her family discover what she was doing.
Eveline had far less to lose, since her life was not
will
find out.’
Connie’s shrug looked almost complacent, as if it didn’t matter to her any more. ‘We knew it could happen when we joined,’ she murmured.
The gesture irked slightly. Eveline wished she could feel as easy in her mind as wealthy Connie. Knowing she must soon do more than just join the odd rally or attend a few meetings had made her see that this was no game. If called upon she mustn’t fail her friends and what they stood for, fought for, often suffered for. It was the prospect of her dad finding out that made a coward of her.
‘Don’t it worry you at all?’ she snapped, grammar blown to the wind.
‘So far we’ve been lucky not to have got into trouble.’ Connie’s change of tone took her by surprise. ‘But one day it’ll happen, and then …’
The sentence was left unfinished; she saw Connie was in fact far from complacent, as much in fear of her family’s reaction as Eveline of hers once her secret was out. It was inevitable. Having money didn’t buy security and peace of mind. One look at Connie’s face told her that and she felt momentarily humbled.
They had narrowly missed arrest on a previous demonstration on June the nineteenth. They’d gone with a sizeable body of the WSPU to the House of Commons to distribute leaflets quoting part of the 1689 Bill of Rights on the right of any subject to petition the king’s representative and render any attempt by the police to obstruct their passage illegal. It had all ended unsuccessfully and in confusion with a hundred and twenty-two women arrested.
At their first militant foray, she and Connie had only just avoided being caught, scurrying off as the police arrived. She’d felt a coward, a traitor. It plagued her for days after. At the next George Street meeting she was hardly able to look others in the eye even though no one blamed her. Connie said she felt exactly the same, but arrest would mean complications regarding her family. Although the cause was beginning to take precedence over fear of family reaction, they still dreaded that day even above the possibility of arrest.
After the skirmish, they had parted company, neither of them caring to join in an evening’s spate of window breaking at the Treasury and Home Offices, later to hear that thirteen more women had been arrested.
Convicted, the thirteen were taken to Holloway where they had gone on hunger strike. After six days they were released. Eveline had to admire them. Six days voluntarily starving themselves!
She who enjoyed every meal Mum put before her wondered where they found their courage, many being women of good breeding who usually ate far better than she ever did. She was aware that one day she too could expect to stand in court alongside those brave souls for a cause that mattered more to them than anything and on whose actions hung the right of women to be included with the voting masses.
‘Perhaps going on hunger strike might not be as bad as it sounds,’ she said to Connie, thinking of the artist Marion Wallace Dunlop who had stencilled the extract from the 1689 Bill of Rights on the wall of St Stephen’s Hall in the House of Commons and been given one month’s imprisonment for refusing to pay her fine. Her demand that she be placed in the First Division as a political prisoner denied, she went on hunger strike.
‘They released her after only four days,’ Eveline went on. ‘I suppose a person can put up with not eating for four days. It’s a surer way of getting out of prison before your time’s up.’
Connie was rueful. ‘If they did let you starve yourself to death it’s an even surer way of getting out before it’s up.’ Which made Eveline think.
Connie was aware she was being too melodramatic. There’d be such an outcry were a woman to be left to starve to death. But at the moment she was more worried about the repercussions should her family discover what she was doing.
Eveline had far less to lose, since her life was not
Similar Books
