Read Online Suffragette Girl by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Dickinson
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afraid that shards of glass might have caught Isobel.
‘Yes – yes, I’m fine.’ Isobel stepped back and, arm in arm, they hurried away. ‘Walk slowly,’ she panted. ‘It looks more suspicious if we’re
hurrying.’
After a short distance, they stopped and listened. All was quiet.
‘My turn now,’ Florrie said, taking a deep breath as she held out her hand for the hammer. She stepped towards the window of another shop and, raising her arm high above her head,
brought the hammer down. The glass shattered at once and a splinter hit her forehead just above her left temple. She turned and once more they hurried on, putting as much distance as they could
between themselves and the scene of their crime.
They had just broken the eighth window when they heard the sound of a police whistle in the distance.
‘Right, that’s it for tonight,’ Isobel pronounced. ‘Throw the hammer away.’
‘Throw it away?’ Florrie repeated. ‘But—’
‘We don’t want to be caught with it in our possession. Do as I say, just drop it on the ground. Come on, round this corner and into the next street. Now, if we’re stopped, our
story is that we’ve just been visiting our dear sister-in-law. We’ve just lost our brother. If they want names and addresses, we both become too distressed to talk any more. No
policeman will want a couple of wailing women to deal with when he has criminals to chase.’
Florrie giggled. They walked and ran a little until they rounded the corner. In a different street, they felt a little safer, and now they bowed their heads and walked on, arm in arm, as if in
deep mourning and comforting each other.
Running footsteps sounded in front of them and they held their breath, but continued on slowly and sorrowfully. The policeman took no notice but ran by them, heading for the next street. They
walked on, still afraid that any moment they would feel a hand on their shoulder and a gruff voice ordering them to stop. But at last they reached their own street safely and hurried up the steps.
Once inside the front door of number six, their legs gave way beneath them and they sank to the floor in the dimly lit hallway, thankful to be home. They threw back their black veils and stared at
each other.
‘We did it! And without being caught too—’ Florrie began triumphantly, but Isobel’s eyes were full of concern.
‘Oh, my dear, you’re hurt. Your forehead’s bleeding.’
‘Is it?’ Florrie put her fingers up to her temple. When she withdrew them, there was a smear of blood on her fingertips. Isobel pulled herself up and held out her hand towards the
girl. ‘Come, let’s bathe it at once. Perhaps it isn’t as serious as it looks.’
The cut was tiny, but quite deep. ‘It might leave a scar,’ Isobel said worriedly.
But Florrie only murmured, ‘My first battle wound. Now I’m truly one of you.’
‘We never doubted it for a moment,’ Isobel said softly.
Two days later their actions were headlines in the newspapers.
‘“Outrageous attacks were perpetrated on Monday night on Knightsbridge shops,”’
Isobel read out over the breakfast table.
‘“Nine front windows .
. .
”’ She paused and looked up. ‘Nine? We only broke eight, didn’t we?’
Florrie, her mouth full of kipper, nodded. ‘The papers never get things right,’ she murmured as Isobel read on.
‘“. . .
together with merchandise displayed therein, were damaged. The work is thought to have been carried out by suffragettes. No one was caught in the act and therefore, as
yet, no one has been apprehended for the offence. The police are still making extensive enquiries.”
We were very lucky, you know, to escape,’ Isobel said solemnly. ‘We could
be waking up in a cell this morning.’
Florrie grinned. ‘But instead, here we are, eating kippers and planning what we’re going to do next.’
Above the newspaper, Isobel eyed her with amusement. ‘Got a taste for it now, have we?’ Then her face
‘Yes – yes, I’m fine.’ Isobel stepped back and, arm in arm, they hurried away. ‘Walk slowly,’ she panted. ‘It looks more suspicious if we’re
hurrying.’
After a short distance, they stopped and listened. All was quiet.
‘My turn now,’ Florrie said, taking a deep breath as she held out her hand for the hammer. She stepped towards the window of another shop and, raising her arm high above her head,
brought the hammer down. The glass shattered at once and a splinter hit her forehead just above her left temple. She turned and once more they hurried on, putting as much distance as they could
between themselves and the scene of their crime.
They had just broken the eighth window when they heard the sound of a police whistle in the distance.
‘Right, that’s it for tonight,’ Isobel pronounced. ‘Throw the hammer away.’
‘Throw it away?’ Florrie repeated. ‘But—’
‘We don’t want to be caught with it in our possession. Do as I say, just drop it on the ground. Come on, round this corner and into the next street. Now, if we’re stopped, our
story is that we’ve just been visiting our dear sister-in-law. We’ve just lost our brother. If they want names and addresses, we both become too distressed to talk any more. No
policeman will want a couple of wailing women to deal with when he has criminals to chase.’
Florrie giggled. They walked and ran a little until they rounded the corner. In a different street, they felt a little safer, and now they bowed their heads and walked on, arm in arm, as if in
deep mourning and comforting each other.
Running footsteps sounded in front of them and they held their breath, but continued on slowly and sorrowfully. The policeman took no notice but ran by them, heading for the next street. They
walked on, still afraid that any moment they would feel a hand on their shoulder and a gruff voice ordering them to stop. But at last they reached their own street safely and hurried up the steps.
Once inside the front door of number six, their legs gave way beneath them and they sank to the floor in the dimly lit hallway, thankful to be home. They threw back their black veils and stared at
each other.
‘We did it! And without being caught too—’ Florrie began triumphantly, but Isobel’s eyes were full of concern.
‘Oh, my dear, you’re hurt. Your forehead’s bleeding.’
‘Is it?’ Florrie put her fingers up to her temple. When she withdrew them, there was a smear of blood on her fingertips. Isobel pulled herself up and held out her hand towards the
girl. ‘Come, let’s bathe it at once. Perhaps it isn’t as serious as it looks.’
The cut was tiny, but quite deep. ‘It might leave a scar,’ Isobel said worriedly.
But Florrie only murmured, ‘My first battle wound. Now I’m truly one of you.’
‘We never doubted it for a moment,’ Isobel said softly.
Two days later their actions were headlines in the newspapers.
‘“Outrageous attacks were perpetrated on Monday night on Knightsbridge shops,”’
Isobel read out over the breakfast table.
‘“Nine front windows .
. .
”’ She paused and looked up. ‘Nine? We only broke eight, didn’t we?’
Florrie, her mouth full of kipper, nodded. ‘The papers never get things right,’ she murmured as Isobel read on.
‘“. . .
together with merchandise displayed therein, were damaged. The work is thought to have been carried out by suffragettes. No one was caught in the act and therefore, as
yet, no one has been apprehended for the offence. The police are still making extensive enquiries.”
We were very lucky, you know, to escape,’ Isobel said solemnly. ‘We could
be waking up in a cell this morning.’
Florrie grinned. ‘But instead, here we are, eating kippers and planning what we’re going to do next.’
Above the newspaper, Isobel eyed her with amusement. ‘Got a taste for it now, have we?’ Then her face
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