Read Online Suffragette in the City by Katie MacAlister - Free Book Online

her.”
    “Griffin was furious. He spoke quietly, but I knew he was mad—his voice drops when he gets very angry. Grace made rather a common scene, and stormed out of the room. She refused to appear at dinner, and left shortly thereafter. Griffin would not speak of her, but I knew he must have been terribly hurt.”
    I suspected that a good part of the hurt was due to wounded pride, but did not voice that opinion.
    “That is why, dear Cassandra, you must make allowance for Griffin’s attitude towards outspoken women. Should the right woman come along,” she dropped her gaze to her hands, “she might find that she could heal his wounded heart.”
    “More likely she would have her head snapped off for trying,” I said dryly, and spent the remainder of the ride in contemplation of him nonetheless.

Chapter Six
     
     
    Mrs. Knox lived in a small, white stone building on the quiet edge of Russell Square. Climbing the steps to the house, I cautioned Helena about detailing her relationship with Lord Sherringham. “It is not that they would refuse you admittance into the Union, but they might feel hesitant to discuss topics of a sensitive nature, such as the plans for our next demonstration and protests, before they know you well.”
    She nodded, but had no time to say anything before we were admitted. The women welcomed her, and without much delay, the meeting commenced. Each member contributed many ideas and opinions as to the Union’s planned activism, so many that although I wrote quickly, I was hard put to keep up with the pace of the ideas that flowed forth. Petitions were organized, deputations were planned, marches plotted, demonstrations ordered, and processions detailed. I tucked a list of volunteers assigned to each event into my notebook, to be typed up later.
    “I cannot see what good these plans will be when we will not be taken seriously by the press and the public until they see we are committed body and soul to the cause,” a petite red-haired Irish woman named Maggie interrupted the speaker as she reviewed the final list of activities for the next month.
    “We do not condone violent acts—” one of the other Union officials started to say.
    “I say we strike, and strike hard!” Maggie cried, rising to her feet. Several other members nodded. “You talk about marches and protests and petitions—we have tried them all, and they have failed. This is the time for action, and without it, our cause is doomed.”
    “Maggie Greene, you are out of order,” Mrs. Heywood, the head of the Union said.
    “I have a voice just as does any other member in the Union!”
    “A voice, yes, but the National Women’s Union has never condoned violence, and we will not start now. We will not start now ,” Mrs. Heywood repeated over the grumbling of a handful of women who favored such extreme forms of protest.
    I held my breath, worried that the militant faction would continue to press the issue, but although they demanded a vote to determine the type of future actions, they were outvoted by a clear majority. The NSU would continue its policy of non-violent protest. I breathed a sigh of relief, and promised to type up the report on my new typewriting machine. As the meeting ended, Helena and I walked down the steps to the street with several of the other ladies.
    “We can take you home, if you don’t mind being crowded,” one woman offered, indicating her motor.
    “Thank you, but the evening is fine, and I need a good walk. But perhaps Miss St. John...”
    “I’ll walk with you,” she said quickly, with a bright smile.
    “You are welcome to take a cab home,” I said as we set off. “I really don’t mind walking by myself.” I stopped to allow her to catch up to me.
    “I never thought of the problems of walking any distance when I bought this terrible gown,” she said, vexed.
    I surveyed the narrow skirt with some skepticism. “Why men want to hobble women in the name of fashion is beyond me.”
    “It