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gone inside out of view. What have I done? she cried into the wind. Suddenly she felt breathless with panic, as if she’d just thrown something precious away, not
knowing if she might ever find it again . . .

6
    1928
    Phoebe travelled north and stayed overnight in a hotel. For the long summer holidays, Caroline was to stay at Dalradnor to give her a chance to catch up with her dog and pony,
Hector. No doubt Sir Lionel would engineer a secret visit as he continued to take an interest in his granddaughter.
    Phoebe had just finished filming a silent thriller starring Ivor Novello and directed by Fred Hitchcock. After the success of
The Lodger
, he was doing another creepy one. It was only a
walk-on part but she was in good company. The news was all about talking-picture technology, and that would make a huge difference to her career prospects. Some of the silent actors had terrible
voices. She’d take Callie down to the studios as a treat, and she was sure the McAllisters would ask to her to stay with her school friend Primrose. The two girls made an odd couple but
Caroline liked going to their home in Yorkshire.
    Harrogate was only a few miles from Leeds but so different in character and tone. It was where the wealthy lived, with elegant shops, a famous spa, and it had countryside beyond. Phoebe had
never talked about Leeds or her connections there, or elaborated on the myth about Joe and Beryl. Callie had stopped asking about her parents years ago. Sometimes Phoebe wondered about Ted, the
only family she had left, if indeed he was still alive. It was possible they wouldn’t even recognize each other now.
    Phoebe liked visiting St Margaret’s. The huge stone school filled her with awe, with its neat trimmed borders, the sea crashing onto the shingle just beyond the grounds. It was a perfect
place for a boarding school. Arthur would be proud that his daughter was being educated here. As her car approached, she could see the bandstand ready for the school orchestra, the sports arena
cordoned off. She found her way to the sixth form and met an enthusiastic group of young ladies all asking intelligent searching questions, and she enjoyed being as honest as she could about her
film and theatre experiences. Luncheon was served in a marquee for special guests and parents, with girls in their smart gingham summer dresses darting around trying to be helpful.
    The end-of-year pageant took place on the lawn. It was a depiction of the march of the suffrage movement from Victorians in crinolines through to the Pankhurst militants chaining themselves to
railings and being arrested. It wasn’t a bad show: lots of overacting, melodrama, girls dressed as prisoners in sackcloth aprons and bonnets, girls marching in the colours, carrying silver
arrows to denote being in prison and singing the suffragette anthem ‘Shoulder to Shoulder’
.
    Phoebe kept searching out Caroline and her friend in the hordes of girls but it was mainly fifth and sixth formers taking part. They’d meet up for tea.
    The pageant reached its climax and everyone was clapping when suddenly there was a loud and unexpected peal of bells from the old bell tower. People looked up to see movement on the roof. Two
girls were climbing up with something wrapped round them. In the sunshine no one could miss that one of them had bright red hair and the other was edging her way up to where the weather vane swung
with the wind. There were gasps from the audience of parents. Phoebe went cold with terror. It was Emily Davison all over again. There was nothing she could do but pray,
Not my child, please,
God, not my child . . .
    ‘Are you all right? You don’t have to come any further,’ yelled Callie, seeing the look in her friend Primmy’s eyes as they scrabbled on the roof,
edging round the narrow balustrade.
    ‘I said I’d do it and I will.’ Primmy began to unwrap the banner they’d made from their pillowcases. ‘Here, you grab this end.’
    Callie