The messenger from Westminster handed her paper to Christabel Pankhurst, who stood and addressed the hall. “The government is calling another election to get the mandate for the reform of the House of Lords. If they are still in power, they will give facilities in the next Parliament for a bill widening the male franchise and frame it so as to admit free amendment to include women.”
There was a brief silence, then murmurs and groans arose from the assembled women. Feet stamped on the floor. Someone shouted, “Disgraceful.” Sylvia Pankhurst, in the seat next to Harriet, leant forward.
Inga, on the other side, whispered, “Is this a bad thing?”
Inga had acquired a blue-satin eye patch to cover the cut she had received on Friday. It made her look like a comic-opera pirate.
Harriet said, “It means the Conciliation Bill is dead, like all the others that have been brought in, year after year. Now we have to wait, yet again, on an uncertain outcome. We’ve wasted our time with putting our hopes in compromise.”
“They have betrayed us?”
Sylvia hissed, “Lloyd George. That manipulative, scheming, double-crossing, Welsh wizard.”
Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst stood. “I am heading for Downing Street. Come along, all of you!”
Sylvia grabbed Harriet’s arm. “I have a taxi waiting outside. We need to get there before the police bring in reinforcements. Their spies will be running off to alert them right now.”
Harriet gathered up her umbrella and her muff and followed Sylvia and Inga. She walked slowly, with her legs wide, protecting her bruises, and attempted to button her coat with one hand as she went.
Sylvia was leaning through the side window of one of the new motorised cabs, gesturing at her to hurry. Harriet climbed in, next to Inga. Sylvia tapped the glass and the vehicle lurched forward.
“Brace yourselves. I told him as quick as you like. These things are enough to rattle the bones out of your body.”
Police constables lined up in front of the entrance to Downing Street were rapidly being joined by others. The taxi drew to a jerky halt. Sylvia got out and climbed onto its roof.
Inga called, “Are you going to make a speech?”
The driver poked his head out of his window. “More power to your lungs, missus.”
“I’m only reporting. I need to see.”
Other cabs were drawing up. Women piled out of them.
Sylvia shouted, “Here comes Mrs Pankhurst, ladies. Be ready!”
Harriet got out of the taxi in time to see Emmeline Pankhurst descend from a Hansom. A large police officer approached her. His bulk made her seem as vulnerable as a flower underfoot.
They were going to be stopped by force, yet again. In a rush of indignation Harriet flung her umbrella and muff onto the seat of the cab.
The line of constables was now two deep.
Someone nearer to the police line yelled, “Shove along, girls.”
Harriet’s lungs filled. All stiffness vanished. This time she would not ask nicely. This time she was going to act. Deeds Not Words was the WSPU slogan and deeds needed people to do them.
She raised an arm and shouted, “What are we waiting for? If Asquith is in there, we need to get to him while we can. We must make him listen to us.”
The crowd surged. She heard Sylvia shout, “Push forward!”
The line of men broke. Harriet was in front of Numbers Ten, Eleven and Twelve Downing Street. Policemen ran alongside, trying to outflank them.
Harriet yelled again, “It’s the green door!”
Herbert Asquith wasn’t going to hide behind doors any longer, even if she had to break one down. Together, they could destroy that door. They had numbers and the power of justice on their side.
She felt a tug on her skirt, as if someone was dragging her backwards. The wet pavement flew up towards her. Her head crashed onto the stones and all went black.
A smell of leather. Harriet groaned. She opened her eyes. Her nose was pressed into the back of the seat of the taxi-cab. Cautiously, she turned over, levering herself with her elbows. Her head swam.
“Ah, you’re moving, are you Miss? We was about to take you to the hospital, only I said give it a minute, we’ll never get through this lot without causing more damage.”
Inga’s face appeared above her. “Thank the heaven, you are awake.”
“What happened?”
“You went down in the rush. I think maybe someone grabbed you by your skirt. It is nearly ripped from the waistband.”
Harriet pushed herself up to sitting and gathered the torn fabric of her skirt around her. Women’s clothing had brought her down. And she had missed all the action. She felt sick and hoped it was going to remain only a feeling.
Inga said, “A policeman picked you up and carried you here.”
“A policeman?”
“Yes, they seem a different breed from the ones of Friday. Asquith came out, by mistake, I think, and the police put him into a car before we could reach him. Then they brought in the horses and most of the women fled. But one woman went right up to some police horses and walked them away. Charmed them, I think. They arrested her, of course, and Mrs Pankhurst, but I think Sylvia escaped. Anyway, she is not here.”
Harriet’s face throbbed all down the left side. She pulled off her glove and touched her cheek. When she brought her hand down again, there was blood on her fingers. She was going to have a bruise there, no hiding that from Aunt Loxley.
The driver said, “What do you ladies want to do? There don’t seem no point in stopping here now the road is clear.”
“Holland Park, if you can. We’ll go to Holland Park.”
“Holland Park it is. And, for what it’s worth, I’m all for what you ladies are doing. I can’t vote, mind, ‘cos I don’t pay enough rent, but I don’t see why the government don’t just give you ladies the vote since you wants it so bad. Better than causing all this trouble saying no.”
