More women joined the thronging semi-circle around her. She paused and searched her mind for the speech that she had diligently written, practised and rehearsed for hours on end. The jumbled words began to reassemble in her mind, slowly forming complete sentences. ‘It’s high time that we women rose up—together—women of all social backgrounds—young and old, workers, the privileged, married and single; uncommon in so many ways, yet superbly united in our inequality and our societal disadvantage.’
Grace eyed the crowd: she held the attention of each and every one of them now. And yet more were coming. Confidence elevated her stature, furnishing her voice with a new vigour and strength. ‘Your fellow women around the country have written tens of thousands of letters to the dishonourable gentlemen running this land—and what for? All for nothing! They simply are not listening. If they won’t listen to us with welcoming ears, then we must jolly well make them listen to us. Our time is now! And it is a time for action—deeds not words.’
‘What good’s a vote to me?’ a bedraggled woman in her late thirties shouted. She was surrounded by a barrage of scrawny and unkempt children with bare feet. ‘I need work. I need money. I need a proper place to live. What I don’t need is a bloody vote.’
The woman’s words were met with nods and murmurings of approval. One man clapped.
‘But don’t you see?’ Grace answered. ‘If you had a vote and you used it wisely, then you might be helped towards changing those other things. Do you think a female Member of Parliament would stand by and watch such social injustices?’
The crowd burst into laughter.
‘What poppycock!’ a different woman spat. ‘You need locking up in the Hellingly asylum.’
Grace dropped her speech and directed her attention towards the woman, who was now walking away. ‘Madam—do you hold regular employment?’
‘Yes, I do, actually,’ she answered indignantly.
‘I trust, therefore, that you are contented that in this respect the government treats you as an equal to men—to tax you, to take your money and spend it as they, the representatives of the male population see fit? That sits right with you, does it, Madam?’
The woman had no answer.
Grace was on a roll. ‘And are you, Madam,’ she continued, before widening her gestures to the rest of the crowd, ‘and the rest of you women out there, required to abide by this country’s laws?’
‘Course we are!’ several women chanted.
‘What a stupid question,’ another chipped in.
‘And yet you have absolutely no say in what those laws mandate!’ Grace cried. ‘Written by men for men. What if this government introduces a law that says women must dress in a certain way, or behave in a certain way? Who shall stop them?’
‘Right,’ a voice boomed, ‘I’ve heard quite enough of this.’ Two bulky policemen barged their way through the crowd. One of them grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her down from the box. ‘On the subject of laws—real laws—not your fancy made up ones, I’d like you to explain what you mean by deeds not words, because it sounds to my ear suspiciously like incitement, for which you would be arrested.’
Some of the crowd booed at this latest drama, but most simply dissolved back into the passing throng. A small handful took from Olivia’s proffered leaflets.
‘Arrest me, please,’ Minnie entreated, offering him her hands. She turned her head to the parting crowds and shouted, ‘Deeds not words, ladies! Burn down their offices! Smash their windows! Make your voices heard!’
‘Right, you’re coming with us,’ the policeman said, his fat hairy hand reaching around Minnie’s upper arm.
‘Deeds not words!’ Olivia chanted. ‘Deeds not words!’
‘Olivia, no,’ Minnie called. ‘Just me—you come back here tomorrow and carry on. Votes for women! Deeds not words! Burn their buildings until they start to listen!’
Minnie made herself a dead weight and the two policemen, taking an arm each, dragged her along the promenade. All the while, she repeated her call: ‘Votes for women! Deeds not words! Join the WSPU now! Votes for women! End the tyranny!’
From a crowd that had peaked at nigh on forty, there was now just Grace and Olivia—standing stones among a sea of promenaders.
‘Well done, Grace,’ Olivia said, throwing her arms around her. ‘You were amazing—really amazing.’
Grace shook her head, a hollow feeling now occupying the space where the griping nervousness had taken root before. She had not been amazing. She had been heckled, forgotten her words, then when the test came and the police had arrived, she had stood silently whilst her friend had been dragged away. ‘Let’s just go home,’ she said quietly.
‘I thought you were really amazing, too,’ a voice said. That same male voice which had urged the crowd to listen to her.
Grace turned and smiled. ‘Cecil Barwise. What a surprise.’ She rushed over to him, quite forgetting herself. She reached him and offered her hand, which he shook vigorously. He was dressed well—at least for a man of his station—and his dark hair was oiled from a side-parting. His upper lip protruded out slightly and he reminded Grace, as he had used to, of a pouting duck.
‘I must say, it was a wonder to see little Grace Emmerson up there like that, standing up for herself,’ Cecil said with a grin.
‘Why?’ Olivia barked. ‘Because she’s a woman?’
Cecil’s face fell. ‘No, not at all—because when I knew her she was… she was just ever so quiet, that’s all.’
‘Calm down, Olivia,’ Grace urged. ‘Cecil’s a decent chap—we worked in the same house a few years ago.’
‘And his views on women’s suffrage?’ Olivia demanded to Grace, her voice barbed.
Cecil turned his trouser pockets inside out. ‘I am not eligible to vote. I don’t own anything, never mind property.’ He shrugged. ‘My views are
