Suffragette in the City (12 page)

Perhaps the word
attacked
is too harsh for the situation; looking back over the event, I can pinpoint the change in the crowd’s mood to the time of Maggie’s speech. Regardless of whether the attackers came prepared to wreak havoc (and, given their ammunition, there can be no doubt that they did), or whether Maggie was responsible for inciting the less controlled members of the audience, the fact remains that suddenly Union members were subjected to a volley of ripe tomatoes.

“Cassandra!” Helena shrieked as a particularly offensive tomato sailed past my head and struck a woman standing beside me.

“Damnation!” I shouted, infuriated. “How dare they throw tomatoes at us? We are peaceably gathered, not doing anyone any harm, promoting a cause that would benefit everyone in the United Kingdom. It is an insult, and I will not stand for it. Take cover, Helena!”

The situation degenerated into a free-for-all as audience members threw themselves into the fray. Fights broke out around us, men fighting men, women fighting women, and, in a few cases, suffragettes fighting one or two of the men armed with a seemingly never-ending supply of tomatoes.

“Stay back,” I shouted to Helena over my shoulder as I hefted a slimy, but intact, tomato. “Run to your brother; he will take care of you.”

As I turned my head back toward the attackers, I was struck by a wet, stinging object.

“Oh!” I cried, fury filling me. A roar echoed behind me that I assumed was Griffin protecting Helena in the resulting melee. I weighed the tomato in my hand as I considered the best target, and remembering the lessons learn from my youth in the art of throwing hard, green apples, I took careful aim and let the tomato fly.

It hit one of the men in the eye, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him go to the ground before a strong arm grabbed me roughly around the waist and jerked me back.

“Ooof! What the devil?”  The arm squeezed the breath out of me, so tightly bound around me that I was left unable to draw another. My hat slid down over my left eye in a rakish manner as I was lifted from my feet and carried outside the fringe of the confrontation. Police whistles blew, people screamed, and hoarse voices shouted unmentionable observations as I struggled against the arm, desperate to catch my breath.

“Show me a riot and I know who’s in the bloody middle of it,” a familiar voice grumbled from above.

I was set down roughly, and stood clutching my sides, gasping for air. As soon as my eyes cleared, they landed on the sight of a furious Griffin. He was arguing with Helena, ordering her to leave, but she refused to go until I was able to walk.

He turned back to me with a look that almost made me flinch. “Of all the foolish … have you no brain in that pretty head?”

I blinked at him as I held my ribs, still trying to catch my breath.

“Is that all you can do, stand there and gape at me like a fish out of water?”

The insult stung me into proper posture. Candidate for the position of lover or not, no one tells me I gape like a fish. I straightened up, closed my mouth, and glared out at him from under the angle of my hat. “You might better ask if I can still breathe after my ribs have been broken by your manhandling!”

He grabbed my arm and dragged me to where Helena stood. “Walk,” he ordered in a tone that I chose not to challenge. He pushed us forward. We walked.

“May I inquire as to why you saw fit to remove me, without my permission, from the rally?” I asked as the ache in my ribs faded.

He kept a hand on my elbow, pushing me forward, the touch starting a wave of sensation that rippled over my torso, pooling in deep, intimate parts that had taken to making themselves known whenever he was around.

“I thought that would be obvious even to you. A common brawl is no place for a lady.” He stopped suddenly and turned. “Or was it your intention to fight each one of those men?”

“I fail to see how you can interpret the throwing of one tomato as the desire to brawl. Why you must misjudge everything I do—”

A muscle in his cheek twitched, stopping me from finishing the sentence. It took him a moment, but at last, with his jaw held tight, he said simply, “Go home. Helena, come with me.”

He strode off in an arrogant manner, not looking back at us.

“Well,” I said to myself. “He might be exceeding gifted when it comes to kissing, but he is a
very
illogical man.” She choked, and I hastened to cover up my comment. “I think, Helena, that you should go to your brother. I would not, however, mention our earlier adventure—he seems to be a little belligerent at the moment and is positively shaking with anger.”

“I don’t believe you have to worry about him being angry,” she said slowly, then kissed my cheek and ran after her brother.

I pondered her comment for a moment, concluded her senses were still overcome with emotion from the abduction and rally, and since the rally had broken up, made my way home without further incident.

Chapter Eleven

I had planned a quiet evening at home reviewing the household accounts so that they might be ready for Mabel’s return, but, as I have had occasion to note, things often do not work out as I plan. Annie burst into tears upon seeing me, and hurried toward the back stairs when I called after her.

The evening post brought with it a large, stiff envelope with a prominent coronet. It turned out to be an invitation to the Duchess of St. Alban’s annual masquerade ball a few days hence. I was surprised at the invitation since I do not move in that circle of society, but a moment of thought cleared up the situation.

“Helena,” I told Marmalade the cat. “She’s a friend of one of the daughters of the duke. No doubt she asked the duchess to add me to the invitation list, thinking I would enjoy the opportunity to parade around in an extravagant costume with the cream of society. The question is whether I should send my regrets, or indulge in the sheer waste of time and money that being costumed would require?”

 Marmalade, a wise cat, made no comment other than to purr and rub his teeth on my hand as we sat before the fire.

“I agree. It would be an insult to Helena were I to refuse. That just means I must come up quickly with an idea for a costume. Something simple and plain, I think, like a toga. Oh! Emma will be able to help me! Surely with her knowledge of the ancient Greeks she can help me design a Greek costume, elegant and graceful, draped in a flattering fashion.”

I ousted Marmalade from my lap and left a message for Emma, asking for her assistance. As I entered the hall, Mullin stopped me with a note from Helena.

“Has there been any trouble below stairs,” I said as I took it. “Annie seems to be upset about something.”

Mullin was an admirable butler, but he had one failing—he loved to gossip. I could almost see his ears prick up when I mentioned Annie’s behavior. “No, miss. Nothing that I am aware of. Would you like me to make inquiries?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” I thanked him and opened Helena’s note. My stomach tightened with dismay as I read the words.
Maggie Green
has invited me to participate in a protest tomorrow morning outside of Bosworth’s
club
.
I feel I must go, and would be delighted if you were free to join us
.

 “Of all the idiotic…” I muttered to myself as I marched back to the library. “Now I’m going to have to go with her just to see that she is kept out of trouble.”

I wrote another note accepting her invitation, and was eyeing the account book when Theodore returned with the intelligence that Emma was not at home. “Her landlady says she’s likely down at her club,” he intoned in a slightly adenoidal voice.

“That’s perfect,” I said, brushing the cat hair off my lap as I gathered up my hat and bag. “I’ll go there and see all of the excellent costumes her club members have made up for their historical reenactments. Perhaps they will provide me with inspiration.”

As I was about to leave, Mullin materialized at my side. I could tell something was wrong because his face was pink with excitement.

“Yes? What is it?” I asked wearily, wondering what catastrophe had befallen us now.

“Excuse me for interrupting you, Miss Cassandra, but you asked earlier about Annie, and now it appears that she has locked herself in her room. We have tried to speak with her, but she won’t answer. Mrs. Mullin is concerned that she might have done some harm to herself.”

“I see. Theodore, give the cabby a few pennies for his trouble and send him away. I’ll have to go to the Sapphist’s Club later.” Removing my hat, I ran up the three flights of stairs to the room that Annie shared with another maid, and spoke loudly outside of her door. “Annie, let me in. I want to talk with you.”

“She won’t answer, miss,” one of the housemaids said from behind me. “I’ve tried and tried, but she just won’t answer me.”

Most of the household staff was gathered with her, waiting to see what would happen. I heard noises from inside Annie’s room, and turned to the staff and shooed them away. “Go on, back to your work. I will take care of this.”

Mullin’s face dropped, but he herded everyone downstairs.

“Annie?” I tapped at her door. “Everyone is gone except me. Will you please let me in?”

There was a scuffling noise, then the lock turned and the door opened to reveal a haggard Annie, her face swollen and red from crying. She looked so miserable it almost broke my heart.

“Oh, dear,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Whatever is the matter?”

She wiped at her face with a scrap of handkerchief and mumbled something incomprehensible.

A firm approach was clearly called for. I shook her gently. “This sobbing will do you no good. Now dry your tears and tell me what the problem is.”

“Oh, miss, I can’t, I just can’t,” she wailed, squinting her eyes with the effort of crying. No tears came, indicating that she had been sobbing for some time.

“I will not leave this room until you do so. Annie, look at me,” I softened my voice. “There is nothing you can’t tell me. I’m your friend, you know that, don’t you?”

The words must have penetrated her misery, for she made an effort to collect herself. “Yes, miss, you are a friend. And I know you won’t think the less of me for my fall.”

“You fell?” I asked, looking her over for signs of injury. “Are you hurt?”

“No, miss, not that kind of fall.” She took a deep breath. “I have been ruined.”

“Ruined,” I repeated stupidly, not comprehending at first. My eyes widened. “Oh,
ruined
!”

Annie nodded, and a few weak tears straggled down her face. “What will I do?”

I sat down abruptly in an old rocking chair in the corner. “Oh, my goodness. Ruined. Are you—is there—will there be a baby?”

She nodded, her face puckered as two thin lines of tears stole down her cheeks.

“Oh, Annie, how?” I blushed as I heard my own inane question. “That is to say, how did you come to this? Is it…is Jackson responsible?”

She shook her head miserably. “Mrs. Garner will dismiss me as soon as she comes home. Oh, miss! Please don’t let them send me to the workhouse. I can’t go home, the shame would kill my mum. Don’t let them send me away.”

“You are my maid, not Mrs. Garner’s, so she cannot dismiss you. And I am not likely to,” I said in response to her panicked look. “Who is it who has led you to this situation?”

“Mr. Jones,” she snuffled into my skirt.

“I don’t think I know him. Has he offered to make an honest woman out of you?”

She shook her head.

“Have you had a discussion at all about marriage?”

“No, miss.”

“If he was agreeable, would you wish to marry him?”

“No, miss.”

I was surprised by her answer; I was sure she would feel the situation was serious enough to make her desire marriage over an illegitimate baby. “Oh, dear,” I sighed to myself, at a rare loss for words.

Annie looked up with a wretched expression. “You won’t turn me out, will you?”

“I’ve already said I wouldn’t, and I mean it. Let’s get you into bed. You’ve had a terrible day, but don’t worry. We’ll work things out somehow.”

I spent another ten minutes reassuring her and getting her tucked into bed before I pressed her for details about the father.

“William Jones, his name is. I met him when we first came to London. He was ever so smart, and I was the envy of all the housemaids for having such a beau.” She smiled with the memory of her domestic coup. “He took me to the Music Hall on my evenings off. We had such larks, you would laugh to see the way he went on.”

“Do you know where he is employed?”

“Self-employed, he said. He was on a very important job that he couldn’t tell me about, but he was never mean with his money, not like some I could say.”

“When did you last see him?”

Tears pooled in her eyes again. “It’s been over four days, now. He used to call for me every day, faithful like, but now he’s stopped calling for me, and won’t answer any of my letters.”

“Four days isn’t very long. Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” I said, wondering how one went about finding a recalcitrant suitor. “What does he look like?”

“He’s ever so good looking,” she said, sniffling. “Brown hair and eyes, not too tall, and dresses sharp. And he’s got a lovely gold tooth.”

Blood pounded in my ears as I swayed against the door. There must be hundreds of people in London with gold teeth. Perhaps thousands. “A gold tooth? Where?”

“In the front. It shines when he smiles.”

Mullin was lurking around the stairs as I descended, my knees unusually wobbly, and my brain whirling with speculation.

“Everything is fine, Mullin. No need to worry,” I repeated the platitudes. “Tell Mrs. Mullin that Annie will do herself no harm. She is just a little upset over a bit of trouble in her family.”

Since I had yet to deal with the neglected household accounts, I was up early the next morning. After a few mundane tasks, I set off to meet Helena. Other than casting a suspicious glance up and down the street for a man with a gold tooth as I left, I did not spend much time musing over Annie’s dilemma. I would support whatever choice she made, either finding her a small cottage on my late father’s estate, or keeping her in service if that was her desire.

“I only wish I could so easily resolve the worry about Helena,” I said with a sigh as the carriage rolled along. While it was true she was an adult woman and ultimately responsible for her own behavior, I felt a distinct unease when I considered her unbridled enthusiasm. She was putty in the hands of the manipulative Maggie Greene. “It’s very clear that I’m going to have to keep an eye on her, no matter what my feelings about the militants.”

“What’s that, miss?” Jackson asked as he opened the door for Helena.

“Nothing. Oh, my, Helena, that is an incredibly lovely walking suit. That amethyst is absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thank you, dear Cassandra.” She beamed as she sat beside me, the color from her dress casting a brilliant hue over my ivory gown. I looked critically at her dress, trying to find a fault or flaw in it. There were none.

“How do you do it?” I asked in defeat. “Every time I meet you I pick out a dress I think is particularly smart, but on each occasion you put me to shame.”

“I put you to shame? Cassandra, you have it reversed. I try my best to keep up with your fashions but cannot come close. Look at your lovely ivory gown—those crossed panels of black velvet ribbon are simple, and yet entirely elegant.”

 “You are a true friend to fib to me like that. I appreciate the compliment, but I think we both know that your figure is the one favored by fashion. But come,” I said quickly to forestall her protests, “tell me about the Duchess of St. Alban’s masquerade ball.”

“I hope you don’t think it forward of me to suggest that you be invited to the ball. Lady Alice particularly asked me who I might like to have come, and there was no one I would rather see there than you.”

I took the compliment with the grain of salt I felt it deserved, but thanked her anyway. “Will your
entire
family be attending?” I asked with studied nonchalance.

“Harold and Letitia will,” she said pulling a face. “Griffin is invited, but he said . . . well, he said some rather rude things about the ball.”

“Ah. I can understand his reticence—I am not fond of such events either.”