A Death for a Cause Read Online Free Page A

ensured although hidden it was also easy to access.
    The noise was tremendous. Women may in general have lighter voices, but get enough of them together and they will prove to you that their lungs have as much capacity as any men’s. And while men may hold this image of gentle women tripping lightly along the woman in this march took every step with decision, with pride, with determination, and their boots rang with headache-inducing rhythm.
    Again I tried to look about me, beyond the forms of the women surrounding me. I glimpsed buildings, but none were familiar to me. Another snatch of panic fluttered in my stomach. I was lost. I had no idea where we were heading and no idea how to return to the hotel. Be calm, I again silently urged myself, London is full of cabs. But would any of them take a suffragette home?
    Along the road we were marching I became aware of spectators. From the start people had stopped their business to gawp at us. 15 But now the spectators were no longer merely watching. Even over the noise of the song, I became aware of male voices. The words were difficult to distinguish, but the tone was hostile. We passed one man and I saw his face contorted in anger. Windows were opening. Men were hanging out of them, shaking their fists at us. We must be coming into the heart of the city, for there were more and more of them. Then the missiles began. Not from our side as I had feared, but people, both men and women began to throw things down from the windows. The contents of a bucket were launched over some women in front of me, who shrieked with alarm and revulsion. They were not to be the only victims.
    And now I saw police lining the road. Perhaps they had been following us for some time, or perhaps they, unlike I, had always known where this march was headed. Surely I thought they would intervene. Insults were one thing, and I suspected the suffragettes were all too accustomed to them, but missiles? Stones, old books, even a saucepan landed close enough to me that I had to step quickly to avoid being hit. My anger took a different turn. We were unarmed women. We were being attacked! There were more and more police lining the road, but not one man moved to aid us.
    As we turned a corner, marching into a square, where there was a platform waiting, no doubt intended for us to listen to speeches, where it was easy to block the exits – it was then they sent the horses in.
    In the initial moments of the onslaught by the police the women held firm, but police both on foot and on horse waded into the ranks of women, batons raised. It quickly became clear it was not enough for them to disperse this march; they were intent on taking prisoners. And worse yet, they had no hesitation in using violence against us.
    My first thought was to find Richenda. I twirled wildly on the spot, trying to see through the heaving masses and keep my balance. Surely, with her flame-red hair I would be able to spot her.
    Near the centre of the square, bodies jostled me from all sides. The smell of perfume mingled unpleasantly with the smell of sweat. We had been marching hard and now we were being forced closer and closer together. For now, I was caught among the women away from the police, who were skirting the edge of the square. Through the crowd I thought I caught sight of police vans blocking one of the square’s exits. The shy girl who had stood on my left cringed fearfully, unable to move. ‘You need to get away from here,’ I told her. She was mere inches from me, but I had to yell so she could hear me. Instead of heeding me she curled in on herself, crouching lower to the ground. I hauled her up by the arm. ‘Keep moving,’ I shouted, ‘stay on your feet or the crowd will crush you!’ She looked at me with wild and frightened eyes. I knew I could not leave her.
    I pulled her after me, not making for an exit, but wading deeper into the crowd. ‘Richenda!’ I called, but my voice was lost.