Free Suffragette Girl by Margaret Dickinson Page A

anyone involved with the Cause for the merest trifle. Go to the country out of harm’s way.
Please!’
    ‘But. . .’ Both young women tried to protest, but the acknowledged leader of their group was adamant. ‘Just for a week or so.’

Eight
    On 25th February, the day that Mrs Pankhurst’s trial began, the two young women travelled home to Lincolnshire.
    ‘I was hoping to go home for my birthday on the twenty-eighth anyway,’ Florrie said. ‘But only for a few days,’ she added hurriedly, in case Isobel thought she was
beginning to lose her commitment to the Cause.
    ‘I suppose Lady Lee’s right.’ Isobel sighed. ‘They’re going to be arresting anyone in sight who’s sporting the suffragette colours. Perhaps we’re better
out of the way until things have calmed down a bit. But then,’ her eyes sparkled as she clasped Florrie’s hand, ‘we’ll go back.’
    ‘Oh darling,’ her mother enveloped Florrie in welcoming arms. ‘How glad I am to see you. I’ve been so lonely. But everything will be all right now
you’re back home.’
    ‘Mother dearest, I’ve only come home for my birthday. I – I’m going back again next week.’ Mentally, Florrie crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be safe to do
so by then.
    Clara’s face fell and tears welled in her eyes. ‘Oh. I – I thought you’d come home for good. I—’ She broke off, startled as the door of the morning room was
flung open and Edgar strode in.
    ‘Ah, you’re back,’ he stated unnecessarily.
    ‘Father.’ Florrie moved dutifully towards him to kiss his cheek, but before she reached him he said harshly, ‘So, we’ll have no more of this suffragette nonsense.’
Florrie drew in a breath sharply and her eyes widened in surprise as her father nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes, their antics have even reached our local newspaper now. And as Miss Richards’s
name was mentioned, it doesn’t take a great leap of imagination to realize that you too have been involved. Well, my girl, it’s at an end now. You’ll settle down and marry Gervase
and we’ll say no more about it.’
    Florrie stopped and returned her father’s glare steadily. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but I will not marry Gervase. Not now or ever. And I intend to return to London as soon as I can.
I only came home for my birthday on Friday.’
    Edgar’s face grew purple and the veins in his forehead stood out. For a moment Florrie’s heart skipped a beat, afraid that for once she’d gone too far. Stand up to him she
might, disobey him she might, but she’d no wish to cause him harm. If he should have a seizure because of her rebelliousness, she’d carry the guilt for the rest of her life.
    When he could bring himself to speak, through gritted teeth he muttered, ‘Then you can return this instant. You’re no longer welcome in my house.’
    ‘Now, now, what is all the shouting about, Edgar?’ Augusta said, coming through the open door behind him. ‘Ah, the return of the prodigal, I see.’ She came towards
Florrie, her arms outstretched. ‘This is cause for celebration indeed. How long are you staying?’
    Florrie cast an uncertain glance at her father. ‘Well—’
    Edgar gave an angry ‘ha-humph’, turned and marched out of the room. Serenely, Augusta seated herself on the couch and patted the seat beside her. ‘Sit down and tell us all
about it. We want to hear everything you’ve been doing, don’t we, Clara?’
    ‘Yes . . .’ Poor Clara wasn’t so sure, but she sank back into her chair and took a deep breath as if steeling herself to listen, even though she might find the conversation
worrying.
    ‘I’ve been staying with Isobel, as you know, but I’ve met all sorts of interesting people. Lady Leonora Smythe, for one.’ She paused, eyeing her grandmother before she
said more.
    Augusta raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh – a member of the aristocracy. How exciting!’ It seemed that her grandmother still wished to keep her acquaintance with Lady Lee a