Free Wayward Winds by Michael Phillips Page A

public curiosity at a high pitch. The demonized drawings in the papers made people want to see her for themselves.
    The perceptions created in the papers were not actually so far from the truth. Emmeline Pankhurst was passionately obsessed with the suffragette movement. It was the sole topic of conversation at every meal. The guests who appeared for tea were either new recruits or prospective donors to the cause. In the household in which Amanda Rutherford had cast her fate, women’s rights dominated every moment, every breath, every waking thought.
    Mornings she and the others folded and prepared leaflets and placards. Afternoons they distributed their wares, marching, speaking, protesting, and otherwise appearing around the city tomake the cause known to wider numbers. Once or twice a month they gathered in front of the Houses of Parliament while the M.P.s arrived for the day’s session, bullying and badgering to cajole the lawmakers to listen to their pleas.
    At first the involvement in something that seemed so important thrilled Amanda. It was a new and exciting life. She had always dreamed of living in London. Now here she was in the very middle of it. Yet though outwardly she despised her upbringing and everything her parents stood for, she could not erase the good breeding she had received. In spite of what she tried to tell herself, there were times she found herself balking at the unladylike things the cause required. She did her best to convince herself that she would eventually get accustomed to the boisterous, rude, and radical behavior.
    The invitation arrived at the Pankhurst home a week after Amanda’s outing with Ramsay Halifax between Hastings and Dover. Its words were simple enough, but they would change her life.
    â€œAmanda,” called out Sylvia from below, “—Amanda, come downstairs! A messenger is here for you.”
    In surroundings where Emmeline Pankhurst was a woman of national reputation, Amanda could not imagine what a messenger could possibly want with her . She hurried downstairs thinking to herself that there must be some tragic news. Sylvia and Christabel stood waiting at the front door in anticipation. Outside a young man in top hat and tails held an envelope and the thornless stem of a peach-hued rose.
    â€œYou are Miss Rutherford?” he said.
    Amanda nodded.
    He handed her both envelope and flower, then turned without another word, and strode across the brick walk to a waiting single-horse carriage. Within moments he had disappeared down the street. Amanda stared bewildered after him.
    â€œWell . . . open it!” said Christabel impatiently.
    The words brought Amanda to her senses. With trembling finger she tore at one edge of the envelope, then pulled out a single sheet from inside. She took a deep breath and read:
    To: Miss Amanda Rutherford
    Amanda,
    I would be pleased if you would do me the honor of accepting an invitation to accompany me to the Derby and the Reception that follows. The race is scheduled for Saturday next, the eighth, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Unless I hear otherwise, I shall call for you at eleven.
    Yours cordially,
Ramsay Halifax, Esq.
    Amanda handed her the card. Christabel scanned it quickly.
    â€œWho is he?” Christabel asked excitedly.
    â€œSomeone I met at the Kensington Lawn Tea—the man who was at Hastings, remember. I came home with him.”
    â€œA good-looking man too! Will you accept, Amanda?”
    â€œOf course,” replied Amanda, heart pounding. “How could I turn down an invitation like this!”
    â€œThe Derby is one of the premier events of the social season,” said Sylvia. “Not that I care about such things, but some people do. If Mother received an invitation like that, she would probably smuggle in a piece of dynamite and throw it onto the track before the race!”
    â€œI plan to enjoy myself,” laughed Amanda.
    Already her girlish enthusiasm was