A Rebel at Pennington’s

by Rachel Brimble

  ‘So…’ Cecilia Reed stood and pushed out her ample bosom, her eyes alight with an almost manic gleam. ‘We need a volunteer to actually plant and light the explosive in the postbox and three or four volunteers willing to create distractions, if or when, they are needed.’

  Esther stilled. ‘Have we decided to turn suffragette?’

  Louise gripped her arm, her cheeks flushed with excitement. ‘Yes. We’ve had enough, Esther. Our peaceful efforts aren’t working. Last week, the post office was broken into and—’

  ‘Wait. The post office?’ Esther stared at her friend in horror. ‘Were you or Wyatt hurt?’

  ‘No. It was after hours and it seems whoever was behind the break-in knew that we spend Tuesday evenings with Wyatt’s mother. Anyway, the post office wasn’t their target. Our meeting room upstairs was.’

  ‘What happened? Did they take something?’

  ‘No, but they ripped all our plans and pamphlets to shreds and left some rather disturbing threats on our blackboard. Wyatt informed the police about the break-in, but they can do little with the perpetrator unknown. When he told the local MP, his appeal was dismissed out of hand.’ Louise looked around the room, her jaw tight. ‘So, instead of backing away after this challenge, we’ve decided to increase our presence and, if making a stand comes in the form of fire, so be it. No more peaceful campaigning. It’s time to join the ways of so many in London.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Everyone, could I have your attention, please?’ Louise raised her voice above the cacophony bouncing from the walls. ‘I’d like you all to welcome Esther back after her brief time away.’

  Esther forced a smile even though some of the faces around the table – especially Cecilia’s – were less than friendly, her absence clearly resented and suspected. Heat burned in the centre of her chest. If she made a stand against their plans, would she be ejected from the group permanently? The Cause still beat in her heart and burned in her blood.

  She had to prove to herself that her passion could be unwavering and strong in any circumstances. Or else she would be nothing more than the weak woman she vowed never to be. Maybe, with her input, they could ensure no casualties and certainly no fatalities.

  ‘It’s wonderful to be back and I hope to do all I can to support our fight. However,’ she inhaled a shaky breath, slowly released it as she anticipated the backlash of her opinion, ‘an explosive in a busy street will clearly put the innocent at risk. Would it not be better to start by smashing some windows after nightfall just as others have in Manchester, Liverpool and London? How about the town hall? We can ensure the building is empty before we strike, minimising the risk of anyone being hurt, but we would have made a solid statement.’

  Cecilia crossed her arms. ‘The decision to set fire to the postbox on Brock Street has already been made. You are either with us, Esther, or against. You cannot expect us to bend to your suggestions. The fight is continual. All of us have families. Some with jobs they are committed to also, but we are here. You need to prove your involvement or leave.’

  Annoyance burned in Esther’s cheeks. ‘All I’m saying is, if we—’

  ‘No. You have not been party to these plans and weren’t even aware of the attack on the post office. Now, in order to prove your commitment to the Cause, shall I mark you down as the volunteer to plant the explosives?’ Cecilia sneered in triumph and looked around the table. ‘Ladies, any objections to Esther planting the explosive on Brock Street?’

  A ripple of murmured agreements and nods circled the table.

  Esther’s stomach sank. How could she set fire to a postbox so close to Lawrence’s home? How could she set fire to anything knowing an innocent bystander could be hurt?

  ‘Well?’ Cecilia’s hardened gaze bored into Esther’s. ‘Are you to be our volunteer?’

  Esther looked around the table, trying her best to make eye contact with each woman. Slowly, the hostility lessened, and a few smiles of encouragement were sent her way. How else could she be accepted back into the fold? She had to concentrate on what was real.

  She cleared her throat, her gaze locked on Cecilia’s as once more Esther’s suspicions rose that the woman’s motives weren’t always founded in obtaining the vote. It so often seemed Cecilia’s goals lay somewhere else entirely. Esther’s distrust lingered. ‘As I was not part of the vote to turn militant, I won’t plant the explosive, but I will be a lookout for bystanders or police to ensure no one is hurt.’

  Louise tightened her grip on Esther’s arm, her gaze relieved. ‘Perfect.’ She faced the group. ‘We need a different volunteer to plant the explosive. Esther has her role at Pennington’s to think about. If she’s caught, she would most certainly lose her job. I believe public interest in Pennington’s will be important to us in the future. It would be a mistake to jeopardise the advantage of having members working there.’

  Esther’s heart thundered. To lose her job at Pennington’s was to lose half of herself, but the Cause was the more ardent half in that moment. She had to be a part of this plan. Maybe, if she was there on the day the explosive was planted, she could find a way to stop the plan from going ahead. She had Lawrence to think of, Rose and Nathanial and so many others.

  She moved her hand to her stomach as it knotted with unwelcome trepidation… possibly another life, too.

  She stood a little straighter and held Cecilia’s gaze. Her stubbornness regarding militant action and the planting of explosives unnerved Esther to everything she suspected in Cecilia’s personality. The woman was up to something. Something that most likely had less to do with the Cause, and everything to do with Cecilia’s own needs.

  Turning away, Esther took a deep breath. If Lawrence were to find out she had been involved in anything violent, she would lose him. But how could she not do this when these women were whom she relied upon? Women who would stand by her no matter her background, breeding or passions. Surely, she could find a way to make her mark without anyone being hurt? She had to follow through her mother’s struggles and do all she could for Britain’s women. She had no other choice.

  Forty

  Three days later, Esther’s heart beat hard with trepidation as she entered the Circus. Having barely slept a wink for the guilt and fear of what was at risk today meant her mind was blurred and her entire being apprehensive.

  At just past dawn, the sky was a pretty palette of grey and violet hues, the promise of another hot day evident in the gentle, slowly rising warmth. The early morning beauty should have filled her with a sense of peace and relaxation, but she felt entirely the opposite.

  Lawrence had been absent for nearly a week and she’d only received a single letter from him, telling her his mother still clung to life, although barely. He’d then gone on to declare his love for Esther and her heart had almost burst with happiness. So much so, she had hurriedly written back to him asserting the same depth of feeling for him, Rose and Nathanial… despite today’s plans sticking like condemnation in every scratch of her pen.

  Shame pressed down on her as she reached his townhouse. She surreptitiously glanced at the windows, pitifully hoping for a glimpse of Helen, Cook or Charles. Surely, the sight of their innocent faces would be what she needed to forge forward and prevent her Society associate from firing the post box?

  Lawrence’s sand-coloured house blurred in her vision as tears burned fiercely in Esther’s eyes. How had she become a part of this? Why had she once considered that the suffragettes’ practices were the way forward? Once upon a time, she’d been willing to do whatever it took to make the government sit up and take notice, but now… now she knew the suffragists way was her way. The only way.

  The street was eerily quiet as though every bird and person waited for Esther to act, to prevent such a potentially dangerous undertaking from happening.

  Although she hated that she’d become embroiled in anything so perilous, she still couldn’t fully believe her future – Rose’s future – would improve without some form of forcefu
l action, even if she could never condone violence. More and more women languished in prison, a number being forced fed and, some said, even tortured and violated whilst under His Majesty’s care.

  The entire situation was a travesty.

  An insult.

  Women all over the country had been pushed into acting in a way they never would have considered if the government had come to their senses by now. Even though Esther’s affection for Lawrence’s family had grown, her fight for the Cause had not lessened. How was she to turn her back on her fellow associates when her belief in their goal still burned strong? Be that as it may, she could do something to prevent hurt or harm.

  Lifting her chin against the nerves rolling through her stomach, Esther walked around the circular pavement of The Circus and into Brock Street. The houses and shops lining the street glowed softly under the luminosity of the emerging sun, their doors perfectly painted, and their brass knockers polished to a shine. Even the railings surrounding the lower floors with steps leading to the kitchens and servants’ quarters bore nothing as much as a paint chip. Brock Street represented just another picture-perfect residential area of the wealthiest people who lived in Bath. All so very different compared to the shacks and slums lining the river. Injustice ran throughout the city. Rich versus poor. Men versus women. Family versus family.

  On slightly trembling legs, Esther made her way along the street where the postbox stood at the other end. With every step, her heart thundered with fear of being observed from behind a curtain or falling under the wily gaze of a suspicious bystander.

  Tension inched over her shoulders.

  The street became increasingly occupied with each passing minute.

  A young flower-seller with pretty blonde hair and delicate features was busy setting up her stall. Her age little more than sixteen. Esther’s stomach dipped. How could the arson attack go ahead when such an irreproachable girl went about her business? Esther glanced across the street and further culpability pressed down on her. The young road sweeper could not possibly have been older than eleven or twelve.

  Swallowing hard, she nodded hello to an early-morning walker and he nodded back, his gaze seeming to linger an unnecessarily long moment on her face. She snatched her gaze ahead. Could he be a constable in plain clothing?

  Hurrying on, she dropped her chin, hoping the wide brim of her hat would go some way to concealing her face. From beneath lowered lashes, she recognised one of her fellow Society members assigned the duty of causing a distraction if the planter of the explosives was at risk of being intercepted.

  Their gazes locked for a beat before the other woman strolled past Esther in the opposite direction. She glanced across the street and noticed Louise casually talking to a shopkeeper, her finger pointed along the pavement as though asking for directions.

  All was in place. All was ready.

  Esther’s pulse beat erratically in her ears, her hands clammy as a group of three respectable-looking young men came towards her, their suits and starched collars impeccable. They looked no different than Lawrence would on his way to his hotel. Were they fathers? Sons or brothers?

  Esther slowed as doubt and indecision whirled inside her, making her light-headed. Perspiration broke cold on her upper lip.

  Another colleague entered the street from the opposite end and walked confidently towards the postbox, her hands wrapped firmly around the bulge in her overcoat.

  Esther swallowed. This was it. It was about to begin. She had to do something… Now.

  She snapped her gaze to the road sweeper. He was approaching the postbox, humming quietly to himself as he pushed his brush along the gutter, oblivious to the danger all around him.

  She could not allow this to happen.

  She wouldn’t.

  Just as her colleague reached into her coat, Esther launched into a run. ‘Stop! You there, get away. Get away now!’

  She ran at the young road sweeper as he stopped and stared, his dark eyes wide with surprise. Less than three metres away from the postbox, Esther grabbed him and sent them both tumbling to the cobblestones. Holding him tightly in her arms, she tried to shield him with her body as she flicked her gaze to the postbox, her arm throbbing with a warm wetness where her elbow had struck the cobblestones.

  No! Somebody stop her! Please!

  The words lodged in Esther’s throat as her colleague whipped the package from beneath her coat and the flint from her pocket…

  The entire street erupted into chaos.

  Five or six tall, burly men hurtled towards Esther and her colleagues.

  Ear-splitting shouts bounced from the houses as the woman who would’ve set fire to the box had her arms pulled behind her back, the flower-seller screaming as falling dustbins crashed to the stones, loud curses and shouting ringing out from every direction.

  Before Esther could draw another breath, arms as thick as steel bands grabbed her from behind, pulling her upwards. She released the boy and her assailant’s breath burned hot against her cheek. ‘You’re under arrest, Miss.’

  Panic bolted through her before Esther blinked and her senses spiralled into fight mode. She turned and struggled against the man’s broad, six feet tall stature, her fingers reaching for his face and arms. All around her, bedlam and disorder reigned as her associates’ shouts joined hers, but no matter how hard she struggled, Esther could not gain leverage over the policeman who held her captive.

  He painfully yanked her arms behind her back and Esther helplessly watched as Louise and the others were manhandled into the same position, their hats askew and faces etched with hateful anger.

  Shock rippled through Esther as she witnessed such venom and loathing… such hatred. How had the Cause come to this?

  Another man jumped in front of three of her colleagues and the bright flash of a photographic bulb caused lights to burst in front of Esther’s eyes, momentarily blinding her. The constable restraining her shouted, ordering a spectator to take off after the photographer.

  Guilt and shame gripped Esther at the sight of the tear-streaked face of the young road sweeper as he cowered in the arms of an older man and woman.

  What did it matter that she’d been trying to save him? She was as guilty as any of her associates of terrorising these people. If her picture appeared in the morning papers, if she was named and shamed, it would be entirely just. Regardless of her intentions, she was now part of a group willing to risk the lives of others for their Cause.

  ‘Let’s be having you.’ The policeman growled into her ear and dragged her towards a black carriage on the other side of the street. ‘There are cells waiting for you and your friends at the station.’

  Afraid and in a state of shock, Esther thrashed against him, but her efforts were futile as his fingers pinched painfully into her wrists. One by one, Esther and the others were dragged across the street, the passers-by growing in number, their expressions scornful as Esther was tumbled into the back of the carriage. Her back hit the side of the door and she sucked in a breath before she was shoved onto a long seat lining one side of the carriage. Warmth trickled onto her lips and she pressed her gloved finger to it. A smear of blood against grey.

  A mark.

  A stain.

  Shame enveloped her.

  All too soon Lawrence, her aunt and father would learn of her actions.

  If there had been even the slightest hope she and Lawrence could be together, she had destroyed it. He had Rose and Nathanial to think of, his reputation and the patrons of his hotel. Any association with her would surely ruin everything he loved and worked for. Who could blame him for not wanting to be with her? Not trusting her, or wanting her in his children’s lives?

  ‘Don’t you cry, Esther Stanbury.’

  Esther looked to her associate sitting opposite her and swiped angrily at her cheek. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Good.’ The woman’s expression filled with contempt. ‘Because this is just the beginning. We will not give up and we will not surrender. Cry
ing will do nothing. Action is what we need. You’ve ruined what could’ve been our biggest stand yet.’

  Esther glared at her, anger burning in her stomach. ‘Can you not take a moment to think how much hurt, pain and heartache our actions today might have meant for others?’

  ‘Our only concern is the vote. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  Esther trembled with suppressed resentment as she realised the fight was turning some women into people filled with anger and hatred. The venom in the woman’s eyes was above and beyond passion, it gleamed with insanity.

  She looked to Louise. ‘We have to think of others. We must accept it isn’t right for people to be harmed as we fight. Shouldn’t it be that we can hold our heads high in front of family, friends, neighbours and loved ones? The Cause is about so much more than the vote. It’s about women being part of the country’s prosperity. For the government to see us as a cog in the machine of Great Britain. Just because I don’t wish to see people hurt by our endeavours, does that make me any less committed to the Cause than you? I think not.’

  Louise looked at her lap, her hands clasped together, her knuckles showing white. She met Esther’s gaze, tears glazing her eyes. ‘You’re right. The planned explosive should not have happened and I’m ashamed I agreed to it. People could’ve been hurt or worse. Goodness knows what the police will see fit to do with us now. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so ashamed.’

  The air was heavy with tension. The confines of the rumbling, jolting carriage only adding to the unease and dissatisfaction unfurling inside Esther’s heart and mind.

  For years she’d fought to feel worthy, to count and be respected by men and women alike. Was the price of that fight to be arrested and cast in the same mould as anyone else who thought nothing of risking people’s lives?

  Esther looked at all the women in turn. ‘Part of me is glad we are here. It is right that we’ve been arrested.’