by Megan Rix
In the afternoon, while Alfie was busy doing the schoolwork Mrs Goulden had sent for him, Rascal picked up her ball and slipped outside.
‘Well, hello there,’ Constable Tom Smith said.
Rascal dropped her ball at his feet and looked up expectantly at him, her brown eyes willing him to pick it up.
Tom had been sent to keep an eye on the suffragettes but no one had said anything about whether he should or shouldn’t play with a dog while he was there. He quickly looked round to make sure no one was watching, then he picked up the ball and threw it for Rascal.
With a wag of her tail Rascal ran across the lawn to fetch the ball. She brought it back to him, dropped it at his feet and looked up at him, ready to go again.
Alfie wondered why Rascal was panting when she came in an hour later, but he had a lot to do and so he didn’t think much about it. Rascal dropped her ball in her basket and had a long drink of water.
‘Alfie, can you give me a hand?’ Daisy shouted. She wanted to set up a ramp by the front steps so Miss Billinghurst could come in and out as she pleased once she was released from prison.
‘Coming,’ Alfie called.
Rascal picked up her ball and headed back out of the front door, but the policeman who had played with her wasn’t there any more. The new policeman shooed her away, so she headed back indoors for a nap.
She was so pleased when the friendly policeman came back early the next morning that she rolled over on her back for him to give her a tummy rub.
‘Well, I missed you too,’ Constable Tom said. The truth was that playing with the dog had been the highlight of the previous day.
He threw the ball across the grass in front of the house for Rascal but quickly returned to his post by the garden wall when Miss Billinghurst’s carriage arrived.
Rascal didn’t want to stop playing. She dropped her ball at Tom’s feet and held out her paw.
‘Not now,’ Tom whispered, before quickly standing to attention. He knew he shouldn’t let the suffragettes see him playing with one of their dogs!
‘Where’s Rascal? I want to give her a pet,’ Miss Billinghurst said, as Alfie and Daisy came out of the house to help her inside.
‘Rascal!’ Alfie called.
He spotted her sitting next to the policeman on duty by the garden wall.
‘Rascal – come here.’
She picked up her ball and came running over to Alfie.
‘Hello, there,’ Miss Billinghurst said, giving her a stroke.
Rascal wagged her tail and rubbed her face against Miss Billinghurst’s hand. Alfie was glad she didn’t try to jump up on Miss Billinghurst’s lap, as she’d done when she was a puppy. She was so much bigger and heavier now.
‘It’s wonderful to be out of prison and free to have a cuddle with my favourite dog,’ Miss Billinghurst said.
‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ Daisy asked her.
‘Yes, please,’ Miss Billinghurst said. ‘And then I’m looking forward to having a long sleep in a non-prison bed.’
Alfie still felt guilty about picking up the toffee hammer but Miss Billinghurst told him he shouldn’t.
‘If the police hadn’t arrested me then, I’d have just kept on breaking more and more windows until they did!’ she said.
Chapter 11
1912–13
Rascal loved going for long walks but Alfie thought even she would struggle to walk as far as some of the suffragettes had done during their Votes for Women campaign. Suffragettes from Wales had walked from Bangor to London. Suffragettes from Cornwall had walked from Land’s End to London. And now six suffragettes from Scotland had walked four hundred miles from Edinburgh to London.
‘Come on, Rascal,’ Alfie said, and Rascal grabbed her ball off the balcony at Lincoln’s Inn House, the headquarters of the WSPU since October 1912. These headquarters were much bigger, and they needed to be: the WSPU had grown so big that it now employed over a hundred people, including Daisy and Alfie, who both worked for it full time. They lived in the small caretaker’s flat at the top of the building with Rascal.
Rascal’s favourite spot in their new home was the balcony. She liked to sit out on it and watch the people and other dogs and cats passing by down below.
‘We’re not going out to play,’ Alfie said, when he saw Rascal pick up her ball.
But Rascal gave him a look that said she didn’t want to put it down.
Alfie sighed. ‘All right, bring it if you must, but we won’t be playing.’
There were hundreds of other well-wishers at Trafalgar Square waiting to cheer the Scottish suffragettes from the Women’s Freedom League as they arrived.
‘Four hundred miles,’ Alfie kept thinking. Would he walk four hundred miles to get the right to vote? Maybe. Although Mrs Pankhurst didn’t just want women to get the vote – she wanted them to have equal rights with men.
‘I wore my shoe leather out,’ one of the women, Nannie Brown, told Alfie in her soft Scottish voice. Rascal looked up at her, dropped her ball at Nannie’s feet, and then picked it up again when Nannie didn’t throw it for her. ‘It took us five whole weeks to walk here, fifteen miles every day, rain or shine, and we collected thousands of signatures in support of women’s right to vote along the way. Now we want to show it to the prime minister. Surely Mr Asquith will see that he must give us the vote now.’
Alfie and Rascal went with them to 10 Downing Street. But when the women knocked on the door with their petition, the prime minister refused to see them and they had to give it to one of his secretaries instead.
‘We’ve come so far …’ Nannie said, as she handed it over to the stony-faced man in the grey suit who blocked the doorway.
Alfie felt really sorry for the women. Why wouldn’t Mr Asquith just see them? Alfie thought it was the least he could do.
Rascal looked over at St James’s Park as they passed it on their way back from Downing Street. Then she stopped, sat down, dropped her ball on the ground and looked up at Alfie.
‘OK,’ Alfie sighed. At least someone would get what they wanted from the trip to 10 Downing Street today.
Rascal ran into the park and Alfie threw the ball for her over and over again, then they headed back to Lincoln’s Inn House. Rascal had a nice sleep in the wintry sunshine on the balcony, before heading back in for her dinner.
Alfie and Rascal were in the WSPU offices a few months later when a lady with a shawl round her shoulders and clogs on her feet walked through the door.
‘Annie!’ Alfie said, smiling. ‘Why are you dressed in your old mill worker’s clothes today?’
He’d never forgotten meeting Annie Kenney the first time in Manchester when he and Daisy had escaped from the workhouse. She was wearing the same clothes as she had been then. But she’d never gone back to working in the mill.
Annie Kenney had worked all over England for the WSPU and often went to France to report to Mrs Pankhurst’s daughter Christabel. Now she was in charge of the WSPU in London.
Rascal liked Annie very much and nudged her head under her hand for a stroke.
‘Me and some other working women – twenty of us, including Flora Drummond – have got a meeting with David Lloyd George, the Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ Annie told him excitedly. ‘It’s not the prime minister – he wouldn’t see us – but it’s almost as good. The chancellor’s on our side and one day – well, who knows? – he could become prime minister and things will change.’
Rascal greeted the other women as they arrived at Lincoln’s Inn to practise what they were going to say at the meeting with Lloyd George. There were school teachers, nurses, mill hands and laundresses, pit brow women who worked in the coal mines, and fisherwomen – twenty working women from all over the country to represent all the hundreds of thousands of working women.
When Flora Drummond arrived, Rascal put her paw out to her and The General gave her a stroke.
‘Now, ladies,’ she said, as Alfie handed round cups of tea and scones. ‘The vote
is the best way we can get our views listened to. Tell us what you would each like to say to Lloyd George.’
Mrs Hawkins, who was representing working mothers, said: ‘Mothers need the vote so that they can demand better, safer homes for their families, medical treatment for all, and good schooling for both their sons and their daughters. My two sons – one in the Army and one in the Navy – have the vote, yet the woman who brought them into the world has no say.’
Mrs Bonnick, the headmistress of a London school, wanted to speak about the rights of women teachers: ‘They should have the same pay and voting power as male teachers have.’
Sister Townsend, a hospital nurse, said she represented women whose hours were longer than those of any male worker. ‘We don’t just work as hard – we work harder, and yet we’re refused the right to vote and expected to pay taxes without any say in what those taxes will be used for.’
Annie looked over at Alfie and smiled and he smiled back. Surely the government would finally see sense and give women the vote now?
Annie came back disappointed after the meeting with Lloyd George.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, as Alfie took her shawl. ‘The chancellor said he’d pass on our words, but I don’t hold out much hope until Mr Asquith isn’t in power any more.’
‘I don’t trust any of them,’ The General said.
They had Emily Wilding Davison with them, although she hadn’t been part of the group meeting Lloyd George. Rascal and Emily were old friends because she often popped into the office.
‘We have to do more,’ Emily said as she gave Rascal a tummy rub. Emily was good at finding Rascal’s tickle spot, which made her hind left leg wave wildly in the air. ‘We have to do something huge to make the government give us the right to vote. Something they can’t ignore.’
Chapter 12
June 1913
It was a sunny Wednesday and Alfie was helping in the typing room at Lincoln’s Inn House, laboriously typing letters with one finger, when Emily Davison came rushing in.
‘Good morning, Miss Davison,’ Alfie said, as Rascal trotted over to her and rubbed her face against Emily’s skirt.
‘I want two Votes for Women flags,’ she said.
Alfie got two of the purple, white and green flags from the cupboard and gave them to her.
Emily was tingling with excitement. Rascal decided she must want to play so she fetched her ball and dropped it at Emily’s feet.
‘Oh, no, sorry – I don’t have time to play now. I’m off to Epsom to see the races,’ Emily told her. ‘I’m going to watch the Derby.’
Alfie thought how lucky Emily was. How he’d love to watch the racing!
‘The king’s horse, Anmer, is running in the Derby today,’ Alfie told Emily. He’d seen a picture of the beautiful bay horse, with its reddish-brown body and black mane, tail, ear edges and lower legs. It would be wonderful to see it race.
‘I know,’ Emily told him with a small smile.
Rascal nudged Emily’s hand with her head, put out her paw and looked up at Emily.
‘Oh, all right,’ Emily said. ‘Who could resist you?’ And she gave Rascal one of her favourite tummy rubs before running off down the winding staircase.
‘Emily!’ Daisy called after her, pulling open a desk drawer. ‘I just remembered – this came for you a few days ago.’
But Emily had already gone.
‘I hope it’s not urgent,’ Daisy said, staring at the envelope with ‘Miss Wilding Davison’ written on it.
‘I’ll run and catch her,’ Alfie said, grabbing the envelope and tearing off down the stairs with Rascal right behind him.
But when they got outside, the street was so crowded that Alfie couldn’t see Emily anywhere.
‘Well, we know where she’s going,’ Alfie told Rascal as he took his bicycle from the bike rack and held it steady so Rascal could hop into the basket.
It took almost two hours to cycle to Epsom but Alfie didn’t mind a bit. It was a beautiful summer’s day and he was going to the Derby after all!
Rascal didn’t mind either, although she didn’t have her ball.
Alfie had never been to a racecourse before. He paid two shillings for their ticket and they were allowed in. Rascal was very interested in all the horsey smells, but when she saw a horse towering above her, she trembled with fear.
‘It’s OK,’ Alfie told her, as he stroked the horse’s nose. ‘He won’t hurt you.’
Rascal sniffed at the horse and it put its nose down to her and breathed out through its nostrils, ruffling her fur.
‘Nice dog,’ said the jockey.
‘Thanks!’ Alfie grinned.
More people came to stroke Rascal and she happily wagged her tail, especially when someone gave her a bit of jellied eel.
As well as the horses and jockeys, there were thousands of spectators dressed in their best clothes – and of course the king and queen were in the Royal Box. Alfie wasn’t sure how he was ever going to find Miss Davison among all the people and horses and fairground stalls and rides.
He spotted a lady who looked a little bit like her over by the steam carousel, waiting to ride on one of the wooden horses, but Emily had said she was there to watch the racing.
As he searched the face of every woman he passed, he thought about how Emily was one of the bravest of the suffragettes. One time she had even managed to stay hidden in the House of Commons overnight – until she’d been found and sent to prison. Mrs Pankhurst said Emily Davison was now in the House of Commons’ black book – for people who weren’t welcome there any more.
Alfie thought Mrs Pankhurst was probably in the black book too.
‘Lucky heather?’ a little girl with bare feet asked him, holding out a small bunch of purple flowers.
Alfie shook his head and walked on. He had to find Miss Davison.
‘Come on, Rascal,’ he called.
Rascal had never smelt anything quite like the scent at the edge of the racecourse. It was so good it was impossible to resist – she kept her nose to the ground and trotted over to the other side of the racecourse, away from the crowds of people’s feet, to follow it.
‘Rascal!’ Alfie called, but Rascal didn’t even lift her head.
One minute Rascal had been right next to Alfie, and the next she was gone.
‘Rascal – Rascal, where are you?’ he called.
All around him people were shouting. Some wanted people to bet on the horses, some wanted people to have a go on the fairground stalls and rides, others had food and souvenirs to sell.
Alfie thought the racecourse was just about the worst place for Rascal to get lost. There were so many people going this way and that. Rascal would surely get lost in the crowds in no time. Not to mention the danger of the horses’ hooves.
‘Rascal!’
There were no people once Rascal crossed the stretch of grass on the other side of the racecourse. Only the woods just ahead, where the scent that filled Rascal’s nostrils was taking her. She trotted on and was thrilled to come face to face with a fox! It ventured out of its den and looked at her as Rascal wagged her tail.
‘Rascal! Rascal!’ Alfie shouted as loudly as he could and Rascal heard him. When she turned her head and whined, the fox disappeared back into its den. All that was left was the fox’s scat. Rascal rolled over and over in it with her legs in the air and then she pressed her face into it. Finally she raced back to Alfie, as pleased as could be with her new aroma.
‘Yuck, Rascal,’ Alfie said, once he’d hugged her. ‘You smell terrible!’ He knew it wasn’t horse manure, but it wasn’t like anything else he’d smelt before either – a sour, almost a foul, cheesy kind of smell. ‘What have you been rolling in?’
Rascal wagged her tail.
By the time they got back to the course, the Derby was over. Alfie still hadn’t seen Emily.
‘She’s probably gone home by now,’ he told Rascal.
‘Did the king’s horse win?’ he asked a man selling Lyons
ice cream from a handcart.
‘No, Craganour won but got disqualified, so it was given to Aboyeur instead. There was an incident on the track but Anmer’s not injured.’
‘What happened?’ Alfie asked, pulling some money from his pocket and buying the cheapest ice cream the man had for sale. Rascal hadn’t tasted ice cream before.
Alfie had a lick before he gave some to Rascal. Rascal lapped it up, then looked up for more.
‘Anmer was coming almost last, only a few horses after him, when a woman ran on to the track and got herself knocked over,’ the man said.
‘Is she OK?’ Alfie asked, as Rascal licked the melting ice cream dripping from the cone in his hand.
The man shook his head.
‘She’s been taken to hospital. Can’t think why she did something so foolish. Someone said she was one of those suffs … sufferers? Women who want the vote.’
Alfie froze. ‘You mean suffragettes,’ he said, with a feeling of dread rising in his chest.
Miss Davison was always saying something extreme needed to be done to draw attention to the cause of women’s suffrage. But she wouldn’t have run out on to the racecourse, would she? She wouldn’t have done that, Alfie told himself. But a tiny voice inside his head said she might have.
‘They say the injuries looked very grave,’ the man added.
Alfie had to find out what had happened. He ran over to the nearest policeman.
‘Do you know the name of the woman who was knocked over by the horse, sir?’ he asked.
The policeman pulled out his notebook and looked at it.
‘A Miss Wilding Davison,’ he told him.
Alfie knew he had to let the WSPU headquarters know what had happened as soon as possible. Not many houses had telephones yet. But he bet a princess’s house would have one. And Hampton Court was much nearer than London.
Alfie grabbed his bike.
‘Up, Rascal.’
Rascal jumped into her basket and Alfie pedalled as fast as he could to find Princess Sophia.
The further away from the racecourse he got, the guiltier he felt. Maybe if he had found Miss Davison, given her the letter, he might have been able to stop her from doing something so rash. Maybe.