Suffragette by Carol Drinkwater Read Free Book Online

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    I enquired for Harriet Kerr, who welcomed me as though I were a friend and then introduced me to a middle-aged woman, Miss Baker. Astoundingly, I learned that she had been Flora’s
governess for many years. Now she is employed as a member of the staff for the movement, or “the Cause” as they all call it there.
    “How old are you, Dollie?” asked Miss Baker.
    “I have just turned fifteen,” I fibbed. In fact, I shall be fifteen in November.
    “Why aren’t you at school?”
    I considered her question. The quarter of London where I originally came from has no library. Why would it have? Most women in such districts are illiterate. A few of the men can read a
newspaper and write their names, even a letter if they are obliged to, but what time do they have for reading? Children leave school at eight or nine and go out to work because the families
desperately need the pittance of income their offspring earn. My brothers were all working by the age of ten. I would have been engaged in domestic work if Fate had not taken a hand. I wanted to
tell all this to Miss Baker, but I liked her and decided not to be cheeky. “I have recently moved back to London and hope to start at a new school in the autumn.”
    Miss Baker screwed up her brow. “You should be attending school.”
    “I believe Flora is looking for a temporary tutor for me,” I answered.
    “I see. Well, while you have time to spare, just say the word and we’ll take you on as a volunteer.”
    “What would it involve?”
    “Can you type?”
    I shook my head.
    “Never mind, there are plenty of other duties to be carried out. But only in your free time. One of our goals is to encourage women’s education, not to hinder it, do you understand
me?”
    I nodded.
    “How about selling copies of our suffrage newspaper,
Votes for Women
? It means going out on the streets. Or if you are too timid for that we could put you to enrolling new members.
Or interviewing local MPs.”
    “I can’t afford to get into any trouble…”
    Miss Baker laughed loudly. “Not all of the ladies here are of a militant mind, Dollie. Harriet, who enrolled you at the Exhibition, left her secretarial agency in Aberdeen to come and work
here, but she has made it a condition of her employment that her work is exclusively administrative.”
    “I would be honoured to help out in whatever way I can,” I replied.
    “Excellent! Why don’t we start with something straightforward such as the door-to-door distribution of handbills, or…”
    “My dream is to become a journalist, so why don’t I try my hand at selling the newspapers?”
    “Splendid! Now what are you doing for the rest of the day?”
    I shrugged.
    “Then why don’t we begin immediately? This was going to be a free day for me and I was on my way to a new Monet exhibition at the National Gallery, but that can wait. I’ll go
later. Are you familiar with the work of the French Impressionists?”
    I shook my head.
    “Even better. I will accompany you on your newspaper expedition. Just this once, mind, so that you get the hang of it, and while we are out and about I can answer any questions you might
have about the Cause. Then later this afternoon, we’ll make an outing together to the National Gallery.” And, with that, Miss Baker flung a huge batch of papers at me, shoved a hat
carelessly on her head, wrapped a light shawl round her shoulders and we stepped out into the street.
    We made our way by underground to the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. “This will be your pitch. Be warned, it’s a busy one. You’ll sell a good stack of papers
here and you will almost certainly get asked questions about our work. So you’d better have your facts straight. No, don’t stand there. It is important to position yourself in the
gutter. Never stand on the pavements.”
    “Why ever not?” I asked, fearing the passage of hansoms and, worse, of motor