Millie’s eyes opened in astonishment as she looked out of the cab window. She had never, in all her fourteen years, travelled the streets of London at such a speed before. “These horseless carriages are amazing," she thought. Feeling overawed by the proximity of her mistress, she looked across to where Lady Charlotte sat, deep in thought. It had all happened very swiftly. She had been summoned to Her Ladyship’s chamber and told that, as her personal maid was unwell, she, Millie, would be accompanying her on a shopping trip into ‘Town,’ to Harrods.
Millie had burst back into the kitchen to announce the news.
“Guess what! I’m going out with her Ladyship!
The cook had looked up in astonishment.
“Well, I never! Look sharp my girl. Don’t keep her waiting.”
As Millie rushed to pull on her hat and coat, Cook spoke again.
“An’ don’t forget your other chores will still be waiting for you when you get back.”
Millie groaned. She was already tired from doing extra chores as they were short-staffed at present. She had been up since four-thirty that morning, cleaning grates and laying fires. It looked like being a very long day, but even that thought failed to squash her excitement at this unexpected outing.
Lady Charlotte leant forward and tapped on the glass partition.
“Cabbie” she said imperiously, “Change of destination. Take me to Hyde Park, not Harrods.”
He half-twisted his head.
“Very well, Ma-am. But there could be trouble there today. Them suffragettes are holding some sort of meeting.” He gave a disdainful sniff.
Her Ladyship gave Millie a slight smile, causing her to look down in embarrassment at her
work-worn hands, all red and chapped from her household chores.
When she next looked up, she saw Lady Charlotte opening her tapestry bag and pulling out a sash of purple, green and white: suffragette colours! Millie’s eyes opened wide as she recalled the heated conversation that she had accidentally overheard the previous night.
“I’ve told you before. Charlotte.” Lord Mortimer roared, “I will not have such nonsense spoken in my house. Women’s suffrage indeed!” He snorted. “How could they possibly understand the ways of politics. No! Women should be at home, looking after their families.”
Millie, not wanting to be thought eavesdropping, hurried back down the hall, but not before she saw Lady Charlotte emerge from the library, wiping her eyes. Yet here she was, now obviously planning to attend a suffragette meeting.
“What will come of it all?” the young girl wondered.
The cab slowed down, its progress impeded now by crowds of women all hurrying in the same direction, each of them adorned with the suffragette sash; its colours signifying Dignity, Purity and Hope.
“Pull up here!”
Muttering and complaining, the driver did as he was told. A few moments later, Millie and her employer were caught up in the excited crowd, being jostled about and swept along with the throng, trying to dodge the banners proclaiming, “Votes for Women.”
Lady Charlotte turned towards Millie who was valiantly trying to stay close to her.
“Give me your arm” Lady Charlotte commanded, “We don’t want to get separated.”
Hesitantly, she obeyed, feeling overwhelmed at being closely linked with such a fine lady. So it was that the two of them, serving girl and aristocrat, walked side by side through the streets of London. Millie looked up at her mistress whose hat was now askew and her cheeks bright with excitement. Suddenly Her Ladyship joined her voice to those around her, “Votes for Women!’ she shouted.
Millie was astounded but she, too, was catching the thrilling atmosphere.
“Votes for Women!” she echoed. She felt that she was one with them, one of them: the Sisterhood marching together.
Suddenly the crowd jostled to a halt. They had arrived at the rally. Millie looked around her. She was standing in a crowd of several hundred women: all shapes, sizes and ages. Plumed hats bobbed happily alongside cloth bonnets and woollen shawls. The air crackled with excitement and the chattering was deafening. She craned her neck to try and see what was going on but all she saw was a wooden farm cart, decorated as a makeshift stage. She looked across at Lady Charlotte. Her face was flushed, her body erect, looking more animated than her maid had ever seen her. Her ladyship looked down with a huge smile.
“Isn’t it marvellous, Millie? All sisters together.”
A huge, happy grin was the response.
A sudden hush descended on the crowd. Three women were climbing onto the cart, smiling and waving to all. Lady Charlotte murmured, “Emmeline Pankhurst and her two daughters.” Millie nodded. She had heard of them. There had been much discussion about their activities amongst the staff ‘below stairs.’ She knew they were certainly upsetting a lot of people, including politicians, and even assaulting the police when they tried to break up their demonstrations. They had been imprisoned, gone on hunger strikes and been force-fed. Yet still they were not defeated. Millie watched, with admiration in her heart, as the indomitable figure started to speak, her clear voice acting as a clarion call.
“My Sisters”, she began. A roar of approval erupted from the throats of the many women gathered there. She paused to let the noise die down before continuing.
‘All of us have gathered here today to show our government, nay - the world, that we have had enough of being defined by men. They dismiss us as mere wives, mothers, sisters and, for some poor unfortunates” here she dropped her voice, “whores.”
A communal sigh slid through the crowd.
“Enough! I say again. Enough! We women are so much more. We, too, have brains and are capable of rational thought. Yet it is men who make the decisions that affect our lives. They hold on to the power to control us. No more! We demand the right to vote, to choose our leaders, elect our government.”
Her voice rose to a shout.
“Votes for women.”
There was an answering roar from the crowd.
However, at that moment, there was an unwanted interruption by the stage. A group of young men, in cloth caps and heavy boots, were jeering and catcalling. Her two daughters stepped closer to Emmeline, whether to protect her or themselves was not clear. The men started shaking the cart, causing the women to lose their balance. They laughed derisively.
“Get back to your husbands,” they bellowed. “An’ your parlour games, where you belong!”
Millie bit her lip and looked anxiously at Lady Charlotte. “Were they going to be caught up in some sort of trouble?”
But her mistress seemed oblivious of any danger. She stood on tiptoe, rapt, as she listened to Mrs. Pankhurst continue. Emmeline straightened herself and ignored the ruffians. She raised her voice.
“We march to Downing Street. Now!”
A group of women, umbrellas raised, charged the men, cleared them out of the way and swiftly formed a protective shield around their leader. The cry rose up.
“Onward! To Westminster!”
The crowd moved as one. Millie felt the blood surging through her body. She felt ten feet tall, no longer a maid, but one of the Sisterhood. She stepped proudly alongside Lady Charlotte, marching as an equal, ready to claim rights for women.
Suddenly, the crowd staggered to a halt. A dark blue line barred their path: mounted police.
“Step aside’! Emmeline commanded them. “We are free citizens. We have the right to march these streets.”
The police just laughed in derision. The commanding officer raised himself up, standing in his stirrups.
“You have no right of way to cause a nuisance. Go home!” he bellowed.
He nudged his enormous steed forward, bumping into the leaders. His men followed suit. Bedlam erupted. Someone in the crowd fell over, causing others to stumble and fall. Screams rent the air. The happy throng was reduced to a teeming mass of humanity.
Lady Charlotte clung tightly to Millie’s arm and, with some difficulty, wriggled a way through until they both stood on the fringe of the crowd. They breathed deeply of the fresh air and looked across to where, just a few moments ago, they had been standing. A scuffle had broken out. Emmeline and those around her were locked in a heated argument with the police, who were now vigorously clearing the area. All around, women fell back from them and turned, leaving the rallying ground behind them. Banners which only a short while before had fluttered triumphantly in the breeze now lay in tatters on the ground.
Millie looked up at her mistress. She thought Lady Charlotte was magnificent as she stood there, chest heaving with emotion; her hair had come unpinned and was falling loosely about her shoulders.
“She looks like some ancient warrior queen,” Millie thought.
Her mistress’ eyes glittered with excitement. She reached down and lifted one of the fallen placards. She became a rallying point. Women gathered around her and, together, chanted defiantly, “Votes for Women!” Millie joined in, though not without an apprehensive glance toward the policemen. She had no need to worry. They were too busy arresting the leading suffragettes. With a last, challenging defiant look in their direction, Her Ladyship led her little group to safety, still chanting, and still waving their placards.
When they reached the edge of the park, the women quietly dispersed, each heading for their own home. Lady Charlotte lowered her own placard, took a deep breath and announced.
“Time, Millie, for us to go home.”
Within a few minutes they were seated in another cab, heading back to “Mortimer House.” She removed her sash, carefully stowing it away once more, pinning her hair up as best as she could and ramming her hat tidily on her head.
Millie, the adrenaline still coursing through her, sat watching in amazement as the fiery rebel was slowly transformed into her respectable mistress once more. The sense of togetherness vanished. A chilling curtain seemed to drop between them. As the cab pulled into their road she turned and, leaning over her, looked sternly at her maid.
“Millie, if anyone asks, we have been at Harrods all afternoon. On no account,” here she paused, “On NO account are you to tell anyone where we have been this afternoon. If I hear even the faintest whisper that my secret is out, I will have you instantly dismissed.”
Millie blinked.
“Do you understand, girl?”
All her elation drained away as she lowered her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am”.
Millie turned away to wipe the tears that were sliding noiselessly down her face. Her day was ruined. For a brief interlude, she had felt energized with hope, thought herself to be someone who mattered, an equal with others. Clearly, despite all that had happened, that was not the case. She was just a maid, deemed to be of no real account.
But then her chin came up as she thought back to that afternoon. She felt again the sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger. The old established order was breaking down; her world was changing. She would change with it; take control of her own destiny. For, after all, had she not today been one with the Sisterhood? Millie squared her shoulders, looked her employer straight in the eye and smiled brightly.
A brave new world was dawning.
Author Bio:
Emmie Blake is a wife, mother, and grandmother, living in rural Wales. Much of her life has been spent working with, and campaigning for, people on the fringes of society: those with addiction problems, ex-offenders and the dispossessed. She has been active in the Anglican Church for more than forty years; initially as a Lay person and subsequently as an ordained Minister. In retirement, she enjoys gardening and walking as well as, of course, reading and writing. Some of her short stories have been published in an Anthology and online in other e-zines; work on her first novel is ongoing
Comments