Wayward Winds (31 page)

 59 
The British Museum

With the coming of the year 1912, the suffragette movement stepped up to a new level of militancy. By now the movement was taking in over £30,000 annually and had thousands of loyal soldiers to carry out the Pankhursts' orders. That men were also involved was evidenced by the fact that Mr. Pethick-Lawrence had not only taken his wife's name, but was now actively involved helping to run the organization, and spent most of his own inheritance paying suffragette fines.

At a dinner held for some of their released prisoners in February, Mrs. Pankhurst laid out her agenda for the next month. “The argument of the broken windowpane,” she said, “is the most valuable argument in modern politics.”

Two weeks later, on the first of March, Christabel announced to Amanda at breakfast, “Today we're going to the British Museum—have you ever been, Amanda?”

“Once or twice when I was younger. What's the occasion?”

“To show the world we suffragettes are interested in culture too,” added Emmeline.

Around midday, Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson, Mrs. Pethick-Lawrence, Mrs. Tuke, and a number of other women began to arrive, among them wild-eyed Emily Davison. By one o'clock fifteen women in all had gathered, women whom Amanda recognized as the most committed and radical of Mrs. Pankhurst's inner circle in the movement. She could hardly imagine
this
gathering of women coming together for
a sedate and cultural visit to the British Museum! Some of them carried large bags. Most wore large winter coats.

At two o'clock they set out, in five separate automobiles. By this time Amanda realized they were
not
all going to the museum, for as they left the house, Emmeline said to all the others, “We shall meet back here for tea. Good luck. Be brave. Remember the cause!”

“What is going on, Sylvia?” she asked as they walked to the car.

“You will see, Amanda,” replied Sylvia with a smile. “The whole world will know of our cause after today!”

Amanda did not reply. She began to grow restless as they rode into the heart of the city.

She saw none of the others until evening. As it turned out only Sylvia and Christabel, Amanda herself, and the two other women riding with them went to the British Museum. The other cars obviously had different destinations in the city . . . and other business.

The five of them entered the museum and began strolling about casually. Sylvia and Christabel appeared distracted, glancing around as they went, paying more attention to the guards, it seemed, than to the exhibits.

“There is a new display of porcelain up on the third floor,” said Christabel.

“It's not open to the public,” said one of the others. “It requires a special pass. Some of the pieces are priceless.”

“I want to see it,” she said determinedly. “We will get in.” She turned and walked toward the stairs.

The others followed. Ten minutes later they approached the exhibit room. A uniformed guard stopped them.

“Pass, miss,” he said to Christabel.

“We don't have a pass. But we very much wanted to see the exhibit.”

“Can't let you in without a pass.”

“This is the daughter of Sir Charles Rutherford,” said Christabel, gently pulling Amanda forward. “She came today just to see the porcelain exhibit. Surely you would not deny Miss Rutherford the opportunity to see these treasures she has heard so much about.”

“Is that true, miss?” said the guard to Amanda. “Are you who she says?”

“Yes . . . yes, I am.”

“You don't sound too sure of yourself, miss.”

“I am Amanda Rutherford,” said Amanda. She tried to summon her courage, though she had a bad feeling about what was happening. The guard glanced her over, then nodded to himself.

“All right, then,” he said. “Can't see there'd be any harm. You ladies enjoy yourselves.”

He stood aside and let them through the wide doorway. Christabel led the way into the exhibit hall. Amanda and the others followed. Amanda detected a glint in Christabel's eye. Other things than ancient porcelain were apparently on her mind. A subtle motion of her head gave a signal to her sister and the others.

The five immediately spread out through the room.

As the strange tour of the porcelain exhibit was in progress, in another part of London little groups of women, all carrying oversized purses and bags, nonchalantly drifted along Piccadilly and the Haymarket. Suddenly out came hammers and stones. Within seconds the whole area resounded with the tinkling and smashing of broken plate-glass windows. No sooner had the police rushed to the scene and rounded up the expensively dressed hoodlums than a similar outbreak began against the glass in the Strand and along Regent Street. Once more arrests were made. Then along Bond Street and in Oxford Circus dozens more windows came falling in.

Still not divining her danger, Amanda strolled casually about the exhibit, looking at the unusual shapes and designs and the exquisitely colorfully painted displays.

Suddenly a crash sounded behind her.

Amanda's heart leapt into her throat. All at once the horror closed in upon her of what she had not wanted to allow herself to suspect. She turned to see Christabel standing beside an empty pedestal, whose former contents now lay on the tile floor shattered in a thousand pieces. Her eyes shone with the fire of triumph.

“Christabel, be careful!” cried Amanda. “We'll be—”

Whatever words had been on Amanda's lips never left them. The next instant another great shattering crash echoed from the opposite side of the room. Amanda spun around, this time to see Sylvia, face aglow, with the fragments of a large vase still bouncing and sliding across the floor where she had thrown it.

Suddenly the purpose of the entire affair was clear!

Throughout the room now echoed the shattering of a dozen priceless artifacts, mingled with the guard's angry voice as he ran into the room.

Shouts of “Votes for women!” and “End male domination!” sounded along with continuing wreckage.

“Stop,” cried Amanda in horror. “Sylvia, Christabel—”

But her voice could not be heard in the pandemonium. “Suffrage for women!” screamed one of the women, amid continuous crashing and breakage.

Whistles filled the air. The pounding feet of more guards hurried to the scene.

At the opposite side of the room from the two Pankhursts, Amanda crept behind a huge oak display case and hid.

Three more guards now ran in, then two more. Lumbering across to join their colleague in his attempts to subdue the wild women, none saw Amanda where she had taken refuge.

Suddenly the way to the door was clear. She darted from behind the case and slipped noiselessly from the room.

She glanced back and forth. All the guards seemed to be in the exhibit hall. Shouting and yelling and arguing came from inside.

Suddenly she was running . . . running down the corridor away from the scene, terrified that any moment she would hear sounds of pursuit behind her.

Amanda flew down the stairs, reaching the landing of the floor below.

She slowed and took in two or three deep breaths, then continued toward the right, then along the wide entryway into a hall of tapestries, where people were milling about.

A guard . . . he must be looking at her! She walked slowly through the room, trying to blend in, pretending to be interested in the priceless hangings.

Her eye spotted a washroom.

She walked toward it, forcing herself to move slowly. A minute later she was safely inside. She moistened a handkerchief with cold water and wiped her face and neck, trying to compose herself.

But she couldn't delay. She had to get out and away before the search from upstairs involved the entire museum.

Amanda exited the washroom, glancing about, then left the room of tapestries. She found the next stairway, continued down to the ground floor, and made her way as quickly as she dared outside.

The cool afternoon breeze felt wonderful on her face!

She drew deep breaths into her lungs, trying to steady her nerves, then walked along the street away from the museum as quickly as seemed safe. When she was far enough that she dared, she broke into a run.

Amanda ran and ran until exhaustion compelled her to stop. In the distance she heard the sound of police sirens and whistles.

She stopped and turned into an alley. There she waited in the cool darkness of the shadow of the great brick building. The sounds grew louder. Three police cars screamed past. She waited several minutes more, then crept out of the shadows and made her way again along the sidewalk.

Turning several more corners, when she was certain she was out of danger, she began running again. She ran for several blocks, until she came to a small wooded park. She turned in, found a bench, and sat down.

At last fatigue overtook her. She would wait here awhile, until she could decide what to do. She had been involved with the Pankhursts for over three years now. Why she was so shocked by what had just happened she didn't know exactly. Was it because this went further than anything they had done till now?

Even as Amanda sat reflective and alone, throughout the West End of London the cost of the destruction was mounting into the multiple thousands of pounds. The well-known business establishments of Swears and Wells, Hope Brothers, Cooks, Swan and Edgar, Marshall and Snelgrove, and many others were assaulted by the hammers and stones of the suffragettes. Emmeline Pankhurst herself, with two of her associates, had managed to hurl four stones from a taxi through the prime minister's windows in Downing Street, before making a temporary getaway.

 60 
Argument

When Amanda Rutherford approached the Pankhurst house, still her home in London, a few minutes before six, it was with a cautious step. She had paid the cab and had been let out three blocks away in case trouble might have followed them from the museum. As she approached, however, she saw no sign of the police.

She walked inside. Most of the women from that morning had gathered again. All were obviously in high and exuberant spirits.

“Amanda!” she heard her name called out. “You're safe . . . Amanda dear, we were worried about you!—Amanda's back, everyone!”

A general hubbub broke out as the women clustered about, asking a dozen questions at once. It soon became clear that she was the only one to yet return from the museum. Briefly she recounted what had happened.

“A triumph!” exclaimed Emmeline. “After everything else—to disrupt the prized new exhibit at the British Museum. The day could not have gone off more perfectly according to our plans!”

“What plans?” said Amanda. “Do you mean there was
more
?”

“More! Why, Amanda dear, the whole city is in an uproar over what we have achieved today.—Is that not right, ladies?”

Laughter and general celebration broke out again.

“The police will no doubt be here for me within the hour,” continued Mrs. Pankhurst. “Once again it seems I will join my daughters on a new hunger strike for the cause!”

She laughed, as if anticipating the experience as an adventure.

“Why—what did you do that will bring the police?” asked Amanda.

“Nothing more than set off a small bomb in the middle of Trafalgar Square,” laughed Emmeline.

“You should have seen the people running for their lives!” cried one. “There were cries of being attacked by the Austrians!”

“And I only returned a few minutes ago from Downing Street,” laughed Emmeline.

“You had a meeting with the prime minister?”

“Not exactly, my dear. I sent four rocks through his window!”

Now the rest of the women began boasting of their various exploits of the day throughout the many parts of the city.

“We cut the main telephone wires between the city and Chelsea!” cried Mrs. Tuke. “It will be weeks before the telephones are all working again!”

“We incited a crowd of women in Westminster to throw stones over the fence toward the Houses of Parliament!” added Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson. “Several windows were broken.”

Amanda suddenly felt as though a nightmare was closing in around her. Was
this
what she had come to London for, breaking the law, violence, and bombs!

“But, Emmeline,” Amanda cried, “this is all horrifying! What kind of people would do such things?”

“Amanda, dear—what do you mean? There is no other way to make people listen. Our speeches and leaflets have changed nothing. The Conciliation Bill is going nowhere. We must
force
them to stand up and take notice.”

“But . . .
bombs
, Emmeline! Destruction of property. These things are criminal. I thought we were trying to get the vote for the good of the country, for the good of society, for the good of
women
. What does it accomplish if we have to break the law to achieve that good?”

“We will do whatever it takes,” rejoined Mrs. Pankhurst, suddenly sounding very determined. It was obvious she was not appreciative of Amanda's challenging words in front of her troops.

The room grew suddenly quiet. The other women listened to the argument between the renowned leader of the women's movement and one of her protégées, grown suddenly full of hostile questions.

“What about people? What about loyalty?” said Amanda. “Where do they come into your plans?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Amanda.”

“Don't you understand—they lied. They used me.”

“Who?”

“Sylvia and Christabel.”

“Men have been using us for centuries, Amanda. It is time the women of the world redressed that.”

“But I am not a man. I thought we were friends. They
used
me and lied to the guard at the museum.”

“Whatever is necessary for the cause, that we will do.”

“I did not intend to be a pawn in your game!” shouted Amanda.

“It is no game, Amanda. It is a cause.”

“I have been willing to help. But you left me in the dark, and then just used my name.”

“It is your cause as well as ours.”

“Suddenly I'm not so sure it is!”

Frustrated, angry, confused, Amanda turned and ran from the house, slamming the door behind her.