‘Cat?’ There’s a gentle knock at the door, rousing her from the waking nightmares that beset her. ‘Cat, are you awake?’ It’s Hester’s voice, soft and quiet. Cat blinks, looks around her, finds it is still dark. She has no idea what the hour might be.
‘Yes, madam,’ she says, and then clears her throat. It feels raw and rough, as though the men with their tube really have been back to see her.
‘May I come in?’ Hester asks, and Cat has no idea how to answer her. Then there’s a rattling, a joyful little grating sound, and the door is open. Cat’s legs have gone to sleep. She struggles to her knees, turns her body, grips the edge of the door and feels the push of air through the gap. Light blooms behind her closed eyelids. She can’t tell if it’s Hester Canning’s little candle lamp, or relief, joy, liberation. ‘Oh, Cat! Your poor hands!’ Hester says, setting the candle on the dresser and helping Cat to stand. The skin across her knuckles is tattered and bloody.
‘Please. Please don’t lock me in again,’ Cat says. She’s not sure how many nights it has been, since the first time. Perhaps only two or three; perhaps more.
Hester’s eyes are full of pity. ‘Nobody even knows I’ve got this key. It opens every door in the house,’ she says, holding it loosely in her palm. ‘Come – come and sit on the bed. I’ll wash your hands for you. Oh, you have so many splinters!’
‘I can do it, madam. There’s no need,’ Cat says, flatly. She won’t let Hester make amends for this. Won’t let her forgive herself. There’s an awkward silence. Hester wraps her dressing gown more tightly around her, tucks the ends of the belt away neatly, nervously.
‘Was it so very awful? In gaol, I mean?’ Hester asks. Cat stares at her, wonders how to explain.
‘It was,’ is all she says in the end, the words little more than a croak.
‘Cat, I have always wondered … what was your crime? Why did they imprison you?’ Hester asks. As if here, in the dark, here in her servant’s room, she is no longer in her real world. She can ask things she would never normally ask, because the rules are not the same. Cat smiles a bleak little smile.
‘Everybody wants to know,’ she says. ‘Two months I was locked away, and my friend Tess and others with me. And for what? Obstruction.’
‘Obstruction?’
‘That was the charge. We had intent to cause a breach of the peace as well, they said. I had half a brick in my pocket, but that was for later. I hadn’t thrown anything at the time of my arrest, but they found it in my pocket, and they knew what it was for. And I would have done it.’ She tips her chin up defiantly. ‘Through the window of the milliner’s shop on West Street, that was my intention. It had the most lovely, huge plate-glass window; all the fine feathery hats inside on fake ladies’ heads. Hats the likes of Tess and I would never have cause to wear. I wanted to smash it. I would have done it!’
‘Hush, Cat! We mustn’t be heard,’ Hester whispers. ‘But you didn’t throw it?’
‘I didn’t get the chance. Six o’clock, that was meant to be when we would all split up, go to our various target areas and wait. When Big Ben struck the half hour, we would attack. But first, in the afternoon, we went to a Liberal Party meeting. We had placards to hold, and we were to shout slogans as loudly as we could, so that everybody who’d gone to hear the speakers inside would hear us too, since we weren’t allowed in to ask our questions, or make our demands. There were twelve of us, all the active duty girls from our branch of the WSPU. And Tess. Tess, my friend. She didn’t want to be on active duty, but I made her. I made her.’ Cat pauses, takes a long, shuddering breath and shuts her eyes. It’s unbearable to think of it. ‘We had strict instructions. There’s no law against doing what we were doing, as long as you stay in the street. If you step onto the pavement, they can call it obstruction, and cart you away. Standing in the street to shout a slogan is no crime. Standing on an empty pavement not a yard away to shout a slogan is a crime. How fair and reasonable the law is! So the policemen who turned up, they began to herd us. I didn’t realise at first what was happening. The officers linked arms and moved towards us, just ever so slowly. A half a step at a time for twenty minutes or more. Until we had no choice but to fall under their feet, climb onto each other’s shoulders or step up onto the pavement. So we did the latter, and we were arrested. Each last one of us.’
‘You were gaoled for months for that?’ Hester says, incredulously.