Chapter Twenty-five
Old Palace Yard. She was nearly there. In front of her now was the House of Commons itself. Could she force her way in, enter the Lobby? Wouldn't that be something. In the February raid fifteen women had done just that. Dora could see the headlines. 'Sixteen year old Dora demands the vote in Parliament!'
'Turn back!' she heard a man growl at her. Dora looked up to see a big policeman bar her way.
'Turn back,' he said again.
No fear! Not now, not when she was so near. Taking a deep breath, Dora charged, swerving round the constable, half slipping in her clogs, but there was another of them behind him. Darting past him too, Dora laughed in his face. But she'd laughed too soon. One arm stretched out and seized her wrist. And struggle as she might, he was stronger than her.
The policeman looked down at the girl twisting and turning in his hand as if she was a fish on the end of a line. 'Eh, but you're just a child.'
He sounded astonished – as if he'd landed a minnow when he thought to have reeled in a big fat trout. 'What are you doing here? Sightseeing?'
Dora shook her arm. 'Get off me!'
'You should be home with your mother, a young 'un like you.' The policeman shook his head disapprovingly. 'I'd take a strap to you if you were one of mine.'
'I'm thankful I'm not one of yours then!' Dora retorted.
'You cheeky young thing! Will you go back?'
'Not till I've been in Holloway,' Dora shouted, pulling on his arm hard.
'Eh, Bill, give me a hand with this one, proper firebrand I've got here,' the constable called, holding Dora's arm in a vice-like grip. His fingers pinched deep into her arm. It hurt, but she wouldn't let him see how much.
A constable came up to seize Dora's other arm. Now they were trying to pinion them behind her back. She wouldn't let them.
'Will you go quietly,' the constable said again.
'Never,' she cried and pulled again at their arms, trying to shake them off. Her shawl had fallen down around her shoulders. She felt her hair slip loose.
The constable shook his head at her. 'You're a disgrace, you are. I'm arresting you, young lady.'
Dora laughed. She had done it. She had been arrested. How proud of her they would be at home. She would suffer in Holloway like the rest – she might be young, but she was as good as them, she'd shown them. She had won her battle spurs! |