They never met as a group, and most of them had no idea of the identity of the others or the scope of the whole organisation. Hetty’s husband, Gerald, had been an officer in the South African War over twenty years before, and perhaps his tales had inspired her in devising the tactics of the group. Like the much-feared yet admired Boer commando fighting units, they operated in small cells of about half a dozen, comrades who defended one another to the death and never left their wounded behind. And, in common with those leathery old Dutch farmers, Hetty’s girls knew their terrain, appeared from nowhere, shot from the hip and disappeared into the bush. Redfyre would have been vastly entertained by the whole concept and cheered them on, had he not been chilled to the bone by their determination to achieve their aims by a ruthless cunning and disregard for their own safety.

Their campaign last Christmas had unintentionally triggered a series of disasters—three deaths, two attempted murders, and several ruined college reputations. And yet, as far as he could ascertain, the ladies were undeterred and unrepentant. They hadn’t confided in him—he was a handy tool to be used when the occasion demanded it—but he had an uneasy feeling that they hadn’t abandoned their schemes.

Hetty had drawn up a list of their aims and brazenly made him privy to it. He had noted and, in spite of the quibbles raised by his conscience, his sex and his profession, he had approved:

the vote for all women and men over twenty-one (irrespective of personal circumstances). women members to be voted into seats in parliament in greater numbers (four out of a possible four hundred seats is really not on. and the present acceptance that it is permissible for a woman to “keep warm” the seat of her sick husband should be outlawed). the admission of two hundred more female undergraduates to the university each year. degrees to be awarded to women who have followed the courses, passed the examinations and earned the qualification.

This last to be retrospective. Hetty apparently still had her eyes on her own doctorate.

The other two national suffragist organisations had taken their eye off the ball during the war years, diverting their energy and skills into war work and encouraging men to join up and fight. They had called a truce from which, according to Hetty, they had failed to awaken. Even the firebrand Pankhursts had lost their impetus during the war years and declared at its conclusion that woman’s influence was higher, her political rights more extended in England than in any other part of the world.

“Untrue! And a betrayal of the cause!” was Hetty’s opinion on that. Years of progress seemed about to be lost unless her nameless ones could work their dangerous magic, which ran to blackmail, coercion, seduction and Lord knew what other forms of skulduggery.