“Any idea who delivered it?” she asked, without looking away.

I felt a crimson flush rise up my neck and engulf my face. She had my answer and returned to the bird, her movements a little rougher.

I moved to read the article over Mrs. Ballard’s shoulder. Three arrests. No convictions, so no trial. I wondered if Tilda and Mrs. Pankhurst would be disappointed.

In the Scriptorium, I searched the pigeon-holes. Suffrage was there, and so was suffragist. Suffragette wasn’t. I dug out recent copies of the Times of London, the Oxford Times and the Oxford Chronicle and took them to my desk. Each had articles mentioning suffragettes, one referred to suffragents, and another used the word suffragetting as a verb. I cut them out, underlined the quotations and stuck each to its own slip. Then I put all of them in the pigeon-hole they belonged to.

The performance was over for another night, and Bill and I were helping Tilda change into her street clothes.

“You’re too comfortable, Esme,” Tilda said as she stepped out of Beatrice’s bloomers.

“But I live here, Tilda.”

“So do the magistrate’s wife and the women from Somerville College.”

An hour later, we were at the Eagle and Child again. I felt dull against the energy of the women who had gathered to help. The new leaflet urged them to join Emmeline Pankhurst at a march in London, and already they were making travel plans. I wanted their resolve to infect me, but by the time we had spilled onto the street I had convinced myself I wouldn’t be joining them.

“You’re scared, that’s all,” Tilda said, her hand on my cheek like I was a child. She gave a bundle of leaflets to Bill and began to walk backwards. “Problem is, Esme, you’re scared of the wrong thing. Without the vote nothing we say matters, and that should terrify you.”

Lizzie was at the kitchen table, her sewing basket and a small pile of clothes in front of her. I looked towards the pantry for Mrs. Ballard.

“In the house, with Mrs. Murray,” Lizzie said. Then she handed me three crumpled leaflets. “I found them in your coat pocket. I wasn’t snooping, just checking the seams ’cos I was fixing the hem.”

I stood dumb. I had a familiar feeling that I deserved to be in trouble, but didn’t quite understand why.

“I’ve seen them here and there, fallen out of letterboxes and stuck up at the Covered Market. I’ve been told what they say. Even been asked if I was going.” She scoffed. “As if I could go to London for the day. She’ll lead you astray, Essymay, if you let her.”

“Who?”

“You know very well.”

“I know my own mind, Lizzie.”

“That may be, but you’ve never been any good at knowing what’s good for you.”