The Royal Rebel Page 5

“I will make sure the world knows,” I told her. “We must speak out.”

  “We must,” said Emmeline.

  The day was named Black Friday, for the terrible violence we suffered, and brought shame on the British government. Our fellow suffragettes told newspapers across the world about the police brutality they’d endured. That day made us even more determined to succeed. If they thought the WSPU would simply give up because of broken bones, they were utterly wrong.

  CHAPTER 14

  1928

  I was walking around Hampton Court Park with a friend, Ada Wright. It was a hot day and everything was bathed in glorious sunshine.

  “We did it,” Ada said.

  “We did,” I replied.

  Finally, we had won the right to vote, more than seventeen years after Black Friday. We’d had so many years of sacrifice and struggle, but the law had been passed. At last, all women over the age of twenty-one could take part in British elections.

  “We have suffered far too much, for far too long,” said Ada. “I’m caught between joy and sadness.”

  I’d first met Ada after Black Friday. She had been badly hurt that day, her arm broken, her head cut open. The Daily Mirror newspaper used an image of Ada on their front page. It had caused a huge scandal, and Ada became a star of the WSPU movement. She and I had become close friends.

  “I am happy we won,” I replied. “I just wish Emmeline was still here.”

  Emmeline Pankhurst had died just a few weeks before. At least she had survived long enough to know that we would win. But as we strolled in the park that afternoon, I felt a touch of sadness too. We had faced hardship and violence, and been treated as criminals. We’d survived the First World War, served our country, and still been made to wait to get the vote.

  “So many years,” said Ada. “So much lost, and so many of us no longer here.”

  “It feels wrong that Emmeline isn’t here with us,” I said. “Despite our differences.”

  “It’s a day for celebration,” said Ada. “We have made history, Sophia. This day will never be forgotten.”

  Emmeline and I had taken different paths after the First World War had ended in 1918. I’d still been committed to the WSPU, but I was also dedicated to India and the cause of independence. I had served as a nurse during the war, treating many wounded Indian soldiers. They had risked their lives to fight for Britain, and many had died. I was as passionate about their freedom as anything else. Emmeline had taken a different view, and she hadn’t supported Indian independence. That had hurt me, but people were entitled to their own views. I still admired Emmeline for all she had done.

  “We would never have achieved this without Emmeline,” I said. “Or Norah and the others.”

  “Have you heard from Norah?” asked Ada.

  I shook my head. Norah had remained active, moving on to support animal rights and welfare, and becoming ever more aggressive. Her views had become extreme after the First World War had ended, and she supported the growing fascist movement. We barely spoke now.

  “Norah is on a new path,” I said. “People change, Ada. It makes me sad that she has become so extreme, but I can’t change her. Norah was always a loose cannon.”

  “Yes, she was,” Ada replied. “And what of India – are you hopeful?”

  I sighed.

  “The movement for a free India is growing stronger,” I told her. “I haven’t been as involved as I was with the WSPU, but I follow the news and support the cause.”

  “They are lucky to have your support,” Ada told me. “You have been invaluable to us. Our very own Suffragette Princess.”

  Ada grinned and I returned the smile. My royal status was a source of amusement to us.

  As a child, I had dreamed of grand balls and galas, marriage and children. I had imagined a great home, like Elveden, complete with elephants and peacocks, and even a naughty baboon. I had expected to become a perfect princess. Instead, I had become a revolutionary.

  “The movement has been my family,” I said. “I was lost until I met Una Dugdale and joined the WSPU.”

  “We are family,” said Ada. “Sisters-in-arms.”

  “I always felt like the WSPU wanted me when others didn’t,” I told her. “It’s the only place I don’t feel like an outsider.”

  “I understand that,” said Ada. “Your family has suffered a lot.”

  Most of my family had died, and I had no children. Only Bamba, Catherine and I remained, and we had no children between us. Father’s dream of a glorious return to the Sikh empire would never happen. And our family name would die out with me and my sisters.

  I was a forgotten princess – my days as a member of high society were long gone. Not that I wanted those days back. I’d once been a favourite of Queen Victoria, but now I was an embarrassment, to be ignored. I was an outsider in my own country. I had no sense of belonging anywhere, except for the WSPU. Nowhere felt like home, and I had little joy or peace in my life.

  I still felt caught between India and Britain. I still wondered whether I belonged on a ship between the two great countries.

  “I’m not sure I will ever be accepted,” I told Ada. “Indians call fate kismet … Perhaps this was always my kismet. My fate to be useful but never fully accepted.”

  “Never,” said Ada. “You are a shining light for all women, Sophia. The Hampton Court Harridan, I believe you’ve been called!”

  We shared another smile. This was an insult I had once suffered for my passionate work in the WSPU.

  “You will be remembered too,” Ada added. “How could they forget you? Goddaughter to Queen Victoria, heir to the once mighty Sikh empire …”

  “I am not so confident of being remembered,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t care about that. I am happier in the shadows, left to get on with things. I was the same as a child.”

  “They will remember you when tales of our struggle are written,” said Ada. “After all, who doesn’t like a story about a revolutionary princess?”

  “Is that what I have been?” I said.

  “Yes, and I admire you for it,” said Ada. “You are the Royal Rebel.”

  Our books are tested

  for children and young people by

  children and young people.

  Thanks to everyone who consulted on

  a manuscript for their time and effort in

  helping us to make our books better

  for our readers.

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in 2021 in Great Britain by

  Barrington Stoke Ltd

  18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP

  This ebook edition first published in 2021

  www.barringtonstoke.co.uk

  Text © 2021 Bali Rai

  Illustrations © 2021 Rachael Dean

  The moral right of Bali Rai and Rachael Dean to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library upon request

  eISBN: 978–1–80090–070–7