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Lloyd could imagine how upset Bernie would be if Millie got hurt. "I think you should go home."
"Why?"
He looked around. The crowd was amiable and peaceful. The police were some distance away, the Fascists nowhere to be seen. There would be no march today, that was clear. Mosley's people could not force their way through a crowd of a hundred thousand people determined to stop them, and the police would be insane to let them try. Millie was probably quite safe.
Just as he was thinking this, everything changed.
Several whistles shrilled. Looking in the direction of the sound, Lloyd saw the mounted police drawn up in an ominous line. The horses were stamping and blowing in agitation. The police had drawn long clubs shaped like swords.
They seemed to be getting ready to attack--but surely that could not be so.
Next moment, they charged.
There were angry shouts and terrified screams from the people. Everyone scrambled to get out of the way of the giant horses. The crowd made a path, but those at the edge fell under the pounding hooves. The police lashed out left and right with their long clubs. Lloyd was pushed helplessly backward.
He felt furious: What did the police think they were doing? Were they stupid enough to believe they could clear a path for Mosley to march a
long? Did they really imagine that two or three thousand Fascists chanting insults could pass through a crowd of a hundred thousand of their victims without starting a riot? Were the police led by idiots, or out of control? He was not sure which would be worse.
They backed away, wheeling their panting horses, and regrouped, forming a ragged line; then a whistle blew and they heeled the flanks of their mounts, urging them into another reckless charge.
Millie was scared now. She was only sixteen, and her bravado had gone. She screamed with fear as the crowd squeezed her up against the plate-glass window of Gardiner and Company. Tailor's dummies in cheap suits and winter coats stared out at the horrified crowd and the warlike riders. Lloyd was deafened by the roar of thousands of voices yelling in fearful protest. He got in front of Millie and pushed against the press with all his might, trying to protect her, but it was in vain. Despite his efforts he was crushed against her. Forty or fifty screaming people had their backs to the window, and the pressure was building dangerously.
Lloyd realized with rage that the police were determined to make a pathway through the crowd regardless of the cost.
A moment later there was a terrific crash of breaking glass and the window gave way. Lloyd fell on top of Millie, and Naomi fell on him. Dozens of people cried out in pain and panic.
Lloyd struggled to his feet. Miraculously, he was unhurt. He looked around frantically for his sister. It was maddeningly difficult to distinguish the people from the tailor's dummies. Then he spotted Millie lying in a mess of broken glass. He grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. She was crying. "My back!" she said.
He turned her around. Her coat was cut to ribbons and there was blood all over her. He felt sick with anguish. He put his arm around her shoulders protectively. "There's an ambulance just around the corner," he said. "Can you walk?"
They had gone only a few yards when the police whistles blew again. Lloyd was terrified that he and Millie would be shoved back into Gardiner's window. Then he remembered what Bernie had given him. He took the paper bag of marbles from his pocket.
The police charged.
Drawing back his arm, Lloyd threw the paper bag over the heads of the crowd to land in front of the horses. He was not the only one so equipped, and several other people threw marbles. As the horses came at them there was the sound of firecrackers. A police horse slipped on marbles and went down. Others stopped and reared at the banging of the fireworks. The police charge turned into chaos. Naomi Avery had somehow pushed to the front of the crowd, and he saw her burst a bag of pepper under the nose of a horse, causing it to veer away, shaking its head frantically.
The crush eased, and Lloyd led Millie around the corner. She was still in pain, but she had stopped crying.
A line of people were waiting for attention from the St. John Ambulance volunteers: a weeping girl whose hand appeared to have been crushed; several young men with bleeding heads and faces; a middle-aged woman sitting on the ground nursing a swollen knee. As Lloyd and Millie arrived, Sean Dolan walked away with a bandage around his head and went straight back into the crowd.
A nurse looked at Millie's back. "This is bad," she said. "You need to go to the London Hospital. We'll take you in an ambulance." She looked at Lloyd. "Do you want to go with her?"
Lloyd did, but he was supposed to be phoning in reports, and he hesitated.
Millie solved the dilemma for him with characteristic spunk. "Don't you dare come," she said. "You can't do anything for me, and you've got important work to do here."
She was right. He helped her into a parked ambulance. "Are you sure--?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Try not to end up in hospital yourself."
He was leaving her in the best hands, he decided. He kissed her cheek and returned to the fray.
The police had changed their tactics. The people had repelled the horse charges, but the police were still determined to make a path through the crowd. As Lloyd pushed his way to the front they charged on foot, attacking with their batons. The unarmed demonstrators cowered back from them, like piled leaves in a wind, then surged forward in a different part of the line.
The police started to arrest people, perhaps hoping to weaken the crowd's determination by taking ringleaders away. In the East End, being arrested was no legal formality. Few people came back without a black eye or a few gaps in their teeth. Leman Street police station had a particularly bad reputation.
Lloyd found himself behind a vociferous young woman carrying a red flag. He recognized Olive Bishop, a neighbor in Nutley Street. A policeman hit her over the head with his truncheon, screaming: "Jewish whore!" She was not Jewish, and she certainly was not a whore; in fact she played the piano at the Calvary Gospel Hall. But she had forgotten the admonition of Jesus to turn the other cheek, and she scratched the cop's face, drawing parallel red lines on his skin. Two more officers grabbed her arms and held her while the scratched man hit her on the head again.
