The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,253

a great turnout – Beatrix is a marvel at getting people motivated. And look, here she is!’

Beatrix appeared beside them, her eyes shining with excitement, her dark hair braided tightly against her scalp. ‘Cecily! It’s wonderful you came! I . . .’

Beatrix was drowned out by a roar from the crowd as three men stepped onto the stage. Cecily recognised Mayor O’Dwyer from the photos in the New York Times. Two other white men stood beside him, one of whom was dressed in the regalia of a police chief and was glowering at the placards.

‘Harlem! ’Tis an honour to be here!’ Mayor O’Dwyer began in his strong Irish accent, and the crowd cheered in response. Cecily looked around at the gathered faces, and felt suddenly galvanised. Here were people who were passionate about creating a better world; she had not felt such exhilaration and hope around her since the VE-Day celebrations in Nairobi. Beatrix handed her a placard that read ‘HARLEM IS NOT A GHETTO!’ and Cecily proudly held it aloft. She listened to Mayor O’Dwyer’s speech, which promised housing reforms and better funding for schools, and blinked as a reporter’s flashbulb went off close by.

As people began to jostle forward for a better view, an elbow knocked Cecily from behind, and Rosalind reached out to steady her as she stumbled. Despite the frosty air, Cecily felt sweat gathering at the back of her neck and realised how tightly packed the audience was.

As the police chief stepped up to the microphone, a ripple of unease spread through the crowd and Cecily shivered. She craned her neck to see how far the crowd extended to either side of her, and was shocked to see a ring of police officers surrounding them, their hands on their wooden nightsticks, their faces inscrutable under their blue caps.

‘Why are the police here?’ she whispered to Rosalind.

‘Just stick with me and Terrence, you’ll be safe,’ Rosalind whispered back.

‘Murderers!’ Beatrix spat. ‘Those cops attacked Robert Bandy – shot him when he was unarmed and just trying to save a woman’s life. Goddamn pigs!’

A wave of anger began to emanate from around them, and Cecily took in a gulp of air as the crowd was pressed in on itself further by the police officers. Cecily could no longer hear the speeches from the stage, only the cries of dismay from the woman near her whose baby began wailing in its sling as she tried to shield it from the crush of bodies.

Screams filled the air. A man pushed her aside to escape a police officer who was coming towards him with his nightstick held aloft. The man raised his placard in defence, but was struck down until he lay sprawled in the dirty street, protecting his head from the continued blows. Cecily heard a shrill whistle and the whinny of horses and looked up to see that mounted police officers were advancing on the protesters, many of whom were now running away.

‘Cecily! Stay close!’ Beatrix grabbed her hand and guided her towards a gap in the line of police. Cecily followed Beatrix blindly, her heart thumping as she ran, dodging other protesters who were also seeking safety. She tried to ignore the cries of pain and the sickening thuds of nightsticks colliding with human bodies. With a sudden wrench, Cecily found herself knocked to the ground and looked up to see Beatrix being restrained by two police officers. She was fighting like a wild cat, her curls breaking free from her braids as she was dragged away.

‘No! Beatrix!’ Cecily shouted, trying to get up as pain shot through her ankle. ‘Stop! She’s done nothing wrong!’

She sat looking around in shock and bewilderment. What had begun as a peaceful, orderly gathering had descended into chaos. ‘Archer,’ she murmured as she tried to remember where he’d said he would wait for her. She attempted to stand, but her ankle gave way as a fresh wave of protestors stampeded towards her.

Just as she thought she might be trampled where she sat, she heard a deep male voice from above her.

‘Can you walk?’ She looked up to see a white man towering over her.

‘My ankle . . .’

‘Take my hand.’

Cecily did so, and the man pulled her to standing. Then, with his arm supporting her, he began to guide her through the crowd.

‘My driver . . . he’s waiting for me on Lenox, over there at the end of the street,’ she managed to gasp as her senses returned to her.

‘Then let’s