Storm and Silence

  ‘Really?’ she called to him. ‘Maybe you should look over here!’

  No! Here! I growled in my mind. If any girl was going to show this arrogant son of a bachelor what females were capable of, it was going to be me!

  Mr Ambrose’s cold gaze met Patsy’s - and she took another step back.

  ‘How much money do you earn, miss?’ he asked.

  Patsy blushed.

  ‘Well… I don't, not as such…’

  ‘How many battles have you fought in?’

  ‘Battles? But I’m a girl, I…’

  She stopped, biting her lip in fury. Around her, snickers rose up from the crowd.

  ‘Ah.’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘So you don’t want to have to fight in wars. You just want to vote, do you? Well, since you want to vote, I’m sure you’re up-to-date on politics.’

  ‘I… well…’

  ‘Tell me, I’m curious: what is your opinion on our current political situation in regard to the French Empire?’

  ‘I… I don't know.’

  ‘Strange, for someone as interested in politics as you. Then tell me, what is our gross national income?’

  ‘I don’t know that either! I’m not-’

  ‘What about all the cabinet ministers and their political affiliations and allies in the House of Commons?’

  Patsy’s hand were balled into tight fists around her sign. ‘I-don’t-know!’

  With a sigh, Mr Ambrose turned from her and nodded, as if she were not even worth another look.

  ‘I rest my case. Think on what I have said, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, for I am not a man to repeat myself. Success comes from power, and power comes from man. It always has. It always will.’

  With a curt bow, he stepped back. The crowd was muttering and nodding. His speech was unlike any other they had heard so far, I could see that just from watching them. It also was a heck of a lot more effective.

  As he walked back to me, an expression of cold superiority on his face, I glared at Mr Ambrose in pure rage. How could I ever have believed I could not hate this man? Well, now he had revealed himself for what he really was. I would not make the mistake of trusting him again.

  ‘Wonderful! Simply wonderful!’

  Stepping forward, Mr Cartwright grasped Mr Ambrose by the hand and shook it energetically, not seeming to notice that Mr Ambrose looked down at the hand clutching his as if it were the arm of a slimy squid that was smearing goo all over his black jacket.

  ‘You were marvellous, Mr Ambrose! I don't know how to thank you! How you put that shrew in her place… I have never seen anything like it in my life. On behalf of our little community, let me offer you our deepest thanks.’

  I could almost see the letters wasted time blinking in Mr Ambrose’s cool eyes as he directed them at Mr Cartwright.

  ‘It was nothing,’ he said, curtly, and pulled his hand from the other’s grasp. ‘It was simply the truth.’

  Just as he said this, he looked at me, and our eyes met.

  Oh yes, I hated him. But if he thought that this was going to make me give up my position, he was in for a disappointment!

  ‘What did you think of my speech, Mr Linton?’

  I did my best to keep my voice steady.

  ‘It was very… impressive.’

  ‘Indeed? Was it, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  I wouldn’t scream! I wouldn’t attack him, no matter how much I might have wanted to! And I most certainly wouldn’t leave his employment! Not because of something like this. I’d had to listen to chauvinist diatribes all my life. Maybe none quite so terrifyingly effective as his had been, but still. I had only had to stand there and listen. It wasn’t as if I had to do anything.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Mr Ambrose told me in such a low voice that only I could hear. ‘Because the fun is only just beginning.’

  That didn’t sound good…

  Calm, I reminded myself. You only have to listen. Just to stand still and listen.

  ‘Thank you for your appreciation, my dear Mr Cartwright.’ Without warning, Mr Ambrose turned back to the black-bearded man. ‘I’m very flattered that you think so much of my oratory skills - particularly since you will be in for another, similar treat today.’

  Cartwright’s eyes widened.

  ‘You mean…’

  ‘Yes!’ Swift as a cobra, Mr Ambrose whirled to face me once again. ‘Now, Mr Cartwright,’ he said in a voice so cold and calculating that the devil would have been envious, ‘my trusted friend and employee Mr Victor Linton would like to say a few words on the subject.’

  For a few moments, his words failed to register. Then comprehension sank in, and as the comprehension came, the colour drained from my face.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ My voice was just a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Do I,’ he enquired, his gaze as arctic as the heart of an iceberg, ‘look like I am joking?’

  I stepped closer and leant forward so Cartwright couldn’t hear us. As I spoke, there wasn’t just anger in my voice. There was desperation and pleading. But I didn’t care.

  ‘You… you can’t do this to me. You can’t! I won’t do it!’

  ‘You will, unless you want to lose your position, Mr Linton.’

  Taking me by the arm, he manoeuvred me forward. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like granite. Soon I was standing at the edge of the podium, facing the crowd. Hundreds of eager faces looked up at me, expecting me to betray my most cherished beliefs.

  ‘Go on,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Speak. And make it memorable, if you ever wish to receive your first month’s wages.’

  Hundreds of people were looking up at me expectantly. The silence stretched.

  What am I going to say? What in heaven’s name am I going to say?

  I opened my mouth.

  And I closed it again.

  And opened it again.

  And closed it again.

  I can’t do this. I can’t speak out against everything I believe in!

  Then I heard a gasp from one of the expectant people. Instinctively, I looked in the direction of the noise and, with a nasty shock, saw who it was: Patsy. And in her eyes I saw what she saw. All the other people might see a small young man with shoulder-long hair standing on the platform, opening and closing his mouth like a suffocating goldfish. But she saw her friend, Lilly, dressed in trousers and a baggy old tailcoat, standing amongst her worst enemies.

  Our eyes met.

  And suddenly, I had an idea. Suddenly, I knew what I was going to say.

  Swallowing hard, I raised my chin and stared down the crowd with strength and nobility shining out of my eyes - or at least that’s what I hope it looked like.

  ‘I think,’ I began, my voice not nearly as weak as I had feared it would be, ‘that it is time for us to reconsider our antiquated prejudices. I think it is time that we grant women the rights that have too long been denied them. Political rights are rights of self-expression. Would you deny a woman the right to express her heart and her soul? To aid in the forming of the country which is as much hers as it is any man's? I stand here today to tell you: we need women’s suffrage in Great Britain!’

  There were cheers and claps from the women among the crowd. There were even a few claps and cheers from those men who were too slow to realize what I had actually been saying.

  We need women’s suffrage.

  Not we don't need women’s suffrage.

  Out of the corners of my eyes I could see the happy smiles on the faces of Mr Cartwright and his cronies slowly dissolve. I saw Mr Ambrose, too. He, of course, had no happy smile to dissolve in the first place. But I noticed him stiffening, and a certain pallor creep over his features.

  ‘Women and girls of Great Britain!’ I shouted. ‘You are not alone! Even-’ I had to work hard to suppress a smirk, ‘-among the hardest conservatives such as Mr Ambrose and myself, there are those who have been secretly convinced of the righteousness of your cause; they are just too afraid to admit it
!’

  Turning my head slightly, I gave Mr Ambrose a small, meaningful smile. The eyes of every member of the audience followed the motion, mesmerized. His face… Oh my God, his face!

  With difficulty, I managed to tear myself away from the sight and face the audience again.

  ‘Do not give up! Eventually, the resistance shall crumble and the way shall be open to a Britain in which all people, men and women alike, are allowed to express their political opinions freely and without having to fear reprisals. Stand fast, and you will be victorious!’

  In the midst of the crowd, I could see Patsy gesturing wildly to Flora and Eve, who had already started to retreat when Mr Ambrose had held his speech, terrified by his unforgiving glare. Now, they had turned around and come back to Patsy, who whispered excitedly to them. She kept pointing up at the podium, up at the speaker.

  The two girls looked up at the speaker - and their eyes went wide. I smiled at them, and their mouths dropped open.

  Mr Cartwright was now shaking his head in confusion, looking between me and Mr Ambrose. Other members of the assembled anti-suffragist organization had stuck their fingers in their ears and started cleaning them, as if they were sure that what they were hearing would change once they had gotten rid of residual earwax. Only the deaf old duke beside Mr Ambrose was looking just as cheerful as before, probably because he couldn’t understand a word I was saying.

  ‘I heard a story the other day from one of my closest acquaintances,’ I continued, marvelling at the fact that I was holding a speech I had never actually rehearsed. Apparently my acting skills went beyond simple lying. ‘She had decided to take it upon herself to fight the unfair laws of her country, to rebel, and dress up as a man in order to vote. And can you imagine what happened? When discovered for what she truly was, the poor young lady was dragged off like a criminal and put into prison! Into prison, ladies and gentlemen! And people wonder why there are no female politicians and generals, when the mere attempt to speak your mind can get you thrown in jail?’

  My fist slammed down on the lectern.

  ‘And do you know what is the most outrageous? People who allow this dare to call themselves gentlemen, and dare to say that women’s suffrage would put an end to chivalry! I say the contrary - men’s suffrage puts an end to chivalry! It already has put an end to it for hundreds of years! No true gentlemen would allow a lady to be treated thus!’

  There were calls of agreement from the crowd, both ladies and gentlemen. Three ladies in the midst of all were leading the way, clapping and yelling enthusiastically: Patsy, Eve and Flora were all grinning like lunatics on a field trip to the circus. Eve could hardly hold herself upright, she was laughing so hard. Patsy met my eyes again. There was a fiery glow in hers that spread over her entire, broad, apple-cheeked face, and in that moment I knew that I was forgiven. Or rather, that there was nothing to forgive at all.

  ‘Women deserve suffrage! So we have no prime ministers who are women, nor generals, nor admirals, nor entrepreneurs! What does it matter? For, let us not forget,’ I said, raising my finger, ‘let us never forget, that they all rank beneath one individual, one mighty sovereign who eclipses them all in her glory - our sovereign, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, a woman! Long live the Queen! Long live suffragism!’

  All over the square shouts of ‘Long live the Queen!’ rose up. Even the sour-faced men behind me started to fall in with the rest of us. You had to. It was practically built into the English national character to want the queen to live long, and to say so at every available opportunity. Never had I heard anybody say ‘Short live the Queen!’ or ‘Gruesomely die the Queen!’ My words were the perfect thing to say, at just the right moment. They united my audience. Mixed in with the royal shouts, I could even make out one or two yells of ‘Long live suffragism!’

  I was on a roll! I would have continued bewitching the masses, and no doubt started a revolution in the middle of Hyde Park that very day, but before I could continue my speech, rough, manly hands grabbed me from behind. A few of the anti-suffragists had finally grasped what I was actually saying. They started to drag me backwards, away from my audience. At least I got out a last shout of ‘Long live suffragism!’ before I was towed off the podium. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my friends whooping and waving their signs in support for the best speaker of the day.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The door slammed open when he kicked against it. None too gently, he pushed me into his office and strode in after me. Staggering backwards, I managed to right myself again just in time to face him as he whirled towards me.

  ‘You!’

  Have you ever heard the phrase ‘chilling contempt’ before? Well, you don't know the full meaning of the phrase until you’ve heard a few words out of the mouth of Mr Rikkard Ambrose when he’s really cold under the collar. Burning cold.

  ‘You,’ he whispered, and his voice sent chills down my back. ‘You will regret this. You will regret this very much.’

  I raised my chin defiantly.

  ‘Indeed? What will I regret? Speaking the truth?’

  ‘You will regret making fun of me in public. It is not something I tolerate.’

  ‘Making fun?’ Now my voice turned cold too. ‘I couldn’t see anything funny about the proceedings at Speaker’s Corner today. I was dead serious.’

  He raised a threatening finger and, almost against my will, I took a few steps back, retreating until his desk stood between him and me. In the park, he’d had two other man grab me and drag me to the coach, and back to Empire House. Inside, he had driven me indoors and up the stairs simply by the icy force of his eyes. Only as he had reached the door to his office had he touched me, once, a sign that his walls of cold control were finally starting to crack beneath the strain.

  I was afraid. Afraid what might happen if that wall broke down and the creature beyond the façade of the cool businessman broke free. And yet, I was also strangely fascinated. There was tension between him and me that made me want to grab that threatening finger he was waving in my face, pull it towards me, pull him towards me and… do what exactly?

  I didn’t know! But something inside me screamed for some kind of release.

  He took another step closer. He was close enough to touch now, although the desk was still between us. Somehow, I both felt safer behind it and wished for it to be gone.

  ‘You made a laughing stock of me in front of the entire city of London,’ he growled.

  ‘Indeed?’ I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Several million people live in the city of London. I didn’t see that many at that silly event.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Mr Linton! There were reporters there!’

  Oops. Actually, I hadn’t noticed that. Oh well, I had been busy holding speech.

  ‘Tomorrow, the entire city will know about this disgraceful charade! Soon, it will be on the front page of The Times! Maybe there will even be a semi-humorous image of the episode in the The Spectator!’

  For a moment, I imagined a comical drawing of the sinister Mr Ambrose being chased around Hyde Park by Patsy swinging her ‘VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!’-sign appearing in London’s most widely read illustrated magazine. The image made me feel warm inside and conjured a smile on my face.

  ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘Not good for you!’ Raising his arm, he pointed to the door of his office. ‘Get out! You are dismissed from my service.’

  The words fell like an axe. I stiffened. My smile was gone as quickly as it had come. ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘You dare to ask that? You disobeyed a direct order!’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘You have an hour to pack your things, and then I want you go-’ His voice cut off. Only now did he seem to register that I had spoken. ‘What did you say?’

  Stubbornly, I repeated: ‘I did not disobey any direct order.’

  ‘But you-’

  ‘When we stood on the podium and you leaned over to whisper into my ear, you told me to go and say
something memorable. You didn’t specify what exactly it was I should say. And no matter whether or not you liked it, I’m pretty sure what I said was memorable.’

  I gave him my sweetest smile. ‘But if you want, we can wait and see what The Spectator has to say on the subject.’

  He moved so quickly I hardly saw him coming. In a flash he was around the desk and had grabbed me by the arms. An instant later he had pushed me back and up against the wall.

  ‘Do not dare to make fun of me,’ he hissed, his quiet voice colder than ever, his eyes shards of furious ice. ‘You would not like the consequences!’

  For some insane reason, the smile on my face didn’t vanish, but widened into a reckless grin. His fingers were digging hard into my flesh, but I didn’t care. I had finally managed to rattle him, to get under that granite skin of his!

  ‘Ah, so you’re manhandling me now, Sir? Does that mean you have decided I am enough of a man for you?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, his grip tightened and he pressed me harder against the wall, his sea-coloured eyes darkening to the depths of the ocean.

  I suddenly realized how tightly his body was pressed against mine. I could feel every muscle in his chest as it heaved in an effort to steady his breathing, could feel the hardness of his lean body as he held me in his arms. His heart hammered against mine, beating out a frantic rhythm. And for a moment, just a moment, I didn’t want the same things as a man. In that moment, I didn’t want to be as good as man for him. I just wanted to be a woman.

  ‘Miss Linton, I…’

  His voice was rough, his face stonier and more unreadable than ever. I tried to read the emotions behind the granite façade, but to no avail. He was impenetrable.

  Only…

  Only I imagined that maybe his eyes weren’t quite as cold as they had been a moment ago.

  ‘Y-yes?’

  Why was my voice suddenly unsteady? I was in the middle of having an argument with him, for heaven’s sake! I had never been afraid of arguments, or afraid of men. What was the matter with me? Why were my legs feeling so weak all of a sudden?

  He called you ‘Miss’ Linton, said a tiny voice in the back of my mind. Not Mister. Miss. Maybe that’s why.