Storm and Silence

  ‘Hey! Lilly!’

  Quickly, I turned towards the voice I had been hoping for.

  That deep bellow was unmistakable! Unlike you would suspect on first hearing it, it didn’t belong to a big, beefy bulldog, but to my best friend Patsy. She and the others already awaited me on the wrought iron park bench under the big oak, the usual meeting place of our little band of wrongdoers.

  ‘Hello! Here we are!’

  Passing gentlemen looked askance at Patsy, clearly indicating by their looks that ladies weren’t supposed to bellow. They forbore however from making any disapproving remarks, probably because Patsy, with a figure like that of a boxing champion and a face like a horse, cut a pretty impressive figure, even for a girl in a hoop skirt. I certainly wouldn’t have liked to come to blows with her.

  She picked up her parasol and waved it like a victory flag. ‘Where have you been, Lilly? Get your behind over here!’

  The other two turned around and spotted me, too. Flora smiled shyly, and Eve raised her tiny pink parasol, waving it so energetically one could have mistaken it for a fluttering hummingbird’s wing.

  ‘Patsy is holding a speech,’ she yelled across the remaining distance. I quickened my step, already feeling better. This would take my mind off other things. ‘She’s telling us how she will convince all the stinking rich people of London to give up their money for her latest charity.’

  ‘You could threaten to impale them on your parasol,’ I suggested, settling down on the only free place on the bench and grinning from ear to ear. It was good to see my friends.

  Patsy snorted. ‘That might be the only way to actually get it done. You wouldn’t believe how tightly some people hold on to their money. Oh wait, I forgot about your uncle. You would believe.’

  ‘I would,’ I concurred. ‘So, what is this charity event you’re organizing?’

  Patsy rolled her eyes. ‘Ask rather how many dozen I’m organizing. One in favour of the workhouses, one in favour of St. Vincent’s Orphanage, one in favour of everything you can think of, and I’ll be lucky if I get more than a few pennies for any of them. But it’s the event in favour of women’s suffrage that has me really worried.’

  ‘Why?’ I wanted to know. ‘Aren’t any of the guests likely to give money?’

  A scowl appeared on Patsy’s face, and for a moment she really did look like a Rottweiler. ‘Hardly. The problem is that there likely won’t be any guests. So far, nobody has accepted my invitation.’

  ‘Nobody? Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly. I even got a note back from Lady Metcalf, saying that… how did she put it again? Ah yes, saying “how scandalous” it is that I am “trying to erode the pillars of civilization by destroying woman’s natural role in life”.’

  I patted her hand.

  ‘That’s horrible! And after you gave yourself so much trouble in organizing everything. I’m so sorry for you.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ The scowl on Patsy’s face was replaced by a look of grim satisfaction. ‘Be sorry for Lady Metcalf. You don't know what I said in my answering note.’

  I couldn’t prevent a grin from spreading over my face. No, I didn’t know. But I knew Patsy, and could imagine.

  ‘By the way,’ I asked, ‘how did the election go? I didn’t catch the results.’

  ‘How could you not catch them?’ Patsy gave me a strange, sideways look. ‘It was in all the papers.’

  Well, I was sitting in prison all day, you know. We don't get papers there.

  That’s what I would like to have said, just to see the look on her face. But I didn’t. My friends didn’t know anything about my little adventure on Friday, and if I could, I wanted to keep it that way. They didn’t need to know what a fool I had made of myself. It had been a crazy idea from the beginning, this whole dressing-up-as-a-man thing, and I just wanted to forget it as quickly as possible. So instead, I said:

  ‘I… was busy. Very busy.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t miss anything worth hearing.’ Patsy stabbed at the air with her parasol, as if it were a conservative politician. ‘You want the result? A landslide victory for the Tories, of course! The Whigs were flattened. So no reforms on women’s suffrage, nor on any other sensible subject by the way!’

  A depressive silence fell over our little group for a while, and the morning, which had seemed cheerful right up until then, suddenly wasn’t quite as enjoyable any more.

  Without warning, Eve clapped her hands together and woke us from mourning over our lost freedom. ‘Time for a little cheering-up! Look what a treat I’ve brought!’ She fished something out of her pocket and held it out: four brown, rectangular objects. They didn’t look very appetizing.

  ‘What are those?’ I asked, suspiciously.

  ‘It’s a new invention, just come on the market,’ Eve trilled excitedly. ‘It’s chocolate.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Chocolate is a drink,’ Patsy objected. ‘It’s not solid.’

  ‘Not usually no. But,’ she lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘this fellow - Fly or High, I think he’s called - developed a method to make it solid.’[9]

  I carefully tapped against one of the brown objects. It was quite hard. ‘And it stays that way? A bit hard to swallow, wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘No, no. It dissolves in your mouth.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Well, that’s what it said in the advert, anyway.’

  That didn’t inspire much confidence in me.

  ‘Why would anyone want to make chocolate solid?’ Patsy demanded. ‘If it only dissolves again afterwards, what’s the point?’

  ‘Oh, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud!’ Eve was almost bouncing with excitement now. ‘It’s something new, something exciting. People call it a chocolate bar, and they say they’re fantastic! So try them out already, will you? I spent all my pocket money on them!’

  That final argument persuaded me. I knew enough about what it was like not to have much money to understand the sacrifice. Slowly, I took one of the ‘bars’ of chocolate and carefully deposited it in my mouth. The others followed my example. A tense silence settled over our group as we waited. The bars didn’t explode or attack our teeth, which was a good sign to begin with. On the other hand, they didn’t taste much like anything.

  At least at first.

  Then, the brown stuff suddenly started growing softer and softer, and the taste began to flood my mouth. I started licking and chewing faster and faster.

  ‘Goodness!’ Flora fanned herself. ‘That really isn’t fair! To have something that looks so plain and unappetizing, and then have it attack you like that… Dear me. Dear, dear me.’

  ‘Is it good?’ asked Eve, who still hadn’t put her piece into her mouth, but seemed to be anxiously awaiting our judgement.

  I sighed contentedly. Finally something that made me forget my troubles for a minute or two. I opened my mouth long enough to say: ‘More than good. It’s… yummy! The best thing I’ve ever tasted. The fellow who invented it, has he been knighted yet?’

  ‘I don't believe so.’

  ‘Just one more sign that there’s no justice in this country,’ I groaned, and Patsy as well as Flora nodded their consent, chewing energetically.

  ‘So we have one more thing on our to-do list,’ laughed Patsy, in her deep, throaty horse-laugh. ‘Achieve women’s suffrage and get the inventor of solid chocolate bars knighted for his achievements.’ Suddenly despondent, she shook her head. ‘Sometimes I just despair and think that women will never have equal rights with men in this lousy excuse for a country,’ she sighed. ‘We might as well forget about campaigning for women’s suffrage and just start dressing up in men’s clothes for the next election.’

  I coughed, and almost choked on my chocolate bar. Luckily, the others were too busy with eating to notice, and I quickly forced it down.

  Eve cleared her throat and winked at her large friend. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, Patsy… That might work for you, but I doubt the rest of us could pull
it off.’

  Patsy pounded the ground with her parasol. ‘And why I and not the rest of you, Eve?’

  ‘Because, my dear Patsy, you have a nose like a lumpy potato and enough bone in your chin for three good men. If we put you in a suit, everybody would bow to you and call you Sir.’

  ‘Do you want a parasol hammered on your head, Eve?’

  ‘Not particularly, no.’

  ‘Then I suggest you quickly take yourself out of my reach.’

  Eve sprang up laughing, snatched up a bird and racket I hadn’t seen before and gaily ran off into the Park, dancing around, hitting the bird, catching it with the racket and hitting it skywards again. She missed as often as she hit, but that didn’t seem to bother her.

  ‘I don't think I could do it,’ Flora offered shyly. ‘Dressing up as a man, I mean. You could, Patsy, but not I.’

  ‘Of course you could, Flora!’ Patsy gave her a hearty slap on the back that almost catapulted the little girl off the bench. ‘Come, Lilly, back me up! Everybody could do it, couldn’t they?’

  I contemplated the question carefully for a moment. ‘No,’ I said, finally, shaking my head. ‘I think I would end up getting thrown in prison and landing myself in all sorts of troubles I hadn’t counted on.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  My friends and I continued to sit long after that on the little bench under the oak and discussed politics, fashion, and the folly of men. But I had to admit that once the soothing effects of the wondrous solid chocolate waned, Mr Ambrose intruded more and more often on my thoughts.

  Patsy kept shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Of our unofficial little secret society for women’s suffrage, she was certainly the most observant one, Eve being too hyper and Flora too shy to remark anything. Patsy noticed my altered behaviour: how I sometimes stared into the air without seeing anything, how I crossed my arms more often than usual as if about to confront an invisible enemy. I’m sure she would have said something if the other two hadn’t been there. So I made sure I was the first to leave, excusing myself on account of having to help my aunt with supper. If she wanted to find something out, Patsy could be determined as an Ascot race horse[10], and I didn’t want to get trampled underfoot.

  I didn’t go home immediately, though. My beloved aunt wouldn’t appreciate any help in preparing a meal she considered far too simple for such a good family as hers. Instead, I went around the little clump of trees in Green Park to a small pond, and fed the ducks for a few minutes. They seemed to appreciate the pieces of dry bread I threw them very much, and it soothed my nerves. Although I felt miserable right now, it was good to know that at least I could make somebody else happy, even if it was only some silly, feathery little beast. The last piece of bread landed in the pond with a soft ‘plop’. I turned and started towards home.

  The rest of the day flew by in a whirl of disjointed images. It seemed to take no time at all until I stared at the candle on my nightstand. Around the lone candle flame there was darkness. I was lying in my bed, listening to Ella’s steady breathing in the other bed across the room and staring into the flame so hard it almost hurt my eyes.

  This is it, I thought. If I blow out this candle, the day will be over and there will be only one day left before Monday. One day before I have to face him or forget my dream of freedom.

  What would I do?

  More importantly: What would he do if I did the wrong thing?

  He was no jolly fat bobby who would laugh the whole thing off. He might do anything, and a man with his position and power actually could do just about anything he wanted - to me and to my family. Getting me arrested for disturbing the King’s Peace, ruining my uncle’s business… the possibilities were chilling, and not unlikely to come to pass. I remembered every cold, hard line, of his face. Mr Ambrose definitely didn’t look like the kind of man who appreciated being made to look like a fool.

  But this was my only chance! The only chance I would ever get to be free.

  For the first time in my life I was afraid of the dark. But I screwed up all my courage, leant forward and blew out the candle.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The next day was even worse. In church, I didn’t hear above one word in ten of what the reverend was saying. I tried not to look at him too much because I knew of whom a tall black figure with a stern expression would remind me - only Reverend Dalton wasn’t half as good-looking as… he.

  What did I do once I got home?

  I honestly couldn’t say. Maybe I actually went through one of my aunt’s embroidering lessons for once. Ella was starting to look worried whenever she glanced my way. I would have liked to reassure her, tell her that everything was all right, but it would have been a more blatant lie than even I was capable of.

  Evening came, and then the night. I lay in my bed again, staring at the candle and wondering whether to blow it out or not.

  If I did, that was it. No more time to think or evade. It would be Monday, my first day at ‘work’. Or in prison, if he put his mind to it. What was he going to do to me?

  I crossed my arms and rolled myself up into a tight, protective ball. Why oh why did things have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t I have a job and my independence without having to fear retribution from one of the most powerful men in the British Empire?

  Maybe, if I didn’t blow out the candle, I wouldn’t fall asleep and tomorrow would never come. Yes, that sounded like a good plan!

  I lay there, gazing up at my protection, the candle, and wishing fervently that tomorrow would never arrive.

  Suddenly, a gust of wind from the open window ruffled the curtains and blew out the candle, plunging me into darkness.

  Not fair!

  Empire House

  I awoke and thought: Oh God, please don't let it be Monday.

  Beside me, in the other bed, Ella yawned and stretched, looking first out of the open window, through which bright, golden sunlight streamed into the room, then turning to beam at me. ‘What a beautiful Monday morning!’

  Thank you very much, God.

  Faced by the inescapable fact that Judgement Day was upon me, I simply lay there for a while, contemplating my doom. Ella, however, didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that her sister was about to face a masculine monster from the pit. She was already up and dressing herself, humming a merry tune.

  ‘Come on, Lill,’ she said, calling me by my nickname she only used when nobody else was around. ‘Get out of bed. It’s already eight thirty.’

  So what, I wanted to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. Eight thirty? In my mind I heard Mr Ambrose’s cool voice echoing: Be at my office, nine sharp Monday morning.

  ‘Eight thirty?’ I choked.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  Not daring to waste time with an answer, I jumped out of bed, struggled out of my nightdress, and hurriedly started throwing on the dozens of petticoats that we poor females had to stuff under our dresses.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ cried Ella, alarmed.

  ‘I have to be somewhere at nine!’ My own voice was slightly muffled because I was trying to force my way through three petticoats at once.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t tell you. But it’s frightfully important. Please, Ella, help me with these infernal things? I think I’m stuck!’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Ella, ever the helpful spirit, didn’t even think of questioning me. Instead she untangled the knotted mess of petticoats I had been trying to ram my head through, and then handed me my dress.

  ‘Not that one,’ I said, shaking my head at my favourite, simple, gown. ‘The other one.’

  Now even Ella’s curiosity was roused. She handed me the fancier of my two dresses, the one with lace trimmings she knew I hated wearing. When I had slipped into it, I rushed to the mirror and started untangling my hair. ‘How do I look? Well? What do you think? Am I presentable?’

  Ella stood behind me, watching something that was rarer than a volcano eruption in Chiswick: me, trying to make myself look sty
lish. In the mirror I could see her mouth open in a silent ‘Oh’ and a blush suffuse her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Lill!’ She clapped her hands together, a sudden smile spreading over her face. ‘You have a rendezvous, haven’t you? A rendezvous with a young man!’

  My jaw dropped, and I whirled around.

  ‘No! Of course not!’

  Ella didn’t seem to have heard me. Quickly, she stepped to my side, that silly, secretive, girly smile still plastered on her face. Her hands came up, starting to style my hair and smooth my dress at a pace I would never have been capable of. It was as if she had ten arms. ‘It’s all right,’ she giggled. ‘I won’t tell. Is he nice? Is he handsome?’

  Yes he is. Very.

  I pushed the thought out of my mind as soon as it appeared. It wasn’t like that! I wasn’t going to meet a man. Well, in a sense I was, but not ‘meeting’ as in meeting to do… well, to do whatever romantic couples get up to when they’re alone. Why did every female’s brain on earth, including that of my little sister, turn to mushy-gushy mushrooms the moment a man was mentioned? There were many legitimate reasons for a girl to meet a man, reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with mating behaviour, such as… such as…

  Well, maybe I couldn’t think of anything just now, but you see my point.

  ‘Oh Lill, come on. Tell me at least what colour his eyes are, will you?’

  I stomped my foot and crossed my arms. Ella more or less ignored my signs of protest and continued to work her magic on my hair.

  ‘I said no, didn’t I? I’m not going to a rendezvous, Ella!’

  She just giggled again, and then winked. My dear, demure, innocent little sister, winking? And if my eyes didn’t betray me, even conspiratorially!

  ‘I quite understand,’ she whispered. ‘You have to be discreet.’