“Of all the insolent, infuriating, rude—” I grumbled to myself, watching his motor drive off. “And I didn’t even get a good look at his derriere. Damn.”
Screams, jeers, yells, and a variety of oaths washed out into the damp night as several newly arrived constables pushed past me and began yanking at the nearby protesters, forcibly dragging my sisters in suffrage from their positions.
I didn’t hesitate in the least in making my presence known.
“Stop that immediately,” I yelled over the noise, hitting the nearest constable on the head with my umbrella as he struggled with my unpleasant neighbor. “She may be annoying, but she is devoted to the cause. Leave her alone!”
Without looking, he shoved me back into the gathering crowd, which closed tightly around me. Crushed by the mass of people surrounding me, I was unable to move forward as the constable tried to squeeze the suffragette out of the chains that bound her.
Hastily I apologized for my rudeness to the gentleman upon whose toes I had inadvertently trod, and found myself gently but persistently pushed to the back of the crowd. “No, you don’t understand, I’m with them! Please allow me forward, I am one of them.”
Struggling, I tried to force my way to the front of the sizable group with every intention of doing what I could to help the women, but I was impeded from behind, and just then the crowd swelled backwards. I was flung up against a man behind me. I righted myself with an apology.
“No harm done, miss.” A gold tooth winked as he gave me an amiable smile, then he touched his bowler and melted into the crowd.
A horrible noise rent the air. The crowd’s mood had changed abruptly from that content with simple jeers and verbal abuses, to an active participation in removing the women from their chains. Horror crawled up my spine two constables held my recent neighbor while a third man cut off the chains with a heavy bolt cutter. As the woman was freed, the constables seized her and dragged her off to the Black Mariah, much to the delight of the crowd. Cheers rose over the noise as one by one, the constables swarmed the struggling women, cutting them from the fence.
“Damnation!” I swore again, utterly defeated. My chain hung limply from the fence, abandoned and ignored as the last of the protesters were bundled into the Black Marias. I had failed my sisters in suffrage, failed my cause, and failed myself.
The police quickly disbanded the crowd of bystanders, waved off the urchins, and broke up the groups of onlookers. In a short amount of time there were no protesters left other than me. I stood alone, disheveled and damp on a wet, empty pavement. A sudden gust of wind caused an object to flutter across my feet. I reached down to pick up a torn
Votes For Women
sash and stared at it.
“Maybe Eloise is right. What am I doing here?” I asked the sash. “Why did I think I could help?”
I could almost hear my father’s voice sneering at me. What gentleman would want me, with my runaway tongue, my odd interests, and an wholly unconventional nature? My actions this evening had left me open to contempt and ridicule of my friends and family—worse than that, the experience was all for nothing. I had failed to complete my one assigned task, fulfilling my father’s dying curse.
“No. I will not fail this,” I swore to myself, then raised my fist and shook it at the ghost of my father. “I will not let you win! I have chosen my path, and I will see it out come what may! Think about that while you roast in hell for an eternity!”
There was no answer on the wind but a sudden chill that left me shivering. I looked about for a hansom cab, but none were in sight. Mentally shrugging my shoulders, I gathered up my accessories, chain included, and made my way home.
Chapter Three
“Women’s Suffrage Union Members Arrested. Several women were arrested last evening for causing an obstruction outside Wentworth House in Holland Park, where Their Royal Highnesses, the Prince and Princess of Wales, attended the annual charity Hospital Ball,” Freddy read aloud from a fainting couch, his booted feet resting carelessly on several lovely tapestry pillows. The mauve shawl draped across one end would no doubt be irrevocably stained with his hair oil. “Good Lord, Cassandra, don’t tell me you were mixed up with that crowd?”
“Freddy, read to yourself. Aunt Caroline is not interested.” I turned back to my aunt and accepted the cup she held out. “I hope you don’t mind Emma taking tea with us. She’s been such a dear friend to me, but I don’t think she knows a great many people in town.”
“I don’t mind you bringing her at all,” my aunt replied in her usual dulcet tones. A faint frown wrinkled her brow. “However, I feel that I owe it to your dear mama to mention…well, you know.”
I frowned over the cup of tea. “No, I don’t know.”
“It says here that several women were fined half a guinea for assaulting police officers,” Freddy continued. “Dearest cousin, I must protest. I understand your desire to take part in this ridiculous cause—”
My gaze narrowed upon him.
“—at what is no doubt a very worthy cause, but surely you can appreciate that those of us who love you are concerned when the organization you have bound yourself to is involved in such escapades.”
I looked away from Freddy’s pale blue eyes to consider my aunt, avoiding, as best I could, the result of her latest redecorating scheme. Deep mauve walls filled the room with a heated glow, while fine lace hung at the windows, shaded on either side by heavy wine-colored draperies. It was an altogether ghastly combination.
“It is so difficult to explain,” Caroline said faintly, glancing toward the door. Emma, my oldest friend, had excused herself to use the water closet. “You do know, of course, that she has…leanings.”
“Leanings? What do you mean?”
She glanced toward Freddy, who was watching us over the top of the newspaper. He choked and quickly hid behind it.
“Leanings,” Caroline repeated, her hand making a vague gesture that confused me even more. She appeared to think for a moment before saying, “You have heard of Sappho, have you not?”
I searched the rather dusty hallways of my memory. “A poet? A woman poet? Greek, I think?”
“Yes, she was, amongst other things, a poet.” Caroline smiled gently at me. “Your friend is a follower, I believe.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” I said, sitting back. At last it had dawned on me what Caroline was so carefully alluding to. “You need not fear that I am offended by that.”
“You’re not?” Her eyebrows rose a smidgen.
“No, not in the least.”
“You’re not…like her, are you?” Freddy asked, still peering over the newspaper.
“You know full well I’m not,” I answered.
His eyes widened, and I could swear he blushed as he stammered a protestation to our aunt. “I know nothing of the sort!”
“Yes, you do. I’ve never been to university, while Emma spent several years there. Frankly, given Father’s opinion on education for women, I’m lucky I can read and write. I will never be a great scholar as she is.”
“Who is a great scholar?” the woman in question asked as she reentered the room and accepted a cup of tea.
“You are,” I answered.
Emma Debenham, whom I had known for some twenty years, looked surprised by the word, but made no comment.
“I was explaining that you are my oldest friend,” I added.
“It has been many a year since I saw the little red-headed girl peeping out at me from behind the hedgerow. I used to see Cassandra when I walked to the village,” she told my aunt.
“Emma was the only one who defied Father’s order that no one speak to me,” I said, a lump in my throat when I thought of all she had gone through to befriend me. “I believed that earned her more than one whipping from her father.”
She shrugged. “I was forever getting into trouble because of one interest or another. I wasn’t about to let your despotic father rule my life, as well. Besides,” she touched my hair with a gentle hand. “I’ve always had a weakness for redheads. There’s no way I could resist you.”
Freddy choked on the sip of tea he’d taken, spewing it all over the newspaper.
“Freddy, really!” I gave him a stern look. “If you’re going to behave like an animal, you may take your tea outside!”
He coughed in an attempt to get the tea out of his lungs, glaring first at me, then at Emma.
“I just wish I could convince you to stay with me while you’re in London, Emma.”
“You know how much I appreciate that offer, but I am quite comfortable in my rooms, I assure you.”
“I’ve sworn that I wouldn’t interfere in your studies. Emma has recently taken up sketching,” I told my aunt. “Right now she’s focusing on the human form.”
“Female?” Freddy asked in a peculiar choked voice.
“Yes,” I said, frowning at him. “She’s done some lovely drawings. I only hope that one day, she’ll find me worthy to be a subject.”
Caroline, still not moving, looked at Emma.
Emma beamed me. “Perhaps some day. I’m still…er…experimenting. With my style, that is.”
I nodded. My father had felt art was too godless a subject to be taught to his daughters, so I contented myself to admiring those who had skills in that area.
“It’s been some weeks since you’ve been here,” Caroline said, clearly feeling a change of conversation was needed. “I’ve redecorated.”
“Yes, indeed you have!” I caught Emma’s eye, and had to dab at my lips with a napkin to keep from giggling.
Her shoulders shook as she, too, held in her laughter.
“I can’t say when I’ve seen mauve and wine put to such an interesting use,” I added.
“And the puce touches? Do they soothe your eye?” my aunt asked.
Puce, wine, and mauve, the unholy trinity of colors. I smiled. “So much so that I hesitate to look at them for very long, lest my eyes be soothed into a stupor. Now, tell me, how was Boston? Did Uncle Henry enjoy the visit to his brother?”
Caroline’s pale blue eyes—almost identical to Freddy’s—sparkled with obvious amusement. “It was a lovely visit, Cassandra. Christmas was a most enjoyable holiday, and Henry’s family was very. . .” She paused, considering her words. “. . . interesting. Americans always are, I find. While we were in Boston, we met a fascinating young man. I’m sure he would—”
I raised my hand in warning. “Although I appreciate your motives, I am not in the least bit interested in hearing about the latest in a regrettably long line of men you have selected to share my life.”
“Do I have any say in this matter?” Freddy asked, peering over the sodden, tea-splattered newspaper.
“No,” we both told him.
“But my dear,” Caroline continued on, “Mr. Teller has a delightful character—”
“I’m sure he does,” I said amiably. “But you fail to take into consideration
my
character. And as you are married to the only man who combines those qualities of intelligence, wit, and strength of mind which make a man superior, I shall have to bear the lack of a husband as best I can.”
“I have intelligence, wit, and strength of mind, and I
have
proposed, dearest. Several times. Seven, to be exact.”
“Nine in the last six weeks,” I told Freddy, softening the words with a smile. “And I appreciate your desire to save me from the horrors of spinsterhood, but you know perfectly well we wouldn’t suit. Besides, there is that other matter to which I alluded last week.”
His gaze moved to Emma, rife with speculation. “Not…er…”
I sighed, not wanting to upset my aunt, but feeling the need to take charge of my life. “What I am about to say will shock you.”
“Do you think so, dear? How fascinating.” She, too, glanced at Emma, who gave her a little shake of the head. “Whatever can this shocking subject be?”
“My future with regards to men.” I cleared my throat and sat up a bit straighter. “Since the long overdue death of my father, I have become a New Woman.”
“Indeed. Although I am not sure it is kind to refer to your father’s death as overdue, I would agree that I would have been much easier in my mind about you had Henry and I been able to persuade him to let us have you.”
“That’s all in the past,” I said, waving away a lifetime of abuse and torment, both mental and physical. “What matters now is the present, and as a New Woman, I have taken a stand on several causes. One of which Freddy alluded to in the newspaper article. The other is my attitude toward men.”
“What attitude would that be?” Caroline asked.
Emma smiled into her cup.
“I will, at some point in my life, probably twenty or thirty years from now, marry. Until then—” I took another deep breath. “I shall take a lover.”
Silence filled the overstuffed, overheated room.
“Dearest, might I offer myself—”
“No,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes on my aunt. To my surprise, she didn’t look shocked or scandalized, or even unduly impressed. She merely hummed a little song to herself and sipped her tea.
“You’re not angry with me, are you?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Why would I be angry? Cassandra, my dear, you are thirty years old.”
“Twenty-nine!” I said quickly. “Only twenty-nine!”
“That is certainly old enough to know what you want. If you wish to flaunt convention, then far be it from me to stop you.”
“Oh.” I glanced at Emma. She winked. “I see. Well…good. I am much relieved. I was concerned that my decision to take charge of my life and send it in a new direction would cause you some concern.”
“No,” she said, lifting the tea pot. “None at all.”
“Good.” I felt deflated for some absurd reason.
Caroline waved towards Freddy’s paper. “Tell me more about your involvement with this organization.”
“Yes, do, dearest,” Freddy pushed the paper aside and got to his feet. “Perhaps Caroline can talk some sense into you.”
I gave him a mean look.
“Don’t ruffle your adorable feathers at me,” Freddy said as he strolled over to me to press a kiss to the back of my hand. “I mean no criticism of the suffrage movement on the whole, but I can and will express concern about the welfare of a dearly beloved cousin who involves herself with a group of female roughnecks and hooligans.”
“Odious man,” I said fondly, pulling my hand from his. “The members of the Women’s Suffrage Union are neither roughnecks nor hooligans.”
“No?” Freddy accepted another cup of tea and several almond biscuits. “I’ve heard that the organization is just bursting with women who want to wear trousers, smoke pipes, and run the government. I am told it is common knowledge they have failed in all the feminine arts, and live unnatural and disappointed lives.”
Emma made a little noise of distress.
“No insult intended, I’m sure,” Freddy said quickly.
“Poppycock,” I said sharply, frowning at my cousin. “That will teach you to listen to such ill-informed sources of information. There is nothing at all unnatural about wearing trousers, although we prefer to call them bloomers. They are most healthful and hygienic when bicycling. I have a pair myself, although I haven’t had the opportunity to wear them, so I suppose you could say I’m disappointed in that sense, but that is not what you mean.”