‘So that is my sinister motivation? How deplorably easy I am to see through.’
Was that sarcasm in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. After all, sarcasm was a form of humour.
I didn’t reply to his words, choosing instead to lapse into silence. So did he. I simply stood there and endured, while Mr Ambrose waited for me to crack.
I did not.
Maybe he was surprised by my endurance as I listened to Professor Anstruther droning on and on about women and chimpanzees. But there was something I knew that he didn’t. I had something to look forward to. Maybe, just maybe, this event wouldn’t go quite as Mr Ambrose had anticipated.
It was during a particularly long-winded sub-speech on chimpanzee mating practices that what I had waited for finally came. A shout went up from the back of the crowd, and a waving sign appeared over the heads of the assembled people.
The sign read:
VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!
‘Forward, girls!’ A familiar voice rose up, drowning out Anstruther without much difficulty. ‘For the oppressed women of Britain!’
People made way for Patsy & Co extremely quickly. That might have been partly because of the menacing way in which Patsy wielded her parasol, but her mere presence would have parted the masses as Moses had parted the red sea. Only that the red sea had probably not been that afraid of Moses.
‘Down with chauvinist oppression! Votes for women now! Votes for women now!’
I was so proud of my friends, as I watched them marching through the crowd, chorusing their beliefs for all the world to hear! Unthinkingly, my feet moved forward to join them - but then I remembered: I was in men’s clothes!
I wasn’t Miss Lilly Linton, dedicated suffragist, I was Mr Victor Linton, private secretary to Mr Rikkard Ambrose. If only I had known more swear words! I would have dearly liked to curse my trousers and the man who had forced me to put them on with every existing expletive in the world!
‘Votes for women now! Here, educate your mind, Sir. Take this leaflet! Broaden your horizons, madam. Do you really think you are unfit to make decisions that men can make? Here, take a look at our pamphlet.’
They had now started handing out flyers among the crowd. I had never even known they had prepared any! That served me right. I had been so caught up in Ella’s problems and my work for Mr Ambrose that I had totally neglected my friends. And the worst thing was: I couldn’t even tell them why!
‘This is outrageous!’
Mr Cartwright had appeared at our side. The portly man, who had looked so friendly just a moment ago, was glaring at Patsy with an intensity I hadn’t thought him capable of. ‘How dare this lady interrupt our event! Oh, what am I saying? Female, not lady! You cannot with a clear conscience call such a wanton creature a lady!’
Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘What do you think, Mr Ambrose? Should I have her removed?’
Without meaning to, I shook my head. Have Patsy removed? ‘I don't think that would be a good idea.’
‘Bad press, you mean, manhandling a woman?’ Mr Cartwright snorted. ‘Unfortunately, you’re probably right, Mr Linton.’
It wasn’t easy to suppress my smile. That wasn’t what I had been thinking of, actually. Patsy had her parasol with her. If some men attempted to ‘remove’ her, I wouldn’t like to be in those men’s shoes.
Hm… why not let them try?
‘Miss! Mind your manners!’ Professor Anstruther waved imperiously at Patsy and rustled with his scholarly papers. ‘Surely you do not intend to disturb my speech?’
‘Oh yes, that’s exactly what I intend! Votes, ladies and gentlemen, votes for women!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The professor was turning red in the face. He sounded as if he wished a quick disappearance from Patsy, rather than her pardon. ‘It is the right of every Englishman to freely speak his mind on Speaker’s Corner! How dare you interrupt me?’
‘Oh, you can talk as much as you want,’ Patsy agreed, not stopping with the flyer distribution or even bothering to look up. ‘That doesn't mean, though, that I can’t talk back to you. Votes for women, ladies and gentlemen! For equality between the sexes and a bright future for Britain!’
‘The head circumference of the chimpanzee…’ Professor Anstruther continued, raising his voice - but to no avail. Patsy raised her voice, too, to heights he couldn’t hope to reach.
‘A bright future,’ she called, ‘where no women will be pestered to shave their heads without good cause!’
There were snickers from the crowd, and a few of the ladies present surreptitiously grabbed one of the flyers, studying with interest.
‘…circus dance… no, circumference, I beg your pardon, lords, ladies and gentlemen, circumference, of course… yes, the head circumference of the chimpanzee is similar to that of females from the age of…’
‘Women contribute to life in Great Britain just as much as men do,’ Patsy proclaimed. ‘Why should they not have the same rights? Read the pamphlet, make up your own mind.’
‘…the age of seven is equal to the male head circus tents, as my thesis has proven and… Blast it!’
Professor Anstruther had dropped his notes and was now on his knees, trying to salvage as much of his marvel of anthropological science as he possible could. All that remained of his speech against suffragism were a few very unscholarly curses.
‘A disaster! A downright disaster!’ Mr Cartwright was wringing his hands now, and it was a joy to see. ‘Mr Firth, the next speaker, is supposed to arrive in only half an hour! What am I supposed to do? Curse these infernal suffragists!’
It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a sombre and worried expression on my face. All I wanted to do was run to Patsy, hug her and congratulate her on her glorious victory against the masculine forces of evil! It took all my willpower to stay still and pull the corners of my mouth down.
‘Are you having facial cramps, Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose enquired out of the corner of his mouth.
‘No, Sir. I’m just enjoying myself.’
‘Is that so, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, it is, Mr Ambrose.’
‘Well, let us see what we can do to change that.’
With two swift motions, Mr Ambrose removed his gloves and his top hat. Then he handed both, along with his cane, to Mr Cartwright, who took it all, too surprised at being treated like a common footman to refuse.