Storm and Silence

by Thier, Robert

  ‘Well,’ Flora dared to venture, ‘I don't exactly despise op-’

  Patsy shot her a steely look. ‘Shut up! You’ll despise oppression if I say you despise oppression, understand?’

  ‘Yes, Patsy. Of course, Patsy.’

  ‘Look,’ I tried to reason with her. ‘It’s not like the demonstration won’t happen. I mean, you will all be there, right? Goal achieved.’

  ‘But you won’t.’ Eve’s voice was much more quiet than usual. She was looking at me, her eyes large, and if I wasn’t mistaken I could see a bit of moisture shimmering in them. ‘It'll feel like a defeat if you aren’t there!’

  The words touched me - they more than touched me. They cut me to my very core, sharply and mercilessly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was the only thing I could think to say. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  Seeing that I meant it, the moisture in Eve’s eyes spilled over. ‘You can’t do this!’

  Patsy stomped over to the bench. At first I thought she was going for her parasol and retreated a few steps, but she picked up a piece of cardboard which had been leaning next to the parasol.

  ‘Here!’ She held out the cardboard to me. ‘That’s the sign we made for you!’

  My throat felt suddenly dry. The sign read in letters even bolder than hers:

  VOTES FOR WOMEN, FELLOWS… OR ELSE!

  I could hardly hold back my tears. How could I desert them at a time like this? But I couldn’t do anything else.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I repeated, feeling tears sting my eyes. One of them rolled down my cheeks and fell on the sign and smeared the paint. ‘But I can’t. I simply can’t be there.’

  ‘Why? Is something the matter with Ella?’

  ‘No, not with Ella.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ Patsy demanded. ‘What is so terribly important that you would abandon us?’

  ‘I… I can’t tell you.’

  It took me about two seconds to see that that had been the wrong answer.

  Patsy’s eyes flashed. ‘Oh, of course. Of course you can’t tell us! Because we’re only your best friends in the world. Why would we deserve your honesty or your confidence?’

  ‘Patsy… It’s not like that. I…’

  But it was no good. Patsy turned away from me, towards the others.

  ‘Come, girls,’ she said to them, her voice hard. ‘Let’s go somewhere else, where there’s no unpleasant company around.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  I cried myself to sleep that night. I, who never, ever cried.

  Stupid, I told myself. This is not the first time people have been angry with you or argued with you. Why start crying now when you never have before?

  I suppose it was that whatever trouble I had faced in the past, I always knew that I could count on my friends. Now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my friends weren’t my friends anymore. Remembering the expression on Patsy’s face as she turned away from me made my heart ache.

  Sometime during the night, exhaustion must have overpowered me and pulled me into sleep, for I woke up the next morning, curled into a tight protective ball against the evils of the world. I had to force myself to get dressed and leave for work. If not for the fact that today was Mr Ambrose’s special appointment, I doubt I would have gotten up at all.

  Get a move on, I ordered my lazy limbs. If you don't go to work and show up at that appointment, the fight with Patsy will have been for nothing!

  Somehow, I managed to drag myself to work. Through some merciful miracle, Mr Ambrose had retained his bright smile and easy manner of the previous day. He didn’t put me through much work and didn’t seem to notice my bad mood.

  As the day progressed, thoughts of Patsy slowly retreated to the back of my mind and I began to feel hopeful. It really seemed that Mr Ambrose had turned over a new leaf. He was warm and friendly towards me in a manner I wouldn’t have thought possible two days ago. I considered bringing up the matter of the search for the missing file again - I really wanted to help! But in the end I decided to wait until after his special appointment. If it went well, maybe he would be in a good mood and listen to my arguments.

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  I looked up from the files I was sorting to see Mr Stone at the door of my office. He had a nervous look on his face, but since he looked nervous pretty much all the time, I didn’t pay too much attention to that.

  ‘Yes, Mr Stone? I know it’s almost closing time. I’m just putting these away and then I’ll be right out.’

  ‘I know, I know. That’s not why I’m here, Mr Linton. Mr Ambrose sent me to tell you that he has ordered a carriage and is awaiting you downstairs. He says the two of you are going to a special appointment this late in the day?’

  My face brightened. ‘Yes, that’s right. I’ll be on my way down right away.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  Mr Stone didn’t leave, but hovered in the doorway. I continued putting the files away. When I was closing the box and he still hadn’t moved, I asked: ‘Is something else the matter, Mr Stone?’

  ‘How kind of you to ask, Mr Linton, very kind of you. Yes, there is something, indeed. I wanted to ask… did you notice anything odd about Mr Ambrose lately?’

  ‘Odd?’

  ‘Yes. I couldn’t help notice he has been behaving a bit… strangely. I thought you might have noticed it, too.’

  ‘Can’t say I have. In my opinion, he has been behaving like a perfectly amiable gentleman recently.’

  Mr Stone cleared his throat. ‘Um… well… that is kind of what I meant by “strange”.’ His ears reddened, and I had to fight to conceal a smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Stone. I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.’

  ‘Good, good. That’s very good to hear. You’ve put my mind at rest, Mr Linton, thank you.’

  With a quick bow of his head he hurried out of the room, and I left after him, crossing the hallway and starting down the stairs.

  It was true, for Mr Ambrose, being well-mannered and smiling was strange. But good manners hadn’t hurt anybody - except for me getting arrested that time because I curtsied. So why not rejoice at the change? Some small part of me was beginning to hope that maybe, just maybe, I was the reason for the improvement. Maybe I had managed to get under his granite-hard skin. The thought made me feel hot and fiery inside for some reason.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Mr Ambrose greeted me when I pushed open the doors of Empire House. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling at me. A coach stood behind him - not a cab or a chaise, but a large and maybe even luxurious carriage such as many of the wealthy gentlemen of the city used to get around. I blinked in confusion. Again I got the uncanny feeling that something was going on here which I didn’t understand. Mr Ambrose couldn’t just have turned so nice by accident, could he?

  ‘I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,’ he told me with a small bow of his head as I came down the stairs, my steps cautious, as if approaching an unknown wild animal.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, if I took too long. I had a few files to put away and…’

  ‘Don’t apologize, don't apologize. After today, all these petty matters of business won’t seem like much to you, I assure you.’

  What did he mean by that? That the rest of my employment would be one continuous tea party?

  My bewilderment grew as he opened the door and gestured for me to get in.

  ‘Since when do gentlemen open doors for other gentlemen?’ I asked archly, gesturing to my male attire.

  ‘They do not, in general. But soon enough the perspective on what you are might shift.’

  His words left me reeling. Did he mean what I thought he meant? Was he really considering to accept me as a female employee, dress and all? I hardly managed to get into the coach, my head was so full of questions. Why this sudden turnaround? How was it possible? Why now? The day before yesterday he had still been adamant about getting rid of me, adamant that I should not be involved in the investigation of the theft because this matter was too dan
gerous for a lady. And now… Had he changed his mind?

  Somehow though, although his words seemed to indicate a change of mind, the tone made me hesitant to rejoice. There was something behind the words, some dark intent not yet revealed, that made me shiver.

  Nonsense! Shaking my head, I settled down at the right window of the coach, facing the horses. You’re imagining things! Stop and enjoy the moment!

  Mr Ambrose took the seat beside me and tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane.

  ‘You know our destination, driver. Go!’

  Without a word in reply the coach started to move.

  We drove in silence. There were many things I wanted to say - questions I wanted to ask, thanks I wanted to give - but something held me back. He for his part was still smiling the same brilliant smile he had worn all day yesterday and today. For the first time I had leisure to study his smile in more detail and was surprised by what I found. It somehow looked… unnatural.

  I remembered the small quarter-smile he had once deigned to give me, long ago. That had seemed much more natural, much more himself. This iridescent show of teeth… If you studied it long enough it put you in mind of the smile a drowning man might see in the ocean, topped by a dorsal fin and approaching fast and hungrily.

  Oh, don’t be such an old worrywart! You should have a more optimistic outlook on the future!

  To distract myself I looked out of the window - and jerked upright in my seat! We were going down Oxford Street, the street that led away from Leadenhall Street in a westerly direction. The direction of Hyde Park.

  This had to be a strange coincidence. Surely, we would soon turn away to the left or to the right, to wherever this mysterious appointment of Mr Ambrose’s was.

  No, we didn’t. Instead we kept going straight down Oxford Street. I was no longer lost in thought. I was hanging out of the window, gripping my uncle’s old top hat with both hands to prevent it from being blown off by the wind.

  ‘Something interesting to see, Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice came from within the coach. I didn’t reply. There were indeed a great many things to be seen: the closer we got to Hyde Park, the more people were milling in the streets. Apparently they were heading towards the park. A great event seemed about to take place.

  He calls you Mister again. Something is happening here.

  Over the heads of the crowd, I could see the black iron of Cumberland Gate in the distance. The gate stood wide open, and loud voices drifted from the Park in our direction.

  Naturally they did. This was the northeast corner of the Park, after all: Speaker’s Corner.[43]

  There were several people there, standing on wooden boxes or on the ground. But nearly all of them had given up trying to catch the crowd’s attention. The focus was clearly on a group of important-looking men standing on a large podium right behind Cumberland Gate.

  Then I saw the large banner suspended over the podium.

  ‘MEETING OF THE ANTI-SUFFRAGIST LEAGUE - UNITE IN THE STRUGGLE FOR THE NATURAL WORLD ORDER AND WOMAN’S GOD-GIVEN PLACE IN THE WORLD’

  My head whipped to the side to stare at Mr Ambrose - just in time to see the smile drain from his face like wet paint from a wall in the middle of a hailstorm. And I realized that was all it had ever been: paint, over a perfect, cold, merciless granite statue.

  The coach stopped.

  ‘Come, Mr Linton,’ he ordered, meeting my eyes with his icy gaze and pushing open the door. ‘Or else we shall be late for this very important event.’

  Am I a Chimpanzee?

  ‘What is this?’

  My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded as if it were coming from very, very far away.

  Mr Ambrose sprang out of the coach and looked up at me. ‘What do you think it is? It is me expressing my cherished political opinions for the good of Britain and the Empire.’

  His voice sounded exactly like his own. In fact, it sounded more like his own than it had done during the entirety of the last two days. Gone was the friendliness. Gone was the interest. Gone was the politeness. Gone was all the pretence.

  And I suddenly understood what this was all about. His words rang in my head like a great brass bell:

  You can stay - until and unless you leave of your own free will. And I will find a way to persuade you.

  This was his way. His way to get rid of me. His way to make me hate him so much that I couldn’t stand to be in his company anymore, let alone in his employ. I threw a glance at the banner over the podium and shuddered. So he wanted to make me hate him, eh? Well, he was going about it right. Whatever else you could say of him, he knew me well.

  I stole a glance at his immovable marble face. He… he couldn’t really believe that, could he? He couldn’t really be on the same side as those blasted chauvinists?

  But then my eyes wandered to his dark, ice-cold eyes.

  Are you kidding? Of course he can! Look at him! He’s probably spearheading their movement!

  And as much as I hated my inner voice right at that moment, I had, for once, to agree with it. If there ever was a man who crushed anything in his path, it was Rikkard Ambrose. Arrogance and raw masculinity rolled off him in waves that were almost tangible. The bastard!

  Anger surged up inside me.

  So what? So what if he was in cahoots with them? I would be damned if I let his intrigues deprive me of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! I didn’t care whether he thought I couldn’t handle the dangers of my job, I would prove him wrong! And I would begin proving him wrong by surviving this humiliation! How bad could it be? I only had to stand beside him, after all.

  Yes. Stand beside him and listen while he defiles the most sacred beliefs of your heart.

  Oh, thank you very much for pointing that out. Thank you!

  Leaving the coach in the capable hands of the driver, Mr Ambrose strode towards Cumberland Gate and the park beyond, myself close at his heels. In spite of the masses of people gathered at the northeast corner of the park, we had no problems finding our way towards Speaker’s Corner. People made way for Mr Ambrose as if he were the King of England. Well, in a sense he was the king of his personal empire. Did the people around us know that? Or did they just feel the iron aura of authority that surrounded him?

  ‘… have developed a theory which rests on my study of the female brain. Though spurned by my colleagues at Cambridge University, I, Professor William H. Anstruther, am wholeheartedly convinced of this theory. It may be years ahead of scientific thinking today, but that only adds to its brilliance.’

  Looking up, I saw that there was a man at the front of the podium, speaking to the crowd. He was a thin fellow, with a thin moustache and thin voice. Nevertheless, the crowd seemed to be listening intently.

  ‘Based on my measurements of female head circumferences,’ the man continued, ‘I have concluded that their capacity for logical thought is far behind that of any man. Throughout my studies, this empirical conclusion was supported by behavioural evidence: a great many of the females I approached as potential test subjects frankly refused to have their head shorn in order for me to be able to take their measurements.’

  I opened my mouth to laugh - however, then I took a look around and saw other people nodding and exchanging looks of satisfaction. Bloody hell! The people here were actually taking this seriously!

  By now, Mr Ambrose and I had approached the side of the platform, where a staircase led upwards. A young underling in a too-big suit waited there and almost fell over himself when he recognized the man who was coming towards him.

  ‘Mr Ambrose!’

  If he had bowed any deeper, his nose would have brushed the ground. I threw him a disgusted glance he didn’t notice. His attention was fully focused on my loathsome, conniving, cold-hearted bastard of an employer.

  ‘W-we are t-terribly honoured that you could join us here t-today, Sir,’ the young man stuttered. ‘It is not often that we have the good fortune of a man of your stature lending his support to our venture. We ca
nnot thank you enough…’

  ‘Mr Cartwright is waiting for me?’ Mr Ambrose cut him off.

  ‘W-well, yes, Sir,’ the young man answered, not seeming in the least offended at this gross violation of good manners. ‘He has been eagerly a-awaiting your a-arrival, Sir. He was so thrilled w-when we received notice of your intention…’

  ‘Lead me to him!’

  ‘W-why, yes, of course, Sir. F-follow me.’

  The stutterer started to stumble up the stairs, and we followed with enough distance so as not to run into him, should he trip over his own feet.

  ‘Why so abrupt, Mr Ambrose?’ I hissed at the broad, ramrod-straight back in front of me. ‘Don’t you like to be flattered?’

  ‘I don't like wasting my time, Mr Linton - which is, essentially saying the same.’

  ‘If you don't like wasting your time, then why are we here?’

  ‘Because this is a very important event which will further one of the most important aims in my life.’

  I clenched my teeth together.

  Don’t say anymore! Don’t say another word to him, or you will start screaming and cursing, or try to attack him!

  So stopping women from getting the vote was one of the great aims of his life? He was very lucky that, unlike Patsy, I didn’t carry a parasol around with me wherever I went!

  Thinking of Patsy made my heart ache again. What had I done! Betraying my friends, forsaking them in their hour of need, and for what? For this? For having to stand idly by and do nothing while Professor William H. Anstruther propounded his theories about female head circumferences? And let me tell you, he was still very busily propounding.

  ‘And refusing to take part in my experiment was not the only manner in which females exhibited strange behaviour,’ Professor Anstruther proclaimed with a raised finger. ‘Oh no. Furthermore, completely insensible of the vast contribution to scientific progress they might have made, several of the females I approached about shaving their head even started to exhibit unnecessarily emotional behaviour, screaming for help and doubting my mental health, in very strong language. Through such irrational behaviour, they only confirmed my belief that their mental capacity is vastly inferior to that of men in general. It is now up to you, lords, ladies and gentlemen, to use the results of my work and implement…’