Storm and Silence

by Thier, Robert

  ‘Mr C-Cartwright?’

  My attention snapped back from the professor to our stuttering companion. We had reached the top of the stairs by now. A group of well-dressed men was waiting there, at the back of the podium. Doubtless they would all take their turns smashing the aspirations of modern womanhood. I let my eyes wander over them. Lords, industrialists, priests and scientists… it seemed the powerful of this world were out to trample my dreams. Well, since it was me, what else was to be expected?

  Stuttermouth had lead us to a portly figure with a neat black beard, before whom he bowed nearly as deeply as he had done in front of Mr Ambrose. The other man nodded back.

  ‘Mr C-Cartwright? I have b-brought you our special g-guest. May I introduce you to Mr R-Rikkard Ambrose, who has kindly agreed to s-support us in our efforts t-today? Mr Ambrose, this is Mr C-Cartwright, the organizer of this little initiative.’

  Mr Cartwright’s face split into a delighted smile, and he bowed deeply.

  ‘Mr Ambrose! Welcome! I must say, I was most pleasantly surprised when I received your message yesterday that you had decided you would support us. It is not often that a man of your stature involves himself in politics.’

  Mr Ambrose eyes remained as cold and distant as ever. He did not smile. He did not bow. ‘When there is a good cause to be aided, I cannot simply stand back and do nothing, Mr Cartwright.’

  ‘That is a very admirable quality in you, Mr Ambrose. And who is this gentleman, if I may ask?’

  The fiend gestured to me.

  For a moment I thought the ghost of a smile flickered over Mr Ambrose’s face. But no, I had to be wrong. Mr Ambrose did not make use of something as wasteful as a smile - unless he was utilizing it to manipulate people, of course! Bastard!

  ‘That is my private secretary, Mr Victor Linton. He has a keen interest in matters of gender-politics and so I brought him along. I’m sure it will be a valuable lesson for him.’

  Gah! Go on! Strangle him! It’ll be worth the life-long prison sentence! Just do it!

  Valuable lesson my foot! I hardly noticed when Mr Cartwright bowed to me as well and said, brightly:

  ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Linton. I hope you enjoy our little gathering.’

  I didn’t quite know what to answer to that. Making his acquaintance created several powerful feelings in me - delight was definitely not among them. So I just bowed and muttered something unintelligible. He smiled and directed his stuttering assistant to lead us to an empty place in the row of waiters at the back of the platform, right beside a deaf old duke. We were right among the nobs, apparently.

  ‘So I have a keen interest in gender-politics, do I?’ I hissed into Mr Ambrose’s ears as soon as stuttermouth had vanished.

  ‘Well, you do, don't you?’

  ‘Do you know what I have a keen interest in right now? Bashing your face in!’

  He didn’t flinch.

  ‘Calm your overexcited feminine temperament, Mr Linton,’ he advised. ‘No one is threatening to shear your head. Not yet, at least.’

  ‘You…!’

  But before I could specify my opinion of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, a roar of applause went up from the crowd. Either Professor Anstruther had just reached a very convincing argument in his theory, or his place had been taken by a stand-up comedian from the nearest music hall.

  I took a look and sighed with resignation. No, it was still Anstruther, propounding his opinions. By now he had reached a detailed analysis of the differing head circumferences of females and males, and was comparing female human skulls to those of various apes.

  ‘The most similarities I have observed are to be found between women and chimpanzees,’ he was just saying, to another round of applause from the crowd. ‘Their heads show about the same growth pattern.’[44]

  ‘Interesting theory, don't you think?’ Mr Ambrose commented, in a voice so low only I could hear. ‘Especially considering their comparable intellectual capabilities.’

  I balled my little hands into fists. They felt so insignificant. If only they were larger and stronger. If only I were. Strong enough to withstand this.

  ‘You are despicable,’ I informed Mr Ambrose. ‘I really ought to teach you a lesson!’

  ‘Really?’ He cocked his head, looking at me with calculating cold eyes. ‘I am quite sure that an assault on your employer would be in contradiction of our agreement and that I would be perfectly within my rights to release you from my service. But if you think it is worth it…’ His cold gaze wandered to my clenched fists. ‘Do not let me stop you.’

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to relax my fingers.

  You can do this, I told myself. You can do this!

  My fingers didn’t relax. But I didn’t punch him either.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ I informed him. ‘And it is not working.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. You’re trying to get me to give you a reason to sack me.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But I will not. You’re trying to get rid of me because you don't think I can do my job properly, but I will prove you wrong!’

  ‘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.’

  ‘Wh
at 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.

  ‘Hold these for me, will you?’ Mr Ambrose flexed his fingers. Suddenly, I felt a cold pit opening up in my stomach. No. Oh no. ‘I have work to do.’

  He strode towards the front of the podium, shoved the kneeling Professor Anstruther aside none too gently and built himself in front of the crowd. Shouldn’t I have said planted himself? No, he was too hard, too cold for a plant. He built himself like a monument of stone and metal.

  I watched, dread welling up inside me, as the crowd whispered excitedly, my friends stopped moving and all eyes went to him. Especially the female ones.

  Mr Ambrose took a deep breath and opened his lips to speak.

  Memorable Speeches

  ‘Silence.’

  The word wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t even loud. It was simply spoken with such chilling precision, with such power behind it, that all went silent instantly. The crowd, the birds, the other speakers in the distance, even - I could hardly believe it - Patsy closed her mouth and stared up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. When she took in his six foot six of poor, hard masculinity, she nearly dropped her sign, and for a moment, 'VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!' was upside down.

  Placing his hands on the balustrade, Mr Ambrose leaned forward, towering over the crowd.

  ‘My lords, ladies, gentlemen.’ He gave a curt nod. ‘I do not pretend to be as well-versed in scientific knowledge as our friend the professor here.’ With a derisive movement of his head, he gestured to his red-faced predecessor on the podium, who was backing away now, the remnants of his speech clutched against his chest. ‘I am no scientist. I am just a simple entrepreneur who has made it his business to own as large a portion of the world as possible.’

  Chuckles rose up from the crowd. They thought he was cracking a joke. I knew better.

  ‘My name,’ he continued, cutting through the chuckles like a sword through silk, ‘is Mister Rikkard Ambrose.’

  The chuckles died abruptly. Eyes widened, mouths dropped open. Some people took a step backward. Aghast, I watched as he transformed the crowd. It was obvious he was far better known and his wealth far more legendary than I had imagined. They all knew of him. He had hardly had to say a word, and already he had them in his hands. A mountain of money combined with his magnetic and menacing presence was all that was needed.

  ‘So far,’ he told his loyal audience when he was sure his words had taken their full effect, ‘I have met with not inconsiderable success in this venture to enlarge my power. And that is what I am going to talk to you about today, my lords, ladies and gentlemen: success and power. Trust me, I am an expert on the subject.’

  He let his cold gaze wander across the crowd, at last fixing it on Patsy as if daring her to contradict this. She did not.

  ‘I would be the last one to deny, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, that if women and men were equal, they would deserve equal rights.’

  There were gasps from the crowd. Patsy grinned.

  Abruptly, he held up a single finger. ‘However…’

  Her grin vanished.

  ‘However, this is not the case. Women are weaker than men.’

  My hands, which had relaxed a little up to this point, formed fists again. They ached to find a target to practise on, and the lean, black-clad man at the front of the podium looked deliciously tempting. His cold, gorgeous face seemed to be downright begging to be punched!

  ‘Wonderful,’ that slug, Cartwright, murmured beside me. ‘See how he commands the audience? Simply wonderful! Did you know your employer was such an accomplished orator, Mr Linton?’

  ‘No,’ I managed to get out between my grinding teeth. ‘Usually he’s rather terse. This seems to be… a special occasion.’

  ‘I see. Well, if I should not get the opportunity, please do give him my thanks for exerting himself for our sake.’

  ‘I will, Mr Cartwright. And don't worry, I won’t hold back my feelings on the subject.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘You may now justly ask - how do I know this?’ Mr Ambrose called, pointing at the audience. He seemed to be reading the question out of their eyes. ‘How do I know of women’s weakness? Have I scientific evidence?’

  He gave a derisive snort and swept his arm around in one large gesture, including all around him.

  ‘I say to you, lords, ladies and gentlemen, that all I need is the evidence of my own eyes! Do you see any women as prime ministers? As generals of our army? As admirals of our navy? As leading
entrepreneurs in our country’s industry? No! Women have not been fighting and working alongside men for hundreds, for thousands of years. Why then, I ask you, should they be granted that equality right now, only because they are seized by a sudden fancy?’

  The men in the crowd were muttering their assent. Women were lowering their eyes demurely, as if afraid to meet his cold, implacable gaze. I could hardly believe it! Even Flora and Eve had cast their eyes down. Only Patsy was still staring at him, the expression of hate on her face the second most intense one in all of London.

  Guess whose was first?

  Yeah. You guessed right.

  If my hate had been fire, Mr Ambrose would have been a smouldering pile of ashes by now. Women are weak? So that was what he thought of me? That was why he was trying to get rid of me? After all I had done, all the effort I had put into convincing him that I was loyal, trustworthy and reliable, he still saw me as a weakling, a shadow of the man he could have working for him.

  The crowd was getting more excited now. Mr Ambrose raised his voice, and his fist along with it, hard as stone.

  ‘Women have shown us for hundreds of years that they are weaker than men, that they require protection - protection which we have given them, because they are weak and we are strong! This world is about the survival of the strong. How can we grant political rights, the rights to govern our very own nation, to the weak when our enemies would leap at the chance to exploit any weakness?’

  With a swift, cutting gesture, he brought down his fist diagonally, cutting off the mere notion of such foolishness. Even through my rage I had to admit - he was good. Infuriating and chauvinistic and exactly what I despised in every other possible way - but he was good at what he did.

  ‘I tell you, we cannot afford it! And I tell you that in all my travels around all the colonies of the great British Empire and beyond, I have never encountered a woman who would deserve to be called strong, who would deserve to be called my equal!’

  It was then that Patsy decided she had had enough. She stepped forward, holding up her 'VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!' sign like a shield.