Suffragette in the City (5 page)

“Oh, well, there are many reasons.”

“Please enlighten us, Miss Whitney,” a deep voice spoke behind me. I tensed as Griffin moved to sit across from his sister. “I am always delighted to hear of charitable causes, and yours seems a most needy one.”

A blush heated its way up my neck. “Charitable cause? We are not a charity, Mr. St. John. The Women’s Suffrage Union represents women everywhere who have been denied their rights too long. Needy, I will grant you, but a charity? No.”

His smile mocked me. “Perhaps you will explain to us the difference?”

I raised my chin and gave him the loftiest of looks. “We are needy because throughout history women have been the backbone that has held the family together. No, you cannot deny it.” I shook my finger at him as he opened his mouth to protest. “For centuries women have had the responsibility of raising children; if we have the right to mold children into upstanding, moral adults, why should we not have the right to influence public morals as well? Why should women be allowed to sit on a parish council, but not a county council?”

“Your question is based on the assumption that women have the ability to form a correct opinion on matters outside their expertise: their homes, children, education—” Griffin scowled as he spoke.

“And
your
opinion is based on the idea that women are unable to do almost everything a man can do. Given the experience, a woman can hold any job—”

“Bah!” he rumbled, pounding his fist on his leg for emphasis. “Women solicitors, women overseers, even lady doctors are now a common sight! Why your sex feels it necessary to join every profession they can, rather than do what they are most suited for, is beyond me—”

It was my turn to interrupt. I sent a reassuring smile to my aunt, who was beginning to look concerned at the heated manner of our discussion, then turned my attention with pleasure to my opponent. “Why is it that men call women weak and inferior, and yet when we want to have an occupation or acquire an education, you deny us those rights?”

“The issue is moot—women
are
allowed to vote, but on matters they are familiar with, such as health, education, and welfare.” His voice was angry, but his attitude was one of studied indifference.

I put down my teacup firmly upon the round table in front of me.

“We are allowed to vote in municipal and county elections, yes. If, according to you and other misguided males of your ilk, women are incapable of making lucid decisions regarding anything outside of the home, why are we allowed to vote at all? I will tell you why! Because we have proven that, given access to education and free citizenship, women make decisions that are just as informed as their male counterparts.”

He snorted indignantly. “Women are free to become educated—attend Cambridge and Oxford. What more do you want?”

“Free to attend Cambridge and Oxford, certainly, but not free to acquire a degree. My dearest friend Emma is by common consent a noted scholar in Greek works. And yet why should she not be recognized for her detailed and meticulous research into the works of the poet Sappho, while men are free to do so?”

Griffin
looked startled for a moment, and shot Emma a quick glance. She murmured something to the Senora and rose, heading for us, no doubt to caution me against further argument.

“Why is it right that the female students such as her, who do work as good, or better, than the male students, should not be given the same reward?” I asked before she could reach us.

Griffin
’s amber eyes turned dark with emotion. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was enjoying the argument as much as I was. “I have seen a great deal of the world, Miss Whitney, and can tell you one result of educating women and releasing them upon the unwitting public. Not content to inflict themselves upon their own countrymen, hordes of
educated
British women trample every spot dear to man. From the ancient Greek ruins to the jungles of the Amazon you’ll find them, waving their nationality and gender as a passport that will open every door. Even in the wilds of Katmandu are not sacred, for there your educated sisters can be seen, clutching their cups of tea and shoving their idea of civility down the throats of the natives.”

Emma reached me, a cautioning hand on my arm as I stood up and gripped the table. “Why are men allowed to force their political ideas upon citizens of other countries, but when women try to bring much needed education and welfare to those who need the aid, we are damned for meddling in native affairs?”

“Cassandra, perhaps you wish to moderate your voice,” Emma murmured.

“I will not be silenced! This is the very thing we are fighting, Emma! Misinformation is our enemy. It is our duty to educate where we can.” Griffin ignored her and frowned at me in an intimidating manner, opening his mouth to refute my questions, but I would not be stopped. “Do you think your sex is the only one that has the right to experience the wonders and splendor the world has to offer? Women do not want to be pandered to, nor do we intend to be pacified with token examples of freedom such as you have mentioned. We expect, nay,
demand
the same rights as men!”

My aunt desperately tried to catch my eye, but I was too infuriated to care. To think that this wretched man, whom I had briefly thought so charming, so attractive, so interesting that I was considering offering him the position of my lover, should turn out to be just as stodgy and backwards-thinking as others of his sex.

“The only reason the average Englishwoman wants to travel is to show the world that she is capable of doing so.” Griffin stood to face me across the table. “She cares nothing about seeing the ‘wonders and splendor’ of the world, as you put it, except to tick them off on her Baedeker’s list of sights to see.”

Helena
made a squeak of distress, and rose to stand beside him. “Griffin, there is no need to yell—”

 “I am delighted to know you are such an expert on women’s feelings and thoughts. Perhaps you will write a book about
that
, as well!”

The retort made him tighten his lips. We glared at each other across the table, and despite my anger, I found myself enjoying the confrontation. He was so maddening, so frustrating, and I just knew in my bones that his derriere would be such that it would hold my interest for many years, and yet…

“Perhaps I will. I’ve found that it doesn’t take much to understand the minds of women.”

“No doubt because our minds are beyond your level of understanding.”

“If that’s true,” he growled, “it’s because there’s no sense or logic in the feminine mind. Women are not able to discuss subjects of importance in any reasonable manner without bringing emotions into the issue.”

“You are the most insulting, insufferable, misinformed man I have ever met!” I pounded the table in front of me.

“Cassandra!” Emma grabbed my arm and pulled me back a few steps. Caroline stared at me in stark horror.

“You are the most obstinate, stubborn,
emotional
woman I have met, and I’ve met several of your kind!” he roared back at me.

“Griffin!” Helena’s face was as shocked as my aunt’s.

Emma’s tone was level, but the restraining hand she placed on my arm gripped firmly. “I urge you to moderate your voice. I understand your wish to educate, but there is no need to yell at Mr. St. John.” She turned to him, and smiled endearingly. “I’m sure you will forgive my friend her passion; she feels things so strongly that sometimes she forgets herself.”

“You need not make excuses for me,” I said stiffly, rubbing hands that were stiff with strain.

Griffin
stepped back as well. “As a matter of fact, I believe passion is an admirable quality in a woman. However, I am to blame for being the cause of the argument. My apologies.”

He smiled at Emma, and turned to his sister. In the heat of our argument I had forgotten her. Stood next to Griffin, as flushed as if she had been in battle. Her eyes sparkled with a strong emotion as she gazed at us. Griffin held out his hand to her, but she ignored it; instead she leaped forward to grasp my hand, pressing it dramatically as he turned away.

“I so admire you! You have such fire! Such spirit! Does she not, Miss Debenham?”

“Very much,” Emma agreed, and with another little smile, returned to the Spanish opera singer.

I was taken aback by Helena’s candor, but thanked her regardless.

“You are very brave to talk so to Griffin. No one speaks to him like that!”

“I rather wonder he allows women to speak in his august presence at all, given his attitude towards our gender,” I said, loud enough to ensure he heard. His back twitched under the tweed cloth of his coat as he spoke to my aunt.

“Oh, it’s not that at all. You see—”

“Helena!” A shrill voice cut through her comments. “You will stop your discussion with Miss Whitney this instant. We are leaving.”

Caroline flustered her way over to where Lady Sherringham maintained a regal and disdaining attitude by the door, a subdued Freddy next to her. Lady Sherringham glared at me for several seconds, then took her leave of my aunt. I felt wholly ashamed of myself. Caroline had particularly asked that Freddy and I be pleasant to the countess for our uncle’s sake, and what must I do but enter into a screaming match with his infuriating, arousing brother. No doubt I ruined any chance of the earl’s offering to sponsor to the bill Uncle Henry supported.

“I meant what I said, you know. Passion is a trait I believe should be nurtured rather than stifled.”

I lifted my gaze to the wary amber one waiting for me. His expression was somber, and in the depths of those incredible eyes, I beheld mingled exasperation and anger. But as I held his gaze and refused to look away, the anger faded and he gave me a long, questioning look.

“But not, perhaps, as cherished as restraint?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He bowed slightly and, as he walked past me towards the door, paused briefly to slip a heavy white object into my hand. He shook hands with my aunt and the others, then left with his ladies.

I looked dully at the square white object resting against my palm, then tucked it away in my pocket. With one hand on my burning cheek, I shut my eyes as my aunt, in passing, asked softly, “What were you thinking, Cassandra?”

Chapter Five

“Clearly the man suffers from poor reasoning and a lack of self control. Is that my blue shirtwaist?”

“No, miss, it’s your old flannel petticoat.”

“Oh. Put it on the governess stack. I am more than a bit at a loss why I should be so…oh, well, let us be honest and use the word…
captivated
by such a thoroughly exasperating, frustrating man. What on earth is that?”

“I think it’s your old bicycle suit.”

I sat back on my heels and wrinkled my nose at the blue worsted suit Annie held up. “Into the governess stack. I much prefer the bloomers. Where was I?”

“You were saying that you were captivated by Mr. St. John.”

“Yes, but it’s an
understandable
captivation. You can add those boots, too, they make my feet look huge. After all, I have had a very quiet upbringing, excluding my father’s rages, of course, but I am quite sure it was my sedate life in the country rather than any
personal
attraction that has made Mr. St. John seem so invigorating. A fine derriere notwithstanding, there is much to be said for a man who holds the same beliefs as you.”

“What about this dressing gown?”

“Is it the one with the gold braid?” I asked, my head in the lower part of the wardrobe where I was trying to extract a recalcitrant dancing slipper.

“Yes.”

“Governess stack.” I pulled my head out and frowned at the dancing slipper. “What on earth would possess me to purchase slippers with pink fairies painted on the toes?”

“Whimsy?”

“Do I strike you as a pink fairy sort of person?”

Annie giggled. “No, miss.”

“Hmm.” I handed the horrible things to her. “I must have been deranged or intoxicated when I bought them. As for yesterday, I honestly believe that a good part of the enjoyment I experienced was due to the utter disregard Mr. St. John felt toward societal norms. No polite gentleman would allow himself to enter into a public shouting match with a woman. After the innuendoes and polite manners common to London society, I have to admit I found it refreshing to converse with someone who spoke as he thought.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I am an imminently sensible person. And then there is the matter of the padlock.”

“What padlock?”

“The one I had dropped with that repulsive chain. He returned the padlock to me. Good god, what was I thinking buying mustard-colored stockings? Governess them! What is it, Mullin?”

My sister’s butler, a stately if somewhat diminutive man, looked horrified at the clothing strew with wanton disregard around the room. “Lady Helena St. John to see you, miss.”

“Really? How curious. You know what I don’t wear, Annie—separate those things out and pack them up for the unemployed governesses.”

I brushed off my knees and hurried down to the drawing room. Helena sat on a particularly slippery horsehair loveseat, clad in a lovely peach-colored watered silk day dress cut in the latest fashion. My mouth watered at the sight of it.

As I entered the room, she twisted matching peach-colored gloves, too distracted to notice the destruction she inflicted, jumping up when she saw me.

“Lady Helena, how delightful to see you again. Is Lady Sherringham with you?”

“Oh no,” she gasped, horrified. “Letitia thinks I’m at a fitting. She would not be—that is, she would not approve—” She stopped, blushed, and started again. “Forgive me for visiting you this way, Miss Whitney, but I simply must speak with you.”

I smiled encouragingly, and waved her back towards the couch. “In what way may I help you?” 

“It is I who wish to help,” she declared dramatically, one hand to her bosom, the other outstretched. “Miss Whitney, I would very much like to join the Women’s Suffrage Union, and to fight for the rights of women everywhere. I applaud the way you stood up to Griffin yesterday—it was magnificent! You are the very epitome of the New Woman, and oh, how I wish I could be as well. I would never dare to speak in such a manner to Griffin as you did. He gets so angry about those sorts of things.”

“Indeed,” I said dryly. I liked her; she was rather shy and prone to dramatic attitudes and phrases, but it was clear that she harbored a strong desire to get out from under her family’s stifling control. “It is not my place to advise you how to speak with your brother, but I will admit that it’s my heartfelt belief that one should be free to express one’s opinion in one’s own home.”

“Oh, I agree, I absolutely agree. Tell me what I must do, I beg of you. I look to you for advice, for I have no one else to whom I can turn.”

Another dramatic speech
, I smiled to myself. “You understand that I am in an awkward position with regards to your family. I cannot tell you what to do, nor is it my wish to cause friction at home.”

“But you spoke so bravely to Griffin yesterday! You stood up to him and made him respect you!” She looked down at her hands for a moment. “I would like to be able to speak so openly and make him respect me as well.”

“You are his sister—of course he respects you!”

“Not in the manner he does you,” she replied with a faint smile.

“Oh, come now, Lady Helena, I don’t believe in false compliments. Although you believe I spoke with bravery yesterday, it was, in hindsight, an error to speak so rudely at a polite gathering, and for my part, I am ashamed of how things got out of hand.”

“But you shouldn’t be! Ashamed, that is. Griffin admires you very much, he told me so.”

I blinked at her in disbelief.

“You have to understand, Miss Whitney, he is a very strong man, and despite his protests, he has the greatest respect for a woman who can stand up to him.”

“He has an extremely odd manner of showing his respect.”

She caught the tone of sarcasm in my voice and let a slight smile play across her lips. “I believe you are similarly minded, Miss Whitney. I doubt if you tolerate well those of weak intellect.”

There being no need to deny to that, I rose and pressed the bell. “Would you care for coffee? Or perhaps you would prefer tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” She looked at her gloves for a moment, then spoke again. “You were so eloquent about the Women’s Suffrage Union last night; I wonder…would it be possible—would you take me to one of their meetings? I would like to join their cause, but I would be afraid to go on my own. If I could attend with you, I would feel much more comfortable about participating.”

I admit I was surprised, but equally delighted. Here was a woman who was very much under the thumb of a pair of tyrannical brothers and a cold sister-in-law, and yet she was willing to fight to have her own voice. A pleasurable picture arose in my mind of the two of us, side-by-side, marching in sisterhood for women’s rights, waving our banners and breaking down the wall of male domination. There was only one blot in such a heartwarming image.

Her family.

“There is a meeting tonight at the home of one of the officers, Mrs. Knox,” I mused out loud. “Although not strictly a membership meeting, I don’t see what objections they could have to your attending it. What of your family? Surely they will pose objections? I am afraid that I have not made the . . . er . . . very best of impressions with them, and we both know how Mr. St. John feels about women’s suffrage.”

“Your introduction may have been slightly unorthodox, but you have made quite an impression with Griffin.”  She paused. “I will admit that he does not support women’s rights, but I have determined to not let that stand in my way. I don’t believe Griffin will have any objections to my attending meetings in your company.”

“That astonishes me greatly, I must confess. While I have known your brother only a short time, I’m afraid the impression he has left upon me is one of boorishness and a closed mind.” Wrapped up in an incredibly attractive package, but I needn’t tell her of the more lustful of my thoughts. “I fear you are in for more dissension than you are allowing.”

Helena
looked shocked, and made an exclamation. I halted her by saying, “Forgive me for speaking so rudely, but Mr. St. John’s opinions are exactly those against which we are struggling! If you wish to take a part in this glorious battle, you must be prepared to face such beliefs, and to do your best to educate those ignorant minds, as I have strived to do.”

“But,” she stammered, “that is not at all what he was saying last night, at home—he is not at all like that—”

I cut short her protestations. “I will give you some literature that states the Women’s Suffrage Union views, which you may use as a verbal sword when attacked by those of weaker intellect.”

“I suppose that would help…”

I rose and gathered a collection of pamphlets from the desk. The tea arrived, and as I handed Helena a cup, I motioned towards the pamphlets.

“Take these home with you. I feel firmly that your family will oppose you attending the Union’s meetings, but since you are determined . . . .”  My eyebrows rose questioningly.

She nodded. “There is one thing I should tell you, Miss Whitney. It is about my brother.”

“Something more?”

“No, it is about my older brother, Lord Sherringham.”  She paused, and clasped her hands in distress. “He has very different opinions than ours, as you might have noticed.”

I remembered with clarity his rude comments outside of the Hospital Ball.

“I should warn you that he has taken a stand against suffrage in the House of Lords, and is considered one of the leading proponents against our noble cause.”

I mentally groaned. Oh, I had put myself in a fine position—mentor to the only sister of the enemy camp’s leading supporter. Swallowing my concern, I smiled grimly at her. “We certainly have our work cut out for us, do we not?”

 “I look forward to joining the Women’s Union tonight, and declaring myself in the war against men.”

“It’s not quite a war,” I cautioned, disliking her to believe that violence was a part of Union work. “Nor is it really a Union meeting tonight. I don’t want you to be disappointed—the recording secretary is ill, and I will be taking notes of a meeting between a few of the officers only. They will be discussing the roster of active suffragists, and beginning to plan the demonstrations that we will hold in the coming months. It’s bound to be a bit tedious. Are you sure you want to come?”

“Very much so. We are to go to dinner at a distant cousin’s, but I am sure I can get out of it.” She looked up at me with sudden humor. “I believe I shall have a headache, and retire early to my bed.”

We agreed that Helena would meet me at my sister’s home, and from here we would drive to the meeting at Mrs. Knox’s house near the British Museum. After a few more pleasantries and another cup of tea, Helena departed. I went back to the task of sorting out clothes for charity, and spent the rest of the day in fittings for several new dresses.

As I tried on the garments, I reveled in the feminine pleasure of purchasing an entirely new wardrobe. Prior to my father’s death some two months past, I was allowed little scope with regards to anything but the most mundane of fashions. Once I arrived in London, however, I was driven by the desire to appear, if not in the latest fashions, at the least somewhat fashionably dressed. I could only conclude that the giddy joy of ordering as many clothes as I desired had led me to the regrettable purchase of the pink fairy dancing slippers.

“I’ll take three of the lawn shirtwaists, and two of the tweed walking skirts—one navy, one brown—and I’d like to look at walking suits. Those are the ones with narrower skirts and the cunning matching jackets, yes? Those should be perfect for any marches I participate in.”