It was then that Patsy decided she had had enough. She stepped forward, holding up her 'VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!' sign like a shield.
‘Really?’ she called to him. ‘Maybe you should look over here!’
No! Here! I growled in my mind. If any girl was going to show this arrogant son of a bachelor what females were capable of, it was going to be me!
Mr Ambrose’s cold gaze met Patsy’s - and she took another step back.
‘How much money do you earn, miss?’ he asked.
Patsy blushed.
‘Well… I don't, not as such…’
‘How many battles have you fought in?’
‘Battles? But I’m a girl, I…’
She stopped, biting her lip in fury. Around her, snickers rose up from the crowd.
‘Ah.’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘So you don’t want to have to fight in wars. You just want to vote, do you? Well, since you want to vote, I’m sure you’re up-to-date on politics.’
‘I… well…’
‘Tell me, I’m curious: what is your opinion on our current political situation in regard to the French Empire?’
‘I… I don't know.’
‘Strange, for someone as interested in politics as you. Then tell me, what is our gross national income?’
‘I don’t know that either! I’m not-’
‘What about all the cabinet ministers and their political affiliations and allies in the House of Commons?’
Patsy’s hand were balled into tight fists around her sign. ‘I-don’t-know!’
With a sigh, Mr Ambrose turned from her and nodded, as if she were not even worth another look.
‘I rest my case. Think on what I have said, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, for I am not a man to repeat myself. Success comes from power, and power comes from man. It always has. It always will.’
With a curt bow, he stepped back. The crowd was muttering and nodding. His speech was unlike any other they had heard so far, I could see that just from watching them. It also was a heck of a lot more effective.
As he walked back to me, an expression of cold superiority on his face, I glared at Mr Ambrose in pure rage. How could I ever have believed I could not hate this man? Well, now he had revealed himself for what he really was. I would not make the mistake of trusting him again.
‘Wonderful! Simply wonderful!’
Stepping forward, Mr Cartwright grasped Mr Ambrose by the hand and shook it energetically, not seeming to notice that Mr Ambrose looked down at the hand clutching his as if it were the arm of a slimy squid that was smearing goo all over his black jacket.
‘You were marvellous, Mr Ambrose! I don't know how to thank you! How you put that shrew in her place… I have never seen anything like it in my life. On behalf of our little community, let me offer you our deepest thanks.’
I could almost see the letters wasted time blinking in Mr Ambrose’s cool eyes as he directed them at Mr Cartwright.
‘It was nothing,’ he said, curtly, and pulled his hand from the other’s grasp. ‘It was simply the truth.’
Just as he said this, he looked at me, and our eyes met.
Oh yes, I hated him. But if he thought that this was going to make me give up my position, he was in for a disappointment!
‘What did you think of my speech, Mr Linton?’
I did my best to keep my voice steady.
‘It was very… impressive.’
‘Indeed? Was it, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
I wouldn’t scream! I wouldn’t attack him, no matter how much I might have wanted to! And I most certainly wouldn’t leave his employment! Not because of something like this. I’d had to listen to chauvinist diatribes all my life. Maybe none quite so terrifyingly effective as his had been, but still. I had only had to stand there and listen. It wasn’t as if I had to do anything.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Mr Ambrose told me in such a low voice that only I could hear. ‘Because the fun is only just beginning.’
That didn’t sound good…
Calm, I reminded myself. You only have to listen. Just to stand still and listen.
‘Thank you for your appreciation, my dear Mr Cartwright.’ Without warning, Mr Ambrose turned back to the black-bearded man. ‘I’m very flattered that you think so much of my oratory skills - particularly since you will be in for another, similar treat today.’
Cartwright’s eyes widened.
‘You mean…’
‘Yes!’ Swift as a cobra, Mr Ambrose whirled to face me once again. ‘Now, Mr Cartwright,’ he said in a voice so cold and calculating that the devil would have been envious, ‘my trusted friend and employee Mr Victor Linton would like to say a few words on the subject.’
For a few moments, his words failed to register. Then comprehension sank in, and as the comprehension came, the colour drained from my face.
‘You can’t be serious!’ My voice was just a hoarse whisper.
‘Do I,’ he enquired, his gaze as arctic as the heart of an iceberg, ‘look like I am joking?’
I stepped closer and leant forward so Cartwright couldn’t hear us. As I spoke, there wasn’t just anger in my voice. There was desperation and pleading. But I didn’t care.
‘You… you can’t do this to me. You can’t! I won’t do it!’
‘You will, unless you want to lose your position, Mr Linton.’
Taking me by the arm, he manoeuvred me forward. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like granite. Soon I was standing at the edge of the podium, facing the crowd. Hundreds of eager faces looked up at me, expecting me to betray my most cherished beliefs.
‘Go on,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Speak. And make it memorable, if you ever wish to receive your first month’s wages.’
Hundreds of people were looking up at me expectantly. The silence stretched.
What am I going to say? What in heaven’s name am I going to say?
I opened my mouth.
And I closed it again.
And opened it again.
And closed it again.
I can’t do this. I can’t speak out against everything I believe in!
Then I heard a gasp from one of the expectant people. Instinctively, I looked in the direction of the noise and, with a nasty shock, saw who it was: Patsy. And in her eyes I saw what she saw. All the other people might see a small young man with shoulder-long hair standing on the platform, opening and closing his mouth like a suffocating goldfish. But she saw her friend, Lilly, dressed in trousers and a baggy old tailcoat, standing amongst her worst enemies.
