Storm and Silence(166)

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.’