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 cannot 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…’
‘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.’