Storm and Silence(170)

‘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.’