“We all live together, although Griffin frequently travels. He has only just returned from Arabia.”
Emma smiled and pressed her hand. “You must be delighted to have him home again.”
“Yes,” Helena hesitated. A faint frown creased her lovely brow as her gaze wandered over to the topic of our conversation. “Although of late it almost seems . . . .” She paused and turned a brilliant smile on me. “I worry so when he travels to dangerous locations.”
“I have no doubt you do,” I said. “Do you go with him?”
“Unfortunately, no. I stay at home with Letitia and Harold. I would like to travel, but Griffin refuses to take me, so I have to content myself with reading about his journeys instead.”
“Ah, you enjoy reading?” I gave Emma a smile. “Emma is quite the scholar.”
“Yes, indeed she is,” Freddy said in a slow, lazy voice. “She’s exceptionally well versed in the art of Sapphistry, aren’t you, Miss Debenham?”
Helena looked dubiously at Emma.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, shoving Freddy just hard enough that he tottered off the arm of the chair. “Emma may be a great scholar of all things Greek, but she’s no bluestocking. You needn’t feel you need to brush up on the classics to talk with her.”
“Quite the contrary, I would say,” Freddy said as he dusted himself off and wandered over to where Griffin stood.
Emma shot him a sharp look and murmured an excuse before moving over to sit next to the Senora.
“I’m afraid the only thing I ever read are the most frivolous of novels,” I said, moving over to the sofa. “Do you enjoy them, too, by chance?”
“Oh yes, whenever I get the chance. My sister-in-law,” she cast a fearful glance towards the countess, “doesn’t approve of popular novels, but I am lucky in that my brother has such a large library.”
Full of sermons and political treatises on the superiority of men, I thought sourly as I remembered the venomous stout man’s comments.
“My brother Griffin, I should say,” she smiled.
I amended the thought to include those books deemed convivial by pig-headed males. “How lucky you are. And what types of books does your brother read?”
“He enjoys many types of books, but spends much of his time writing rather than reading. Perhaps you have read his books? They are very popular and are full of the most exciting adventures. He has received a great deal of acclaim,” she added with pride.
“St. John,” I said slowly. “No, the only book by a St. John that I am aware of is a horrible little volume pontificating the superiority of men over women explorers—something about the Englishmen abroad . . . .”
I stopped as an appalling thought crossed my mind.
“The Englishman’s Role Abroad was the title,” she said, smiling to my great discomfort. “It is a very popular book, although I don’t agree with all Griffin says in it.”
I stammered an apology for my rude comments. Helena waved it away and continued. “He has written other books as well, ones about his travels which I’m certain you would enjoy.”
“I shall certainly look for them. I have always wanted to travel, but have been obligated to stay at home with my parents in the country.”
“I would be happy to lend you my copies, if you would really like to read them. He’s written seven books—the last is my favorite. It’s a journal of his travels in Africa last year.”
Her voice faltered as she looked over my shoulder, then she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Miss Whitney, might I ask you a personal question?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Last night,” she began, making me flush with remembrance, “last night you were—demonstrating with a group of women.”
I nodded.
“Can you tell me—” She threw another worried glance toward Lady Sherringham, then hurried ahead in a rushed whisper.” Would you be kind enough to tell me about the suffrage movement? I am so interested, but my brother will not let the subject be spoken of, and I do not often have the opportunity of talking about such things.”
“I would be delighted to tell you about it. The goal of the Women’s Suffrage Union is to obtain the right for women to vote.”
“Yes,” she said intently, “but why do you want to vote? Women don’t have the experience that men have in politics. I don’t wish to be rude, but I don’t see what there is to gain by being able to vote.”
I beamed at her, happy to be able to clear up her obvious misconceptions. “You must be aware of how much women have gained in the last thirty years. We may now fill a number of important positions previously denied to our sex. We can be churchwardens, sextons, members of school boards, and even members of parish councils. Unfortunately, there are many avenues still closed to us: men refuse to allow women the right to serve on a county council, stand for Member of Parliament, or to vote on the subject of imperial matters.”
“I agree with you, of course, but I cannot help but feel that my brother is partially right when he says women don’t have the experience needed to vote with intelligence.”
I wondered to which brother she was referring, then decided it was probably both. “That’s utter codswallop.”
A faint blush stained her cheeks. “I agree that it sounds silly, but I suppose I can see some reason in it. Only, why do you support women’s suffrage?”
“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 th
at 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 b
icycle 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.”
Suffragette in the City Page 4