The message was clear: These are reasonable, rational men. Why should they not vote?
He very assiduously did not think of Jane in those moments. He didn’t want to contrast her with the pallid, smiling wives he encountered, women who never made a single faux pas, who would blush if they heard the word “fuchsine,” and would certainly never don a glove of that color, let alone a gown.
He smiled instead. And when those women mentioned their unmarried sisters or cousins or nieces, he smiled again, this time a little more distantly, and tried not to call to mind brilliant colors.
By the time March rolled around, Oliver had stopped telling himself he wasn’t thinking of Jane. It didn’t matter whether he was thinking of her or not; she wasn’t here, she was still impossible, and he was unlikely to ever see her again. If he found himself still a little enamored of her memory, it was hardly worth moping about. Not when there was so much to do. Dinners gave way to arguments. Bills were drafted; bills were rejected. He wrote a series of articles for a London paper, on the subject of the representation of the people, that was well-received; he wondered, idly, if Jane had read them and what she had thought of them.
At the end of April, the men Oliver was working with took him aside and asked him when he was planning on running for Parliament. When, not if. He had their support, they assured him. He nodded calmly and spoke very little. He let them tell him the things he had always known—that he was levelheaded, intelligent, articulate, that he had ties to the nobility and ties to the working class. He let them tell him that he was exactly the sort of man who should be joining them. He let them tell him that he would succeed, while inside he was dancing a jig.
The future he’d envisioned so long ago was opening wide.
Then they told him that all he needed to complete the picture was domestic felicity. That, he passed over somewhat.
Oliver went home that night and shared a bottle of port with his brother, trading jokes back and forth until he got a little tipsy. They drank until Minnie, his sister-in-law, came downstairs. She smiled and shook her head at them, and then escorted her husband to bed.
She left Oliver behind to contemplate the fruition of all his dreams.
Once the port and his brother had deserted him, the euphoria drifted away.
All he needed was domestic felicity. A pleasant girl, someone who would smooth his way. There were hundreds of women who would do. Surely, one of them would eclipse Jane. He just had to meet her.
He wasn’t in love with Jane, after all. He just admired her spirit. That was it. He poured himself another half glass of port, all by himself in the darkness.
Well, perhaps it was more than her spirit. He admired her intelligence. The way that she’d walk into a room and immediately determine who was in charge and how best to alienate him. He wanted a wife just like that—except, of course, she’d have to do the opposite of alienation. Someone just like Jane, he mused. That’s who he wanted. Just like Jane, but completely opposite. He finished off the port in his glass.
It was more than her spirit and intelligence he admired. Because there was her body. There was definitely her body.
At this point, he was too steeped in liquor to rouse any real physical ardor, no matter how heated his thoughts. That was a good thing, because once he’d started to think of her body—of the generous swell of her breasts, the soft curves of her hips—it was rather difficult to stop thinking of what he’d like to do with her.
He hadn’t touched her enough. Not nearly enough. His thoughts turned wild, then, and even though the port had rendered him unable to do anything about it, he thought of it all—of the slide of his hard member into soft, willing female flesh, at the noise she would make when he did it. He wanted until he was half mad with drunken lust.
Yes, he whispered to himself as he stumbled up the stairs to his room. Jane was exactly the sort of woman he wanted. Someone exactly like Jane, but totally opposite. It was a good thing he wasn’t in love with her or it might be difficult to find that other woman.
He had a terrible headache the day afterward, and he couldn’t quite decide if it was caused by the liquor or the dissonant irrationality he’d indulged in.
In any event, he had no time to consider the question. Parliament still had come to no agreement, and the Reform League promised to hold a demonstration in Hyde Park. Not just a few hundred men, either; they were talking about having everyone available show up. The government, fearing the inevitable unrest and violence that would be associated with such a gathering, had promised to arrest anyone who attended. Neither group would back down. Plans were made in London to initiate special constables just to handle the rabble.
May arrived, and people began to come for the demonstration. Not one or two or even five thousand of them, but tens of thousands.
Members of Parliament who had refused to consider some type of reform now grew uneasy with the threat of that crowd hanging over their heads. The papers contained reports from the police, detailing the number of guards that would be needed to stop such a gathering. Someone pointed out that there weren’t that many constables to be found in all of England, that deadly force would be necessary to stop the crowd.
Oliver refused to be distracted by thoughts of a distant woman when so much else was at stake.
The evening before the planned rally, he sat with Minnie and Robert and read report after report—reports of meetings, of inns full to bursting, of courts convened for the sole purpose of commissioning special constables.
Matters were going to be ugly on the morrow.
He slept fitfully and was awoken at dawn by a knock on his door. When he answered it blearily, though, it was not his brother with news of violence already started.
It was a footman with an urgent telegram.
Oliver was still half asleep, and his dreaming mind ran away with him. A strange certainty leapt up in him. It was from Jane. She needed him. He’d go to her. He’d have to marry her after all, to save her from some horrible, unknown fate.
Never mind London. Never mind impossibility. Never mind the wreckage that would make of his life.
He rubbed his eyes, found his spectacles, and focused on the message.
It wasn’t from Jane—of course it wasn’t from Jane. He refused to be disappointed that his life wasn’t in shambles. It was from his mother.
FREE GONE
PLANS TO ATTEND DEMONSTRATION PROTESTING FAILURE TO INCLUDE WOMEN IN VOTING REFORM
FIND HER
His sleepy, half-sexual imaginings vanished, and he reread the telegram once again, this time with dawning horror. Then he called for schedules and cursed. The mail train would have arrived at Euston Station a few hours ago.
Free was already here, alone in London. She was going to an illegal demonstration alongside several hundred thousand angry men, men who would be pitted against half-trained constables who were crazed with fear at the thought of the mob. And—knowing Free—she was going to tell all those men that she wanted the right to vote, and they’d better give it to her.
“Holy mother of God,” Oliver swore.
His sister was going to get herself killed.
Chapter Seventeen
On today of all days, Oliver had expected to see constables on patrol, monitoring every street corner. But when he stepped out onto the street, there was no sign of the special constables that had been so much discussed over the past days. In fact, there was no sign of police presence whatsoever.
Instead, there were hundreds milling about the streets. The crowds grew thicker as he came closer to Hyde Park. It was there that he saw the first constables of the day: A lethargic pair had stationed themselves at the park gates. They made no attempt to stop the throngs from streaming into the park; in fact, one of them was congratulating people as they entered. They appeared to be making a half-hearted effort to stop costermongers from profiting off the event—and even then, as Oliver watched, a pie-seller slipped by, handing over a pasty as silent payment.
How they would have filtered out the elements intent on demonstration, Oliver didn’t know. A group of ladies had come up on horses to watch the festivities; they were seated with gentlemen nearby, with servants pouring wine and passing out little cakes. He’d heard someone say the other night that if there was going to be a clash between the Reform League and the police, they intended to have a front row seat. He’d assumed it had been a joke, but apparently, it had been honestly meant stupidity.
Hyde Park looked more like the scene of a carnival than a pitched battle. There were already thousands of people present. How was he to find Free in this throng?
He wandered around the park in confusion, hoping that nobody would take it amiss if he stared, and then realized that he was one of thousands of gawkers. Nobody cared about him.
He’d feared that matters would get ugly. He knew only too well that a throng this large could turn vicious all too quickly. But thus far, the complete absence of blue-uniformed officers had made the event festive. The promised clash between the event organizers and the government looked unlikely to materialize, and the relief left everyone giddy.
When the members of the Reform League began to appear, they were cheered as if they were heroes returning from battle. They came in groups, waved at the crowds, and led people in chants. As soon as Oliver had a chance, he started asking questions. “Pardon me,” he said. “Have you seen a woman talking about universal suffrage?”
This got him an odd look. “Of course I have,” one man said. “I see one regularly. I’m married to her.”
The next man made a face at the notion of universal suffrage and shook his head, refusing to answer.
By the time he’d talked to the third fellow, he’d perfected his technique. “Is there by chance a group of women advocating universal suffrage here?”
“You’ll want to go over to where Higgins is speaking,” a man said, indicating a distant quadrant of the park.
He made his way over to the indicated place. It was on the other side of the Serpentine, hidden by a cluster of trees, and it took him three-quarters of an hour to make his way through the crowds. Thankfully, he hadn’t been misled. There were shouts here agitating for the vote for all, not just for working men.
When he broke through the crowd, he saw a large group of women. They were clustered thickly together, arms joined. There, right in the middle of them—
For the first time since he’d awoken that morning, Oliver felt a deep sense of relief. He strode forward. “Free!”
Before he could reach her, a wall of women intervened, arms linked. They glared at him. A dark-haired lady of forty narrowed eyes at him and wagged her finger in his direction.
“None of that,” she said sharply. “There’s no men beyond this point.”
“I was just—” He gestured. “I just wanted to talk to her. To Frederica Marshall.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Free!” Oliver called.
“Stop it, now.” The two women nearest him took a step forward, eyes glinting in menace.
“Free!” he said again, waving more desperately.
“Off with you,” one of them said. “Or must we ask someone to remove you?”
“No, wait, I just—”
It was at that moment that Free turned.
“Wait!” Free called. She dropped the arms of the women next to her and came over. “Don’t send him off,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
“So?” The dark-haired woman looked unimpressed. “You wouldn’t want to know what my brother’s been willing to do.”
“He won’t harm me,” she said. “He’s just being ridiculous and protective. Give me a few moments and I’ll make him stand down.”
Oliver snorted, but when the women in front of him looked at him with narrowed eyes, he raised his hands. “She’s right,” he said. “I only want her to be safe.”
The women exchanged glances—but then with a shrug of their shoulders, they unlinked their arms. Free stepped between them and linked her arms with theirs.
“Oliver,” she said, in a tone of disgust. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”
He stared at her in disbelief. She always did this to him—made him feel that his world was upside down and backward. “What am I doing here?” He looked around. “It’s not safe? I’m not a girl of sixteen, Free. I didn’t sneak out of my home in the middle of the night, all alone, to make my way to London.”
“Yes,” Free said. “I want to know what you are doing here. You likely left your home in the middle of the morning, and I don’t see you with a chaperone.”
“This isn’t about me.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s about your coming to the most dangerous place in all of England, one where violence is threatened.”
She cocked her head and looked around. “Oh,” she said slowly. “Violence. I see.” She raised her eyebrow at a street-seller hawking his wares directly behind them. “What’s he going to do, hurl pies at me?”
“Besides,” Oliver said, ignoring this inconvenient aspect of reality, “you’re sixteen. I can’t believe you took the train alone.”
“You keep using the word alone,” Free said. “But you told me once that I should seek answers before arriving at conclusions. Mary Hartwell drove me in her father’s cart to the station. We took the train together. And because we’d communicated our intention to participate to the women’s chapter of the Reform League, we were met at the station. I’ve never been alone, not once.” She jiggled her arms. “Do I look alone?”
“Yes, well, but still…” He glanced to her side, at the dark-haired woman who was pretending not to listen to their conversation, and then to the other side where the blonde was openly grinning.
“From four in the morning until six, I’ve been with this group,” Free explained. “We discussed the practicalities of the rally. Women may not be as strong as men, but we can be formidable in number.”
“I have to admit that your friends make an effective barrier. Still, there was some risk—”
“We had procedures,” Free said. “We discussed them this morning. Every one has two women watching out for her, and watches out for two other women in turn. That way, we know everyone’s safe at all times. We don’t wander off. We don’t let anyone into the perimeter.” She cast Oliver a hard glance. “If one of us is arrested, we’ve all committed to being taken to the station.”
“Free.” He rubbed his eyes.
“Anna Marie Higgins—she’s the lady over there in the sailor hat—she’s been taken to the station thirteen times already.” Oliver glanced to his right.
Miss Higgins didn’t look like a hardened suffragette. She was dressed in a lovely, fashionable sky-blue dress. She’d topped this off with a sailor’s hat, one that she’d adorned with bright blue ribbons that waved in the breeze.
A passing man raised his fist in the air. “Votes for all!” he said.
Miss Higgins blew him a kiss.
Oliver shook his head and turned away. “I’m not sure that you should admire a woman whose main recommendation is that she’s managed to garner a baker’s dozen of arrests.”
“Who else am I supposed to admire?” Free asked. “You? You’re here lecturing me on how my behavior was unsafe, but I took greater pains to secure my safety than you did. You’re a duke’s son in the midst of a potentially hostile mob. For God’s sake, they’re playing the Marseillaise over there. Who knows what could happen to you?”
“That’s ridiculous!” Oliver said hotly. “I only came to find you. Don’t turn this around to be about me. I don’t care what safeguards you took; it’s still dangerous. This is risky. Even if it turns out that nothing goes amiss, this could have been a violent mob.”
Free refused to be ruffled. “You appear to believe it’s acceptable to risk that danger to come and, uh…rescue me.” She rolled her eyes. “I believe it’s acceptable to risk that danger to come and say that women deserve the vote. Why is your risk gallant and mine foolish???
?
“Damn it, Free. This isn’t the time to chop logic. We need to get you out of here.”
Free only smiled. “Oh, that’s so lovely. When I induce you to swear, it’s because I’ve argued you to a standstill. Cut line, Oliver. You know I’m right even if you refuse to admit it. And stop being ridiculous; I’m not leaving. If the crowd turns to violence, I’m safer surrounded by a hundred women who have discussed the finer points of safety than I would be all alone with you. What would you do if we were attacked by a mob?”
“I would—” He paused.
“You would be ripped limb from limb.” She gave him a beatific smile, completely at odds with her words. “Don’t worry, big brother. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Damn it, Free,” he repeated.
She laughed and looked back to her friends. “This is my brother,” she said. “His name is Mr. Oliver Marshall. He likely won’t leave until everything is over. Where should he stay and glower?”
“You can’t cross the perimeter,” one of the women said to him. “Only women inside the circle, and I hope you can understand the reason for that. But my brother is standing against that tree there, watching out for us in case anything goes wrong. If you’d like to go join him, you’d be welcome.”
Oliver shook his head at his sister, and she grinned at him. “Enjoy yourself, Oliver. The Reform League has promised Miss Higgins the chance to speak, and I’m sure you’ll love what she has to say.”
There wasn’t much to say after the rally. The constables intervened only so far as to suggest that people vacate the park before dusk fell, and by then, nobody seemed to object to this suggestion.