‘Please, Mr Linton.’ That broad smile still on his face, Mr Ambrose gestured for me to come in. ‘Please don't just stand there. Close the door behind you and sit down, please.’

A smile.

He had a smile on his face.

Rikkard Ambrose had a smile on his face. And he had said please! I tried to remember whether he had ever said please to me before, and I couldn’t recall a single instance. And now he had said it three times in a row.

Maybe I was still asleep. Maybe this was a dream and I would wake up soon.

‘Won’t you sit down, please?’ He repeated, still displaying that dazzling smile.

Don’t be a fool, Lilly! A tiger smiles too - but that’s no reason to sit down next to it!

But Mr Ambrose’s smile… It transformed his whole face. Where previously there had only been harshness, there now was splendour and magnificence. It nearly took my breath away. If I had thought he was handsome before, that was nothing compared to the sight that was now in front of me.

He gestured to a chair, again inviting me to sit.

Don’t! Don’t do it!

I was about to take a step back - when Mr Ambrose stepped towards me and, looking deep into my eyes, took my hand. At the feel of his touch, a shock shot up my arm. His touch wasn’t harsh as I had expected, nor was it gentle. It was just right. My hand lay in his as if it had been made to be there.

Listen to yourself! You sound like Ella!

‘Come,’ he ordered. Only it wasn’t the kind of order he usually gave. Not a ‘Bring my file XYZ!’ shouted in a voice like a sergeant major on mission in Antarctica. No, this time his voice was full of a darker, deeper meaning I couldn’t hope to fathom.

My feet started to move without consulting my brain.

Oh well, if this was a dream, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted. A chance to sit down in the presence of His Mightiness Mr Ambrose the Cold and Terrible might not come so quickly again, even in a dream world. I let myself be led over to one of the empty chairs in an outrageously unfeminist manner, unable to take my incredulous eyes off his smiling face. When I sat, he didn’t immediately take a seat himself, but instead just stood there, holding my hand, gazing into my eyes.

‘Are… are you quite well?’ I asked carefully. Maybe this was real after all, and he just had a touch of brain fever.

‘Yes, I’m very well, Mr Linton. Thank you very much for your concern.’

The fourth ‘thank you’ in one morning! Something was clearly wrong with him!

‘Are there no more files to go through?’ Looking around, I saw that there was nothing on his desk. The door to my office, which yesterday had been open practically all day, was firmly closed.

‘No, Mr Linton, no files today.’

He still hadn’t let go of my hand. It felt as if it were smouldering. With his thumb, he started rubbing circles on my palm, heating the delicious burn to even higher temperatures.

‘And…’ My voice sounded a little off for some reason. ‘And letters to write? Is there correspondence?’

‘No, Mr Linton. No letters, either.’

Now his other fingers had joined the fun, caressing the back of my hand in a complex pattern that played havoc with the rhythm of my heart. This sort of thing surely wasn’t part of my contract! What the hell was going on? I should wrench my hand out of his grasp and demand an apology! Yes! I definitely should!

Only… I didn’t.

‘I…’

That was all I managed. One syllable. That’s how dry my mouth was.

I cleared my throat. ‘I… I don’t…’

Yay! Two syllables!

Again I cleared my throat. ‘I don’t understand.’

An entire sentence! Yes! I did it! Thank you, God!

Still smiling, he trailed his thumb up and down between my fingers, leaving flames in its wake. How could a man as cold as he set me on fire like this? It was unfair! And certainly unfeminist! I had to get my act together!

‘Not understand, Mr Linton?’

‘No, Sir.’

That was putting it mildly. My world was doing a handstand, everything was upside down. And Mr Ambrose was still smiling at me. His teeth were brilliantly white and even, flawless like the rest of his face that seemed to be hewn out of white stone by a master artist.

‘What don't you understand?’

Letting go of my hand, he settled down comfortably in the chair beside me. Gasping with relief, I snatched my hand back and sat on it. Then, realizing that this might be construed as showing that he affected me in some way - which of course he did not! - I quickly pulled it out again and folded both hands in my lap.

‘What don’t you understand?’

A very good question. I could start with the furniture. The chairs we were sitting in hadn’t been in this office the last time, and neither had the small table around which they were arranged adjacent to one another. Whenever I had spoken to Mr Ambrose before, whether sitting or standing, I had been facing him head-on. Now I was sitting beside him.

And more importantly: we weren’t having an argument. It felt weird. Extremely weird.

‘What don’t you understand?’

‘Well…’ I hesitated. ‘Why haven’t we started to work yet? Why are we sitting here?’

And why the heck are you being so darn nice?

He shrugged. ‘Well, I thought we should talk instead of work today.’

‘Talk?’ I echoed.

‘Yes, talk.’ He sounded as if it were his favourite hobby and there was nothing strange about us sitting down for a nice chat. ‘In any working relationship, it is important to establish a friendly, comfortable atmosphere. To work efficiently together, it is indispensable to get to know and trust one another.’

I wanted to say ‘So when did you reach that epiphany? Was it before or after you hounded me like a slave runner yesterday?'

But before I could get the words out, he leant forward and stroked one long, smooth finger down my cheek. Just one finger. ‘I want to get to know you, Miss Linton. I want to get to know you much better.’

My heart stopped. I’m not joking. It literally stopped right then and there. What was I going to say again? Something snarky and not very nice. The words were suddenly gone from my mind.

He called you Miss! He called you Miss! He practically admitted you’re female! And that finger on your cheek…

I cleared my throat. Somehow it had gotten dry again already. ‘Well… I suppose you’re right.’

Cocking his head like a predator on the prowl, Mr Ambrose leant closer, almost blinding me with the shine of his smile. I could feel his breath on my cheek, right next to my finger. I had never felt anything like this before in my life - mostly because I had always stabbed a man in the gut with my parasol before he could get so close to me. But somehow I didn’t feel like doing this to Mr Ambrose.

‘So glad to hear you agree with me,’ he murmured into my ear. ‘Here, have one of these.’

Something white drifted into my line of sight. A plate of biscuits. Mr Ambrose was offering me a tray of biscuits! And by the looks of them, not cheap ones either!

This has to be a dream!

But the biscuits looked tasty, and I never said no to a tasty morsel, especially if it was sweet. Never mind that I was only dreaming it. I took one of the biscuits and carefully bit into it. It was sweet and delicious, almost as good as solid chocolate. I leant back with relish and didn’t close my eyes only because I was too busy watching Mr Ambrose. He took one biscuit for himself and, leaning back away from me, bit into it with delicious slowness. Even while leaning back, though, his posture still seemed like that of a tiger ready to spring.

‘We never really got around to having a nice chat,’ he said. ‘The start of our relationship was a little… stormy, if you recall.’

‘You mean you shouting at me a lot? Yes, I recall that.’

For a moment his smile seemed to flicker. But it was over so quickly that I wasn’t sure. I had probably just imagined it.

Lifting the rest of the biscuit to his mouth, he swallowed it whole, his eyes trained on me.

‘Ah…’ he sighed. ‘A tasty morsel.’

I felt an involuntary shiver run down my back. His voice alone was more seductively sweet than all the biscuits in the world. And from the way he looked at me, he knew that. What was going on here?

‘I’m actually not referring to the day when you first came into my office and we had our first altercation, Miss Linton. I’m talking about our very first meeting in the street. Do you remember?’ He sighed nostalgically. ‘You did me a singular service that day, Mr Linton - saving me from my own folly. And then you went into that building and later were forced out of it by two policemen. Do you remember that, too?’

I took another bite of biscuit and nodded absent-mindedly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you’re likely to forget.’

Before I could try to flee, before I could even tense or start to think, he had leant forward and taken my hand again. His fingers were trailing over mine, reigniting the fire.

‘What kind of building was it again those cads dragged you away from? A polling station?’

‘Y-yes, it was.’

‘I see. Another biscuit, Miss Linton?’

‘No, I…’

Before I could finish my sentence, he had picked up one of the biscuits from the plate and was lifting it to my mouth. The sweet little thing tickled my lips, enticing them to open. They did.

‘And?’ Mr Ambrose asked, his eyes boring into mine, his fingers still setting my hand on fire. ‘Everything to your taste?’

‘Y-yes. Very much so, Sir. Thank you.’

He lifted his hands in a deprecating gesture, and I quickly tucked my tingling hand away again. To hell with looking unfeminist, it was simple self-preservation!

‘No need to thank me.’ There was that smile again. ‘By the way… why were you at the polling station? Are you interested in politics, Mr Linton?’

I couldn’t suppress a smirk. ‘You could say that.’

Suddenly he clapped his hands together. ‘Of course! You were wearing the same attire then as you are wearing today, weren’t you? Your masculine attire. And I remember the policemen saying something about what you had attempted. I didn’t pay much attention at the time because, honestly, I was rather startled, but now I understand! You were trying to vote, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, I was.’ My smirk grew into a full-blown grin - but then it abruptly turned into a grimace. ‘Didn’t turn out that well, though.’

‘Do not be disconsolate,’ he said, leaning forward, actually having a kind expression on his face. Kind? Mr Ambrose? This dream got weirder and weirder by the second. ‘In any fight, there’s always another day. And from what I know of you, you have hardly given up.’

‘Well, you’re right about that.’

‘Is that issue something you feel passionately about? That women should be allowed to vote?’

I was touched. He really sounded interested, and his smile was so friendly… Maybe he had finally gotten over his irrational aversion to having a lady working for him. Maybe he regretted his outburst of yesterday and wanted to make it up to me. Maybe this was real after all.

‘I feel passionately about living my life as I wish to,’ I told him earnestly. ‘And I don't care for people telling me I cannot simply because I am a girl, and not a man.’

He regarded me with shrewd eyes. ‘So your quest for free will and independence - it’s not just political?’

‘Would I be sitting here if it were?’

‘I suppose not.’

His shining smile faded a little, and his eyes became more questioning. ‘Why do you do it? Why did you come here and seek work?’

Strangely, although his friendly smile was waning, he sounded even more interested than before. And so I answered: ‘I don't want to be dependent on anybody. I don't want to wear chains.’

‘You could marry,’ he suggested, touching my hand again and sending sparks all the way up my arm. ‘I’m sure that there would be many interested gentlemen.’

Not bothering to point out the unlikeness of that, I shook my head.

‘Chains of gold are still chains, Mr Ambrose. I want to decide what to do with my life.’ I hesitated, and then enquired: ‘Why are you so interested?’

Abruptly, the beaming smile was back in full force.

‘I am simply trying to get to know you a little better,’ he said, spreading his arms in a gesture of innocence. ‘I find that it is always much easier to achieve one’s aims if one knows about people.’

I had to admit, some part of me was flattered. Suddenly, I couldn’t really meet his eyes, but had to look down at the floor, abashed. He was being so… nice. I knew how to shout at nasty Mr Ambrose. I didn’t really know to say to nice Mr Ambrose who touched my hand and gave me biscuits. My eyes fell on the biscuit in my hand. It was the fifth I had consumed so far. They really were excellent.

‘And what about you, Sir?’ I asked, feeling the need to be polite and show interest in him just as he had shown in me. ‘Why do you do the things you do?’

His smile seemed to flicker once again.

‘Never mind about me,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘Here, have another biscuit. And tell me more about the efforts of the suffragists. It all sounds very interesting.’

*~*~**~*~*

I spent the easiest day at work ever. Mostly, we talked a lot, and he smiled a lot. A very, very great lot. Sometimes I ate another biscuit. He only had me write down a single appointment: a new one for tomorrow, which he said he hadn’t known about previously. I was kind of surprised he would squeeze an appointment into his timetable at such short notice, but with the brightest smile ever he told me it was very important, and I didn’t like to pry.

‘And by the way,’ he said, ‘I would like you to accompany me to this particular appointment.

I nearly dropped the appointment book.

‘But… it’s after working hours,’ I stammered.

‘Yes it is, but it’s really very important. Please? I need someone there I can rely on.’

He thought he could rely on me! And his smile was so convincing…

‘Yes, of course, Sir,’ I said, growing about two inches, a proud grin on my face. ‘I will be there.’

‘Thank you very much, Miss Linton.’ His smile almost blinded me with its brilliance. ‘I promise, it will be an unforgettable experience.’

After that, he didn’t require much more from me. It wasn’t long before he told me I could go home.

‘But it’s not time yet, Sir,’ I protested.

He waved my protest away. ‘Oh, tush! You’ve had a tiring day, and you’re going to need all your strength for tomorrow. Turn in early and catch a good night’s sleep.’

‘Well… if you say so, Sir. Thanks for your concern.’

A bit flustered, I packed up my things and left the office. Was he going to keep up this behaviour? If so, things would really change around here. I could certainly use one change for the better in my life, the way the rest of it was going.

I almost ran home. My friends and I had agreed to meet in the park for some last-minute discussion and preparation before the big event tomorrow - our plan to sabotage the efforts of those evil, diabolical chauvinists who were going to meet in Hyde Park. I had told them I might be a bit late to our meeting, but now, since Mr Ambrose had let me go early, I might be able to make it in time.

Through the back door I slipped into the garden and quickly changed from male into female outfit in the garden shed. Back on the street, I wasn’t quite as quick as before; apparently trousers were better suited to running than hoop skirts. But still I made pretty good time. I had almost reached Green Park when the realization hit me.

The big event was tomorrow - our demonstration for women’s rights. Our protest action against chauvinism. Tomorrow, after working hours. Which was exactly when I had agreed to go on a special appointment with Mr Ambrose.

Blast!

I stopped in my tracks. Blast! Blast! And blast a few more times, preferably with loud explosions! What was I going to do?

For a moment, I considered going back to the office and telling Mr Ambrose that I couldn’t go with him. But I discarded that idea quickly. He had been so friendly today, so accepting - I couldn’t just throw that in his face. I needed the work and had to do what was necessary. My friends would understand.

Will they? Oh, sure, they’d understand if they knew your reasons. Unfortunately, though, they don’t. And you can’t tell them.

I really couldn’t. Or could I?

For a moment, I considered the possibility. But immediately an image came into my mind of Eve jumping up and down excitedly, shouting ‘What, Lilly? You run around all day dressed up in trousers?’ loud enough for the entire park to hear.

I shuddered.

That image was followed by one of Flora regarding me with wide, fear-filled eyes. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if she knew what I was up to during the day! I could tell Patsy, maybe, at some later point, but there was no way of tipping her off while the others were there.

I made my decision.

Squaring my shoulders, I started off again and, soon after, had reached our little bench by the pond where we always met. The others were already there, passing around several large cardboards and chattering excitedly. Eve spotted me first and started waving like mad. The others turned and beamed at me.

‘Ah! Our general has arrived!’ Patsy proclaimed. ‘Ready to inspect your troops before our attack on the chauvinists of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland?’

‘Well, yes… but…’

‘Look here,’ Patsy continued, interrupting me. ‘We made signs! This is mine.’

She held up a large cardboard sign on which she had painted in large, bold, red letters:

VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!!

‘And this is Flora's,’ she said, holding up another sign. It read, in elegant cursive script:

Please consider granting votes to women at the earliest opportunity. Thank you.

My lips twitched.

‘I think I would have been able to tell which of you made which. Patsy…’

I swallowed. Now was the time. There was no way around it. ‘Patsy, there’s something I have to tell you all.’

‘Yes, what is it?’

‘I… I have to…’ I stopped, not knowing what to say.

The smile slowly disappeared from her face.

‘What’s wrong? Has something happened to Ella? Has that fellow Wilkins…’

‘No, no,’ I hastened to assure her. ‘It’s nothing like that. Ella is fine.’

‘What’s the matter, then? You look strange.’

I swallowed again. Why did my throat have to be so darn dry? It wasn’t like I was planning to commit a murder.

Only, it was nearly as bad. They had all looked so happy a moment ago. Now they looked at me with anxious faces. My friends - the best friends in the world. The people I was going to have to disappoint.

‘Well… not to beat around the bush… to come straight to the point… I can’t come tomorrow.’

‘I don't understand,’ Eve said, a puzzled frown on her face.

‘To the demonstration. I can’t come to the demonstration in Hyde Park tomorrow.’

‘What?’

Patsy had a sergeant major’s voice, and when she used it to full effect the result was deafening. Wincing, I took an involuntary step back.

‘Look, it wasn’t my choice. I didn’t mean to…’

‘You can’t mean that, Lilly! You can’t possibly mean that!’

She advanced on me, hands on hips, a thunderous expression on her normally so cheerful face. With relief I noted that her parasol was leaning against the bench a few yards away.

‘After all the preparation we did, all the planning we put into this? Now you want to draw in your tail and run?’

‘It’s not like that, Patsy, really. I never…’

‘And it was you who came up with the idea in the first place! I thought you were a rebel! I thought you despised oppression just as much as we do!’

‘Well,’ Flora dared to venture, ‘I don't exactly despise op-’

Patsy shot her a steely look. ‘Shut up! You’ll despise oppression if I say you despise oppression, understand?’

‘Yes, Patsy. Of course, Patsy.’

‘Look,’ I tried to reason with her. ‘It’s not like the demonstration won’t happen. I mean, you will all be there, right? Goal achieved.’

‘But you won’t.’ Eve’s voice was much more quiet than usual. She was looking at me, her eyes large, and if I wasn’t mistaken I could see a bit of moisture shimmering in them. ‘It'll feel like a defeat if you aren’t there!’

The words touched me - they more than touched me. They cut me to my very core, sharply and mercilessly.

‘I’m sorry,’ was the only thing I could think to say. ‘I’m really sorry.’

Seeing that I meant it, the moisture in Eve’s eyes spilled over. ‘You can’t do this!’

Patsy stomped over to the bench. At first I thought she was going for her parasol and retreated a few steps, but she picked up a piece of cardboard which had been leaning next to the parasol.

‘Here!’ She held out the cardboard to me. ‘That’s the sign we made for you!’

My throat felt suddenly dry. The sign read in letters even bolder than hers:

VOTES FOR WOMEN, FELLOWS… OR ELSE!

I could hardly hold back my tears. How could I desert them at a time like this? But I couldn’t do anything else.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I repeated, feeling tears sting my eyes. One of them rolled down my cheeks and fell on the sign and smeared the paint. ‘But I can’t. I simply can’t be there.’

‘Why? Is something the matter with Ella?’

‘No, not with Ella.’

‘Then what is it?’ Patsy demanded. ‘What is so terribly important that you would abandon us?’

‘I… I can’t tell you.’

It took me about two seconds to see that that had been the wrong answer.

Patsy’s eyes flashed. ‘Oh, of course. Of course you can’t tell us! Because we’re only your best friends in the world. Why would we deserve your honesty or your confidence?’

‘Patsy… It’s not like that. I…’

But it was no good. Patsy turned away from me, towards the others.

‘Come, girls,’ she said to them, her voice hard. ‘Let’s go somewhere else, where there’s no unpleasant company around.’

*~*~**~*~*

I cried myself to sleep that night. I, who never, ever cried.

Stupid, I told myself. This is not the first time people have been angry with you or argued with you. Why start crying now when you never have before?

I suppose it was that whatever trouble I had faced in the past, I always knew that I could count on my friends. Now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my friends weren’t my friends anymore. Remembering the expression on Patsy’s face as she turned away from me made my heart ache.

Sometime during the night, exhaustion must have overpowered me and pulled me into sleep, for I woke up the next morning, curled into a tight protective ball against the evils of the world. I had to force myself to get dressed and leave for work. If not for the fact that today was Mr Ambrose’s special appointment, I doubt I would have gotten up at all.

Get a move on, I ordered my lazy limbs. If you don't go to work and show up at that appointment, the fight with Patsy will have been for nothing!

Somehow, I managed to drag myself to work. Through some merciful miracle, Mr Ambrose had retained his bright smile and easy manner of the previous day. He didn’t put me through much work and didn’t seem to notice my bad mood.

As the day progressed, thoughts of Patsy slowly retreated to the back of my mind and I began to feel hopeful. It really seemed that Mr Ambrose had turned over a new leaf. He was warm and friendly towards me in a manner I wouldn’t have thought possible two days ago. I considered bringing up the matter of the search for the missing file again - I really wanted to help! But in the end I decided to wait until after his special appointment. If it went well, maybe he would be in a good mood and listen to my arguments.

‘Mr Linton?’

I looked up from the files I was sorting to see Mr Stone at the door of my office. He had a nervous look on his face, but since he looked nervous pretty much all the time, I didn’t pay too much attention to that.

‘Yes, Mr Stone? I know it’s almost closing time. I’m just putting these away and then I’ll be right out.’

‘I know, I know. That’s not why I’m here, Mr Linton. Mr Ambrose sent me to tell you that he has ordered a carriage and is awaiting you downstairs. He says the two of you are going to a special appointment this late in the day?’

My face brightened. ‘Yes, that’s right. I’ll be on my way down right away.’

‘Good. Good.’

Mr Stone didn’t leave, but hovered in the doorway. I continued putting the files away. When I was closing the box and he still hadn’t moved, I asked: ‘Is something else the matter, Mr Stone?’

‘How kind of you to ask, Mr Linton, very kind of you. Yes, there is something, indeed. I wanted to ask… did you notice anything odd about Mr Ambrose lately?’

‘Odd?’

‘Yes. I couldn’t help notice he has been behaving a bit… strangely. I thought you might have noticed it, too.’

‘Can’t say I have. In my opinion, he has been behaving like a perfectly amiable gentleman recently.’

Mr Stone cleared his throat. ‘Um… well… that is kind of what I meant by “strange”.’ His ears reddened, and I had to fight to conceal a smile.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Stone. I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.’

‘Good, good. That’s very good to hear. You’ve put my mind at rest, Mr Linton, thank you.’

With a quick bow of his head he hurried out of the room, and I left after him, crossing the hallway and starting down the stairs.

It was true, for Mr Ambrose, being well-mannered and smiling was strange. But good manners hadn’t hurt anybody - except for me getting arrested that time because I curtsied. So why not rejoice at the change? Some small part of me was beginning to hope that maybe, just maybe, I was the reason for the improvement. Maybe I had managed to get under his granite-hard skin. The thought made me feel hot and fiery inside for some reason.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Mr Ambrose greeted me when I pushed open the doors of Empire House. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling at me. A coach stood behind him - not a cab or a chaise, but a large and maybe even luxurious carriage such as many of the wealthy gentlemen of the city used to get around. I blinked in confusion. Again I got the uncanny feeling that something was going on here which I didn’t understand. Mr Ambrose couldn’t just have turned so nice by accident, could he?

‘I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,’ he told me with a small bow of his head as I came down the stairs, my steps cautious, as if approaching an unknown wild animal.

‘I’m sorry, Sir, if I took too long. I had a few files to put away and…’

‘Don’t apologize, don't apologize. After today, all these petty matters of business won’t seem like much to you, I assure you.’

What did he mean by that? That the rest of my employment would be one continuous tea party?

My bewilderment grew as he opened the door and gestured for me to get in.

‘Since when do gentlemen open doors for other gentlemen?’ I asked archly, gesturing to my male attire.

‘They do not, in general. But soon enough the perspective on what you are might shift.’

His words left me reeling. Did he mean what I thought he meant? Was he really considering to accept me as a female employee, dress and all? I hardly managed to get into the coach, my head was so full of questions. Why this sudden turnaround? How was it possible? Why now? The day before yesterday he had still been adamant about getting rid of me, adamant that I should not be involved in the investigation of the theft because this matter was too dangerous for a lady. And now… Had he changed his mind?

Somehow though, although his words seemed to indicate a change of mind, the tone made me hesitant to rejoice. There was something behind the words, some dark intent not yet revealed, that made me shiver.

Nonsense! Shaking my head, I settled down at the right window of the coach, facing the horses. You’re imagining things! Stop and enjoy the moment!

Mr Ambrose took the seat beside me and tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane.

‘You know our destination, driver. Go!’

Without a word in reply the coach started to move.

We drove in silence. There were many things I wanted to say - questions I wanted to ask, thanks I wanted to give - but something held me back. He for his part was still smiling the same brilliant smile he had worn all day yesterday and today. For the first time I had leisure to study his smile in more detail and was surprised by what I found. It somehow looked… unnatural.

I remembered the small quarter-smile he had once deigned to give me, long ago. That had seemed much more natural, much more himself. This iridescent show of teeth… If you studied it long enough it put you in mind of the smile a drowning man might see in the ocean, topped by a dorsal fin and approaching fast and hungrily.

Oh, don’t be such an old worrywart! You should have a more optimistic outlook on the future!

To distract myself I looked out of the window - and jerked upright in my seat! We were going down Oxford Street, the street that led away from Leadenhall Street in a westerly direction. The direction of Hyde Park.

This had to be a strange coincidence. Surely, we would soon turn away to the left or to the right, to wherever this mysterious appointment of Mr Ambrose’s was.

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.

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.’