The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [2]
“And so I will do again if they have the audacity to lay hands on you,” Emerson exclaimed. As I had hoped, this comment distracted him from the subject of the motorcar. His blue eyes blazed with sapphirine fire, and the cleft, or dimple, in his chin quivered. “Good Gad, Peabody, you don’t expect me to stand idly by while vulgar police officers manhandle my wife!”
“No, my dear, I don’t, which is why you cannot come along. The whole point of the enterprise is for ME to be arrested—yes, and manhandled as well. Having YOU taken in charge for assaulting a police officer distracts the public from the fight for women’s suffrage we ladies are endeavoring—”
“Damnation, Peabody!” Emerson stamped his foot. He is given to such childish demonstrations at times.
“Will you please stop interrupting me, Emerson? I was about to—”
“You never let me finish a sentence!” Emerson shouted.
I turned to our butler, who was waiting to open the door for me. “My parasol, Gargery, if you please.”
“Certainly, madam,” said Gargery. His plain but affable features were wreathed in a smile. Gargery greatly enjoys the affectionate little exchanges between me and Emerson. “If I may say so, madam,” he went on, “that hat is very becoming.”
I turned back to the mirror. The hat was a new one, and I rather thought it did suit me. I had caused it to be trimmed with crimson roses and green silk leaves; the subdued colors considered appropriate for mature married ladies have an unfortunate effect on my sallow complexion and jetty-black hair, and I see no reason for a slavish adherence to fashion when the result does not become the wearer. Besides, crimson is Emerson’s favorite color. As I inserted the final pin, his face appeared in the mirror next to mine. He had to bend over, since he is six feet in height and I am a good many inches shorter. Taking advantage of our relative positions (and the position of Gargery, behind him) he gave me a surreptitious pat and said amiably, “So it is. Well, well, my dear, enjoy yourself. If you aren’t back by teatime I will just run down to the police station and bail you out.”
“Don’t come round before seven,” I said. “I am hoping to be thrown into the Black Maria and perhaps handcuffed.”
Not quite sotto voce, Gargery remarked, “I’d like to see the chap who could do it.”
“So would I,” said my husband.
It was a typical November day in dear old London—gloomy, gray, and damp. We had come up from Kent only the previous week so that Emerson could consult certain references in the British Museum. Our temporary abode was Chalfont House, the city mansion belonging to Emerson’s brother Walter and his wife Evelyn, who had inherited the property from her grandfather. The younger Emersons preferred their country estates in Yorkshire, but they always opened Chalfont House for us when we were obliged to stay in London.
Although I enjoy the bustle and busyness of the metropolis, Egypt is my spiritual home, and as I breathed in the insalubrious mixture of coal smoke and moisture I thought nostalgically of clear blue skies, hot dry air, the thrill of another season of excavation. We were a trifle later than usual in getting off this year, but the delay, occasioned principally by Emerson’s tardiness in completing his long-awaited History, had given me the opportunity to participate in a cause dear to my heart, and my spirits soared as I strode briskly along, my indispensable parasol in one hand, my chains in the other.
Though I had always been a strong supporter of votes for women, professional commitments had prevented me from taking an active part in the suffragist movement. Not that the movement itself had been particularly active or effective. Almost every year a Women’s Suffrage Bill had been presented to Parliament, only to be talked down or ignored. Politicians and statesmen had made promises of support and broken them.
Recently, however, a breath of fresh northern air had blown into London. The Women’s Social and Political Union had been founded in Manchester by a Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst