Parliament by a mile. They crept toward the chamber in unsociable silence, perfectly acceptable considering that a mutual dislike was the only thing they had in common.
“Gentlemen, you have to see this.” The Earl of Rochester stood at one of the hallway windows, his gaze riveted on something on the streets below.
Sebastian’s pulse sped up. He could guess what had attracted Rochester’s attention. Still, it hadn’t prepared him for the picture of the rapidly gathering crowd on the square below. Streams of women were converging from all directions, their green sashes glinting in the sunlight.
“I say,” Hartford said, “so the rumors were true.” He chuckled. “This should be entertaining.”
“It’s thousands of them,” Rochester said. His profile was rigid with disapproval.
“No matter,” Hartford said, “the police will soon put an end to it.”
“It has to be quashed hard and fast, else we can expect a circus like that every week. They should call in stewards for reinforcing the police.”
Sebastian looked at Rochester sharply. “Stewards are not trained for handling this.”
Hartford ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “If these women behaved in the first place, they’d have nothing to fear, would they?”
Sebastian gave him a cold stare. “Assembling in a public place is the right of every British citizen.”
“For something like this?” Rochester said. “Only if they have been granted a permit.”
“They have a permit,” Sebastian said.
“That’s impossible.” Hartford sounded annoyed. “On what grounds? Any council would have denied it; they endanger the peace of the public.”
“It appears the council had no such concerns.”
Rochester and Hartford frowned but did not question him. He was known to know things they didn’t.
On the square, the women linked arms, forming human chains as if safety could be had in numbers.
Was she down there?
Probably. When had Annabelle ever heeded his advice not to do something?
“Unnatural creatures,” Rochester muttered under his breath. He was usually a bone-dry man, but now his face was pinched with some ugly emotion.
Sebastian had known it for a while now, but it had never been so glaringly obvious that his party, the party of rational interests, was not rational at all. There were Disraeli’s visions of an endless empire, of people wanting glory over bread. Rochester and Hartford, ready to see women harmed for their ideas. At the end of the day, their party was steered by emotions as much as the socialist who wanted to crush the aristocracy. It made him feel as though his skin were too tight for his body, and he shifted on his feet, not unlike Apollo when he was ready to bolt.
Rochester pulled out his pocket watch. “Montgomery. You are to open the floor in three minutes’ time.”
Sebastian resisted the reflex to scan the square once more. Annabelle was not his responsibility. She had made it very clear that she didn’t want to be his responsibility. Besides. He had an election to win.
* * *
Parliament Square reminded Annabelle of a beehive—purposeful and abuzz with busy females. The weather was on their side; the sun stood high in the sky and had lifted the usual blanket of wintry fog. Their banner would be well visible from hundreds of yards away.
Lucie pushed past her, a steep frown between her slender brows. “More have come than expected,” she said. “I’d say a thousand more.”
That would explain why there was hardly space to turn around. “Is that a problem?”
The lines between Lucie’s brows did not ease. “No,” she said. “As long as everyone stays civil and calm. Everyone, stay civil and calm.”
“Lucie . . .”
“I have to give the command for the banner,” Lucie said, and vanished.
A minute later, the banner rose above their hats in all its twenty-foot-long glory, drawing a chorus of aahs. Amend the Married Women’s Property Act Now, it demanded in tall letters. No man glancing down into the square from the windows of Westminster could overlook it.
“Oh, that is lovely,” Hattie murmured.
Annabelle nodded, a tight feeling in her chest. The emotions of the women around her were filtering through her like sun rays through water, spiking her pulse and warming her inside and out. Was that why people did it, joining causes?
Big Ben struck a quarter past the hour. Spectators had begun lining the pavement, but if they expected a performance, they would be disappointed. The plan was to be seen, not heard.
At half past the hour, a sudden wave of alertness rippled through the crowd. Warily, Annabelle glanced around. Being taller, she spotted them quickly—a united front of hats with