In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,5

rains?” I asked.

“It’s never been called off, has it, Gus?” Sid asked.

“Not that I can remember,” Gus agreed. “The smart set don’t care, of course. They simply raise the hood of their carriages and proceed from church as usual. But there would be a dearth of spectators if it rained like today.”

“So most people ride in carriages, not walk?”

“Almost everyone does. We are walking so that we stand out and exhibit our solidarity with the masses,” Sid said. “The parade starts at ten o’clock, so we’ll leave here in time to muster at nine forty-five.”

“Muster? You make it sound like a war.” I laughed.

“It is,” Sid said soberly. “An out-and-out war that must be won, Molly. We have lived as poor, dependent creatures for too long, at the mercy of our lords and masters. Now it is time we took control of our own destiny.”

Inspired and inflamed, warmed by red wine and rhetoric, I went back to my own house.

Three

Fortunately, Sunday dawned bright and clear. A cold wind was blowing, sending cotton-wool clouds racing across the sky, but there was no hint of rain as we left Patchin Place and caught the trolley to Forty-seventh Street, then walked to Fifth Avenue, where the parade would begin. A crowd had already formed along both sides of the avenue, starting at St. Nicholas Church, and some rather elegant carriages were lined up, in the starting gate, so to speak. Even a rapid glance showed some startling Easter bonnets that were not bonnets at all but hats adorned with every kind of fruit, flower, feather, and even bird known to creation.

In contrast, the Vassar girls were easy to pick out, standing together around the corner on Forty-seventh, and dressed so simply that I looked right at home in my business suit. To my amazement, Sid and Gus were dressed in uncharacteristic fashion, like prim and sober young women in two-piece costumes not dissimilar to my own. Sid’s was dove-gray; Gus’s, dark-green pinwale. They were warmly welcomed by the Vassar contingent. I was introduced and received one or two inquisitive stares as well as some friendly smiles. Someone handed me a sash to wear over one shoulder: “VWVW. Votes for Women.” The banner proclaimed, more fully, “Vassar graduates demand their rights. Votes for women now.” Other banners read, “We can do anything a man can, except vote. Half the population has no voice. Women, demand to be heard! Take your rightful place in society.”

I felt rather pleased and excited as I took the pole of the banner I was to carry with one of the Vassar girls. The young woman who was holding the other pole smiled at me. “Hello,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Emily Boswell. What year were you?”

“I’m afraid I’m an impostor,” I said. “My name’s Molly Murphy and I’m only here because my neighbors dragged me along to boost numbers. And because I feel strongly about the cause.”

She was tall, with a thin, sallow face, serious brown eyes, and black hair severely drawn back into a bun beneath a plain bonnet. One would never call her a beauty, but there was something vaguely exotic about her, and her face lit up in a lovely smile as I indicated Sid and Gus. “Why, it is you, Augusta,” she said. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Emily, dear. How good to see you again,” Gus said, and they embraced. “Sid, look, it’s Emily.” As Sid greeted the newcomer, Gus turned to me. “I was Emily’s mentor during my senior year. She is quite the brightest girl I have ever encountered.”

“You exaggerate, Augusta.” Emily blushed. “But I will admit to having a thirst for knowledge.”

“Sid and I were quite devastated when we didn’t see you at the reunion earlier this year,” Gus said. “It was marvelous fun seeing the old crowd again, and you were sorely missed.”

Emily’s smile faded. “I really wanted to attend, but my employer would not hear of my taking time off work. He’s a disagreeable old man, someone akin to Mr. Scrooge, and would probably not even grant me the day off for the death of my mother. Since my mother is already dead, I’ve yet to test that theory.”

“You have a real job? How wonderful.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as wonderful. More necessity than anything,” Emily said. “I am alone in the world and need to support myself. I balked at being a governess so I’m working at a pharmacy.”

“How perfect for you,” Gus said. “You

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