Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,66

fatal tumor.

This time, the diagnosis was about her.

“But I never agreed with it,” she implored Mrs. Watson, not wanting it to be true.

It could not be true. It couldn’t. Helming Cousins had been her dream.

“Few are truly impervious to the opinions of others; fewer women still. Miss Holmes, perhaps, but the rest of us must make a conscious effort not to let our own judgment be preempted by outside forces.”

Alice had always been proud to follow her own judgment. But if Mrs. Watson was right, then whose judgment had she been following?

“Remember what I said about you having done nothing wrong with regard to your husband? Alas, with regard to Cousins, you have done something wrong, my dear.”

Alice’s heart quaked with dread. Yet she yearned to hear the older woman tell her how she’d erred—she had no one else to teach her. “Please, I’m listening.”

Mrs. Watson smiled a little, as if relieved that Alice hadn’t taken umbrage at her words. “Many in this world have little or no power. That is not your predicament. Your circumstances gave you power. Your birthright gave you power. But you, my dear, have acted as a powerless supplicant in front of your subordinates, hoping that if you appear good enough for long enough, the men who already have a place at Cousins would come to accept you.”

Alice squirmed. She would have looked away, but Mrs. Watson’s gaze held hers, refusing to let go.

“Were nothing the matter with Cousins, you might have eventually garnered that acceptance—perhaps. I’m not confident of that. We women have been taught since birth that virtue is our greatest asset. I have nothing against virtues—I’d like to think that there are many virtues I practice assiduously. But power does not yield to virtue. Power yields only to power.

“Over time your virtue might have gathered you enough support to translate into power. But you don’t have time now. Today, when you walk into Cousins, it won’t be to convince anyone of your fitness to hold power, but to exercise the power you already have as the lawful owner of Cousins Manufacturing.

“Therefore, you will not mind your appearance. You look fine. The red rims around your eyes are of no consequence whatsoever. It doesn’t matter even if you walk in with tears still streaming down your face. Do you understand that, Mrs. Treadles?”

Alice’s breaths came in short. Her stomach was already in a knot. Mrs. Watson spoke in such muscular, declarative sentences, but Alice was the one who would need to face the men at Cousins who had been dismissive of her for months on end. “I—I think so.”

“That will not do, my dear. Do you understand that you are not going to plead for power today, but to wield it?”

Alice’s hands shook—she was crushing Mrs. Watson’s handkerchief again. Yes, she was afraid to wield that power. But she was also apprehensive of power itself. Power. To hear Mrs. Watson label it so plainly and openly—it seemed that she, a very ordinary woman, ought not to want it, let alone have it.

The rest of us must make a conscious effort not to let our own judgment be preempted by outside forces.

Was this what was happening here? She’d absorbed the verdict of so many other people that it now spoke to her in her own voice?

She squared her shoulders. With her hands still shaking, she said, “Yes, Mrs. Watson, I understand. I am the owner of Cousins Manufacturing. It is time I acted the part.”

* * *

Alice perspired.

The room was warm, flames blazing in two large fireplaces. It was crowded—every single supervisor with some responsibility, it seemed, had filed into the room. The large table held sixteen. But there must have been twice that many men in the room.

But also twice the usual number of women.

All eyes had converged on Mrs. Watson when she walked in. She was no longer a young woman, but she remained a stunning woman, with an almost elemental charisma. She wore an unadorned gown in a muted russet shade, yet the fabric was luxurious and the cut sublime. Without smiling, she calmly surveyed the gathered men, taking their measure.

Alice had supplied her with a quick analysis of what they faced. Her opponents were not a unified pack. Two unequal factions existed. One, formerly led by Mr. Sullivan, consisted mostly of men who had joined the firm after her brother took over. A smaller group comprised the old guard, men who had served under her father. There also remained a