“No,” Free looked away. “Of course I don’t think that. I’ll never convince him.”
“Or do you imagine that there is a group of men somewhere who haven’t yet made up their minds on the question of female suffrage? Men who are thinking, ‘Well, I suppose women might be actual human beings, just like men. Maybe I had better look out for them.’”
Free felt her face flush. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Because I can tell you what will happen,” Mr. Clark said in his dark, dangerous voice. “You women will squawk amongst yourselves about injustice and fairness. Maybe if you do it loudly enough, someday a handful of you will be allowed to vote, and it will be accounted a great victory. Maybe in fifty years, women will achieve a distinct minority in the professional classes. We might have a woman doctor, a woman barrister, and then five or ten of you might form an organization together and shake hands because something has been accomplished.”
Free let out a breath.
“Maybe in a hundred years of women voting, you might manage a single female Prime Minister.” He gave her a rough smile. “But just the one, and even so, people will never take her seriously. If she’s stern, they’ll blame her menstrual cycle. If she smiles, it will be proof that women are not strong enough to lead. That’s what you’re setting yourself up for, Miss Marshall. A lifetime of small wins, of victories that land like lead in your stomach. Your cause may be just. But you’re delusional if you think you can accomplish anything. You’re pitting yourself against an institution that is older than our country, Miss Marshall. It’s so old that we rarely even need speak of it. Rage all you want, Miss Marshall, but you’ll have more success emptying the Thames with a thimble.”
He touched a finger to his forehead in mock salute, as if tipping a hat. As if she’d just departed the land of reality, and he’d wished her a pleasant journey. His words didn’t match his actions, though. He came even closer to her as he spoke, leaning in with every sentence, until he seemed almost on the verge of kissing her.
“You’re right,” Free said, shutting her eyes.
He blinked and sat back, cocking his head. “What did you say?”
“I said you were right,” Free repeated. “You’re right about all of that. If history is any guide, it will take years—decades, perhaps—before women get the vote. As for the rest of it, I imagine that any woman who manages to stand out will be a target for abuse. She always is.”
His eyes crinkled in confusion.
“What I don’t understand is why you think you need to lecture me about this all. I run a newspaper for women. Do you imagine that nobody has ever written to me to explain precisely what you just said?”
He frowned. “Well.”
“Do you suppose I’ve never been told that I’m upset because I am menstruating? That I would calm down if only some man would put a child in my belly? Usually, the person writing offers to help out with that very task.” She swallowed bile in memory. “Shall I tell you what someone painted on my door one midnight? Or do you want to read the letters I receive?” Free wrapped her arms around herself. “I am here, on the floor of my press, because I told a man I wouldn’t bed him, and so he burned my house down. So, yes, Edward. I know the obstacles women face. I know them better than you ever will.”
He exhaled harshly. “God, Free.”
“Do you think I don’t know that the only tool I have is my thimble? I’m the one wielding it. I know. There are days I stare out at the Thames and wish I could stop bailing.” Her voice dropped. “My arms are tired, and there’s so much water that I’m afraid it’ll pull me under. But do you know why I keep going?”
He reached out and touched her chin. “That’s the one thing I can’t figure out. You don’t seem stupid; why do you persist?”
She lifted her face to his. “Because I’m not trying to empty the Thames.”
Silence met this.
“Look at the tasks you listed, the ones you think are impossible. You want men to give women the right to vote. You want men to think of women as equals, rather than as lesser animals who go around spewing illogic between our menstrual cycles.”
He still wasn’t saying anything.
“All your tasks are about men,” she told him. “And if you haven’t noticed, this is a newspaper for women.”