as one woman addresses them briefly. Her back is towards him so Henry cannot hear what she is saying, but the women stare intently at her, nodding furiously in agreement at her words. No doubt she is preaching the dangers of alcohol, urging them to empty their husbands’ liquor cabinets for the good of humanity. Henry has little patience with such women. It is not alcohol that is the problem, he thinks, it is the men who drink it.
He is about to turn away, disappointed in Miss Collins, when the women begin to approach the curious spectators who have gathered, thrusting pieces of paper into their hands. Henry waits to see what the reaction will be. Some of the men politely hand the tracts back; one makes a show of tearing his in two and walking away, the pieces drifting forlornly to the ground before the red-faced messenger picks them up. Still others stand and listen, nodding, but Henry suspects it is to humour the wives attached to their arms, who glance at their husbands as if for permission to react.
His curiosity gets the better of him, and he drifts towards the small crowd. He scans the faces until he sees Dora in conversation with an elderly woman who is shaking her head. Dora appears to be pleading with her, and as Henry approaches the old woman puts a hand up, shakes her head and turns away.
Miss Collins, he says. Dora looks up, then down, and takes a step back, looking cornered.
Do I make you uncomfortable? he asks.
She resigns herself to talking to him and stands her ground, looking up at him defiantly. An unruly blonde curl falls in her eyes and she blinks and brushes it away with a gloved hand.
Not at all, Mr Summers. How pleasant to see you again. Her voice betrays her lie.
May I ask what it is you are peddling? he asks her.
I am not peddling anything, sir. I am petitioning.
For? He holds out his hand and she reluctantly places the tract in it.
For women’s suffrage. For our right to vote.
Interesting. He glances down at the printed sheet and reads the heading: Ten Reasons Why the Women of New Zealand Should Vote . A few scratchy signatures decorate the paper she holds in the crook of her arm.
So you are not petitioning for temperance then? I misunderstood. I saw the banner.
Well, it is true that one has arisen from the other. Mrs Johnson believes that only when women have the right to vote will the government take steps to abolish the sale of liquor, which is harming families.
Then you don’t believe that women should vote per se ? Just that liquor should be banned and this is the way to do it.
No, I do. She stumbles over her words and hesitates. That is … She falters again and stops. To be honest, I am not that interested in the temperance cause. It is the vote that is important to me.
Henry chuckles. It’s all right, Miss Collins, I am not here to interrogate you. I wish you well. It is a fine cause — I see no reasonwhy women should not vote. Any man who says otherwise is a brute. Perhaps you will be successful and you can teach your English sisters a thing or two.
Are you mocking me? she asks. Because we are quite serious. Mrs Johnson is very well connected. In Parliament. She will be heard.
And who is this Mrs Johnson?
He turns in the direction she is indicating and sees a stout woman in her late thirties holding forth to three younger women.
Yes. I am staying with her at the moment. She and her husband have taken me because Father has had to go to the country unexpectedly.
But why did you not go with him, I wonder?
She sighs. I begged him not to make me. He agreed reluctantly, but only for a little while. I am to join him there at the end of the next week.
Miss Collins, forgive me, says Henry, but you seem to be very displeased to see me. I thought that we had become friends when we met yesterday, but I am very sorry if I have offended you somehow. You appear to have quite changed your attitude to me.
Mr Summers, may I be blunt?
But of course.
When I saw you on the stairs
He is about to turn away, disappointed in Miss Collins, when the women begin to approach the curious spectators who have gathered, thrusting pieces of paper into their hands. Henry waits to see what the reaction will be. Some of the men politely hand the tracts back; one makes a show of tearing his in two and walking away, the pieces drifting forlornly to the ground before the red-faced messenger picks them up. Still others stand and listen, nodding, but Henry suspects it is to humour the wives attached to their arms, who glance at their husbands as if for permission to react.
His curiosity gets the better of him, and he drifts towards the small crowd. He scans the faces until he sees Dora in conversation with an elderly woman who is shaking her head. Dora appears to be pleading with her, and as Henry approaches the old woman puts a hand up, shakes her head and turns away.
Miss Collins, he says. Dora looks up, then down, and takes a step back, looking cornered.
Do I make you uncomfortable? he asks.
She resigns herself to talking to him and stands her ground, looking up at him defiantly. An unruly blonde curl falls in her eyes and she blinks and brushes it away with a gloved hand.
Not at all, Mr Summers. How pleasant to see you again. Her voice betrays her lie.
May I ask what it is you are peddling? he asks her.
I am not peddling anything, sir. I am petitioning.
For? He holds out his hand and she reluctantly places the tract in it.
For women’s suffrage. For our right to vote.
Interesting. He glances down at the printed sheet and reads the heading: Ten Reasons Why the Women of New Zealand Should Vote . A few scratchy signatures decorate the paper she holds in the crook of her arm.
So you are not petitioning for temperance then? I misunderstood. I saw the banner.
Well, it is true that one has arisen from the other. Mrs Johnson believes that only when women have the right to vote will the government take steps to abolish the sale of liquor, which is harming families.
Then you don’t believe that women should vote per se ? Just that liquor should be banned and this is the way to do it.
No, I do. She stumbles over her words and hesitates. That is … She falters again and stops. To be honest, I am not that interested in the temperance cause. It is the vote that is important to me.
Henry chuckles. It’s all right, Miss Collins, I am not here to interrogate you. I wish you well. It is a fine cause — I see no reasonwhy women should not vote. Any man who says otherwise is a brute. Perhaps you will be successful and you can teach your English sisters a thing or two.
Are you mocking me? she asks. Because we are quite serious. Mrs Johnson is very well connected. In Parliament. She will be heard.
And who is this Mrs Johnson?
He turns in the direction she is indicating and sees a stout woman in her late thirties holding forth to three younger women.
Yes. I am staying with her at the moment. She and her husband have taken me because Father has had to go to the country unexpectedly.
But why did you not go with him, I wonder?
She sighs. I begged him not to make me. He agreed reluctantly, but only for a little while. I am to join him there at the end of the next week.
Miss Collins, forgive me, says Henry, but you seem to be very displeased to see me. I thought that we had become friends when we met yesterday, but I am very sorry if I have offended you somehow. You appear to have quite changed your attitude to me.
Mr Summers, may I be blunt?
But of course.
When I saw you on the stairs
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