“Indeed,” the Ankh said with a dusky laugh, “I am gratified so many of you chose to leave the—what are they calling it? The event of the season?—to join us here in our humble meeting. After all . . . what can one expect from such a production as the Roses Ball when one is a young and single female? Or should I be more precise and call those Society events what they truly are? Competitions. Shows. Horseflesh fairs. Slave auctions.”
I leaned forward, intrigued by the Ankh’s speech while listening intently for any inflection or accent that might help with identifying the individual.
“I refer to you as being the horseflesh—and the slaves—of course, my dearest young ladies. For that is what you are in the eyes of those wealthy, handsome young bachelors—and the not-so-attractive or rich ones as well. The ones whom you’d prefer to ignore when your mamas and papas introduce them to you.”
An appreciative reaction—nods, exchanging of glances—from the audience was recognizable as affirmation of the Ankh’s words.
“And why is it, I wonder, that you are the ones to be paraded about under the watchful eyes of your chaperones whilst waiting for—nay, pining for—a glance from the young man you favor? Why is it that you are kept pristine, confined in your corsets and your restrictive parlors? Why, I ask of you young ladies, is it the female race who must sit still and take pains to be slender and pretty, all the while taking care to have nary a relevant thought in their heads? Why can you not have opinions and adventures, and do interesting and exciting things . . . and why must you be under constant guard by a mother, a maid, or some controlling male? A father, a brother, an uncle . . . a husband.”
The Ankh’s words were nothing I hadn’t thought before, nothing that hadn’t settled in my mind as, day after day, I observed the restrictions imposed on others of my gender—particularly of the upper class. I was an unusual case because I existed with little chaperonage and adult interference, but I still experienced the societal restrictions and expectations. And although the suffragettes preached of gaining the right to vote, tonight the Ankh was speaking of concepts beyond politics. Listening to her, I became incensed anew at the plight of my feminine race.
Apparently, I was not alone, for someone clapped and then, all at once, the chamber was filled with the roar of applause. I joined them and noticed Miss Stoker had done so as well. She seemed just as fixated on our speaker as I had been.
The Ankh gave a cool smile to the room and then she (I use the feminine pronoun for simplicity’s sake) walked over to the statue. It seemed as if she were consulting with Sekhmet. A fanciful concept to be sure, and I’m certain the Ankh was merely attempting to lead the more gullible and impressionable women in the room to believe it to be the case.
Then the Ankh faced us once more.
“Why can’t young ladies choose where they go and what they do? Why do you not have the same freedom that your male counterparts do?”
A low rumble swept the room as if the occupants were asking themselves the same passionate questions.
“Ah,” the Ankh said, once again employing that cool smile, “but you do. You have done so. By accepting the invitation for tonight, you have taken the first step in making a change. In freeing yourselves from restrictions and repressions. Of freeing yourself from being locked away like some bird in a gilded cage—until you are shunted away to a different cage with a husband whom you only might love. A husband who will make every little decision for you. A husband who will control whatever you want and need. A husband who will own you. He will quite literally own you. Yes, my lovelies . . . like a slave.
“No, dear ladies . . . you have all taken the first step on a path of independence and excitement by coming here tonight. By enrolling in the Society of Sekhmet.”
I frowned, both fascinated and stymied by the Ankh’s speech. Was this a suffragette group, gathering together for women’s rights?
And was someone hunting down the members and killing them, making it appear that they had taken their own lives?
Why? Who?
Although strange, the group seemed harmless enough. In fact, the element of adventure and clandestine activity was attractive even to myself. I could only imagine how a young woman such as Lady Hodgeworth, whose most exciting moment of the day was likely determining which frock to wear to afternoon tea, would be roused by this titillating speech. I peeked at Miss Stoker. Surely, being a vampire hunter, she felt much as I did.
The Ankh’s voice dropped. “I know what it is you truly want, ladies. You yearn for adventure and excitement. But most of all, you want . . . him. Whoever he might be, you want him. Is that not the case? Whether you be beautiful or homely, slender or plump . . . whether you have straight white teeth and a demure laugh or protruding ones and a spotted face. Whether you are a rich heiress or one whose family has nothing but a powerful name, you want him. You want him to notice you, to want you, to love you. And, my dears, I will help you. I, along with the Power of Sekhmet, will help you gain control of your lives in a manner such that women have never done.”
She was more animated and passionate than she had been so far. “Despite the fact that we are ruled by a queen, the laws and governance of this country—and this world—are controlled by men. That must change. It will change. I will have the power to do so, and those faithful of you shall join me in this change. The day is nigh.”
Again, a single clap launched a roar of applause, and it was several moments before it died down again.
The Ankh looked as if she meant to speak further, but all at once, Miss Stoker threw back the hood of her cloak and rose.
I hissed as everyone in the chamber hushed and turned to look back at her. Sit down! I shouted in my head. You brash fool! This wasn’t part of the plan!
“You,” said the Ankh, her eyes steady from beneath the brim of her hat. They shifted from Miss Stoker to me and back again. The weight and heat of her stare was shocking, but it seemed to have no effect on my companion.
Then Miss Stoker’s voice rang out. “What did you do to Mayellen Hodgeworth?”
Miss Stoker
Miss Stoker’s Grudging Regret
The moment I interrupted the speaker, I realized I could have been a little more subtle. Perhaps I should have had some sort of plan. Yet, as pandemonium broke loose, once again I felt energized and in control. Miss Holmes was screeching at me, the other attendees were babbling in shock, and the Ankh was shouting orders.
“Seize them! Hathor! Osiris!” The Ankh cried, then swiveled to point to the twin female hostesses. “Bastet! Amunet!”
Two large men appeared from behind the silken wall-hangings, and the identical women sprang into action. Grinning with exhilaration, I leapt over a row of chairs with ease, putting a cluster of young women and tumbling chairs between me the Ankh’s minions.
I wanted to get closer to the Ankh, to see if I could pull off the stovepipe hat that obscured his or her face. But the guards were quick, and even amid the chaos, I was aware of Miss Holmes. I could fight my own way out, but she couldn’t.
Time to make our exit. I looked up, judged the distance to the chandelier that hung there, and vaulted up off a chair.
I clocked either Amunet or Bastet on the chin as I swung halfway across the chamber, thanks to the length of the chandelier’s chain. I landed exactly where I planned—next to Miss Holmes—and grabbed her by the arm.
Hathor and Osiris, the two large guards, converged on us as the Ankh and her guests watched the chaos unfold. But thanks to my excellent reflexes, speed, and exceptional strength, I created a riotous barrier of chairs
