“It’s not just about me; it’s about all women.”

“So, you did deliver them?”

Lizzie was thirty-two years old and looked forty-five. I suddenly understood why. “You do everyone’s bidding, Lizzie, but you have no say,” I said. “That’s what these pamphlets are all about. It’s time we were given the right to speak for ourselves.”

“It’s just a lot of rich ladies wanting even more than they already have,” she said.

“They want more for all of us.” My voice was rising. “If you’re not going to stand up for yourself then you should be glad someone else will.”

“I will be glad if you stay out of the papers,” she said, as calm as ever.

“It’s apathy that keeps the vote from women.”

“Apathy.” Lizzie scoffed. “I reckon it’s more than that.”

I stormed out then, forgetting my coat.

When I returned to the kitchen just before lunch, Mrs. Ballard was sat at the table, a cup of tea steaming in front of her.

“Only three for sandwiches today, Mrs. B,” I said, looking around for Lizzie.

“Too late for that.” She nodded towards the plate on the bench, piled with sandwiches, just as Lizzie appeared at the bottom of the stairs that led to her room.

I looked over and smiled, but Lizzie only nodded.

“Dr. Murray has a meeting with the Press Delegates, and Da and Mr. Balk have gone off to see Mr. Hart,” I continued, wanting to pretend we were not in a quarrel. “Spelling errors, apparently. Da said they’d be gone for hours.”

“It will be sandwiches for our tea then, Lizzie,” said Mrs. Ballard.

“No good wasting them,” Lizzie replied as she crossed to the bench and began removing some of the sandwiches to a smaller plate.

“I can do that,” I said.

“Will you be going to the theatre tonight, Esme?” Lizzie was not so keen to pretend.

“I suppose I will.”

“You must know the lines by heart.”

It was a rebuke I had no answer for. It was true, and Bill liked to tease when he caught me mouthing Tilda’s words. “You could be her understudy,” he’d said.

“Would you like to come?” I asked Lizzie.

“No. I was obliged the first time, Esme, but once is enough.”

She might have stopped there if my relief hadn’t been so transparent. She sighed and lowered her voice. “You’re not so worldly as them, Essymay.”

“I’m hardly a child.”

Mrs. Ballard scraped back her chair and took the herb basket out to the garden.

“Maybe it’s about time I became ‘more worldly,’ as you put it. Things are changing. Women don’t have to live lives determined by others. They have choices, and I choose not to live the rest of my days doing as I’m told and worrying about what people will think. That’s no life at all.”