Chapter Two #2
“Because the fool forgot the first golden rule of life—the pen is always mightier than the sword!” Portia nodded like a woodpecker.
“In his limited wisdom,” continued her idol, “he thought violence would work more effectively than logic. Rather than use words to make people think differently, the fool tired of Equitas and abandoned us almost immediately to raise his own little army of like-minded troublemakers and then did his utmost to whip them into a frenzy.” Sir William—just William—shook his head with disgust. “Even if our local member of Parliament is an arse—which he very much is—taking that mob to his house and threatening him with a gun is not the least bit acceptable.”
“What on earth did he hope to achieve doing that?” Despite her revolutionary ideals, Portia had always believed that violence was the absolute last straw.
But then her pen had always been her weapon of choice, as the perennial ink stains on her fingers were testament.
The power of a well-chosen word was infinite.
It could soothe, it could educate, it could banish indecision, it could highlight an injustice, it could elicit a smile or a laugh or a tear—and it could wound.
William shrugged. “Infamy is my best guess. He fancied himself a sort of George Washington character, without the common sense and intelligence necessary, of course, who would personally lead the revolution.”
“That is not the narrative we heard at headquarters.”
“I am not the least bit surprised.” William huffed in exasperation.
“The only thing Reynolds truly excelled at was twisting the facts to suit his purpose and blowing his own trumpet. I should imagine he has painted himself some sort of plaster saint in his frequent dispatches to London. Which, to be frank, was the only work he ever did here on the few occasions he graced us with his presence. The man was a waste of space and caused us more trouble than he was worth.” He gestured to the chaotic office.
“Thanks to him, we were almost shut down for good so, in my less charitable moments, I am relieved that he is no longer Equitas’s problem. ”
William then raised a finger in the air as if addressing a crowd.
“If we are ever going to create a fairer country for all, those in power need to see us as their intellectual equals with valid arguments that are worthy of consideration—not rampaging marauders. Nobody is going to willingly give the vote to a man wielding a pitchfork with murder in his eyes.” He pinned Portia with his stare, his narrowed eyes magnified by the thick lenses of his spectacles.
“You are not a pitchfork wielder, are you, Portia? Because I expressly requested that they send me an editor with some common sense and the ability to see reason this time.”
“I’m a teacher by trade, not a marauder.
” Her revolutionary ideals had mellowed a great deal since the age of sixteen, thanks to a combination of education and maturity, so she was now of the firm belief that everyone would be better off if reform occurred without the need for a revolution.
And certainly not the sort of bloody, arbitrary, and vengeful revolution like they had had across the Channel in France.
Not everything here in Britain was broken, and throwing out the baby with the bathwater was never the answer.
“I want equality and change to come from enlightenment and not down the threatening barrel of a gun.”
“Excellent! We should get on famously then. Tea?”
She already held Sir William Stowe in the highest esteem, but he went up in her estimation by several notches when he didn’t expect her to make that tea.
Better still, he continued to make no mention of the fact that she was a woman at all.
Nor did he make any concession for it as he explained what her role entailed over that tea.
A role so complicated, Portia had to pull out her notebook to list all of it down.
“For obvious reasons, we are very cautious about security here,” he said as he handed her a key.
“The worst of the local constables has always had it in for us, but even more so since the Reynolds incident and the thwarted raid. So be sure to always come here by the most convoluted route possible and frequently check that you aren’t being followed. ”
“I became quite adept at that in London.” Being a reformer nowadays was as much about smoke and mirrors as it was about reforming. “Especially during daylight hours.”
“Indeed. It is always easier to be clandestine at night.” William toasted her with his teacup.
“On that subject, we don’t tend to keep regular hours here unless it’s a Sunday when we go to print—then, of course, it is all hands on deck, so you’ve got a few days to unpack and get your bearings after your long journey.
I take it you’ve already found lodging?”
“It’s on my list of things to do, but for now I’m staying at an inn in town.
” One that, because this was Bath, was costing her an arm and a leg, but it had still seemed the more prudent option than staying at her mother’s.
As much as they loved one another, her mother absolutely did not approve of Portia’s political endeavors at all.
It had always been a sore topic that led to arguments, and so she was best avoided in the short term.
Portia would only tell her the news that she was back home when she had proved herself worthy enough as the temporary assistant editor of Equitas to be made permanent.
“An inn here doesn’t come cheap during the season,” he said as if he read her mind.
“It doesn’t.” Just one week would make a huge dent in her savings. Two would likely decimate them entirely. “But once I know what my salary is, I can find a place that is more in line with my budget.” She smiled, pleased at the subtle but direct way she had brought up money.
“Salary?” He blinked at her, confused.
“My wages, sir? For the position of assistant editor?”
William’s stricken expression set alarm bells ringing.
“Oh my dear girl, there aren’t any. Everyone who works at Equitas gives their time gratis—myself included.
Every last penny we make from sales of the paper is plowed back into keeping it going.
Could headquarters afford to pay you a salary for the work you did for them in London?
” Quite rightly, he appeared surprised by that.
“Well no … but…” Why the blazes hadn’t she thought to ask this before she had thrown away her entire livelihood on an impassioned whim?
But she knew the answer to that already.
She had been so excited about the prospect of finally doing something truly meaningful for the cause that she had dropped everything without a single pause for thought.
Dizziness swamped her as the reality of her situation hit, because nowhere in her ten-page essay that had helped her to make the decision to come had not earning a single farthing even been considered. “I assumed—”
“Never assume anything, Portia.” William winced. “That’s the second golden rule of life.”
“It really should be the first.” Her head fell into her hands while her mind reeled, and she wondered what the hell she was going to do now. Because Miss Prentice was right about one thing—principles were all well and good, but they didn’t pay the bills.