Epilogue
Heron House
Some years later
A pamphlet had almost destroyed her, but now a pamphlet was one of Alice’s greatest tools in her and her husband’s fight.
Oh, it was not her only tool. She had many of them.
She went to lectures and talks at Lady Upperton’s salon weekly.
Through patience and discourse, she had brought many a skeptic to her side.
The duchess’s publishing house was a place in which a new line of books was being produced, which espoused the rights of child workers and the children of the East End, as well as the soldiers who often could no longer work to feed themselves or their families.
And the Shakespeare schools in the East End and all over England were places she went with Deimos to help guide the children and show them that there was more than mud, and filth, and a brutal life awaiting them.
But her pen, her words, were her favorite in the end. She wrote countless pamphlets and speeches with Deimos sitting beside her, discussing ideas about how best to gain the sympathies of hard hearts.
Her fingers had ached over the years. Her back had often felt broken.
There were brief moments in the dark of night when she’d been certain she had failed, but Deimos was there every time, ensuring her that failure wasn’t possible for them.
Not if they kept going. Not if they kept helping the people in front of them.
Yes, she and Deimos and their family were changing the world bit by bit. And what gave her hope was that with every year, so many more people joined them. They toiled every day, working relentlessly to improve the lives of regular English people.
Oh, she still did love a good party. How could a Briarwood not? What was life without its pleasures?
She still loved cake.
Every day, she stopped at Lady Hester’s tea shop. For if she did not, her spirits would sag.
On those rare occasions that time simply would not allow her to go, her husband always made sure to bring her a slice. And she had begun to make certain that he always had a scone.
Somehow, through it all, even in the bitter moments when it seemed as if everything they were fighting for would collapse, even when she could not enter the House of Lords or Parliament to witness the speeches that she helped write, to witness the expression of the ideas that she believed in so firmly, she and Deimos kept going.
They were as one. Their family was as one. And her brother had somehow managed to avoid causing pitched battles in the street. But his passion was still much to be admired and inspiring to a whole generation of young men who were not quite important enough to be a part of the ton.
And through all of it, through campaigning in cold cities, through helping soldiers find places to sleep and eat and have a little dignity, she and Deimos loved each other and never let themselves lag.
They had so much. It would be an insult to all if they turned their eyes away from the suffering of people and did nothing.
It might be tempting to some, to give in and give up.
To feel sorrow. To feel grim. But as she sat at her desk, put her quill in its ink bottle, stretched out her back and massaged her neck, she was not tempted to feel any of that, because in the last year alone, there had been significant acts passed.
Children under the age of sixteen years old could not be forced to work more than twelve hours a day in the mills. It was a triumph. Children would not be so horribly abused as they were and had been.
It was not enough, but it was a start.
Some workers could unionize and fight for protections against truly heinous working conditions.
There were more protections coming.
New omnibuses had been established throughout the city, drawn by horses. They were making it possible for people to get to work without having to walk miles upon miles on shoes that could barely tolerate the trip. Yes, it was slow going, but every step was worth it.
She knew who she was.
She was a Briarwood. She was strong. She was love, as was her husband, and as was the child growing in her belly.
Deimos crossed to her, massaged her shoulders, and whispered, “You must stop, my love. It is time for you to rest.”
“There’s so much to do,” she protested, savoring the feel of his hands upon her shoulders.
“There will always be so much to do, but you will do it better if you come and lie down with me. And have a little fun.”
She smiled at him. “You’re so very right.
” And she took his hand and let him help her stand.
Once, years ago, she’d come to him and asked for his help.
She’d known how to have fun, to be merry.
So had he. And perhaps she’d thought, for a time, that fun was parties and lace and the perfect husband.
But she’d learned that fun was a world full of laughter and kindness and caring for all.
Fun was a world full of joy where children went to sleep with full bellies and warm clothes.
And where no soul was ever made to feel alone.
Big with child, she felt like a creaky old house as she took a few steps. But she was doing all of this for her the child in her belly, for all the children of the world. And it would be worth it.
Deimos tilted her face back, gazed down at her, kissed her, and then led her to the bed. On the nightstand waited a plate with two decadent treats upon it.
He picked one up and waggled his brows. “Chocolate?” he asked.
“Why yes, my love,” she said as she took a scone from the plate, buttered it, and offered it to him.
And then they sat on the bed and fed each other bite after bite, nourishing each other and filling each other with love.
For she and Deimos had learned their lesson together. It was the little things in this life that were the surest signs of love.
The End