Returning from the Suffragette meeting, Lady Mathilde repaired to her boudoir in the West Wing. Happy to have the company of her Lady's maid, Dilly, from Briarly Hall, she deposited her leather satchel on the escritoire.



Lady Mathilde worked punctiliously, recalling significant afternoon events and committing them to archival memory with eloquent strokes of her pen.



'See to it that the inkpot is full to the brim as I have much writing to do,' Lady Mathilde instructed Dilly.

'Why here's this beautiful quill that rests on the escritoire,' Lady Mathilde remarked. 'What a fine specimen, inlaid with aquamarine. Perhaps it belongs to Lord Charlois.

Papa still continues to write with his age old quill when he has important papers from Parliament to resume. Mama is horrified when she sees him reach for the quill,' Lady Mathilde added.



'Yes, Ma-am', Dilly replied, concerned how long Lady Mathilde was likely to spend at the escritoire. Dilly had to see to it that Her Ladyship was fully attired and ready to attend supper with Marquis Gregoire's family and invited guests before The Spring Ball got underway.

Dilly knew Her Ladyship's commitment to the Suffragette cause, planning and putting the Cause ahead of her own private life.



Dilly pondered how Lady Mathilde would find time to stroll arm in arm, in the garden with Gregoire, to be wooed in a chivalrous manner, to swoon in his sturdy arms, allowing him to plant a gentle kiss on her English rose cheek.



How lucky her Ladyship was to have such a chaperon, Dilly sighed.

Dilly longed for a chaperon to call her own. Percy, the gardener hadn't yet made her girlish heart race with his green wellies and clumps of dirt under his fingernails.



He never tried to plant even a little kiss on her Devonshire cheek, not even when they spent the whole afternoon at the local Fair, last Summer.



Dilly was awakened from her reverie by the clip-clop of horses' hooves coming up the avenue. Her eyes rested on the blue taffeta evening gown, still hanging in the armoire, adorned with precious azure stones at the neckline.

The light blue sandals, glittering in the candlelight, stood beneath the ball gown.

Lady Mathilde's brunette curls had yet to be dressed in a chignon and clasped with a silver barrette, complete with a delicate pink, silk ribbon.



Through the open window, cheerful laughter of the arriving guests could be heard. Dilly longed to take a peek. She wanted to feast her eyes on the young eligible men who were due to attend the ball. How handsome they would look. She loved their low cut dark waistcoats with ample shirt fronts, complete with gold studs and matching cravats.



Suddenly there was a knock on the door.



Dilly grasped the heavy brass door handle. Gregoire's father, Lord Charlois, stood outside. Wearing a black, superfine dress coat, with some slight braiding at the cuffs, the triangle of a white linen cambric handkerchief rested in his jacket pocket, he exhibited an air of concern. White kid gloves completed the ensemble.



'Lady Mathilde, please make haste,' he said. 'Gregoire's attendance at supper will be delayed as he is to chaperon Countess Mildred to the Ball'.



With that Lord Charlois, turned deftly on the heels of his horn pipe shoes and disappeared down the winding staircase, to the vast foyer below, to mingle with the guests.



Doubt played around the edges of Lady Mathilde's mind at the mention of a Countess Mildred as she had her hair dressed by Dilly.



'Say M'Lady,' Dilly blurted out, 'who is Countess Mildred? Haven't seen her name on the guest list'.



Lady Mathilde felt distinctly uncomfortable, yet dared not mention her misgivings to Dilly.

Gregoire had never spoken of Countess Mildred. She began to feel like the outsider, l'inconnu, not part of the London scene.



Dilly opened the door and peered over the large wooden banister.

Returning to the boudoir she reassured Lady Mathilde,



'M'y Lady, you are to be the prettiest girl at the Spring Ball.Why you will dazzle MarquisGregoire with your beauty.

After all, Norfolk planes are known for their pretty maids'.



Lady Mathilde took her fan from the dressing table, the pretty yellow and purple one Gregoire had presented to her on his return from Madrid. It had belonged to his great-aunt Josefina, who had passed away when she was a century old.

Lady Mathilde stood on the stair balcony while Dilly arranged the train of her evening gown.



She caught sight of Gregoire, chatting with his father beside the French window. The father's gloved hand rested on his son's shoulder as the two men shared a confidence. Seeing Lady Mathilde, Gregoire hurried to accompany her to the main hallway.



Taking her gloved hand in his, he introduced her to the guests as they entered the dining hall.

Seated between Gregoire and his cousin Lord Wakely, Lady Mathilde finally began to look forward to the soiree.



'So you are Lady Mathilde,' Lord Wakely began,' taking the Womens' Suffrage all the way to the House of Parliament, eh, got your work cut out for you , you ladies'.



'It's an idea whose time has come,' Lady Mathilde replied,' a vote is a powerful tool in the hands of the citizenry,' She continued.



Lord Charlois, seated arcoss the table from his son, listened attentively as Lady Mathilde spoke.

'Lady Mathilde,' he interjected, 'is it your movement's intention to use violent means to achieve your ends?'.



Always happy to discuss the movement's raison d'etre, she hesitated to reply to the question directly since policy making was always a work-in-progress.



'Lord Charlois,' she began, 'the Womens' Suffrage takes its purpose very seriously indeed and will consider whatever action is necessary and at an appropriate time'.

Lord Charlois peered over his glasses at this spirited young woman, in his presence, chaperoned by his favourite son.



'Lady Mathilde,' Lady Charlois interjected, 'how exquisitely beautiful you look tonight, despite having spent this cold March afternoon persuading the populace to change the course of history'.



Some voices hushed when the Suffrage came up in conversation.

'The Suffrage is a most embarrassing affair for society ladies of a certain vintage,' Dowager Dainworth, declared.

'How on earth can ladies of my generation decide who is best to sit in the House of Parliament. Surely we can do as our ancestors have done and leave these weighty political matters to our menfolk'.



A wave of nervous laughter ensued.



Gregoire glanced at Lady Mathilde. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear,' Dearest Mathilde, please refrain from being goaded by the Dowager. Her views are old-fashioned and she is unlikely to change'.



Lady Mathilde's young heart fluttered as she felt the touch of Gregoire's hand on her wrist and his gentle whisperings in her right ear.



By now the gilded ballroom doors had been swung open and dancing was in progress. Soon Lady Mathilde was in Gregoire's arms as they tripped lightly to the strains of a Strauss waltz.



Changing partners, Lady Mathilde was next invited to dance by Lord Wakely. An accomplished dancer he concentrated on his foot movements and precision timing.



'What a fine dancer you are Lord Wakely,' Lady Mathilde said. ' You are no doubt a much sought after guest during the London Ball season,' Lady Mathilde continued.

'Indeed, Lady Mathilde,' Lord Wakely continued,' why my calendar is always full during the Ball season. And yet......and yet .... I have not until now encountered such an interesting young lady as you with whom to share the dance floor'.



Lady Mathilde blushed slightly.

'Lord Wakely,' Mathilde continued, ' you may have too great a selection of interesting young ladies to choose from. Perhaps you are spoiled for choice'.



'I cannot match your style on the dance floor,' she added.



'Lady Mathilde', he continued,' I wager you do not have a great deal of time to practise your dancing. A young woman who is intent on changing how we think politically cannot, perforce, have a great deal of time to devote to, what one might call, frivolous pursuits like dancing'.

Lady Mathilde laughed.



'Dearest Lord Wakely', she continued, 'one is lucky to have the privilege of choosing one's pursuits. That is a goal we hold dear in the Suffrage movement, to enable people, especially women to have greater autonomy in their lives in the matter of choice, especially political choice. How better can we hope to do that than by fighting for their right to have a voice as to who sits in the seat of power in the Parliament.'



Lord Wakely forgot momentarily his next dance movement, becoming engrossed in Lady Mathilde's view of the world.



'Lord Wakely', she continued, ' let's not forget our next dance move, after all we don't wish to upset the rhythm of the dancers with our inattention', she gently reminded him.



'Lady Mathilde, I am honored to make your acquaintance ,' Lord Wakely continued.

' I request the pleasure of another dance with you this evening. Perhaps you would like to join me for afternoon tea while you are still in London'.



' I shall be delighted to accept your invitation to tea in London at some future date,' Lady Mathilde continued, ever conscious of the need to engage more men, in the Suffrage movement.



The clock in the local Church tower struck midnight . Ladies now dressed in great coats and mufflers against the late Spring cold, hastened to rejoin their cabriolets.



Taking Lady Mathilde's hand, Gregoire bid the guests goodnight.



'My dearest Gregoire, the hour is now late and we must retire'. Lady Mathilde said.

'Taking both her hands in his, he gently kissed her cheek'.



'Lady Mathilde,' he said, 'It has been a wonderful ball this evening, especially since you consented to join me here for the occasion. Would you like to join me for a walk mid morning in the Rose Garden before your return to Norfolk?'

'Yes my dearest Gregoire,' she replied ,' I shall be delighted'.