After the War Is Over Read Free Page B

was hoping, Miss Rathbone, that you would do me the honor of acting as my
     witness.”
    “The honor is entirely mine,” Miss Rathbone replied, her serious face transformed
     by a rare smile.
    Charlotte extracted her voting paper from its envelope and filled in the empty spaces
     where indicated.
                    
I
, Charlotte Jocelin Brown (Somerville College, 1907),
give my vote as indicated below:
                     Professor Gilbert Murray, standing for the Liberal Party
                    
I declare that I have signed no other votingpaper and have not voted in person at this election for the university constituency
     of Oxford.
                    
I also declare that I have not voted at this general election for any other university
     constituency.
                    
Signed
                     Charlotte Jocelin Brown
                     47 Huskisson Street
                     Liverpool
                    
This day of
19 March 1919
    Her contribution complete, she handed the form across the desk to Miss Rathbone.
                    
I declare that this voting paper (the voting paper having been previously filled in),
     was signed in my presence by
Miss Charlotte Jocelin Brown ,
who is personally known to me, on this day of
19 March 1919 .
                    
Signed
                     Eleanor Rathbone
                     Greenbank House
                     Mossley Hill, Liverpool
    Miss Rathbone set down her pen, lit another cigarette, and sighed with contentment.
     “Normally I would not presume to discuss your choice of candidate with you, but as
     it is staring me in the face, I will commend you for it.”
    “I fear Professor Murray has no chance at all.”
    “None whatsoever,” Miss Rathbone agreed. “The university is Conservative to its foundation.
     But that, my dear, is not thepoint. Your name has been counted. You have been counted. How does it feel?”
    Charlotte had to think on it a moment. She’d been so intent on having her voting paper
     signed and witnessed that it hadn’t occurred to her to dwell on the moment itself,
     let alone contemplate its true significance.
    “Casting my vote felt familiar, oddly enough. As if it were something I’d done a hundred
     times before. If I think on it, I suppose I would say it felt right. As natural as
     breathing.”
    “An excellent point, for what could be more natural than an intelligent, able, and
     curious adult exercising her right to help determine the governance of her country?
     I feel this calls for a toast, in spite of the early hour.”
    Pushing back from her chair, Miss Rathbone went to a small drinks table at the far
     side of her office. She poured two modest measures of walnut-brown sherry and handed
     one of the tiny glasses to Charlotte.
    “To you, Charlotte, on the occasion of your first opportunity to exercise your franchise
     in a parliamentary election, and to those who fought so valiantly for the cause of
     universal suffrage, but were never able to cast their own vote.”
    They raised their glasses and then, seated again, sipped at their sherry. It was beautiful
     stuff, so dry it nearly evaporated on Charlotte’s tongue, and so potent that she set
     her glass down unfinished. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep at her desk.
    “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on your election as president of the National
     Union,” she said.
    “Thank you. I’m afraid we have a long road ahead. With the government so obsessed
     with stabilizing the labor market, I worry most women in this country will soon find
     themselvesout of work. It makes me wonder if we have all lost sight of what truly matters.”
    “Perhaps it’s simply that people want a respite from urgency,” Charlotte ventured.
     “They want to be, to live without anxiety,