15. True American Revolutionaries

“He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late.”

— Dr. John H. Watson. “A Scandal in Bohemia.”

Vassar and Poughkeepsie were being acutely tested by an influx of suffragists for two days of meetings and speakers. Topping the bill was the infamous team of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Miss Susan B. Anthony. Even my sanctuary had been disrupted, though in the most genteel way. Professor van Ingen, the Dutch landscape painter boards with me. Most of the scholars were doubling up. Nevertheless, the hallways were crowded, and we few of the male persuasion had even given up our smoking room. For the interim my classes were held in the Observatory’s peaceful atmosphere.

I rushed up the stone steps and the two rows of metal stairs through Thompson Library to the Rose Parlour, and ran in through the French doors. My rooms were located on the second floor, and I moved frequently through the suffragists’ nerve central. I was bewildered at the interest in this cause and the hundreds of women who lined the halls, cramped the stairwells, and filled to overflowing the Vallard and Faculty dining rooms. Breaking bread in my shared rooms was preferable. I quickly dressed in my robes, gathered my notes.

I raced to class, my robes flying, arms filled with pillows. I headed to the Observatory down the long deep wood-panelled hallway to the stairs. The class had been discussing my treatise on life in the cloistered Tibetan Monastery. Today I hoped to lead them in their first meditation. Miss Anthony appeared from nowhere and pushed Mrs. Stanton’s wheelchair directly into my path. I could not slow fast enough and the pillows and their feathers fell around my rather undignified position on the floor. “Tar first, then feathers, professor!” Mrs. Stanton said and Miss Anthony burst into laughter.

I gathered the pillows and rushed down the stairs, handing them off to a student. I lit my pipe as I walked the path to this unique building and ran up the stairway. My students stood at my arrival and I sat them on pillows on the circular floor of the Observatory. Then I scientifically introduced them to an inner exploration.

After class I encountered my famed nemeses again. “Professor ‘Feathers,’ I don’t think you have that gown quite right. Imagine if you had to lace up a whalebone corset, petticoats, and hoops beneath?” Miss Anthony said.

Mrs. Stanton said. “On him the laces would go around twice.” They laughed.

“This conversation is beneath you!” I said. “And do you actually believe that women will use the vote to put an end to war, as you have written, madam? I find most women are more interested in a spring hat than in reading the headlines of a newspaper.”

“Oh, Professor ‘Feathers’ has read my article! I’m honoured, sir. Could I be allowed to reciprocate and attend one of your lectures? I couldn’t sleep last night and heard your most recent one had the whole class snoring!” They laughed.

“Laugh, Madam, it is because of meditation and not chivalry, that I don’t reciprocate your sentiments! The name is Sigerson, I teach anthropology!”

She lowered her voice to an audible whisper. “Professor, was it enjoyable living in the Persian harem, and how much did you pay the husband to get in?” Mrs. Stanton said.

“Those women’s lives are desperate. Their fate and that of their children are at the whim of their polygamous husbands. If you had read the whole of it you would know I was there to study and to offer help also. You may want to study it yourselves. Good night.”

I retired to my room, where I enjoyed improvising to “Bach’s A minor.” His mathematical orderliness and grace brought me right. Thankfully, Professor van Ingen rolled in a cart and we discussed the suffragists. He surprised me by his hearty support and a cogent explanation as to why an open-minded, intelligent, bohemian gentleman like himself would do so. He worried for his students graduating into a world without human rights for women. I had to admit I shared his apprehension.

We then happily deliberated over American and European art through supper. Principally the Hudson River School, which was represented in Vassar’s Gallery, wisely located next to the chapel. I shared my experiences in Florence with an appreciation of Michelangelo’s sculptural work and he said. “Remember what Michelangelo said, ‘Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.” I heartily agreed. A pipe and brandy gave us a few minutes of quiet repose as Main came to rest after another assiduous day.

Tuesday dawned cold and bright, and Vassar’s bellicose infestation would be relieved by the end of the day. I escaped off campus as the child and I breakfasted at the Derby Restaurant. I scowled, “Who taught you to tie a Windsor knot?” She was wearing jacket and tie over her skirt, and purple, white, and gold ribbons pinned to her lapel. She untied it and followed my mimed lesson.

“Aunt Rita took me to Seneca Falls where we met Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony. And now they’re here just when we need them! Mrs. Stanton is my heroine. Oh, I’ve brought you some of her writings, from the National Bulletin, the Revolution and the New York Tribune. Please be careful with them, they are important to me.”

“And you think these women can assist us with your aunt’s removal!”

“They’ve done it before. They freed a woman in Philadelphia. Hester Vaughn, a domestic, sentenced to death, they saved her life. But all I can think about is what’s happening to Aunt Rita, right now!”

“That is laudable, thank you child.” I knew I could not accomplish this alone, and those women would enjoy knowing it. Miss Rita’s problem required a somewhat different focus, and one I frequently dismissed. Nonetheless, this is vanity; all that mattered was the solution of this case. If they possessed this knowledge of local law and how to successfully circumvent it I’d be an utter fool not to involve them.

Signs posted around town about today’s speakers led people to Vassar. We left the carriage, and the child pulled me to the entrance. My intention had been to spend this day away from the uproar and so entered unhappily. Women attired like the child welcomed us inside. We walked through the large arched doorway of the comfortable Rose Parlour, usually so full of students at tea. Like every other room, it had been refitted for this event. An enormous table on the left side, filled with signs and banners, used china, stuffed chairs all around. In two of those chairs, relaxed and sipping coffee, were my tormenters.

Rachel ran over and hugged Mrs. Stanton. “Welcome to Poughkeepsie.” She beamed. “Professor Sigerson, meet the greatest women of our day, Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony.”

“We have already had the pleasure.” Mrs. Stanton said icily.

“I have spent many happy hours in this room, debating with my intelligent students.” I walked its length and surveyed it with the mind of the only independent consulting detective and ticked off my findings: “Windows unlocked, no guards, open doors, no visible weapons, and far from escape.” I turned toward them calmly. “If I were an assassin, you would both be dead. It is too easy to get to you, and there are no checks and balances here. Aren’t you afraid someone might act on those death threats I know you receive?”

Mrs. Stanton rang the bell pull. Susan B. Anthony positioned herself between Mrs. Stanton and me. “Are you pronouncing judgment on us or are you going to shoot us, professor?”

“I will not let some misogynistic letters affect how I live my life!” Mrs. Stanton said.

A large gentleman rushed in and grabbed me in a lock hold. “My dear, ladies, you misunderstand my motives, I merely want to open your eyes to the peril you are in. Please disimprison me.” I attempted to free myself, testing unsuccessfully one release after another. They both laughed heartily.

I promptly slammed my head back into my attacker’s nose, while at the same time, knocking him down by a dislodging of his feet, I held his arm behind his back, and put my gun to his head. “You can be assured that in reality, this gentleman would walk in here and find two dead bodies and an open doorway to the library.”

Miss Anthony dismissed their would-be rescuer. “Thank you, Andrew that will be all. Doctor Thelberg’s surgery is on the fourth floor should you need her attentions. Professor please pocket your gun!”

“He is impressive, but slow.” I brushed off my clothes and straightened my cuffs. “Yet, I am here by merit of the child’s belief that you may be of assistance in our quest to free one damsel, Miss Rita Marcello, from the horror of the Hudson Asylum.”

“Oh no. Not Miss Rita!” Mrs. Stanton said.

“We’ve got to get her out right away; it is horrible. She’s starving and has bruises on her arms and her hair is a mess, they won’t even give her a comb!” The child said.

“I’m so sorry Miss Marcello is in peril. We will do what we can to help you, Miss Rachel.” Mrs. Stanton patted her hand.

“Professor Sigerson, you speak of one damsel, do you not see the need for justice in the lives of the women all around you?” Miss Anthony said.

I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke above us. “Ladies are conniving, manipulate their way out of problems, and expect special treatment. Their decisions are affected by trivialities. How can one trust such a quagmire?”

“We have done a superior job of just that. Only the quagmire we have built over and above is the dense impenetrability of the male mind.” Mrs. Stanton said.

I waved it away, “I don’t doubt your abilities; I doubt your reasoning.”

“Professor, you think women are frivolous and scheming, yet you are about to save one, the gentleman to the rescue. It’s astounding that with your experiences, the articles you’ve written which offer hope to women, you are still so blind to us.” Mrs. Stanton said.

“Ah, you finished my article, thank you. You ask me to draw a parallel with New Women’s lives. But this comparison is a false one and beside the point.”

“There are others in that hospital who need to be rescued, yet you are heedless to their plight.” Miss Anthony said.

“I am most aware that one man against that fortress is doomed to failure.” I stubbed out my fag.

Miss Anthony patted Mrs. Stanton’s shoulder. “Now, we know where we stand. Your thoughts are not new to us. Yet your pugilist tendencies may come in handy in this rescue.” Mrs. Stanton laughed. “I think the next conversation will be about a way to help Miss Marcello.”

“Thank you, Miss Anthony.” The child said.

“I have some thoughts on that and will continue this conversation after Mrs. Stanton’s speech this evening. Thank you for adding zest to it. We look forward to your participation, professor. We’ll see you at seven p.m.? Come, Miss Rachel, join us.” Miss Anthony wheeled Mrs. Stanton’s chair toward the Assembly Hall. The child waved and ran out.

I leaned back in my chair, lit a cigarette, and growled. “These ladies!” The thought arose with my smoke rings that in order to beat Mrs. Stanton, it was necessary to attend her speech. My violin called me to my room, but anger cannot hold a bow. They are pertinacious yet their assistance could secure my goal. I filled and lit my pipe and smoked, sprawled comfortably on my bed. Looking for fatal flaws, I picked up one of the newspapers the child had given me and casually read Mrs. Stanton’s words.

Opening my eyes to darkness, I looked at my watch and bolted out the door. I entered into the large hall stuffed with eager suffragists and sat cross-legged on the wooden aisle floor. I listened eyes-closed with the cool mind of Sherlock Holmes. As I searched for the clues to bring her down, I received only further confirmation of what I had deciphered in the child’s newspapers. Mrs. Stanton was exceptionally quick-witted. I shook that from my mind and analysed her statements. I opened my eyes and watched her. She had come alive, moved about the stage lifted by her beliefs. She was compelling and witty and she was advocating revolution. She herself was a revolution within a revolution. Her quick mind had traced where this suffragist movement would lead and she was taking us there. Each word brought me to the realization that I was unquestionably confronted by a kindred soul. That she was a champion of her day was undeniable.

Nevertheless, I did not like where this led me, to question my assumptions about women? All my experience was against it. Yet here were two brilliant and extraordinary women, rather like my Vassar acquaintances. They’re friendship had shaken the very foundations of the world, and mine. I could no longer deny my prejudice, as I now knew it to be. “It is better to learn wisdom late, than never to learn it at all.”

I stood, and theatrically bowed to her, then went about quieting her hecklers.

Mrs. Stanton continued: “We are assembled to protest against a form of government, existing without the consent of the governed–to declare our right to be free as man is free, to be represented in the government which we are taxed to support, to have such disgraceful laws as give man the power to chastise and imprison his wife, to take the wages which she earns, the property which she inherits, and in case of separation, the children of her love; laws which make her the mere dependent on his bounty . . . There can be no true dignity or independence where there is subordination to the absolute will of another, no happiness without freedom.”

After her speech, I invited them to share a quiet supper with us and to bury the hatchet after their long day.

While their final meeting was in session, I visited the Morgan House Restaurant, and structured a cold repast for their immediate refreshment, a bottle of wine, and prepared the tea when I returned to the Rose Parlour. One could almost hear the building’s sigh of relief as Main regained its dignity after the purgation of its superfluities. Teachers moved back into their own apartments to prepare for Wednesday’s sessions. I knew tomorrow’s classes would invariably include today’s focus and looked forward to the duels.

When the child returned, she talked endlessly about her day. “It was amazing. So many people were discussing women’s suffrage, and me, too. I was handing out pamphlets and collecting addresses for Miss Anthony and Mrs. Stanton. This must be heaven!”

She ushered in our guests. Our meal began, and I opened the wine for Mrs. Stanton and myself and the child poured tea for herself and Miss Anthony.

Prejudice can cripple; so many women in my cases had been seen as distractions or were left out of the equation entirely. How expeditiously would I have discovered Boone’s true identity if I had trusted Mrs. St. Clair’s story? Interviewing Miss Harrison could have safeguarded the treaty. What of my conduct concerning the matter of the beautiful Miss Adler? No, this essential diversification unlocked compelling doors for me.

My blinders off, I found in Miss Anthony, a mind used to taking charge, who shared the indomitable fearlessness of the brilliant and passionate Mrs. Stanton. Their strong friendship forged in a lifetime of shared battle was clear. “Please forgive my earlier foolishness. You unmasked my prejudice and this new skin is somewhat tender. But, ‘Feathers’ was beneath you.”

“We get so tired of that pedestal, and do cut ourselves down, usually with Mrs. Stanton’s incorrigible humour. I am sorry you got caught up in it, but your long legs entangled in the dress and the feathers in your hair were so funny.” Miss Anthony said.

“Child, did you think my enlightenment would result just from our meeting?” I said.

“It didn’t take me so long!” She said and slathered mustard on her cold beef.

“I recognized our kinship immediately listening to your speech, Mrs. Stanton.” Her blue eyes smiled up at me. “True justice is also my life’s quest. You have forced my world open like a clammer with his knife going at one with muscles dead set against opening. You have burst open the very infrastructure of my life and profession to include women in the equation. This decision may prove to be perilous for a confirmed bachelor.” Mrs. Stanton laughed.

Miss Anthony patted her hand and said. “Mrs. Stanton, as always, your words are magical.”

“Ah, but it takes a mind capable of hearing them. When did you realize your mistake?” Mrs. Stanton said.

“I acquiesced completely at, ‘Moral beings can only judge of others by themselves–the moment they give a different nature to any of their own kind they utterly fail.’ Your language is supreme, madam.”

“It didn’t take you very long, professor.” said Mrs. Stanton. “Many brave men have supported us from the beginning, but you have to come to your own edification.” She smiled.

“My overwhelming focus is the Hudson Asylum and a woman held against her will for three weeks.” I nodded sideways to the child. “And I acknowledge that a fortuitous providence has brought us together.”

“Extracting a woman from a mental hospital is a delicate matter. The husband’s harassment can switch focus onto the rescuers. These asylums are a law unto themselves, little fiefdoms. The state has given them almost total control over the insane. People disappear into them, and we fear for their lives. But as long as the state doesn’t have to see it, they’re happy.” Miss Anthony said.

“He is no longer a concern. We have found a good-hearted doctor, and lawyer. Can you aid me in effecting her successful rescue?”

Miss Anthony said. “If your legal plans fail, are you prepared to spirit her away to another country?” The child gasped. “In this, the courts are not always on the side of the woman. They disrupt or ruin lives on the word of the husband alone.”

“Tomorrow I will pose as an orderly to explore the asylum and will be there in three days for her sanity exam.”

“Make sure someone knows of your plans for this visit so they can announce your cab has arrived.” Miss Anthony said.

“She can travel to London with me, her brother and sister will find family in Italy. Thank you for your wisdom as to my safety.”

The child was now overwrought. “No! Aunt Rita must stay here.”

I spoke calmly. “That is our ultimate plan, child. But we must have an alternate solution for your aunt’s safety. I am glad for Miss Anthony’s experience in this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I don’t want her in that horrible place. It’s just that I’ll miss her all over again if she’s in Italy.”

“Think,” I said. “Then you will have two people to visit in Europe.” A concerned frown filled her face and she turned away from me.

Miss Anthony patted her hand and offered to testify at Miss Marcello’s trial. Mrs. Stanton agreed to take Rita in her New York apartment, right from the asylum. “No matter the time!” Nurse Nancy was Miss Anthony’s contact at Hudson. She was a connection for information, help with the rescue, and most especially, safety on the inside for Rita. I resolved to speak with her immediately.

Mrs. Stanton laughed. “Susan, if we could plan on a suffragist march as part of the escape, it would add quite a unique confusion, don’t you think? And possibly wake up Poughkeepsie, too? And if Nurse Nancy can help us add to our numbers, we can rescue as many inmates as possible.”

“We’ll bring jackets, ribbons, sashes, and hats for the escapees.” said Miss Anthony.

The child said. “Change clothing in the middle of a march?” The ladies laughed.

“Of course, Miss Rachel, and then we will march to the safety of the Friends Meeting House.” Miss Anthony said.

“Then, oh, we must coordinate with Harriet, first. They could stay at former Underground Railroad houses all the way to Canada! We won’t need that many, they are practically there already. A great escape!” Mrs. Stanton said.

“Poughkeepsie is 260-miles from the Canadian border and 300-miles from Montreal. Please don’t forget the children.” The child said.

Miss Anthony said. “Mrs. Stanton, you’re magnificent. I will contact Nurse Nancy beforehand, and ask for as many children as she can rescue.”

“A delightful disruption and you will carry this off?” I said.

“That’s the easy part.” She stood. “The Registrar’s office is this way?” Miss Anthony said. She strode down the hall to find the telephone.

“How will all these women defrock in public? Surely in our day this is impossible!”

“For a man, yes.” Mrs. Stanton said.

“Explain yourself, madam!”

Mrs. Stanton turned to me, rubbed her hands together and chuckled. “Women wear dresses, even in winter. It’s easier to pull things up, on and over, professor.”

“I see, but surely your procession will be shadowed, how will you safeguard the recently incarcerated, and what of their arrival in Canada?”

“Miss Rachel, thank you for your help today.” Mrs. Stanton shook her hand. “Professor, we will contact our Quaker friends in Montreal and they will happily take our refugees in hand. As for shadowing, I imagine that your plan includes the sabotaging of the asylum’s means of communication with the outside world?” I smiled my ascent. “Then you should know that the American Suffragists are proud of our record of peaceful protest. The only time a suffragist has been arrested in New York, was when Miss Anthony voted ‘illegally.”

Miss Anthony returned from her phone call. “I will never pay that fine! They thought they were intimidating me. Imbeciles! It was the shot heard around the world! The fools didn’t even realize it was our national call to arms. Mrs. Stanton, the word is out; my local cohorts are working on it. They will also get a message to Miss Tubman.”

“Once more unto the breach,’ my dear, Susan, ‘once more.” Miss Anthony rubbed Mrs. Stanton’s tired shoulders, they smiled.

“When will you leave the asylum?” said Miss Anthony.

“9 a.m.”

“Perfect, our march will be there.”

“The gates and the asylum doors open at 8 a.m.” I pushed plates out of the way and drew a rough map. “The classroom you are interested in is here.” I pointed with my cigarette. “I will contribute more detail following my visit. What is your plan?”

“We will march from the Meeting House to the asylum grounds and to an out-building where the women will be waiting.”

“Those buildings are here.” The child drew an “X” on the drawing.

“Chanting loudly, we will quickly absorb the women and children into our March then pass through Market Street, maybe a speech, Mrs. Stanton? Then return to the Meeting House.” Miss Anthony said.

“A well-defined diversion, I will also appeal to the Houdini Brothers for their diabolical amusement of the staff. And will be in my most formidable guise in the main building.”

Mrs. Stanton said. “Yes, I think we’ve had a taste of that, already! Susan, I’m sorry to miss all your fun. I will be at my New York apartment to greet Miss Marcello. But Professor ‘Feathers’ are you sure there isn’t a bit of revolutionary in you?”

“You might want to contribute to the success of these women, and we will be quietly accepting donations.” Miss Anthony said.

“Rachel, join us at our next meeting. Or come for a visit, both of you.” Mrs. Stanton said.

I contributed a quiet gift from Her Majesty’s England, something Mycroft will find quite revolutionary.

In the cab to Perry Street, the child intoned sleepily: “We just had supper with Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony, right? And I helped at their suffragist meeting?” She yawned. “And you are really my friend? I’m not dreaming am I?”

“No, but you are rather tired. It was illuminating to be in the presence of true revolutionaries. Thank you.”

“You mean after you finished yelling at them?” She laughed.

“They began as intelligent girls who employed their very different geniuses to break through the considerable barriers for women’s suffrage. Because they accepted their life’s challenge with wit and a most stalwart companionship, your future is bright.”

She was strangely quiet. I understood quiet, then she looked up at me. “Professor Sigerson, thank you for helping Aunt Rita, but, do you think you could stay here for a while?”

We arrived at her door, and she walked inside. “Goodnight.”

I lit my pipe for the drive back.

My dear Watson,

This case has some rather surprising points of interest. Some of them come from places I have never until now allowed in my life, from those I used to dismiss. I wonder how much more of the world is there, hidden behind fallacious beliefs.

As you know me to be, dear partner,

Very sincerely yours,

S. H.