In walked two women carrying torches, garbed in long, shimmering golden tunics. Around their necks, covering their shoulders and upper torsos, were the large, circular Egyptian usekh-the iconic gold collars worn by pharaohs. Both women wore heavy black eyeliner that extended beyond the outside corner of each eye and ended in a little circular flourish, as well as blue-shaded coloring on their eyelids. Their dark red lips, pale cheeks, and black hair pulled back into sleek chignons made them appear identical-although observation confirmed that they were not.
The pair walked toward the statue of Sekhmet, each placing a fiery torch in a sconce on either side of it. It was an odd sight: the ancient statuary from Egypt flanked by primitive flaming torches in a modern chamber illuminated by artificial light.
"Welcome to the Society of Sekhmet," said one of the women as they turned to face the group.
"The Ankh is pleased that you have accepted its special invitation," said the other.
Mirror images of each other, they continued to speak in turn, using low, modulated voices. They weren't automatons, but they gave off the impression of being two halves of one whole. I suspected one of them had been the lantern carrier and the second woman had been the owner of the white glove that collected our invitations.
"Now, it is our honor to welcome . . ."
". . . the Most Reverent Ankh."
A hushed rumble filtered over the group. Then it became still and silent, holding its collective breath.
When the two women deemed the small crowd to be properly reverent, they walked back to where they'd entered. One held the fabric covering aside, and the other opened the door. Anticipation crackled through the chamber as a tall, slender figure stepped into view.
At first I thought it was a man, for the individual was dressed in the masculine attire of a black stovepipe hat made popular by the American president Lincoln, along with a well-tailored black frock coat, trousers, and gleaming black shoes. Beneath the coat was a crimson shirtwaist and a waistcoat of black and red paisley. Black gloves, a black neckcloth, and a black walking stick topped by an ornate gold head completed the ensemble.
But as the Ankh walked toward Sekhmet, I became uncertain of his or her gender. The movements were easy and graceful, the facial features and hair were obscured by the hat brim's shadow. From my distant seat, I made out smooth, fair skin, a well-defined jaw, and a long, slender nose. The mouth was full, and the cheeks high, and I revised my opinion toward that of the feminine race. As I scrutinized the individual, I had a niggling feeling I was missing something important.
"Good evening." The Ankh's voice gave no further confirmation or denial of gender. It was smooth, hardly above a whisper, and somewhere in the range of a tenor. Despite its low volume, every syllable reached all corners of the chamber. "I am pleased to be with you at last, dear ladies of the Society of Sekhmet."
Another rustle filtered through the room. It has been my experience that young ladies can never sit still for long, particularly while dressed in corsets and heavy, clinging skirts.
"In the past, some of you attended our salon meetings dedicated to the study of Sekhmet and other fascinating aspects of Egyptology. And some of you have accepted the invitation to join us for the first time this evening. Please accept my apology that tonight's discussion will not be about the meaning of the uraeus, as you might have anticipated. Shall we save that for a more conventional meeting during the daylight hours?"
A few titters indicated that the Ankh had made some sort of joke.
"Indeed," the Ankh said with a dusky laugh, "I am gratified so many of you chose to leave the-what are they calling it? The event of the season?-to join us here in our humble meeting. After all . . . what can one expect from such a production as the Roses Ball when one is a young and single female? Or should I be more precise and call those Society events what they truly are? Competitions. Shows. Horseflesh fairs. Slave auctions."
I leaned forward, intrigued by the Ankh's speech while listening intently for any inflection or accent that might help with identifying the individual.
"I refer to you as being the horseflesh-and the slaves-of course, my dearest young ladies. For that is what you are in the eyes of those wealthy, handsome young bachelors-and the not-so-attractive or rich ones as well. The ones whom you'd prefer to ignore when your mamas and papas introduce them to you."
An appreciative reaction-nods, exchanging of glances-from the audience was recognizable as affirmation of the Ankh's words.
"And why is it, I wonder, that you are the ones to be paraded about under the watchful eyes of your chaperones whilst waiting for-nay, pining for-a glance from the young man you favor? Why is it that you are kept pristine, confined in your corsets and your restrictive parlors? Why, I ask of you young ladies, is it the female race who must sit still and take pains to be slender and pretty, all the while taking care to have nary a relevant thought in their heads? Why can you not have opinions and adventures, and do interesting and exciting things . . . and why must you be under constant guard by a mother, a maid, or some controlling male? A father, a brother, an uncle . . . a husband."
The Ankh's words were nothing I hadn't thought before, nothing that hadn't settled in my mind as, day after day, I observed the restrictions imposed on others of my gender-particularly of the upper class. I was an unusual case because I existed with little chaperonage and adult interference, but I still experienced the societal restrictions and expectations. And although the suffragettes preached of gaining the right to vote, tonight the Ankh was speaking of concepts beyond politics. Listening to her, I became incensed anew at the plight of my feminine race.
Apparently, I was not alone, for someone clapped and then, all at once, the chamber was filled with the roar of applause. I joined them and noticed Miss Stoker had done so as well. She seemed just as fixated on our speaker as I had been.
The Ankh gave a cool smile to the room and then she (I use the feminine pronoun for simplicity's sake) walked over to the statue. It seemed as if she were consulting with Sekhmet. A fanciful concept to be sure, and I'm certain the Ankh was merely attempting to lead the more gullible and impressionable women in the room to believe it to be the case.
Then the Ankh faced us once more.
"Why can't young ladies choose where they go and what they do? Why do you not have the same freedom that your male counterparts do?"
A low rumble swept the room as if the occupants were asking themselves the same passionate questions.
"Ah," the Ankh said, once again employing that cool smile, "but you do. You have done so. By accepting the invitation for tonight, you have taken the first step in making a change. In freeing yourselves from restrictions and repressions. Of freeing yourself from being locked away like some bird in a gilded cage-until you are shunted away to a different cage with a husband whom you only might love. A husband who will make every little decision for you. A husband who will control whatever you want and need. A husband who will own you. He will quite literally own you. Yes, my lovelies . . . like a slave.