She tried to concentrate on sifting through her post. The next three missives in a row were rejections from various theaters for her play about suffrage. She had so hoped the manager of the Olympic might at least haveconsidered… Well, it was their loss.
If Viv could write her own future, it might read like:
Olympic Theater: Please allow us to perform your magnificent play, Miss Henry.
Vivian: I’m sorry, but the Opera House has already paid handsomely for the exclusive rights for the next full year.
Olympic Theater: Then let us have something else you’ve written. Anything at all.
Vivian: Well… I do have a play about Black suffragists. And another about the atrocities committed by British and European plantation owners on their slaves. And another about the evils perpetuated in South Asia by the East India Company. And another about the irreparable harm done by the Britishmonarchy in its relentless attempts to colonize and subjugate existing communities throughout the world.
Olympic Theater: Yes! Splendid! We’ll take them all! It is past time that such truths be told, and your voice is just the one to speak out.
Unfortunately, it was just a fantasy. Particularly the scripts about suffrage. To even speak the wordsequal voting rightspublicly risked being beheaded in the street.
Viv rose from the table to toss the letters into their specifically designated baskets in the corner.
Quentin watched her. “If you already know everyone is going to say no, then why do you keep trying?”
“They don’t all say no. Most don’t bother to respond at all. A small percentage reply with a variety of ‘I’m sure you’re a nice lady, but we receive hundreds of submissions from proven professionals and don’t have time to read the inferior first drafts from amateurs like you.’”
Quentin looked at the overflowing basket. “That’s a small percentage? How many times do you plan on asking?”
“As many as it takes. I can achieveanythingif I’m good enough. The key to success is not giving up. I will succeed, and I’ll do it on my own.”
“You do everything on your own,” said Quentin. “Except eat. Your eggs are getting cold.”
Viv shoved a forkful into her mouth. He was right. Her carefully cooked eggs were now ghastly.
“I’d have more time,” she said carefully, “if I weren’t the only one managing the household chores.”
She hated how awkward it was to broach this topic. On the onehand, it was unreasonable to expect her to accomplish twice as many tasks as could fit into a day. On the other hand, Quentin wasn’t obliged to offer a roof over her head at all. His meager trust was meant for him, not him and a hanger-on.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” he said with his mouth full. “Our secret society—”
“Quentin—”
“I mean ‘innocent group of non-seditious friends,’” he corrected himself. “In order to become the new wave of Wynchesters, we’re widening the region in which we operate—”
“You don’t have a region, and you don’toperate. No one with half a brain has mistaken you or any of your friends for an actual—”
“Yes, they have! Theydo. Every day!” he insisted. “No one knows how many Wynchesters there are, so it’s easy to pretend to be Nancy or Phineas or anyone else we make up.”
“I know exactly how many there are.”
True, but not the point. Viv was letting herself get swept into an old argument rather than insist they stay on a difficult topic.
Perhaps she never forced a reckoning about the uneven responsibilities in their household because some of the possible solutions would be worse than the problem.
“You’retrying to change the world,” he said hotly. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Though she feared for her cousin every day, Viv didn’t want to stifle his spirit. They weren’t living in the dangerous environment where she’d been raised. Quentin’s biggest fear was spending his quarterly trust money too quickly, not the sting of a whip.
“And we do operate,” he insisted. “The Wynchesters are like Bow Street Runners, but better. Instead of helping only wealthy clients, they help anyone who needs them. That’s what my friends and I are doing. Whatever we can, for whoever needs it. We might not havemuch impact now, but Newt and I have plans to—” His mouth shut tight with an audible click of the teeth.
Viv narrowed her eyes. She’d never heard of any Newt but already didn’t like him. “You’d better not have plans to do anything dangerous or stupid. Swear to me none of you are foolish enough to commit actual crimes.”
He glared at her stonily, then gave a single short nod.
