Free Blind Trust by Susannah Bamford Page B

over and picked up a book lying on the small table by her chair. “ Leaves of Grass ,” she said.
    â€œIt’s marvelous. Have you read it?”
    â€œNo. Mr. Statton won’t allow it.”
    â€œI was under the impression that Mr. Statton was very interested in culture.”
    Darcy smiled. “Of course. Like any man of his stature. We have no armchairs in our house. Only fauteuils .”
    It took a long moment for Columbine to realize Darcy had made a joke. Then, a startled laugh broke from Columbine that petered out into a delighted smile.
    â€œOh, my,” she said again, shooting a look at Darcy.
    They exchanged the most conspiratorial of smiles. Darcy caressed the leather binding of the book. How she would love to take it home! It would not be the first forbidden book she’d smuggled into the house. Books kept her alive. “Is Mr. Whitman very shocking?”
    â€œExtremely, wonderfully so. Take it with you.”
    â€œMr. Statton—”
    â€œI’ll wrap it for you,” Columbine said promptly.
    Darcy leaned forward. “Will you tell me about your beliefs, Mrs. Nash?”
    â€œBless you. No one seems to want to hear about it among your friends.”
    â€œMy friends … you mean the people I dine with?”
    Columbine gave her an odd look. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. There are times—this might sound peculiar to you, Mrs. Statton, since I know how New Yorkers are—but I miss the Midwest. Those audiences in Kansas were so progressive. Less afraid of new ideas than New York. But things are changing. Why, Ned Van Cormandt gave me a contribution to the New Women Sodety. He doesn’t want it generally known, of course. But he did give it.”
    â€œI shan’t breathe a word. The New Women Society? Is that the name of your … organization?”
    â€œYes. Well, I wouldn’t call it my organization, but I helped found it. I’m trying again, Mrs. Statton. I took two long years off from public speaking. I collapsed, I’m afraid, from overwork. I went home to England and simply sat. It was very difficult for me, more difficult,” Columbine said, laughing, “than speaking in a drafty hall and going back to some poor soul’s boarding house for some gray meat in a sauce of grease for my dinner. As for my work now, I’m shifting emphasis. Free love is not very popular these days, not with Mr. Comstock on the loose. What a disgrace that man is! Throwing people in jail just for trying to help women prevent conception. I do believe we are slipping backward, with all the steps forward we made in the seventies. So I concentrate on the basic issues. I think some of these new leaders of the movement are making a grave mistake by concentrating on suffrage to the exclusion of other rights that women must have.”
    â€œSuch as, Mrs. Nash?”
    â€œWomen are property, Mrs. Statton, in the eyes of the law.” Columbine rose and went to the secretary. While she spoke, she searched through the papers and finally emerged with a piece of brown paper and some string. “We need to change that. Women should have their own money, and if they divorce, they should be protected.” Columbine returned to the chair and began to wrap Leaves of Grass. Her fingers were deft and quick, and not once did her words falter. “But if they are married, they should also be free—constricting minds only leads to physical and mental distress, you know. Sexual fulfillment in marriage is so important, and no one dares to speak of it anymore … well, not nearly enough.” Columbine handed Darcy the book. “More tea?”
    â€œThank you,” Darcy murmured. This was the kind of talk she’d come to hear, but she felt overcome with embarrassment. How could Mrs. Nash talk of such things so freely? “I’m sorry to say that I never heard you speak, Mrs. Nash. I’ve heard how stirring your