Past Caring by Robert Goddard

victory.”
    “You think so?”
    “Yes. It was an accomplished political performance, paying no heed to truth or justice.”
    Still this beautiful firebrand was prepared to debate with me. I was surprised at the force of her convictions and the intelligence of her arguments, above all at my willingness to overlook her throwing of the brick, my wish to sit and talk with her rather than hand her over to the police.
    “Won’t you sit down? Your leg must be hurting you.”
    “It is nothing. Your servant bandaged it.” But she did sit down and was still a little flushed and breathless, though she had ordered her appearance since her fall, so that her dark eyes were dry and her hair in place.
    “Since you know who I am, will you at least tell me who you are?”
    “Elizabeth Latimer.”
    “And how old are you?”
    “Twenty.”
    “What would your parents think if they knew what you had done here this evening?” It was a foolish question , the sort of question I knew I would resent in her shoes.
    “If they were still alive, Mr. Strafford, they would be as uncomprehending as you, though with the excuses of being older and less well-informed.” I was suitably rebuked.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Latimer. You must forgive any testiness on my part. It is a reaction to having a brick thrown through the window of my private house.”
    “You have been Home Secretary for a year now. What have you done in that time that would prevent an unenfranchised woman throwing a brick through your window?”
    “But, Miss Latimer, you have not yourself come of age.”
    “For shame, Mr. Strafford. More sophistry.”
     

P A S T C A R I N G
    55
    She was right, and I was ashamed as I leant back in my chair and gazed across at her, wondering why, at the height of my powers and standing well in the counsels of the land, I could not match her for energy and commitment, why I should ever think that my mas-tery of debating techniques could excuse a politically expedient ambivalence. I recalled the scene in Okehampton Town Hall nine years before, when I had first been elected. My high hopes had since been fulfilled. But what of the electors’ trust in me? Had that been rewarded, when Miss Latimer could so rightly rebuke me? I looked across at her, striving to conceal this sudden guilt, but she, gazing back, dispelled it in the most unexpected manner. Her mouth curled into a hesitant smile which was at once restrained, as if it had appeared in a forgetful moment. Her own mask, that of the amazon campaigner, had slipped, to show the beautiful, nervous young woman beneath.
    “Mr. Strafford—what do you propose to do with me?”
    “Why, nothing, Miss Latimer.”
    “Nothing at all?”
    “Nothing. You may go entirely free—on one condition.”
    “And that is?”
    “That you meet me again soon , when you have recovered from your injury, so that we may discuss your views in calmer fashion.”
    “To what purpose?”
    “Surely the man whose window is broken may attempt to show the breaker the error of her ways.”
    “Very well. You offer me an opportunity to show you the error of your ways which I can hardly refuse.”
    “Shall we say Hyde Park next Sunday afternoon at two o’clock—the seats by the Round Pond?”
    “The venue seems an odd one.”
    “Miss Latimer, I cannot meet you in formal surroundings. Yet, as Home Secretary, I would earnestly like to hear more of how my government can so have failed that it drives the pride of its young womanhood to window-breaking. I would also like to bring you to understand that political realities preclude immediate concessions to what may appear to be the cause of justice and right. I should hope that such an exchange of views would prove educative to both parties. Yet it can only be of benefit if it remains, at this stage, 56

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    confidential. I must therefore ask you not to report our meeting to your confederates.”
    “Mr. Strafford, that is no hardship. They would pour scorn