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Her currently exposed collarbone.

Buttons, Ellie thought with a distant alarm as she clamped her hand onto the front of her shirt, which she had neglected to do back up after removing the map.

“Hiking,” Bates blurted, snapping his gaze away from her. “Love hiking. Sounds good to me. Best get some sleep.”

“Right,” Ellie agreed awkwardly. “An eminently wise suggestion.”

She rapidly restored her buttons and climbed into her hammock.

“Good night, Mr. Bates,” she said, resolutely directing her gaze at the canopy which hung overhead.

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” Bates replied, staring up at the canvas from beside her.

?

Eighteen

Ellie stood in thecenter of Hyde Park amid a sea of women gathered in droves of all ages. Cockney East Enders mingled with Scots, Jamaicans, South Asians and Irishwomen. They waited in noble stillness with their arms linked together.

A stuffy little man in a black suit climbed up to the podium. He cleared his throat and prepared to read from a thick piece of paper.

“Ahem,” he began. “The vote on the question of whether the right to participate in elections should be extended to all ladies over the age of twenty-one has been counted. Members in favor: four hundred and eighty-nine. Members against: one hundred and eighty-one. The motion has passed. The franchise of the vote shall be extended to women at the next…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the cheer that rose up from the crowd—a roar like an enormous tide sweeping over the shore. The women around Ellie jumped and screamed as they hugged one another with tears streaking down their faces.

A dawning comprehension washed over her like cool water. Ellie was consumed by the realization of all that the change would mean—of everything that it would transform.

Women constituted half the population of the nation. With the power of their votes, they could institutionalize fair employment practices. Secure property rights and protection from domestic abuse. Expand the right to divorce. Access safe and reliable forms of birth control.

They could transform Britain’s policies in its colonial holdings, liberating countless thousands of other women who struggled, suffered, and fought across the full extent of the globe.

Someone was hugging Ellie, bouncing with happiness at her side. She heard laughter and the wild chatter of resurrected dreams.

The scene stuttered—and changed. Ellie smelled something that reminded her of the aftermath of a brushfire as smoke drifted through the air. The white linen shirtfronts and black silk lapels that surrounded her flashed with crimson splatters.

The world she knew jittered back into place. The stark red stains were gone. Someone passed around a flask of gin. Women flooded the stage to shake the hand of the gentleman at the podium until his dour face split into a grin.

The view contorted with another shuddering transformation. Heat burst over her with a ferocious crack. Pale bodies flew back, tossed like children’s dolls.

Her sisters screamed with the savage joy of victory.

Ellie glanced down at the blood covering her hands.

“We’ve done it!” Constance exclaimed.

Ellie’s friend grasped her arms. Constance’s lovely face was bright with happiness as tears streaked down her cheeks. Her white lawn dress was spotless as new snow.

Behind her, a terrible smoke spiraled into the sky, stinking of scorched flesh.

Ellie blinked.

No—it was just a cloud, the whisper of an oncoming storm.

A woman stood in the space beyond Constance’s shoulder, noticeably still amid the roiling of the crowd. Her figure was delicate, crowned with rich black hair over sun-blessed skin. Eyes like ancient wells gazed at Ellie steadily from above the ordinary gray lines of a proper English walking dress.

Ellie recognized those eyes, just as she recognized the ancient scar that marred the skin of the woman’s cheek.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” Ellie called out.