Olivia Enslaved

Olivia Johnson gazed out across the sea of animated faces in the hall and prepared to deliver the closing lines of her impassioned and heartfelt speech. As she held up her arms, the excited crowd fell silent, every face turned up towards her to hear her words.

“And so I say to you, sisters, stand up for your rights! No longer shall we dance to the tune of men, subordinating ourselves and our daughters to the yoke of male supremacy. They want us to be cordon bleu chefs in the kitchen and harlots in the bedroom, but I say those days are gone and will never return, unless we allow them to. Men must be made to change their ways and change them they will if we unite and go forward into battle with our heads held high and in the knowledge that our cause is just. Unite, sisters! Unite and fight in the great and glorious struggle for Women’s Rights and we shall win the day. Equality is our right! Equality must be ours and equality shall be ours.”

As she raised her arms in a victory salute, the hall erupted, the packed, all woman audience clapping, cheering and waving their arms in wild applause. On the podium, Olivia flushed with pleasure as the chairwoman struggled to make herself heard above the din, proposing a vote of thanks to Olivia.

At the age of twenty six, Olivia was that rare thing in late Victorian England, a divorced woman. In an age when divorce was a scandal and most women put up with their lot, no matter what the provocation, Olivia had defied convention.

Married at twenty three to a man she learned, too late, only desired her for her pretty face and slim body. Olivia found out, all too soon, that even while he was professing his love for her, he was simultaneously carrying on an affair with the notorious Lady Honoria Turlingham, the young and beautiful widow of old Lord Turlingham who, so rumour had it, had not long survived the sexual demands of his new and, after his death, extremely wealthy young bride.

Olivia had been devastated by her husband’s unfaithfulness and, despite the stigma she knew would attach to her as a divorcee, forced herself through the lengthy, embarrassing and frequently acrimonious process of obtaining her freedom from a man she no longer loved.

The large financial settlement she eventually obtained, gave her independence and she embraced the newly formed Women’s Rights movement with crusading zeal, using her divorce settlement to fund a lecture tour all around the country.

To her surprise and delight, she found herself welcomed and treated as a heroine by women everywhere, her lectures fully booked wherever she went. At her first few lectures, male hecklers tried to disrupt her speeches, but, from somewhere, she found an unexpected strength which enabled her to turn their scorn against them and make them look ridiculous. After that, she was left alone and her tour went from strength to strength.

This was the final lecture of her tour and as she accepted the vote of thanks from the chairwoman, Olivia felt a wave of tiredness and relief sweep through her body. As soon as this meeting was over, she was going to take a few months off to relax and recover.

As the applause died away, the chairwoman turned to her, “Thank you ever so much,” the woman gushed, “It was a wonderful speech and I’m sure it will give a great boost to the movement in this area. Where are you off to now? More speeches?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Olivia replied. “Yours was my last for a while. I’m taking a long rest.”

“Oh, I see. Well you deserve it, my dear. Have a nice, restful holiday and then come back full of fresh enthusiasm and vigour, ready to carry on the good work.”

Olivia smiled, nodding and picked up her coat and hat, “Goodbye and thank you for all the organisation. Perhaps I’ll see you again, next time I’m in the area,” and with another smile, Olivia went on her way. At the door, a group of well wishers shook her hand and waved as she stepped into a waiting hansom cab. The driver clicked his tongue and shook the reins and the cab clattered off, its iron shod wheels rumbling along the dark street.

Inside, Olivia sank back into the battered leather upholstery, unaware that her well wishers were not the only ones watching her departure.

Some time later, the cab jolted to a halt and Olivia, dozing, half heard a muffled thump and gasp from above and behind her head, where the driver sat. Not really awake, she called out, “Driver? What’s the matter? Why have you stopped?” but there was no answer.

Grumbling under her breath, she pushed open the two half doors of the cab and stepped down on to the road. It was extremely dark, no lights anywhere around, even the lamp of the cab seemed to have been blown out and Olivia peered around in the gloom, wondering what the trouble was and where the driver had got to.

With no warning, strong arms pinned her arms to her sides and a thick pad of cloth clamped over her nose and mouth, a sickly sweet smell filling her nostrils. The sudden shock made her suck in a deep breath and the drug filled her lungs. Her eyes widened, then rolled up to reveal their whites as she passed out and her body went limp in the arms holding her.

Deeply unconscious and kept that way by the drug soaked cloth tied loosely over her lips, Olivia never heard the low chuckles of her attackers and could not know where she was taken, or by whom, or for what purpose, as her inert body was bundled into a second waiting carriage and driven off into the night.