”Ladies, it’s time.” Cromwell stood in the open doorway, something of a smirk on his face. “I hope you’ve all made friends, because I have to say, I don’t like the look of the crowd outside.”

Sarah Cordell snorted. “They can’t be as bad as the last lot.”

The smirk became something nastier. “I wouldn’t like to say.”

Zoe stood up. “Better get this over with.” She patted her pocket. Inside was the script, in River’s very best handwriting, since she’d announced Simon’s was like trying to read an inebriated snail. It was logical, coherent, and totally without any jokes – Freya had seen to that, having to battle hard against Mal and Jayne in the process.

Mercy nodded, getting to her feet. “They’re not bad folk, Zoe,” she said in a low aside. “Just … unenlightened.”

“Are they likely to get enlightened?”

“By election day?” Mercy chuckled. “I doubt it.”

“Then we’d better see what we can do.” Zoe smiled and wrapped the other woman’s arm over hers.

Startled, Mercy stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “Yes. Let’s.”

Zoe noticed, but didn’t comment on, the look that passed between Sarah and Bea, while Polly merely tutted.

They all followed Cromwell down the maze of corridors again, ending up outside a green baize covered door.

“Stay together,” the man instructed. “I will introduce you, then you come onto the stage and sit down.”

“Just like before,” Bea said. “Just get on with it.”

Cromwell glared at her, then led the way into the backstage area. He stepped through the curtains and they heard his voice. “Good citizens of Jericho Wells, please take your seats. We are about to begin.”

There was the sound of feet stomping on wooden floor, chairs being pulled into position, then relative silence, broken only by the odd cough and sniff.

Cromwell spoke again. “This is the last but one meeting to enable you to put your questions to the candidates for campaigner for women’s rights. The last will be held the night before the election, so if you haven’t made up your mind