When they arrived at the White Sands hotel, the Cuthbert's were immediately met by the ladies of the fundraising committee, one of whom ushered Anne off to the performers' dressing room which was filled with the members of a Charlottetown Symphony Club, among whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and 'countrified.' Her dress, which in the east gable had seemed so dainty and pretty, now seemed simple and plain - too simple and plain, she thought, among all the silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her. What were her pearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big, handsome lady near her? And how poor her wildflowers must look beside all the hothouse flowers the others wore! Anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank miserably into a corner. She wished herself back in the white room at Green Gables.
It was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel. The electric lights dazzled her eyes, and the perfume and hum were irritatingly persistent. After the que to que, Anne was seated in the front row next to Miss Ameila Evans, an acclaimed actress from Toronto, and Milton Clark, a violin-playing child prodigy from Newbridge. On the other end of the aisle: Bertha Sampson and Pearl Clay of the acclaimed St. John's Chamber Orchestra who were performing a duet, and Winnie Adella Blair of Carmody who was singing a Scotch ballad.
Anxious for a diversion, she flipped open the printed program to discover, horror of horrors, that she was the closing act! And, what was worse, her recitation would follow a Shakespearian soliloquy from Miss Evans who was by far the most accomplished performer in the lineup. Feeling as though she might be sick to her stomach, she grabbed her handbag and started to stand when an utterly scrumptious woman took to the stage.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Mrs. Cordelia Avery and I will be your mistress of ceremonies this afternoon."
Anne gasped, drawing glances from her fellow performers, but she couldn't help it. Cordelia! The most perfect of names for the most perfect of women. Mrs. Avery was nothing like the old crone she had imagined. She was young - no more than 35 years - with alabaster skin and golden hair. Her clothes were the height of fashion and fit her to a tee. She was a vision, and Anne was gobsmacked.
"My husband and I are so grateful you could join us today for this most important of causes: women's sufferage. We have enjoyed some municipal victories in this part of the country these last few years, specifically granting the right to vote on local issues to women who own property and spinsters, but this is not enough. We will not rest until all women, regardless of property and marital status, can vote municipally, provincially, and federally."
The audience was completely silent - stunned. This wasn't your ordinary regional fundraiser for the Charlottetown Hospital or the Presbiterian overseas missions. This was a political fundraiser! Mrs. Avery was a suffragette! It seems the entire town, nay all of P.E.I., had gotten caught up in the promise of big name performers and a fancy to-do that it hadn't occurred to any of them to consider what they were gathering in support of. The crowd began to whisper and shift awkwardly in their seats. Mr. Tramayne, the owner of the hotel, was positively pink with embarrassment betraying the fact that he, too, hadn't thought to ask after the cause when the Averys made the reservation. Mr. Bugle was the first up and out of his chair:
"I ain't being suckered into supporting women, I ain't! Come on Eulalie!" And off they went. It started to look like some of Avonlea's more conservative families were going to follow when Mr. Avery hopped up on stage.
"I know this is a new concept for many of you and so I offer you a deal. If you stay through until the end of today's relatively short presentation, I will offer you a free refund should you so choose to claim it. Who amoung you doesn't love a good deal?"
Mr. Andrews, who had a moment early appeared to be readying to make a grand exit himself, was a gambling man through and through. He'd like those odds, nodded at the extremely wealthy man who'd offered them, and resumed his seat. The others followed, unsure if they were making the right decision or not.
"Very well. Darling, you may resume," said Mr. Avery.
"Thank you, dear," responded Mrs. Avery, equal parts grateful for her husband's intervention and annoyed by it. But, if she'd learned anything these last two years, it was that allies were important and the cause would be lost without them. Still, she wished her words had the weight of her male counterparts. "As I was saying, this afternoon's performance is sure to be rich and diverse, and rest assured there will be no speeches or politicizing from me, I promise. There is a small write up in your program about this important movement, and I will be available in the lobby for the rest of the day should any of you wish to learn more about women's sufferage."
Anne rolled the words around in her mouth: women's suffrage. She'd heard the expression before but it sounded so different coming from Mrs. Avery's mouth. Women's sufferage. She was very proud of what Marilla and Mrs. Lynde had accomplished on the town council this year, but she could see now that this work was only the tip of the iceberg. So much more that needed to be done, and Mrs. Avery seemed just the woman to do it. She had the vision and conviction - not to mention, the wealth, power, and influence - to affect real change. What a person she was! Anne's infatuation only intensified as the afternoon rolled along and Mrs. Avery demonstrated immense grace under pressure and a quirky sense of humour.
The other performers ranged from perfectly adequate to exquisite: the latter applying almost exclusively to Mrs. Evans who was magnificent. She was a lithe, dark-eyed woman in a wonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems on her neck and in her dark hair. She had a marvelously flexible voice and wonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over her selection. Anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the time, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation ended she suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up and recite after that - never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Oh, if she were only back at Green Gables!
At this unpropitious moment her name was called. Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering—the rows of ladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of wealth and culture about her. These people, she thought, would be merciless critics. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and miserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness came over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so.
But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she thought she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face. She knew it couldn't be him, but even the thought of him was a comfort to her.
Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as she had never done before. When she finished there were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by Miss Evans.
"My dear, you did splendidly," she puffed. "I've been crying like a baby, actually I have. There, they're encoring you—they're bound to have you back!"
"Oh, I can't go," said Anne confusedly. "But yet - I must, or Matthew will be disappointed. On the carriage ride over, he said they would encore me."
"Then don't disappoint Matthew," said the star, smiling.