Deference Due

The great ornate hall was filled with men beyond their prime, their finest thick suits hanging from their broad shoulders along with their ties choking them in the humid space. The quiet rumble of words was silenced by the sound of confident footsteps stalking through the door from the side of the stage, echoing through the hall. As the auctioneer crossed the stage the potential buyers comfortably resumed their murmurings, disregarding the presentation platform until the proceedings were scheduled to begin.

Handkerchiefs dabbed at the perspiration forming on foreheads, feet shifted in discomfort from the hour they had already been waiting, and the afternoon sun beamed through the high window panels onto the grey hats still atop balding heads.

The bodies were packed tightly like sardines in an expensive can. Older men filled the front rows while women participants took their place at the back of the hall, obscured by the sea of men shifting with impatience.

This afternoon’s auction was directed by the team from Sotheby’s Auction House who had recently moved from Wellington Street to New Bond Street in Mayfair. They had made an impression very quickly since their move in the Summer of 1917, already making the papers with their sales of fine art propelling them forward in the auctioneer industry after their successes over the last 6 years selling the contents of the impressive Huth Library. An item on the sale itinerary today was one in high demand. Usually the hall would be filled with people who had no intention of making a purchase but instead to watch the event from the sidelines. Today, every person attending was here for a purpose and the air was thick with anticipation for the moment painting would take the stage beside the auctioneer.

The auctioneer stood at the podium double checking the order of their sale notes and item profiles. While their stride had initially been filled with confidence, they now felt their heart palpitating with nervousness and fingers trembling as they sifted through their documents. Usually when the auctioneer took the stage the guests attending would stand to attention and fall into a respectful silence but this auctioneer was near invisible to the expectant crowd. This was the first auction they had led, never even having the privilege to touch a gavel before. The small hammer had a glossy sheen, smooth to touch and perfectly curved for the auctioneer’s hand.

The auctioneer lifted the hammer, finding comfort and strength with the weight in their hand, and brought it down sharply. The mumbling of conversation halted before the bang of the hammer had finished bouncing from the walls, its echo reaching even those at the back of the hall.

Emily Millicent Sowerby swallowed the lump in her throat as all eyes in the room turned to her. The heavy silence in the air was not one of respect but one of shock. Brows pulled into a furrow and lips pressed into thin, unimpressed lines at the sight of a 34-year-old woman at the podium, gavel in hand. Emily was the first female book cataloguer to join the Sotheby Auction House as part of their expert team but this was her first experience on the stage. A woman auctioneer was rare, but these were strange times. Many of the auctioneers at Sotheby’s had been drafted into service for the Great War leaving an opportunity for women like Emily to join the company.

She cleared her throat and announced the first item for sale. The expressions twisted in confusion throughout the crowd made her doubt her voice could carry far enough to reach every ear. As she finished describing the item and marking the starting bid there came a dreadful silence that was deafening on her expectant ears. It was a void of sound that seemed to stretch into long minutes even though only seconds had passed.

A shy cough pierced the horrible quietness before a grey-haired man raised his hand and proclaimed his bid.

Emily acknowledged the bid and called for a counter-offer, scanning the crowd for interest but seeing only an undercurrent of nervousness as the guests loosened the tight squeeze of their ties and peered at each other from the corners of their eyes, unwilling to make a move against the status quo.

The first item sold, probably in record time, and Emily was painfully aware that this was not a good thing. Her face grew hot as her fears began to prey on her spiraling mind and weak heart. The woman’s breaths were short and shallow and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the podium.

Breathless and quivering, she announced the second item using every sliver of effort and bravery she had left to push the words out of her dry mouth. In an instant a bid came from the back right corner which she relayed to the hall only to have a second bid, and a third. Her shoulders relaxed and her grip on her notes loosened with the thick air welcome into her lungs. As interaction increased so too did her confidence.

On the fifth item at auction Emily was moving with surety and grace, sweeping her arm across the crowd as she picked out the bids and the price inched higher: 13 pounds, 14 pounds, 18 pounds.

The nervous patterns of her heartbeat transformed from the flutter of butterfly wings to the thudding of the hammer in her hands coming down onto the podium. Her shoulders were squared and her chin was tilted high like the statue of a Roman Emperor commanding attention and worship; she was a sight to behold.

As the afternoon wore on she found every fibre of her being ignited with a burning passion, like a wild flame which careened out from her swinging arms to singe the bristled moustaches in the front row. Men began to shout their bids from the middle of the hall, trying to grasp her attention above the louder voices by her feet but her voice was crystal clear and sharp as it peeled through the domed building, cutting through the gruff shouts of the bidders.

Though her body had never felt so alive in her lifetime, thriving on the high of each sale, she was in complete control. A steely focus contained her excitement as all of her awareness was focused on the bids flying out from the guests, not one slipping by her.

It was toward the end of the auction that the highly sought after painting, the draw for the event, was revealed. The hall was so still that a buzzing of a singular fly should there be one would have been heard across the space. Emily announced the item, taking a moment to regain her breath but as soon as she called for a bid the room erupted into a mad frenzy. The men in the front row who had initially cautiously remained quiet were now the loudest of all, shooting their hands into the air with each rushed bid. Emily’s senses were heightened with an alertness that allowed her to capture every single sight and sound in the building, no matter how small it may have seemed; Emily was attuned to every soul in the room and it was pure ecstasy.

Her urgent tones rang across the sea of people as she shouted the current bid of 340 pounds. A thrill went through her as she found herself closing in on the bid. The guests of the front rows leaned forward with begging expressions, desperate for her to bend down to them and grace them with a win to make them feel special. She was drunk on the power she wielded. An elated grin lit up her face and she made the last call, stepping out from behind the podium and waving her hand across the crowd, left to right, thriving on the looks of disappointment, fear, and desperation of the many men in the room. They were at her mercy, but she would only acknowledge one face in the room - the highest bidder: the elderly gentlemen in the middle left section of the crowd who tipped his hat to her in deference as she slammed her hammer down, closing the auction with a literal bang.

Over the groans of disappointment and quiet congratulations, Emily’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and her chest rose and fell and she puffed from her exertion. Her nerves were zinging and her hair was coming loose in all her excitement. Her eyes were alight with joy and her cheeks swelled with her beaming grin. Emily used to think that her usual role cataloguing books was the most stimulating and educating experience it was possible to have but now she realised how naïve she was. This was the most stimulating experience she would ever relish.

Only five minutes after the end of the proceedings Emily felt her body craving the tension and power she held over the crowd, the respect she was owed, the groveling of the men wishing she would see their silent pleas in the crowd for the item they desperately wanted.

Emily released a shaking breath and pushed her hair back into place.

She was addicted to the thrill.

‘Ms Sowerby,’ her supervisor’s face was red and fuming as he stalked through the side stage door toward her. ‘I asked you to let the guests know we were rescheduling to this evening! I leave to pick up our auctioneer and on my return I am told you have already run the auction! How dare you ruin Sotheby’s reputation with your stupid antics!’

Emily was still swimming with pleasure, smiling sweetly at her furious supervisor. ‘Mr. Portman, if you had stayed you would have seen what an exemplary auctioneer I am. In fact, I think I may have found what I was born to do, for I seem to have broken even your record for the highest sale.’