The Brideship Wife, стр. 11
My smile froze on my face. Nothing about Edward’s offer even remotely appealed to me. I’d take marriage, even to an old senile man, over Edward’s ungovernable children any day.
“Thank you for the offer, Edward,” I said, stepping into the coach. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
“Better hurry! You’re not getting any younger,” he added as he shut the door.
As we pulled away from the gardens, I looked back at the house where I had grown up, as it receded into the distance. I could never stand to live as the beholden relative in a house that had always been mine, and I blinked back a few unexpected tears. The sight of Wiggles’s cottage a few minutes later calmed me, and I quickly descended from the coach and went to her door.
“Charlotte, how lovely to see you,” she said, welcoming me in.
“It’s been too long, Miss Wiggins.” I presented her with a large jar of strawberry preserves I had pilfered from the kitchens.
Wiggles’s eyes lit up as she took the gift. “Charlotte, dear, I think it’s high time you called me by my Christian name, Hortense.”
She had changed since I last saw her. Age had begun to turn her bright blue eyes to a milky grey and her soft, dark hair to a salt-and-pepper brown. The port-wine stain on her right cheek—a disfigurement that had cost her all chances of a good marriage, my mother had often said—had largely faded from existence.
The cottage was as cozy as only a spinster could make it. Framed embroidery and needlepoint samples hung on the walls and a colourful quilt covered the settee. True to her vocation, Wiggles had a well-stocked bookshelf that ran the length of one wall and a large globe that stood on a pedestal in a corner. I recognized Gulliver’s Travels, Pride and Prejudice, and Great Expectations. These were the books that I had loved so well growing up.
The intoxicating aroma of fresh baking hung in the air, and my stomach groaned with anticipation. A perfect tea had been set on the small wooden table: chocolate biscuits, scones, preserves, tea, clotted cream, sugar. A stickler for etiquette, Wiggles had drummed the fine art of formal tea service into Hari and me.
“Hari sends her very best, but she has an appointment with her doctor in the city today. She said she’ll be up to see you again as soon as she can.” It was a lie, and I suspected Wiggles knew it. If she was hurt, she didn’t show it.
We sat at the table and Wiggles poured our tea. “What are you reading these days?”
“I’ve nothing new at the moment. Perhaps I can borrow something from you. You know how I love a great adventure story.”
“Of course,” she said, looking thoughtful. “You remind me of your father. He was always reading that sort of thing. He was a bit of an adventurer himself, wasn’t he?”
Papa loved investing in new inventions. Nothing seemed to excite him more than to underwrite the development of some new labour-saving mechanism or other.
“Mama often said she dearly wished he would live as a gentleman should, but he swore he would die of boredom.” I sighed and set my teacup down. “But look where it got him.”
My mind drifted back to that unhappy time. Papa had put money towards developing a steam-powered tricycle. He was riding it when it blew up. He was hit in the head with shrapnel and spent a month with dreadful headaches and vertigo. I helped tend to him, but when he finally emerged from the sickroom, he was not the same person, either in mind or body. He could not remember things that should have been fresh in his memory. He began to live in the past, as those were the only memories he had easy access to. His judgement was impaired and he became an easy target for all sorts of unscrupulous charlatans and fraudsters.
Wiggles didn’t respond. “Enough about the past, let’s talk about cheerier things. What have you been up to lately?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report. No new marriage offers and no plans if I don’t receive one. I expect I’ll have to persuade Charles to support me until my dying day.” I said it with a forced laugh. I didn’t want her to pity me, and I didn’t want to inform her of Edward’s offer. How could I tell her that the idea of a governess position filled me with dread?
She paused for a moment, then said, “The question of your future is one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. There is a new movement I’ve heard of. The Columbia Emigration Society. They’re sending ships of unmarried women—brideships, they’re called—to the colonies. They have some very distinguished backers for the plan.”
I almost choked on my tea. “Is this what happens to women who can’t find a husband here? They’re sent off to the colonies like the shiploads of transported convicts and political prisoners bound for Australia?”
“Not quite, Charlotte.” Wiggles offered a small smile. “The idea is to give the women a chance to marry or live independently in the colony of British Columbia, where there is more opportunity. It’s for the poor, the unemployed, and impoverished gentlewomen.” She pressed a pamphlet into my hand. “There’s to be an organizational meeting at the London Tavern. You should go.”
I glanced at the paper. “That’s Charles’s club. They don’t let women in, and besides, Hari and Charles want me respectably married, not travelling to the colonies in search of a husband.”
Wiggles set down her cup gently. “There’s precious little here for women like us, Charlotte.”
I winced at the truth of her statement, but I didn’t see how this brideship plan changed anything for me. Charles and Harriet would never hear of it.
Wiggles