by Jody Hedlund
“Ladies,” she said as she approached Mercy’s group. “My name is Mrs. Moresby, and I’m here to escort you to your accommodations.”
Mercy let the tension ease from her shoulders. From what she could tell, they weren’t being married off tonight.
“We’ll be walking a short distance to the Marine Barracks,” Mrs. Moresby remarked, opening the door and holding it wide as the women filed past. Once they were all in the yard again, Mrs. Moresby moved to the front of the line.
“There are seven government buildings here in Victoria,” Mrs. Moresby explained while waving at the brick structures that surrounded them. “All of them in close proximity of the main legislative building.”
Mercy didn’t listen to Mrs. Moresby’s history of the order in which the buildings had been constructed. Instead, as they walked into view of the men who were still lined up along the fence, Mercy kept her head down and her attention on the dirt path.
Calls and whistles had accompanied the women all through their brief effort at washing three months of grime from their arms and faces. Mercy had done the best she could to remain quiet and avoid notice.
Now, as she made her way through the yard, she hoped no one would pay her any mind.
“Mercy Wilkins!” called one of the men. “Will you marry me?”
Upon hearing her name, Mercy stumbled and would have fallen if Miss Lawrence hadn’t been next to her. The gentlewoman steadied her.
“I got five hundred pounds and a claim on the Fraser River!” the man shouted.
Mercy sidled closer to Miss Lawrence. How did this man know her name? Why was he singling her out?
“I’ll make you a happy woman, I promise!”
Miss Lawrence quickened her pace, pulling Mercy along with her. “Don’t respond,” Miss Lawrence said. “Pretend as though you haven’t heard him.”
Thankfully, they reached the Marine Barracks within seconds, a spacious two-storied home that sat directly behind the legislative building. As they crowded inside the front room—the parlor, according to Mrs. Moresby—Miss Lawrence led Mercy to a cushioned chair and helped her sit down.
“Thank you for your help, miss,” Mercy said, trying to still her rapidly beating heart.
“’Tis I who should be thanking you, Mercy.” Miss Lawrence tugged up her high collar. “You’ve been more than kind to me this entire ordeal.”
Mercy couldn’t help but see the bite mark on Miss Lawrence’s neck, the one she tried to carefully hide. The wound hadn’t yet healed all the way. Maybe the mark would never go away. Miss Lawrence would likely have to live with her scars as glaring reminders of her past.
As though sensing Mercy’s attention to her neck, Miss Lawrence fumbled for her reticule, unfastened the clasp, and pulled out a fan.
“You’ll not be a-going with the other group to be a governess?” Mercy asked.
Miss Lawrence flipped open the fan and began pumping at her flushed face. “They’re all very learned women. While I . . . I am more limited in my education.”
Mercy doubted Miss Lawrence was as limited as she was. She’d never had any learning—not how to read or write or do sums. “No matter. I bet you’ll find a fine gent soon enough. Those navy officers who came aboard yesterday seemed real interested, and it’s no wonder with how pretty you are.”
“You’re sweet to say so. But it’s you who will have your choice of suitors. Already they’re lined up at the fence fighting over you.”
Mercy waved her hand at the remark, wishing she could as easily wave away the men. “Stuff and nonsense.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Mercy.” Miss Lawrence spoke the words without a trace of envy, her eyes radiating sincerity. “It’s easy to see why you’ve caught Lord Colville’s eye.”
Mercy glanced around, hoping none of the other women had heard her. She didn’t want any gossip about her and Joseph getting back to Mr. Scott. Not now after the reverend’s threats.
“’Tis no secret,” Miss Lawrence said, softer this time.
“We’re friends is all.”
“Well, he’s a kind and gracious man. And while the other ladies have attempted to garner his attention, we all know when the Baron of Wiltshire marries someday, he’ll choose a woman of the aristocracy above any from our stations.”
Mercy stared down at the rug that covered the polished wood floor. The words were similar to what Miss Lawrence had spoken on the ship when Mercy tended her. And they reminded her of Mr. Scott’s worries from yesterday—the possibility of scandal if Joseph persisted in pursuing a lowly woman like Mercy to be his wife when he was destined for a much greater woman and partner.
Miss Lawrence reached out and gently patted Mercy’s hand. “Now that we’re here, you’ll have your choice among all the young miners and laborers. In fact, you’ll have the first pick of the best of them.”
Mercy wanted to reassure Miss Lawrence that there wasn’t anything to worry about, that she didn’t have her sights upon Joseph at all. For even if she’d wanted to marry, she’d never consider stirring up trouble where Joseph was concerned.
Before Mercy could form a response, Mrs. Moresby clapped her hands to draw their attention. “Welcome, ladies,” she said to the women squeezed into the parlor, which Mercy guessed to be about half their number from the bride ship. “You will stay here in the Marine Barracks until you’re married or find employment. I’m sorry the accommodations are so basic. But as we didn’t expect your ship to arrive for another month, this is the only suitable place that was available.”
Mercy took stock of the room. The walls were whitewashed and clean of the coal smoke and dirty handprints Mercy had come to expect in her own family dwelling. The few pieces of furniture, like the chair, were simple but prettier than anything Mercy had ever seen. A fireplace against one wall was unlit, with a simple mantel surrounding it. The mirror above it was framed with gold and polished to perfection.
Though she was curious to see her reflection, she hung back, too intimidated to discover how she looked, especially after the months at sea.
“Commander Verney was kind enough to lend us his crew over the past few days since learning of your imminent arrival,” Mrs. Moresby said. “The men painted, repaired, and scrubbed each and every room to make them as comfortable as possible for your stay.”
Mercy guessed Mrs. Moresby had no notion of the condition of the slum hovels most of the poor women had come from, otherwise she might not have gone to so much trouble. She’d have realized that even dirty, this house was much nicer than any place they’d ever known.
“You’ll have your own kitchen at the back of the house,” Mrs. Moresby continued. “The Female Immigration Committee will provide the food, supplies, and utensils necessary for your welfare. However, you’ll need to take responsibility—perhaps forming teams—for the preparation of the meals.”
Beneath the brim of her flamboyant bird hat, the woman wore a remorseful expression as if she regretted they couldn’t offer more. The truth was, Mercy had never had so much food readily available to her as she’d had on this trip. And she was grateful the committee would continue to provide for them and that they didn’t need to fend for themselves in this strange place.
After Mrs. Moresby explained more about the accommodations, apologizing for the simplicity of the bedrooms and bunkbeds on the second floor and the cramped living space, she smiled at the women. “Hopefully, your stay here in the barracks will be short-lived and all of you will find loving husbands and new homes very soon.”
Mercy glanced outside the large front window that overlooked the yard between the buildings. The evening sky was beginning to turn a violet blue with vibrant ribbons of purple and pink and orange threaded throughout in a stunning display of beauty, especially with the bay in the distance reaching toward the ocean.
From what Mercy could see, the men had finally dispersed from the fence that surrounded the government buildings, apparently having decided the women weren’t coming back out.
/> She let her shoulders relax, and for the first time since coming ashore, she felt safe. Maybe there was hope after all. Hope that she could hide away in the barracks over the next few days and avoid contact with the men.
“Of course, you’ll all have suitors who will want to come calling,” Mrs. Moresby added, quickly breaking Mercy’s fragile sense of peace. “The men will not be admitted inside the government complex without permission. But once you’ve obtained the proper consent, you may use this front parlor as a meeting room so long as you are chaperoned.”
“How will we know who to invite,” someone asked, “if we never have the chance to socialize and introduce ourselves?”
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of chances to socialize,” Mrs. Moresby assured. “Tomorrow we’re having our annual regatta, and Commander Verney has graciously suggested you ladies spend the day on board the Grappler, so that you might participate in the festivities as guests of the navy. Afterward we’ll have games and refreshments on the town green.”
The news was met with whispers and smiles.
“Then on Sunday you’ll join us for worship at Christ Church Cathedral, where you’ll be given the opportunity to interact with many of our single male citizens.”
Mercy decided she’d have to find excuses to avoid attending the events.
“In addition,” Mrs. Moresby said, “your very own chaperone, Mr. Scott, has already been busy lining up appointments for several of you.”
“Appointments?” echoed one of the women.
“Yes, for the men to meet you here in the parlor. As Mr. Scott is only here in Victoria for a limited time, he’s such a generous man, agreeing to spend his evenings chaperoning the meetings.”
Generous? Mercy tried not to shudder. Mrs. Moresby didn’t need to mention the names of the women who would have appointments. Mercy could already guess she was one of them.
Mr. Scott was doing exactly as he vowed. He was determined to see her married before he left Victoria. She had to make sure he didn’t succeed. But how?
twenty-eight
From her place on the blanket spread under an enormous oak tree, Mercy tried to keep out of sight amidst the other women and not call attention to herself.
The men lingered nearby along the edge of the cricket grounds on Beacon Hill, waiting for the opportunity to talk with them. Fortunately, the leaders of the Female Immigration Committee had cordoned off an area and were sitting close by under a large open tent with servants tending them.
After spending the morning aboard the HMS Grappler and watching the regatta, Mercy had hoped to find a way to return to the Marine Barracks. But again the committee had insisted all the women participate.
Mercy knew she should be grateful to these local gentlewomen. They meant well. On top of everything else they’d done, they even had two trunks of donated clothing delivered to the barracks early in the morning, after finally comprehending that many of the poor women had nothing but what they wore.
Having spent the past evening scrubbing her one outfit and hanging it to dry overnight, Mercy was as thrilled as everyone else at the fresh change of clothing. With her hair washed, her body scrubbed, and wearing the clean garments, Mercy felt almost like a new person.
She might have even enjoyed the activities of the warm autumn day if she didn’t have the appointments looming ahead that eve. She glanced to the pavilion, where Mr. Scott sat with his family and the committee members, as well as the wealthier bride-ship women, Miss Lawrence among them.
Earlier, Mr. Scott had pulled her aside and informed her of the men who were scheduled to meet with her. He instructed her that she must pick one to marry by Sunday evening.
Of course, she’d wanted to refuse and tell him his plan was all rot, but his stern expression warned her that if she protested, he’d carry through on his threat to send her back to England. And if she returned to England, what would happen to Patience if she came on the next ship? Yet if she stayed, would she be trapped into marriage?
Her attention shifted to the men, many of whom were more interested in watching the women than the cricket game. Some of the women had been bold in flirting and making connections whenever possible, but Mercy only shuddered at the prospect of interacting with them.
A newcomer to the game caught her attention as he shook hands with his team members. He had a handsome profile and a muscular build with broad shoulders . . .
Her heartbeat lurched to a stop. Joseph.
He held himself with an air of confidence and strength that set him apart from the others. As he jogged out to his position, she couldn’t help but admire him, just as every other eligible woman in Victoria was probably doing.
When she hadn’t seen him that morning at the regatta, she’d begun to worry, even experiencing a surge of panic until she glimpsed Captain Hellyer and realized the Tynemouth hadn’t left early, that Joseph was still in Victoria.
Even if she was forced to let Joseph go, she didn’t want him to leave without saying good-bye. In fact, she couldn’t bear the thought of his sailing away without speaking to him one last time—as a friend and nothing more.
Although she’d never watched a game of cricket before today, she didn’t have a difficult time figuring out that Joseph was by far the best player on the grassy field. The handsomest too. She soon found herself on the edge of the blanket, unable to take her eyes off him.
Not for the first time, she was proud of him. Not just for being kindhearted, generous, and hardworking, but also for how skilled and athletic he was. He might be a gentleman, yet he wasn’t above sweating and laboring and mingling with others of a lower rank.
Midway through the game, Joseph overthrew the ball to one of his teammates. It rolled toward the blanket and stopped almost directly in front of her.
She scooped it up and was about to throw it back when she realized Joseph was heading her way, his eyes upon her. There was something intense in his expression that made her stomach flutter and her breathing grow shallow. She knew she should toss him the ball, but she couldn’t get her arm to obey.
When he finally reached her, she held out the ball.
“Miss Wilkins.” He gave a gallant bow.
“Dr. Colville,” she responded with a tilt of her head.
As he straightened, his eyes connected with hers. The rich brown depths churned with turmoil. He hesitated, and his brow creased as though he would speak his mind. A glance to the other women on the blanket as well as to the pavilion beyond revealed that all eyes were upon them.
All eyes including those of Mr. Scott.
A tremor of anxiety rippled through Mercy, and she shook her head, silently pleading with Joseph not to speak to her, not in front of everyone.
He took the ball from her without saying a word, giving her only a nod of thanks. Then he ran back to his teammates.
Mercy folded her hands in the layers of her new skirt and twisted the material. Silently she prayed the attention would quickly shift away from her and that everyone would soon forget Joseph had singled her out.
She hardly dared to budge for the rest of the game. Once it ended, she stood and moved into the sunshine as the committee and other important members of the community came out from the tent. She wished she could sneak away to the Marine Barracks, but the women from the Female Immigration Committee had warned them not to go about town unchaperoned, at least not until the excitement over their arrival had passed.
“Mercy Wilkins, isn’t it?” came a voice next to her.
Mercy turned to find Mrs. Moresby. With her thick shoulders and torso, she had the build of a large man, but like yesterday her attire was feminine to the extreme. Her gown was trimmed with more lace and ruffles than Mercy had ever seen. Instead of feathers, today her wide hat was decorated with a bright array of ribbons.
“Aye, I’m Mercy Wilkins, ma’am.” Mercy curtsied.
“No need to curtsy to me, Miss Wilkins.”
Mercy straightened but kept her eyes fixed upon the woman’s s
kirt—the layers upon layers of silky material.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far,” Mrs. Moresby said.
“That I am. Right well, ma’am. Thank ye for making us feel welcome and for giving us so many nice things.” Mercy patted her skirt to indicate her appreciation for the clothing.
“I’m glad to do it.” Mrs. Moresby reached into her colorfully beaded reticule, retrieved a handkerchief, then pressed it against her forehead. “Do you mind moving into the shade, Miss Wilkins? Whenever I’m in the sun, I’m afraid I burn like bacon in a frypan.”
“’Course, ma’am. Right away.” Mercy walked with Mrs. Moresby into the shade, which took them a slight distance away from everyone else. She was struck again today as she was last evening that Mrs. Moresby was polite and considerate, more so than the others on the committee.
Mrs. Moresby stuffed her handkerchief back into her bag and then pulled out a fan. She unfolded it and began pumping the fan near her face, blowing the ribbons on her hat in every direction. Through the vigorous flapping, her gaze connected with Mercy’s directly. “Lord Colville cares about you.”
Mercy wanted to look away as she knew she should with someone who was her superior. But the woman’s expression contained no judgment or even curiosity. She seemed matter-of-fact, as if she’d stated a simple truth like the sun was warm.
“That’s the way Lord Colville is.” Mercy was tempted to glance over to where he stood talking with his teammates. “He cares for people, that he does.”
Mrs. Moresby’s fan came to an abrupt halt, her hat ribbons falling flat. “No, Miss Wilkins. What I’m saying is that man is in love with you.”
Mercy drew in a quick breath, and she checked to make sure no one had overheard Mrs. Moresby’s bold claim.
Mrs. Moresby took up fanning herself again. “Don’t worry, Miss Wilkins. No one is paying attention to our conversation, except for Lord Colville, who can’t take his eyes off you.”