by Jody Hedlund
“I need your answer, Mercy,” Mr. Scott said. “If you refuse to choose one of the men, then you will force me to do it for you.”
Mercy stared at herself for another moment and then straightened her shoulders even higher. Taking a deep breath, before she lost her courage, she pivoted so that she was facing the reverend. Her stomach rebelled with a dizzying lurch.
“I’m not picking from any of the men, sir.” Her voice quavered.
Mr. Scott took a step back, as if her defiant words had smacked him in the chest. He seemed to catch himself before narrowing his eyes. “I do not think I heard you correctly, girl. I demand that you choose one of the men, and then we shall have the business at hand concluded.”
She had the overwhelming urge to lower her gaze and duck her head, to murmur her apology. But out of the corner of her eye she caught her reflection again. She was worthy of respect. She needn’t cower in fear any longer.
With her chin held high, she looked Mr. Scott directly in the eyes. “I’ll find a job here in Victoria, sir. And if someday I get a hankering to get married, I may do so. But for now, I’ll make a way on my own right well, you’ll see.”
The words were the bravest she’d ever spoken to a person of authority. For a moment she half expected the reverend to cross the room, slap her face, and then force her to kneel and kiss his shoes.
Instead, Mr. Scott simply shook his head. “If you’re aspiring to gentility, I assure you, you’ll only be met with extreme regret.”
She didn’t know what aspiring to gentility meant but guessed it had something to do with Joseph.
“And I assure you that you’ll also wish you’d done as I recommended, especially once you’re back in England in debtors’ prison. For not only will you owe the esteemed Columbia Mission Society the fees accumulated from the passage to Vancouver Island but also the fees for your return voyage.”
“I’m staying, sir,” Mercy insisted, glad her voice was steadier and stronger than her insides. “I’ll save up my earnings and send them back to the mission just as soon as I can.”
Mr. Scott’s face became flushed, and his nostrils flared. “No, you will not—!”
A knock sounded against the doorframe, and they both startled at the sight of Joseph entering the room. Following close on his heels was Mrs. Moresby, bustling in amidst a flurry and swishing of her heavy skirts. She’d changed the hat and gown she’d worn to church earlier and was now attired in a vibrant blue velvet, glistening jewels, and a wide hat bedecked with matching velvet flowers and equally stunning jewels.
Every time Mercy saw Mrs. Moresby’s opulent display of wealth, it was difficult to picture her as a much younger woman dressed in a simple skirt and apron, rushing about and doing the bidding of her master.
“Good evening, Miss Wilkins. Mr. Scott,” Joseph said, taking off his hat and bowing slightly to them both. He was immaculately attired just as he had been at the church service that morning with his black dress coat, matching waistcoat, and pinstriped trousers. His dark brown eyes connected with hers for only an instant, but it was enough for her to glimpse the turmoil churning there.
From the heaviness of their breathing, Mercy guessed the two had hurried to arrive at the Marine Barracks just now. How much had they heard of her conversation with Mr. Scott?
“Lord Colville.” Mr. Scott bowed low and held himself there as was his custom. She’d come to the conclusion that the length of the reverend’s bow portrayed the depth of his respect. He clearly put a great deal of value upon titles, social standing, and wealth.
Perhaps other people weren’t quite as blatant as Mr. Scott in their prejudices. No matter what she said or how she demanded his respect, he’d likely never be able to see her as anything other than a poor woman.
But she couldn’t let people like Mr. Scott hold her back from respecting herself. If she learned to respect and hold herself in higher esteem, then perhaps one day others would too. Even if they didn’t, she had to start somewhere.
Mrs. Moresby was watching Mr. Scott’s bowed posture with ever-widening eyes. When she glanced at Mercy, her gaze was filled with both question and humor, so much so that Mercy had to look away to keep from smiling.
“I am deeply grateful you’ve chosen to grace us with the pleasure of your company this evening.” Mr. Scott finally pulled himself up so that he was as rigid as the prayer book he kept tucked in his coat pocket.
“May I present Mrs. Moresby?” Joseph motioned to the older woman.
“Mrs. Moresby.” Mr. Scott nodded at her but kept his attention upon Joseph. “My lord—”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. Scott,” Mrs. Moresby said, her loud voice and large presence giving the reverend little choice but to acknowledge her again.
“I do hope Lord Colville has given me a fair report,” Mr. Scott said gravely. “With all the time we spent together aboard the Tynemouth, may I be so bold as to say we’ve moved beyond mere formalities? It is my great hope that my wife and I and our lovely daughters may further our acquaintance with Lord Colville in the days to come. In fact, Lord Colville has already taken a liking to each of my daughters, so perhaps one day I shall have the privilege of an even more intimate acquaintance.”
At the reverend’s statement, Mrs. Moresby’s mouth hung open. Her gaze once again swung to Mercy, her eyes dancing with mirth. This time Mercy couldn’t hide her smile at the woman’s reaction to Mr. Scott.
Mrs. Moresby snorted at the same time that Joseph spoke. “Mr. Scott, I may speak to you freely, may I not?”
“Indeed, my lord—”
“I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in your daughters beyond an acquaintance.”
For once Mr. Scott clamped his lips together, clearly having no response.
“My sincerest apologies if I led you to believe otherwise.” Joseph’s brow creased. “They are indeed gracious young ladies, but my ardor and affection belong to another and always will.”
Joseph didn’t glance her way. Even so, Mercy’s heartbeat picked up its pace at his admission. Even if he had confessed his love earlier, she still couldn’t quite believe he’d be able to love—really love—a poor woman like her.
“Mr. Scott,” Mrs. Moresby said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in the parlor. “Actually, most of what I’ve heard about you has come from the bride-ship women. They’ve had much to say about you.”
“I see.” His voice was threaded with disappointment.
“I met with a number of the women individually this afternoon,” Mrs. Moresby continued. “And not a one of them had anything positive to say about you. In short, they dislike you.”
Mr. Scott blanched. “How dare you speak so harshly, madam? You have no right—”
“You’ll have to forgive me for my bluntness, Mr. Scott. I’m afraid I don’t have the same social graces as Lord Colville.”
“Just as I have preached,” Mr. Scott said. “That is precisely what happens when people aspire beyond themselves. They may imitate the manner and speech of those of a higher station, but they cannot hide their true nature indefinitely.”
“I’m not hiding anything from anyone,” Mrs. Moresby responded with a chuckle that shook her frame. “I am who I am. If you don’t like me, then too bad.”
Mercy watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation as the woman sparred with the reverend. She wasn’t sure she’d ever have the same confidence Mrs. Moresby displayed, but she could certainly learn from her about self-respect.
Mr. Scott sputtered his response, but before he could formulate his thoughts, Mrs. Moresby spoke again. “After meeting with the women this afternoon and discovering the hard feelings, the Female Immigration Committee convened and just now decided to relieve you of your duties as chaperone.”
“You may do no such thing.” Splotchy red formed on Mr. Scott’s face. “You have no authority to do so. I am a representative of the Columbia Mission Society, which is made up of illustrious and the most exemplary of spons
ors. I report to them, not to a paltry handful of colonial upstarts.”
“Mr. Scott,” Joseph cut in, his tone calm but firm. “As we are departing from the colony soon, the oversight of the women’s care must be transferred. You have done your duty, and now you must release it and look ahead to your next calling.”
The reverend dipped his head in servitude to Joseph.
Mrs. Moresby apparently took that as her cue to continue. “The first thing the committee plans to make known is the policy regarding marriage of the bride-ship women. While it is our sincerest hope for all the women to eventually become wives and mothers, we don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interests to rush the process. The marriages will be stronger and more enduring if the women have the necessary time to choose husbands wisely, rather than be pushed to decide by a deadline. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Scott?”
At Mrs. Moresby’s declaration, Mercy’s attention jumped to Joseph, only to find him watching her. The sincerity of his expression told her everything—that he’d been the one to reach out to Mrs. Moresby today, to orchestrate the interviews with the other bride-ship women, and to coordinate the meeting of the committee. He’d done it all for her, to protect her and to fulfill his promise to help her be free, even though he wouldn’t get anything out of it for himself.
Warmth bubbled up inside Mercy. She wanted to rush across the room, fling her arms about him, and embrace him. He was the kindest, sweetest, most considerate man she’d ever known.
Mr. Scott swallowed several times before managing to speak again. “No, madam, I do not agree. I’m afraid you have no inkling of what you’re dealing with when it comes to these women. They are uneducated and unqualified to know what is in their best interests. They need the guidance of informed and well-meaning men like myself in order to step into their new roles as wives and mothers.”
Mrs. Moresby shook her head, her wide hat swaying to and fro like the ship in a storm. “After speaking with the women, I’ve concluded they are both smart and hardworking. Given time, they are more than capable of picking their own husbands. If some of them decide they aren’t suited to married life, they will most certainly contribute to the welfare of the colony in other ways.”
Mr. Scott wheeled to face Mercy, his expression growing even more severe. “This is your doing. You used your wiles and seductive nature to get your way.”
“Mr. Scott,” Joseph said sternly, his fists balled, his body rigid. “Say no more, sir, lest you inflict further shame upon yourself.”
“I’ll have you know,” Mrs. Moresby interjected, “Miss Wilkins wasn’t involved in any of the discussions today. She had no knowledge of the committee’s meeting. But she, like all the others, should be free to make her own decisions regarding her future. And I trust that she will make the right decision.”
Mrs. Moresby leveled a look at Mercy, one that censured her and implored her at the same time. What was Mrs. Moresby asking her to do?
“She has no notion of taking a husband!” Mr. Scott shouted. He quickly cleared his throat before speaking again in a much lower voice, “And certainly we can all agree that a woman’s place is in the home. God created her to bear and raise children.”
“Come now, Mr. Scott,” Joseph said, “surely you cannot deny God has gifted women beyond childbearing capabilities. Miss Wilkins is a prime example. She has extraordinary nursing skills and ’twould be a shame if she could not serve God and others in that way.”
“Whatever the case, she must be made to return to England,” Mr. Scott said, “and repay the Columbia Mission Society for wasting their time and money on her.”
Mercy was tempted to lower her head and allow the others to continue to speak on her behalf as if she were not present. But she glanced in the mirror and straightened her shoulders again. She had to step forward and be confident and strong. If she didn’t now, when would she?
Mrs. Moresby started to reply when Mercy spoke. “I told Mr. Scott I’d save my earnings to repay the Columbia Mission Society, and I vow I’ll do it, that I will.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Moresby said. “In fact, as we consider bringing more brides to the colony, we have contemplated how to fund the endeavor, as we cannot rely upon donations and charity indefinitely. Perhaps a system of repayment is the way to do it.”
“Regardless of the ultimate decision,” Joseph said, “you may put your troubled mind at ease, Mr. Scott. Upon my return to London, I shall personally make certain the Columbia Mission Society receives a sizable donation, part of which will most assuredly cover Miss Wilkins’s passage here to Vancouver Island.”
Mr. Scott bowed his head toward Joseph. “That is very generous of you, my lord. Very generous indeed.”
Joseph nodded.
Mr. Scott took a tentative step toward him. “My lord, I hope you know I have only ever had your best interests at heart in this matter and that I desired to protect you and the Society from any hint of scandal.”
Joseph narrowed his eyes upon the reverend.
Mr. Scott hurriedly added, “As young men are sometimes impetuous and lacking the foresight to know what is best for their futures, we who are older and wiser must step in on occasion and direct the situation. While such directives may seem unpleasant at the time, I have no doubt that in hindsight you will be much relieved and grateful for the intervention that is meant to protect your good name and reputation.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. Mrs. Moresby’s mouth hung open again, and Joseph’s jaw flexed as he stared at Mr. Scott.
“As you say,” Joseph finally said, his voice clipped, “there are times when young men do indeed fall prey to impetuousness and a lack of foresight. But this is not one such time, Mr. Scott. A wiser and older man I highly esteem recently told me not to let the barriers of class interfere with anything, not with work, life, or love. I shall hold to his advice as I believe it is the same advice my own father would have given me.”
Mr. Scott’s eyes had widened at Joseph’s speech, and Mrs. Moresby had closed her mouth, the hint of a smile now playing on her lips.
Joseph put his hat back on. “As it appears our business here is concluded, I suggest we be on our way now. Shall we, Mr. Scott?” Joseph gestured toward the door, indicating that the reverend should precede him.
“Very well, Lord Colville.” Mr. Scott fiddled with his collar and buttoned his coat before bowing again. “I bid you good day.” When he exited the room, Mercy released a tight breath.
“I must be on my way as well.” Mrs. Moresby bustled forward, but then stopped in the doorway and turned back to Mercy. “Again, I trust you’ll make the right decision.”
Mercy nodded. But as before, she didn’t understand what decision Mrs. Moresby was referencing. Did she expect her to find a husband after all? Ultimately, did the kind matron believe as Mr. Scott did, that women needed to become wives and mothers? Or was she referring to Joseph?
When Mrs. Moresby was gone, Joseph hesitated by the door.
An invisible force seemed to pull at Mercy, urging her to close the span betwixt them and to throw her arms around him. Even as she fought against the force, the desire to go to him only increased. The desire to wipe her hand across his brow and smooth away the worried lines. The longing to ease the sadness in his eyes and bring a smile to his face. The wish to cling to him and never let go.
As his eyes connected with hers across the distance, her pulse slowed to a crawl. He’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her. Would he do it again now?
A part of her wanted him to say the words once more. If he proposed again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to say no. He’d been there for her time after time during the voyage. He’d given of himself in countless ways. He’d never demanded anything in return, and he wasn’t doing so now either.
Joseph Colville was an honorable and noble man. And her heart swelled with something she couldn’t name.
“Thank ye,” she said. The words were inadequate to express her gratitude
for his help with her predicament and Mr. Scott. Even though she’d gathered the courage to take a stand against the reverend, ultimately it was Joseph’s influence that had saved her and given her the freedom she sought.
His eyes held hers, giving her a glimpse of the turmoil that still raged in the depths of his soul. He opened his mouth as though he might say something. But then he pursed his lips, nodded, and tipped the brim of his hat. A second later, he pivoted and walked out of the room.
His firm footsteps thudded in the hallway, moving rapidly away. When the door closed behind him, the sound echoed with a finality that shook her to her very core.
thirty-one
Mercy clapped her hands to the music of the fiddler and watched the girls as they twirled. Ann, Minnie, Flo, and Kip had been allowed by their new employers to attend Sophia and Pioneer’s wedding and the dance afterward. Most of the other bride-ship women were present too, along with half of Victoria.
The Swan Hall was full to overflowing. With the onset of the evening, the streetlights had been lit and people were dancing outside on the sidewalks and streets to the strains of music flowing from the open windows.
At the center of the hall, Sophia wore a lovely gown of ivory satin with a wide gathered waist, a neckline trimmed with lace ruffles, layers of full petticoats, and a wide crinoline hoop. If the rumors were true, Pioneer had instructed the local milliner that the bridal dress wasn’t to cost less than four hundred pounds.
Pioneer, too, was attired in garments fit for royalty. His hair was neatly cut, his beard trimmed, and his face scrubbed to a shine. He hadn’t stopped smiling the entire day, beaming down at his new bride as if he’d just gained the whole world.
Maybe he had. Maybe some marriages turned out well after all. At the very least, Sophia and Pioneer were looking for a bit of beauty amidst all the bleakness and finding joy in their union.
Mercy leaned against the elegantly papered wall and let her hands fall to her sides. She didn’t mind her spot near the window and the heavy tapestry that half hid her. She’d already spent much of the day explaining to the hopeful men who approached her that she’d made her decision regarding a husband—that she wasn’t choosing anyone at the moment and that she planned to take a job instead and live on her own.