Envy the Wind
Canadian Historical Brides (Prince Edward Island) Book 11
Anita Davison and Victoria Chatham
Digital ISBNs
EPUB 9781772998610
Kindle 9781772998627
WEB 9781772998634
BWL Print 9781772998641
Amazon Print 9781772998658
Copyright 2018 by Anita Davison
Canadian Historical Brides Collection
Copyright 2018 BWL Publishing Inc.
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
The Canadian Historical Brides Collection – Book List
Brides of Banff Spring – Book 1 Alberta
His Brother’s Bride – Book 2 Ontario
Romancing the Klondike – Book 3 Yukon
Barkerville Beginnings – Book 4 British Columbia
Pillars of Avalon – Book 5 Newfoundland
Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies – Book 6 Saskatchewan
Landmark Roses – Book 7 Manitoba
Fly Away Snow Goose – Book 8 Northwest Territories/Nunavut
On a Stormy Primeval Shore – Book 9 New Brunswick
The Left Behind Bride – Book 10 Nova Scotia
Envy the Wind – Book 11 Prince Edward Island
Where the River Narrows – Book 12 Quebec
Fly Away Snow Goose – Book 8 Northwest Territories/Nunavut
On a Stormy Primeval Shore – Book 9 New Brunswick
The Left Behind Bride – Book 10 Nova Scotia
Envy the Wind – Book 11 Prince Edward Island
Where the River Narrows – Book 12 Quebec
Dedication
BWL Publishing Inc. dedicates the Canadian Historical Brides collection to the immigrants, male and female, who left their homes and families, crossed oceans and endured unimaginable hardships in order to settle the Canadian wilderness and build new lives in a rough and untamed country.
Acknowledgement
BWL Publishing acknowledges the Government of Canada and the Canada Book Fund for its financial support in creating the Historical Brides of Canada collection.
“She had always envied the wind. So free. Blowing where it listed. Through the hills. Over the lakes. What a tang, what a zip it had! What a magic of adventure!”
From The Blue Castle by L M Montgomery
Chapter 1
Hampstead Village, North London, England March 1905
Grace sat bolt upright on the rigid chair set before an oak desk in the inner sanctum of Beech and Sons, Solicitors at Law. Her hands felt clammy so she removed her soft leather gloves and laid them in her lap, beneath her tapestry bag.
Rows of floor to ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, each one crammed to bursting with gold-tooled, leather bound volumes. Apart from the two chairs and a threadbare rug set before a black leaded grate, the room, although not sparse, was far from luxurious. A modest professional workspace that smelled of dust and stale tobacco smoke.
“Am I to understand you had no knowledge of your inheritance before yesterday, Mrs MacKinnon?” Mr Julius Beech the younger peering at her over his half-moon spectacles, occupied a chair opposite.
Grace guessed him to be in his late thirties, his appearance that of an amiable mole with his wide cheekbones, flat forehead and full lipped smile. His sombre black suit was broken by occasional glimpses of an embroidered yellow waistcoat beneath his coat.
“None at all, I’m afraid.” Conscious that her maid guarded the front entrance, Grace darted a look at the wide window with a view of the High Street, where pedestrians and traffic flowed past.
“I believe your parents were - ahem - tragically killed in a carriage accident in Oxford Street,” he read from the papers spread on the desk in front of him. “Please accept my sympathy.”
“That isn’t necessary, sir. It was a long time ago.” Grace shook her head, refusing to delve into a darkness avoided since childhood.
“I understand.” He selected another document from the pile. “Forgive me if I repeat details with which you are already conversant, but your case is new to me.” He cleared his throat, his round eyes dropping their gaze to the page. “After their - demise - you were made a ward of Angus MacKinnon, your father’s business partner?” He formed the words as an enquiry.
Grace nodded. “I married his son when I was seventeen.” She didn’t know why she mentioned her age, possibly because she felt coerced into a situation she had been too immature to understand; and at the time, a refusal would not have been well received.
“Also, please accept my condolences on the recent loss of your husband.’
“Thank you.” The stiff fabric of her black gown rustled, a reminder of what it represented. Widow’s weeds: a symbol of her status in a society which abhorred women with no standing or power. Not that she had ever possessed any.
Mr Beech’s sad smile sent a surge of guilt through her for having denied her husband the devotion he deserved. More like a brother than a husband, Frederick also suffered from his father’s harsh, uncompromising rule. Although she would never admit it, Grace still felt angry with him at having escaped into death, leaving her behind to cope alone with his family.
“Well, Mrs MacKinnon.” The solicitor leaned back in his chair, both hands crossed over his rounded midriff, increasing the impression of a mole. “By the terms of your father’s will, it’s clear you were granted control of your inheritance when you reached your majority. In fact, I’m at a loss to see why you have not been here to claim it before. You are, what age now?”
“Twenty-three.” She inhaled a slow, deep breath and released the death grip on her tapestry bag. Almost twenty-four and yet still nervous as a child. “My father-in-law never discussed finances with me. Especially my own.”
Angus MacKinnon always impressed upon her the expense of her upkeep was his personal burden. “That letter was amongst my late husband’s belongings.”
The thick bond envelope with the solicitor’s seal had been attached to the underside of a drawer in Frederick's dressing room, along with a scrawled note addressed to her apologizing for his duplicity in keeping it from her. Unable to defy his father while he was alive, she liked to think Frederick’s act of defiance as he lay dying had been done out of affection for her.
“I see,” Mr Beech stroked his clean shaven chin. “And now you wish to take charge of your own affairs?”
“Would that I knew what those affairs were.” She eased forward on her chair, lowering her voice. “Mr Beech, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I have been here a full twenty minutes and you still haven’t told me anything I don’t already know.”
“I apologize, my dear. I simply find the situation odd.” The lawyer’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, his plump hands folded over the pile of documents on the desk. “Mr MacKinnon received regular funds from the trust over the years, as well as financing your education at the North London Collegiate School in Camden. Your attendance there was a condition of your father’s will.”
Grace smiled as one question at least was answered. Angus MacKinnon hated that school and regarded her expensive education an unnecessary indulgence. He called Miss Sophie Bryant, the headmistress, a radical, unnatural old biddy who made young women unfit for lives as wives and mothers. Whenever Grace asked why he sent her there, his answers were always vague and dismissive.
“Mrs MacKinnon?”
The sound of M
r Beech’s voice brought her back to the present. “I’m so sorry, but would you mind repeating that?”
“With pleasure.” His smile showed he was not in the least offended, or was she paying for his time by the minute? “I expect I was reading too fast.”
“I leave to my only daughter, Grace Elizabeth Mary Aitken, the total of my investments in….” his voice droned on, flowing over her like sweet music as his words offered possibilities she never imagined would be hers. When he reached the end, he looked up at her with a benign smile.
“I regret what remains of the capital won’t buy you a mansion in Kensington, but would certainly run to a pleasant villa in a quiet suburban neighborhood, somewhere like Chiswick, or Maida Vale perhaps. The remainder, if invested wisely, would provide you with a reasonable income. You would be entirely independent if that is what you wish.” He folded the paper and returned it to the brown folder on his desk. “Now, what do you want me to do with your inheritance?”
“Do with it?” Grace stared at him. She had money. Not a fortune, but enough to live on without anyone’s approval or permission. She blinked away sudden angry tears, her throat burning at the deception of her being forever dependent upon the MacKinnons.
“Oh, my dear, tears?” The solicitor looked stricken. He tugged out a drawer with a scrape of wood and withdrew a perfectly laundered and folded handkerchief that he thrust towards her. “It must be the grief, I expect. After all, your husband did not leave us very long ago. Two months is nothing at all.”
“On the contrary, Mr Beech.” Recovering herself quickly she summoned a weak smile. “These tears are entirely for myself.” She dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief which smelled of old leather and laundry starch.
The night following Frederick’s funeral returned with startling clarity. Summoned into her father-in-law’s study, Angus MacKinnon’s clipped voice cut into her from behind a desk every bit as vast as this one, though he had not invited her to sit.
“As my son’s widow, and a childless one at that, you have limited status in my house. Therefore, I expect you to earn your place by taking charge of the housekeeping. At least your expensive education will be put to some use.”
He neither sought her opinion, nor had she dared give it to a man who had never been challenged in either his business or his home.
She murmured something non-committal and retreated to the room she once shared with Frederick. One which, with its nine-foot high ceilings and a double height bay window became a vast, empty expanse she could not begin to fill. Her future stretched before her, days during which she would have to guard every word so as not to waken the self-righteous tyrant that dwelled in her father-in-law. The hours that stood between her and the next chilly dawn seemed never-ending, while rebellion curled in her belly like a malignant serpent. How could she endure such a future when she had no real past?
“Even so,” Mr Beech’s voice held sympathy. “You must miss him?”
“My husband?” She nodded. She did. “As a friend. A companion. A conspirator.” Grace frowned, aware her selfish misery obliterated her feelings for Frederick, her only ally in that cold, forbidding house.
“Characteristics of any successful marriage I would say.”
“I-I suppose so.”
Now a single letter and the words of this kind but unprepossessing man of law changed everything. A raft of possibilities opened up in the space of a morning and she had no notion of what to do next. Or maybe she did.
Grace recalled dark winter evenings in front of the fire in their bedroom where they dreamed of going to Canada. Frederick longed to visit the great lakes, see snow as high as houses in a country that was new, exciting and as far away from Hampstead as either of them could imagine. When pneumonia took hold and he was barely conscious, let alone capable of speech, she sat on the floor beside the chaise longue where he lay propped up on pillows and wrapped in blankets, making up stories of what they would do when they got to Halifax.
“Mr Beech,” Grace began carefully, “is my business with you completely confidential?”
“I beg your pardon, my dear?” He raised both hands from the desk in a gesture of surrender. “Why would it not be? We are quite alone.”
“I didn't mean that. What I need to know is, if anyone asked you what we discussed this afternoon, would you be obliged to disclose it?”
“Certainly not.” He relaxed back in his chair, removed his glasses and regarded her levelly, his forehead puckered in bemusement. “I’m only required to do so should you happen to be the subject of a police investigation. And even then, a court order would be required. I sincerely doubt that would be the case. Does that answer your question?”
“It does, thank you. Also, is there any way my father-in-law can override my father’s will? I mean, the part about the capital coming to me on my majority?”
“Indeed, he has no such powers. The money is yours to do with as you wish.” He polished the lenses of his spectacles with a soft cloth he drew from a pocket. “The Married Women’s Property Act has been in force for over twenty years and ensures that.”
“I have another question.” Growing excitement made her light-headed. “Do you happen to know how one would go about travelling to Canada?”
“Emigrating do you mean? In order to live there permanently?”
Grace nodded.
“I see.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I must say, my dear, I wasn’t expecting that. Might I ask why you would contemplate such a course of action?”
“Are you acquainted with my father-in-law, Mr Beech?” She peered up at him through her lashes, adopting what she hoped was a look which required no explanation.
“Only by reputation, which I must say is considerable.” His still youthful face flushed slightly. “My father handled his business affairs, and those of your family until his death last year. I believe Mr MacKinnon has always been a man of strong opinions and unbending resolve.”
‘A charitable description of him.’ She offered a weak smile, but did not venture the adjectives that sprang to mind.
The lawyer appeared to come to a momentous decision, pushed a pile of files to one side and leaned both forearms on the desk, his shoulders hunched forward. “The Salvation Army arranges assisted passage for those with little means to begin new lives in places like Australia, Canada and so on.” She went to interrupt him, at which he held up a hand to silence her. “I mention them simply as a means of obtaining information. However, I’m aware your position is entirely different. As an Englishwoman with your own funds, you have all you need to travel there. If that is what you desire.”
Her desire? Could it really be that simple?
“It is, sir.” As if he needed further explanation, she added, “My husband always wanted us to go to Canada.” Her throat burned as she recalled Frederick’s eyes when he spoke of their plans, only to cloud again at the realisation it would remain a dream, ending with a sigh and the words, “but Father would never let us go.”
Even as a woman alone, there must be something she could do in a new and exciting country; it's most attractive quality being it did not hold Angus MacKinnon.
“I see.” Mr Beech blinked several times, then coughed into a fist. “I assume you don’t intend taking this amount of money to Canada on your person? That would be most unwise.”
“Well no, of course not, but-” Grace hesitated. “What do you suggest?”
“That I furnish you with a letter of authority which you present to the bank of your choice on arrival. They will telegraph me to transfer the capital across as per the instructions you give them. Would that be agreeable?”
“It would indeed, Mr Beech.” Excitement bunched beneath her ribs. She watched as he drew towards him from a tray on his desk a page of creamy bond paper. It bore the name of the firm in embossed gold. He dipped a pen into an inkpot and scrawled a few lines in bold script.
“Won’t I need some cash in order to make travel arrangements?” Grace aske
d as Mr Beech signed the page with a flourish and dabbed the wet ink with a sheet of blotting paper.
“Indeed, I can provide you with an adequate amount right now.” He withdrew a sturdy looking cash box from another drawer and proceeded to unlock it. Grace watched his fingers flicking through a satisfying pile of banknotes. He placed them, along with the folded letter of authority, into a thick brown envelope which he sealed with a damp sponge set in a small pot at his elbow.
Grace imagined her father-in-law’s reaction when he realized her money was no longer available to him. The thought gave her a good deal of pleasure and, in some ways, she regretted she would not be there to see it.
“I assume you have weighed the possible consequences of this action?”
“Not really. It’s all happened too fast for second thoughts or regrets.” Grace took the parcel he held out. ‘Although I’m certain I won’t regret my decision.”
He regarded her steadily for a moment, his round eyes above the half-moon spectacles unblinking. “I see.” He tore a small square piece of paper from a pad on his desk and wrote something on it before handing it to her.
“This is the address of the Salvation Army office in Liverpool, together with the name of their chief Emigration Officer. They can help you put together the required documentation.”
“That’s most helpful, sir.” She added the note to her bag and tugged on her now creased and damp gloves. “I feel quite equipped now to tackle whatever the world has to offer me.”
“I have to admire your determination, my dear.” He strode to the door and held it open for her. “However, I would warn you to be on your guard. A young woman of your obvious attractions and money is bound to be a target in a comparatively primitive environment.”
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