A Lady of High Regard

by Tracie Peterson

  “Why, practice, Mr. Wilson. Practice is the answer.”

  Mia sat down at her writing desk, her mind still on the fact that Garrett knew something of her exploits the night before. “He always seems to know when I’m up to something other than what I ought to be,” she mused.

  She recalled when she’d been only eight years old and had determined to walk west to see what Indians really looked like. Garrett had somehow found her halfway down the block from their homes.

  “Where are you going, Mia?” he’d asked.

  “West. Teacher told us there are savages out there.”

  “I’m sure there are. There are probably savages all around us.”

  “Do you really suppose so? Real savages with bows and arrows and spears?”

  Garrett laughed and tousled her curls. “Mia, it’s much too dangerous for you to leave home alone. Do you not know the trouble you could find?”

  She shrugged. “I’m eight years old and that’s pretty grown up. I can manage.”

  “I’m sure you could, but how would I manage without you?”

  She chuckled at the memory and at the realization that even then, she’d always done what captured her fancy—ready to take on the world. Garrett, however, was equally confident that she needed to be sheltered and protected. He was such a meddlesome brother at times.

  “But he’s not my brother and he has no say over me. I must endeavor to be more secretive or next thing I know, he’ll be talking to Mother or Father about seeing me.”

  Mia looked at her papers and reread the notes she’d made. The situation she’d uncovered was troubling, but she needed more proof and would no doubt have to go amongst the seamen’s wives and families to ascertain the truth. That would present a challenge. She had been admonished on many occasions to stay away from the docks. Her own father had worked but a block away from the Delaware River, warehousing the shipments from Europe that he imported as a part of his business, but never once had Mia been allowed to journey there. Many times he’d told her the dangers were too great. There were too many undesirable characters walking the waterfront.

  “But in order to know the truth, I shall simply have to walk the waterfront with them.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Lydia Frankfort portrayed the very epitome of a blushing bride-to-be as her five friends surrounded her in her parlor the following afternoon. Newly engaged to Ralph Bridges, she happily answered their questions. Mia, while having no hand in this match, was nevertheless happy for her friend.

  “Mr. Bridges is very well thought of,” Mia stated. “It is a good match.”

  “But he’s so much older,” Josephine Monroe declared.

  “But not nearly as fat as your Mr. Huxford,” Martha Penrose countered.

  “He’s not my Mr. Huxford,” Josephine said with a frown. “I’ve done my level best to discourage that man’s interest.”

  The gathering of ladies laughed at this. They all knew very well how much Josephine detested the man who followed after her like a devoted pup.

  “I don’t mind that Mr. Bridges is so much older than I am,” Lydia interjected. “He’s a kind and considerate man.”

  “Yes, but what about those boys of his?” Martha asked. “I should not want to become a mother to those little gamins.”

  “James and Timothy are dear boys,” Lydia stated, putting her gloved hands on her hips in obvious frustration.

  “They are dear boys,” Mia said, “and you will make a very sweet stepmother. They are quite fortunate to have you.”

  Lydia relaxed her hands and smiled. “Thank you, Mia. I know many people think it an ill-suited match brought about only by my father’s desire for a prosperous union, but I am happy.”

  “And that is what is important.” Mia waved her arm toward the damask drapes, feeling a change of subject was in order. “I think those are the most beautiful draperies.”

  “Mother just had them made. They were completed only yesterday,” Lydia told her.

  “I think that shade of red is perfect for this room,” Josephine commented. It seemed to Mia she was trying to get back in Lydia’s good graces. “It goes well with the golden tones of the sofas.”

  “Those are Italian, you know. Father brought them back from his travels last year. Most everything in this room is from his trip to Rome and Venice.”

  The collection of young ladies nodded in unison. There wasn’t a single one of them who hadn’t heard all about the treasures from Italy that Lydia’s father had brought home. Mia adjusted her skirt and took a seat on one of the silk-covered throne chairs—a marvelous piece in cream and black stripes. She preferred this arrangement to sitting on the sofas or settees. She liked the isolation it offered her while affording her a chance to study the room and her companions.

  The other girls soon followed suit. Lydia took the matching throne chair and perched on the edge, as though ready to escape the room at any moment.

  “What have you planned for the wedding?” Abigail Penrose, Martha’s older sister, asked.

  “Mother has taken charge of most everything,” Lydia replied, her fixed smile fading. “She has dictated that the wedding take place in September, after everyone has returned from their summer retreats.”

  “That sounds wise,” Mia said, trying to be diplomatic.

  “I do not mind the date or the fact that she has demanded we marry here at the house rather than the church.”

  “Why the house?”

  “She feels churches are for worship and that weddings should be less public affairs,” Lydia said.

  “Surely she will allow you to have guests attend?” Josephine questioned.

  “She has agreed to that, but limited the number. She is adamant on this matter.”

  “Goodness, when my sister married,” Prudence Brighton began, “there were five hundred people in attendance. Everyone in town was invited. I should want no less for my own upcoming wedding.”

  Mia could see the discomfort on Lydia’s face. “Perhaps Mrs. Frankfort feels this will allow for a more intimate gathering. I find that such collections are quite pleasurable and make for a special occasion. Like now, with us gathered here.” She met Lydia’s eyes and saw pure gratitude. No doubt Lydia worried that such a wedding would suggest her father was less than solvent in his financial affairs. And rumor had it there were problems with the family coffers.

  “I will insist that you are all invited. Your families too. Mother may have her say now, but I won’t see my wedding done in shabby fashion,” Lydia declared.

  “What of your gown? Have you commissioned it?” Abigail asked.

  Mia allowed the conversation to fade from her thoughts. She enjoyed these gatherings to a degree, but often found them little more than gossip sessions. At least this time the focus was on Lydia and her wedding. Still, the women, though longtime friends, could be quite vicious with each other.

  For instance when Abigail and Martha first arrived, it was quickly noted that Martha was wearing one of Abigail’s old gowns. The dress that had been fashionable three years ago had been remade for the rather thick-waisted Martha. Josephine had been happy to mention the matter, which had completely embarrassed Martha. Still, it was rather a sad situation. Martha seemed to have few redeeming qualities. She was outspoken with her opinion, unkempt in her appearance, and in general lacked the social graces that spoke of true quality. Mia had thought about taking her under consideration to teach, but Martha showed no interest. She was content to have her flat, unattractive hairstyles and dowdy dresses. Even in Abigail’s silk print gown of green and tan, Martha managed to look ordinary.

  In contrast, Josephine, who was nineteen, the same age as Martha, was a dark-eyed beauty who had no trouble attracting attention. The unwanted favors of Mervin Huxford, Josephine’s father’s young associate, was not the only interest shown the young woman. She’d been pursued since coming out at sixteen. Mia had actually been surprised that Jo had put off even the slightest hint of attention from Philadelphia�
�s finest bachelors.

  “I will not waste my time with the wrong man,” she had told Mia. “When the right one comes into my life, I shall know it very well.”

  Mia had to admit she admired that attitude. Abigail, on the other hand, dreamed of receiving a proposal of marriage from Andrew Tobias. Mr. Tobias was a gentleman farmer who raised fine crops and very fast horses. His family name was well respected and the match would be considered an excellent one for both families. Mia liked to believe she had had something to do with the arrangement. She had introduced the two at one of her mother’s parties. And while it was true she hadn’t really considered them for one another, she chalked it up to her very matchmaking nature, believing that her heart had simply known and acted without thought.

  “Mia, I love that gown. Where did you get it?” Lydia asked.

  Mia was brought quickly from her daydreams and into the conversation. “We have a dressmaker on Chestnut Street. She’s quite skilled. I told her I wished to have something fashioned in a peach color suitable for a walking-out dress. She found this marvelous material and gold and brown trim. I’m very happy with the way it turned out.”

  “And well you should be,” Lydia replied. “Those sleeves are simply perfect. I’ve not seen bishop sleeves used in ever so long.” The others quickly agreed.

  “I simply love the fashion plates Godey’s puts out each month,” Prudence said with a sigh. “Some of those dresses are without a doubt the most incredible creations I’ve ever seen. My dressmaker has no imagination, but when I take her those plates, she can easily figure out how to put together the pattern and give me what I desire.”

  “Godey’s has been a wonderful help to women everywhere,” Lydia agreed. “The information on etiquette alone must be tremendously helpful for young women who have no one else to teach them.”

  “Or money for finishing school,” Josephine threw out. “I wish we hadn’t had the money for finishing school.” She began to laugh and with it came the inevitable snort for which Jo was well known. She might be a beauty, but that obnoxious laugh was long remembered.

  “Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad. Not nearly as bad as the school I attended in Virginia,” Prudence said. “Goodness, but those Southern girls have more rules and duties than you can even imagine. I only changed my clothes four times yesterday and imagined my head mistress, Mrs. Beaufort, fainting in displeasure. If a Southern girl changes her clothes fewer than six times, she’s considered to have a lack of proper upbringing.”

  “And what of gloves?” Martha asked, holding up her arm. The gloves she wore made her fingers look like stuffed little sausages. “I despise gloves, but society demands we wear them everywhere.”

  “Except to eat,” Abigail countered.

  Mia felt sorry for Martha. With a smile she began to unbutton her glove. “So let us be decadent and completely ill-mannered and put our gloves aside.” She pulled first one glove off and then the other and waved them ever so defiantly. “See, the roof has not come down on us.”

  The others giggled and followed suit. Mia couldn’t be sure, but she thought Martha actually breathed easier without the bondage of her gloves.

  “What other rules may we cast aside?” Josephine asked, snorting in pleasure.

  “I would be glad if gowns would be fashionable without long sleeves,” Prudence announced. “Couldn’t you convince Mrs. Hale to set new fashions in Godey’s with shorter sleeves?”

  “Well, there are some very lovely evening gowns that have short sleeves—sometimes even no sleeves,” Mia said thoughtfully. “But then you must wear the gloves.”

  “Yes. Long, hot, uncomfortable gloves that reach to your upper arm lest someone spy your uncovered elbow,” Martha said, shaking her head. “Can elbows really be that provocative?”

  They all laughed at this. Mia had to agree that society had some very harsh dictates for its women. In the deadly heat of a Philadelphia summer, Mia too had longed for fashions without sleeves and layers of petticoats and crinoline.

  “Perhaps we shall change the world of fashion,” Prudence said thoughtfully. “After all, should it not be women who decide what is comfortable and fashionable?”

  “Last year at the London Exhibition, a man named Charles Frederick Worth had several prized designs for ladies’ gowns,” Mia said, remembering the information from something Sarah Hale had told her. “It is thought that he will change the appearance of gowns. No doubt the set of sleeves and the bodice are sure to be a part of that. He seems quite innovative.”

  “Then perhaps we should correspond with Mr. Worth and tell him how we feel about the length of sleeves,” Abigail said with a grin.

  “And about elbows,” Martha added.

  “No one has even mentioned the weight of the horsehair crinolines,” Lydia said.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t even begin that conversation,” Mia said, casting her glance to the ceiling. “If men had to wear an additional thirty pounds of clothing every day, they would soon enough change the fashion.”

  “No one cares what women think. Women suffer all manner of complication and trial and no one does anything about it,” Prudence declared.

  Mia straightened a bit at this comment. “Sarah Hale has great concern for women and children. She is already hard at work to see industry changes made to accommodate the needs of both. Shorter working hours and less dangerous environments are just two of the things she would see altered.”

  “But should those women even be working?” Josephine questioned. “After all, the Bible says younger women should marry, bear children, and guide the house. That doesn’t sound to me as though they should be in the workplace.”

  “So what should they do when they are widowed or their husbands cannot work?” Mia asked.

  “The church should take care of them.”

  “And if the church cannot or will not? After all, there are a great many people in this city—more than a hundred thousand. How would the church bear that burden alone? There are of course poorhouses, but those are overflowing as it is. The wealthy are not nearly so generous with their giving as the poor are in their need.”

  “So you think women should work?” Prudence asked.

  “I think a woman has to examine the situation for herself and prayerfully consider what is to be done,” Mia told the group. “I would encourage family and friends to first see to her needs. That is what people did for Mrs. Hale when her beloved husband died young. He left her with four children and another on the way. She had no means, so others came alongside her until she could figure out how to help her own situation. The godly woman described in Proverbs thirty-one is hardly idle, after all. And what of young women who have no husbands? Should they not be allowed to work and earn money for their own support or the betterment of their families?”

  “If it is necessity that dictates and not merely vanity, then I would guess it to be acceptable,” Lydia answered.

  “But what determines necessity?” Josephine asked.

  “Exactly,” Mia said. “Each person has her own level of need and necessity that only she can determine. Still, when a mother with several small children is left without a means of support and there are no friends, family members, or churches to come to her aid, she cannot jeopardize the lives of her children by refusing to do anything about it. And it’s those women who deserve our protection and help. Mrs. Hale believes there should be better working conditions and increased pay. She also believes the hours should be shortened and fewer days worked. And along with this, she believes nurseries provided at the factory would allow mothers of small babies to work and be available to nurse their children and care for them during periods of assigned rest.”

  Abigail shook her head. “Rest at work? You’ll never see that accepted. No one takes breaks away from their duties except for the luncheon hour.”

  “But perhaps they should,” Mia argued. “You must understand that nothing gets changed without someone seeing a need for change. There are ways to make co
nditions more acceptable so that less die from exhaustion or disease. Why, I know for a fact that many factories nail their windows shut summer and winter. Heat has killed both male and female during the summers, and fires have killed them at other times since they had no means of escape. There must be changes!” Mia pounded her fist into the palm of her hand, then looked rather sheepish at her outburst. “I fear the removal of our gloves has caused me to grow quite wanton.”

  The ladies laughed, but Mia noticed more than one woman begin to inch her fingers back into their kid coverings, lest they cross into more dangerous territory.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I should have told her no—plain and simple. I should never have agreed to this farce.” Garrett twisted the brim of his top hat as he paced the Stanley vestibule. “Just because she’s managed to find husbands for her sisters, she feels she must pair everyone in the universe,” he muttered. He continued pacing, wishing there were a way to graciously back out of the evening.

  “You look marvelous,” Mia declared as she descended the stairs.

  “I might say the same.” Garrett took in the expensive cut of her gown. White silk with the palest pink lace trim. The bodice was also overlaid with the same pale pink lace—a fine delicate pattern that almost seemed an illusion. Mia’s long white gloves and upswept hair gave her an air of royalty.

  “Thank you,” Mia replied. She reached out to take his hand as she glided down the last few steps. “I’m so looking forward to the evening. I’m certain you’ll find Mrs. Custiss to be a charming companion.”

  “Mia, I am not at all encouraged about this evening. How do you know this woman?”

  “I met her while visiting. She’s the daughter of one of my mother’s friends. I’ve heard good things about her and she is close to your age. I shared tea with her just last week and she was quite excited at the prospect of meeting you.”

  “I see. Excited in what way? Did you encourage her to consider me a prime choice of husbands, just as you have promoted her to me for wife?”