The Brideship Wife

by Leslie Howard

  “Harriet has nothing to do with it. She’s been unwell and spending time at her doctor’s,” I said quickly. “And George hasn’t told you the truth.”

  “Do you really think I should believe you, my penniless sister-in-law with no connections, over George, the esteemed government whip and pillar of the community? Don’t be ridiculous. There is no longer any room for you at my table.”

  Anger bubbled up inside me at the echo of George’s heartless words about my family and me. We had our faults, to be sure, but we were honest, and we treated others with respect and caring, no matter their position. It seemed to me that those seeking the highest levels of society lost their humanity on the way to the top. “I can go to my cousin Edward’s. He’s offered me a position as a governess.”

  “I would feel honour-bound to tell him of your behaviour and there’s no way to keep a lid on the rumours, anyway. Edward would never take you now. George is outraged by your attempts at blackmail and is demanding action.” His eyes were as cold and grey as the pewter tableware in front of him. “No, I have other plans for you. You have to go. There is simply no other way to deal with your situation, no other course open to us.”

  I felt the pulse in my temples begin to throb. “Go where?”

  He presented me with a piece of paper torn from the Times. “George brought this to my attention last night.”

  STEAM to the GOLD FIELDS of BRITISH COLUMBIA—Notice to passengers and shippers—For VICTORIA, Vancouver’s Island, (calling if required at San Francisco), the iron screw steamship TYNEMOUTH, A 1, 9 years at Lloyd’s, 1,650 tons register, and 600-horse power indicated, ALFRED HELLYER Commander: will load at the Jetty, London Docks, leaving punctually on the 24th of May.

  “You have a short time to prepare for the journey. I have purchased passage for you on a steamship leaving for Victoria, in the colony of British Columbia. No doubt you will end up a governess or even a servant, but there is also a possibility of marriage.”

  He launched into a short lecture on how I needed to be industrious and work hard to make a better future for myself, but I stopped listening. There it was. I sat rooted in my chair, unable to move, as if someone had placed a heavy weight upon my lap. I was to be sent to a lawless land full of unruly men. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. I was flooded with cascading emotions—intense shock at the suddenness of it all, a nebulous fear of the unknown, and, worst of all, a profound feeling of homesickness at the thought of leaving my dearest Hari forever.

  PART TWO The Voyage

  Chapter Eleven

  I caught my first glimpse of the Tynemouth anchored offshore. Its freshly painted exterior appeared as a constant dark mass on a watery horizon where ocean and sky were indistinct. I had been dreading this day for so long that I felt numb now that I was here, leaving my old life behind. Wiggles was the only person excited by the adventure before me, and I wondered if it was fate that made her give me that pamphlet that day. I hadn’t had the heart to explain the circumstances of my departure to her, but promised her I would write. I patted my carpetbag, feeling the jewellery box buried deep inside where the emerald necklace was stowed. I needed it now, as never before.

  I tried to imagine what life on the northwest coast of North America would be like. I reasoned it must resemble the paintings I had seen of Lower Canada in a gallery in London of voyageurs, their snowshoes strapped to their backs, driving teams of sled dogs over rolling, snow-covered hills. I had read library books about explorers freezing to death in frigid winters and drowning as they tried to navigate uncharted rivers, and heard tales about swarms of blackflies in summer that can turn an exposed face to a swollen pulp. The New World didn’t sound like a place for me. It was a land of gold-crazed adventurers from every corner of the earth, I remembered with a shudder.

  At least I would have my sister by my side for a little longer. I turned to study Harriet. She looked miserable, wet and shivering.

  “Almost there,” I said. “We’ll be out of this drizzle soon and settled in our cabin.”

  She gave me a stoic smile, but her face was deathly pale. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  It was my fault she was here, and I wore the guilt like a hair shirt.

  My earlier fear of being parted from her hadn’t lasted long. When she’d returned from the doctor, Charles had summoned her to his study. He had taken her actions as a betrayal, she’d told me later in her room. Because she had kept him in the dark, he had been forced to bend to George’s demands for justice and was now forever in his debt. Charles wanted her out of his sight. Publicly, he explained that Harriet was suffering from exhaustion and would be taking an extended holiday to escort her sister to her new life in the colonies. Privately, she was a banished wife, sent away to do penance for her sins by her once-adoring husband. He would send word when the whole sorry mess was long forgotten by polite society and she could return.

  I had been shocked by his reaction and had said as much to Harriet. “What about trying for a baby? You certainly can’t do that halfway around the world.”

  “I think he may have given up on having children with me,” she’d told me softly.

  I didn’t have the nerve to tell her what I had overheard Charles say to Lord Ainsley, but the conversation played at my heart. Despite Charles’s plan, it was I who was responsible for her tragic fall from grace, and I had to try to make it up to her. If only I could find an acceptable husband willing to support us both, if need be. When the time was right—when we knew our next step—I would tell her about Charles.

  Huddled next to Hari in the chill mist, I felt love and affection for her, and much concern. I put one arm around her. In spite of the calendar, the weather was more like winter than spring. Cold, stinging spray, kicked up by the boat’s plunging bow, threatened to soak our travel clothes as the tender shoved its way through the dense Atlantic waters towards the Tynemouth, our home for the next three and a half months—106 days, to be exact. The closer we got, the better I could see the vessel. With all its patches and repairs, even I could tell that she was past her prime.

  It was still raining when we boarded the main deck, where a lively crowd of people from every station and class were preparing to embark. Sailors hoisted large trunks with a makeshift crane, and peacoated officers shouted instructions from the deck above. When a small barrel broke loose and burst open, molasses oozed across the deck and the tangy smell of sweetness mixed with the smoky aroma from the aft coal burners. Black soot swirled in the air before depositing a thick film over the lower-deck portholes. It was dirty and chaotic. I looked around for the purser, who would direct the first- and second-class passengers to their cabins.

  Some gentlemen adventurers appeared to be setting out for the gold rush in the colony; they were outfitted with rucksacks and various outdoor equipment. Second and third sons with no inheritance, most likely, with their passage funded by families anxious for them to find their way in life. As we made our way past these men, they turned with admiring glances. I knew the stares were directed at my sister, still beautiful in spite of her current state of poor health, still dressed with elaborate care in the latest fashion.

  “Do you know where we can find the purser?” I asked the group.

  “Do not engage with them,” Harriet murmured.

  One of the men pointed to a uniformed man with a notepad conferring with a young couple farther down the deck.

  I nodded a thank-you and we moved towards the purser just as a flurry of activity caught everyone’s attention. A group of young women were making their way along the main deck towards the stairs that led to the lower decks. Like a gaggle of geese, they were led by a stout woman in front and an even stouter man took up the rear. There must have been almost sixty of them, I thought. As they shuffled dutifully along, some dabbed handkerchiefs to their tearful faces while others giggled with excitement.

  They must be the unmarried women who were spoken of at the Columbia Emigration Society meeting, I realized. Orphans, unem
ployed workers from the cotton mills in Lancashire and London factories, the dispossessed, and a few gentlewomen unable to cover the cost of their passage. Their keepers shooed the women towards the stairs. One woman stumbled in the confusion, and I moved to help her, but Harriet held me back.

  “It’s not your place, Charlotte.”

  The woman managed to get up on her own, moving slowly and carefully, as if protecting herself from a previous injury. She was striking. With her golden-brown skin and thick, silky black hair, she stood out from the other emigrant women. I couldn’t help but wonder what her story was, but Harriet was pulling me away, towards the purser.

  In short order, he directed us to our cabin, one of twelve that opened directly off the top deck. From what I could see, one row was occupied by men, the other, by women and couples.

  I followed Harriet into our quarters. In his characteristic concern for saving money, Charles had purchased one first-class room for Hari, with an adjoining maid’s room for me, which proved to be a tiny, windowless chamber with just enough space for a bunk. I noticed it had a hinged board that could be pulled into place to prevent one from falling out of bed. No doubt a precaution for children. I couldn’t imagine adults needing such a contraption.

  But there were a few simple delights in the main room. Two comfortable-looking chairs, a white porcelain washbasin with its blue stencil depicting the Tynemouth and a matching water pitcher, a light blue velveteen coverlet on the bed, hooks along one wall for hanging clothes, and a sculpted mirror bolted to the opposite wall. I allowed myself a small smile.

  “It doesn’t take much to please you, does it?” Hari said as she felt the bed before sitting gingerly on the edge. “How soon you forget the luxuries we once had. I had hoped for something much grander. Thank God it’s only temporary. Governor and Mrs. Douglas’s residence will be a welcome respite after this.”

  The governor, I knew, was a high-ranking man in the Hudson’s Bay fur trading company. Charles had sent letters of introduction for us until we could find suitable lodgings elsewhere, but what was next? Hari would starve before she would consider a paid position, and I had no employable skills. Harriet saw the concerned look on my face.

  “Don’t worry. Charles will call us home. He needs me far more than he realizes. I did everything for him, even wrote some of his speeches. And if you marry respectably, I’m convinced all will be forgiven and forgotten.”

  Her optimism weighed me down. I had to tell her now. I sat next to her and took one of her hands in mine. “There’s something I need to tell you. I overheard a conversation Charles had with Lord Ainsley.” I had kept the awful story bottled up inside me for so long it poured out of me now. I told her everything, how Charles had suggested the adoption of Mary’s boys and his uncle’s tacit agreement, the one concern being the need to get permission to pass the title to an adopted child. I didn’t add that Charles was fairly confident about his petition to the Committee of Privileges. As I spoke, Hari’s eyes widened, then a heavy sadness fell around the corners, but she kept up a defiant chin.

  “Well, there you are, my perfect opportunity,” she said once I was done.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “If permission is not granted, then Charles will have no choice other than to try to have a child with me and he’ll have to forget about Mary Sledge and her boys.” She reached into her handbag and withdrew a green vial and pulled the stopper. “This is great news,” she said weakly.

  “Wait a minute.” I pulled the vial from her hand. In the weeks leading up to our voyage, she’d been taking the medication with more and more regularity, but she only seemed to be getting sicker.

  “What exactly is this, Harriet?”

  “Something Dr. Randolph gave me to settle my nerves. Give it back.”

  She reached for it, and I noticed her dry, yellowing nails. She had a hungry, feral look in her eye, and I let her take it. I watched with a sinking heart as she took a long swallow.

  “Are you sure it’s wise to take so much?” I asked.

  But the medicine was already taking effect. Her dark-shadowed eyes glassed over and she lay down on the bed. I picked up the tiny glass container and sniffed. There was an acidic smell, like vinegar. I didn’t recognize what it was, nor could I make a guess based on its amber colour. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that it wasn’t good for my sister.

  A sharp rap at the cabin door made me leap to my feet. I quickly smoothed my skirts and answered. Two sailors stood on the other side.

  “Baldwin, Harding cabin?” one asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We have your luggage.”

  “Please come in.” I stepped away from the door and stood in front of Harriet in an attempt to block their view of her. “My sister is just resting.”

  The sailors paid her no mind, anxious to deposit our trunks and be off to their regular work. After doing so, they handed me a card, then, with a touch of their caps, escaped the cabin.

  I shoved the card in my pocket and dragged my small trunk into my room, but I didn’t feel like unpacking. My mind was racing. I had the sinking feeling that Hari was using the medicine to cope with her situation. Since she’d been taking it, she only looked paler, and it was almost as if she’d come to rely on it. What I should do, I had no notion. I felt overwhelmed with all that was going on. Beneath me, I felt the ship begin to move. I needed air. With one last look at Hari, I left the cabin and stepped out onto the main deck.

  The rain had stopped, and a warming sun fought the clouds for dominance. Others were emerging from the cabins to enjoy the change in weather and see the ship off. As I approached the railing, I caught my breath. The full mast of sails was catching the wind at just the right angle, their expanse of white cloth snapping taut in the centre while their edges fluttered like delicate white-gloved fingers over piano keys. The deck under my feet surged forward, and I had to grip a handrail to steady myself.

  In the distance, the English coast began to recede. A feeling of profound sadness swept over me as I watched the only home I had ever known fade from sight. My father would have loved this, I thought. I could hear him now: A grand adventure, my dear girl, a grand adventure.

  I felt for the card inside my pocket.

  Captain Hellyer wishes to welcome you aboard. The Tynemouth is of the barque class of seagoing ship boasting three masts and a steam engine with screw propeller. At 250 feet long she can carry up to three hundred passengers. First- and second-class passengers are welcome on all three decks, while steerage passengers are asked to restrict their movements to the third deck. Have an enjoyable voyage.

  Flipping the card over, I found the imprint of a map on the other side. With my index finger, I traced the course our ship would take. The route crossed the English Channel before hugging the coasts of France, Spain, and Portugal, and then taking a sharp right turn to Bermuda and on down the coasts of Brazil and Argentina to our first stop, the Falkland Islands. Then it went around Cape Horn, up the west coasts of Chile, Peru, and Mexico, all the way to the new American state of California and the city of San Francisco before it continued north to the colony of British Columbia and the town of Victoria on Vancouver Island. I resolved to include the card in my first letter to Wiggles.

  What awaited us on our journey? I wondered. I had heard of diseases, like smallpox, that carried away half the passengers on a ship before it reached its destination. And then there was the dreaded Cape Horn, the gale-ridden point of southernmost land that was home to countless shipwrecks. If we survive all that, what then? North America was a lawless land teeming with wild men. How would Hari and I make our way?

  I didn’t know. All I knew was that Harriet needed my help. That was my goal. First, I would find a way to nurse her back to health, and then I’d figure out how to make things right for her. The little sister taking care of the big one, for a change. As the coastline grew smaller and smaller, I realized that the distance between me and Charles, and George too, for that matter, was g
rowing greater, and the thought eased the fear and worry that had weighed on me for weeks. Whatever came next, it wouldn’t involve them. I knocked three times on the wooden railing for good luck.

  Chapter Twelve

  When I returned to the cabin, Hari was sitting up in one of the reading chairs and examining what looked like an invitation. She still looked unwell—perspiration dampened her brow—but she had an air of frenzied energy about her. Four or five of her best dresses were laid out haphazardly on the bed. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “An invitation to the captain’s private dining room—only fitting, considering my place in society. Nice to know that proper decorum is being observed on board.” She handed me the invitation, a feverish excitement in her eyes. “It’s a very interesting guest list.”

  I scanned the list, curious as to what had improved her spirits. “How so?”

  “Sir Richard and Lady Persephone Fitzwilliam. She’s the prime minister’s cousin, and he’s a diplomat. They were at my party. Remember?”

  I acknowledged a dim recollection.

  “Charles would do anything to be close to them,” she said. “If I can befriend them and build a relationship while on board, he’ll hear of it. This can only help our cause.”

  I saw the logic, but there was one problem. “If she was at the party, perhaps she’s heard the rumours about me.”

  Harriet got up and, taking one of the gowns off the bed, held it next to her, admiring it in the mirror. “We’ll learn that soon enough. Either way, you must behave impeccably whenever you are in her company, as I will. Follow my lead.”

  I held up my hand as if making a vow. “Only my best behaviour.” And I meant it.

  “She’ll refer to the prime minister as Pam, so don’t ask who Pam is.”

  “Pam?”

  “Short for Lord Palmerston. Those in the know call him Pam.” Without a maid, Hari was forced to dress herself. She started the laborious process, stepping into the first of several layers of petticoats. “No doubt they will be wined and dined royally by Victoria’s elite. I wonder where they’re staying in Victoria. It would be perfect if they were also staying with Governor Douglas and his wife. Perhaps they’d be willing to introduce you to some eligible gentlemen. Ideally, if we could arrange a match for you quickly, we could go straight from the Douglases’ to your matrimonial home.”