The Brideship Wife

by Leslie Howard

  “I can’t deal with these two at the same time,” he said. “I’ll stitch Jeff’s bad gash here; you can set Ed’s broken forearm.”

  I looked at the seaman sitting at the table. Ed was more of a boy than a man, clearly fighting tears, his face flushed a deep red. “Me?”

  “You’ve seen me do it enough times. You know the procedure; there’s a sling on the table. I’ll double-check it when you’re done.”

  My knees felt a little like tomato jelly, but I didn’t want to let the doctor down. It took a great deal of my strength to straighten Ed’s muscles that had contracted in response to the break, but I managed it without too much discomfort for the poor boy. “I’ll have you in a sling in a jiff,” I told him, and he seemed relieved.

  Dr. Carson inspected my work and pronounced it properly done, but I had no time to bask in glory. We went off on our rounds and spent an exhausting morning tending to the crew.

  At the end of the day, Dr. Carson set himself heavily at his desk and sifted through his stores of laudanum. “And how is Harriet doing on the new dose?”

  “Well, I think. Her withdrawal has been hard, but she’s improved a great deal. Our plan is working, and we both can see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Good,” he said. “This is the smallest dose I have. She can take this for another week or two, and then we’ll see about taking her off completely.”

  A weight I didn’t know I had been carrying lifted off my shoulders. My sister would soon be free of this drug’s hold and we could go back to our lives. “And your supply hasn’t run out?”

  “I’ll have enough until we dock in Bermuda.” He gave me a warm, rare smile. “You did well today. I realize that helping me to set that broken arm was hard, especially seeing that young lad in so much distress, but you didn’t let that get in the way of doing your job. You are really making a difference here.”

  I felt a surge of pride ripple through me. I had lived up to the demands of a tough situation.

  “Everyone seems to be in rather good health at the moment, so for the next few days, I could use your help counting and cataloging my supplies.”

  He reached across his desk and handed me two large iron skeleton keys. I raised my eyebrows in question.

  “One key is to the surgery, and the other opens the medicine stores. Keep them safe. You can let yourself in and count our stock while I do the rounds tomorrow.”

  I nodded, looking forward to an easier few days ahead of me. I wondered how Dr. Carson did it every day.

  “This is such hard work,” I said. “I’m curious. What made you leave Wales to take this position?”

  “My accent is as strong as that, is it?”

  “Yes,” I said, chuckling.

  His expression grew serious. “As a young man my politics got me into trouble. I was inspired by the work of John Stuart Mill, a champion of the individual over the power of the state. Some thought my ideas were dangerous. I was charged with sedition. Trumped-up charges. Sedition is high treason, punishable with death. I had no choice but to flee.”

  I wasn’t familiar with John Stuart Mill, but I recognized the similarities in mine and Dr. Carson’s circumstances and murmured my condolences.

  “That’s why I’m here, a ship’s surgeon, instead of in my little cottage in Wales doing the work I love, caring for the miners, and helping them with their unionizing. The irony is, I now strongly disagree with Mill’s thinking.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s a great defender of British imperialism, sees Britain as a benevolent despot civilizing barbaric peoples. I’ve seen enough of the world to know that’s not true. It’s just a convenient argument for empire building.”

  It was a perspective I had not heard before, and it resonated with me, somehow. “Why don’t you renounce Mill and return to Wales?” If only it was that simple for me too, I thought. I would do it, for Hari and me, and return home in a flash.

  “Not now.” Dr. Carson shook his head. “The men need me. I couldn’t leave them.”

  * * *

  Dr. Carson’s comments left me pensive, and I took the long way back to my cabin to think them through. He was a man who had put the well-being of others ahead of his own needs. I had never truly encountered anyone like that. I thought of Charles, Lady Persephone, and Sir Richard, all people who saw others as useful tools, as pawns in the game of career building.

  Down on the third deck, I passed the area roped off for the exclusive use of the future colonial brides. Even en route to a purportedly better life, they were cloistered without freedom of movement. I scanned their pale faces looking for Sarah, and I found her. I waved, and she came over to greet me.

  “Miss Charlotte, ’tis fine to see you again.” She moved slowly and I could see her eyes and neck were puffy, as they had been at her last checkup with Dr. Carson.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “I think this little one must be past due. If I could figure out how to move it along, I would.”

  “In the meantime, getting some air and sun is a good idea.”

  Sarah sighed deeply. “The air is full of soot here, but there’s nothing else for us. The Burks never let us do anything. We never get to hear what’s going on, and we are all so very, very bored.” She gestured to a small group of women around her, who were looking at us curiously. “She’s a proper nurse,” Sarah told them loudly.

  “No, no,” I protested. “I’m just helping Dr. Carson during his rounds with the crew. He needs an extra set of hands, that’s all.”

  “Nonsense. You’re a regular Nurse Nightingale,” Sarah said. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends. This is a not-so-famous Florence, Florence Wilson.”

  A dark-haired woman about my age and wearing a clean but worn day gown stepped up to the rope cordon and shook my hand.

  “I’m Charlotte Harding,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure. Thank you for helping Sarah,” Florence said. “We’re all so excited about the baby, and we want the birth to be as smooth as possible.”

  Florence was clearly a gentlewoman like me, and I wondered at her circumstances but felt it improper to ask.

  “And this is Emma Lazenby,” Sarah said, turning to a particularly young woman. She was dressed in a plain grey cotton dress with a flared skirt that flowed to the tops of black ankle boots, the uniform of the working poor.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Emma,” I said. “Where are you from?”

  “Lancashire,” she said with a strong accent. “I worked in the cotton mills, but I was a milkmaid afore that.”

  Around her neck was what I guessed was her prized possession, a small, white cameo necklace, held in place by a black velvet ribbon. I noticed Emma’s unmarked skin, and I knew that milkmaids were renowned for their clear complexions. The thought reminded me of what John Crossman had said about cowpox preventing smallpox.

  “How are you faring on the journey so far?” I asked her.

  “Getting by. The Burks treat us like a bunch of little kiddies, they do. I can’t wait to be rid of them.”

  “This whole Emigration Society is a joke,” another woman nearby said. “ ‘Good Christian lassies who’ll settle down the wayward gold miners and raise wholesome families.’ Ha!” She snorted with laughter, and the other women looked uneasy. “I can’t wait to get out of this stinking hellhole and have some fun in the colonies.”

  “This is Alice Webb,” Sarah said. “She’s from London.”

  I guessed Alice was no more than eighteen or nineteen, but her demeanour was that of a woman who had seen much of the underside of life. In spite of the harsh conditions of the voyage, she was done up with plenty of gaudy jewellery, rouged lips, and even a dyed, limp feather in her upswept red hair. Her tight bodice showed off an ample bosom, only partly shrouded by a black lace shawl.

  “What do you plan to do when we arrive, Alice?” I asked politely.

  “Not sure, but I know whatever it
is, it’ll be my choice, and it’ll be a relief that me dad won’t be demanding me wages so’s he can buy gin.”

  “Maybe you’ll become an actress like Florence here,” Sarah said.

  Alice waved the suggestion away.

  “I’m afraid actresses don’t make a lot of money,” Florence said. “I expect I’ll have to take another position until I’m established.”

  “Not planning on marriage, then?” I asked.

  “No. Several of us are hoping for something else,” Florence said. “Of course no one mentioned that at the emigration interview back in London. It’s just that this will be our first chance at freedom. Many of us want a taste of it, for a while at least. And you, Charlotte? What are your plans when we get to the colony?”

  It was refreshing to hear women talk of a future that did not revolve around the man they hoped to marry. “Me? I expect I’ll marry, if things go according to plan. What with family expectations and all.”

  Sarah nodded. “I used to be married myself. My man was in the army, killed in China, in the opium wars. He always told me that if anything happened to him, I was to go live with my father in the New World…” Her voice trailed off and she rubbed her belly, lost in a memory.

  “Oh, Sarah. I’m so sorry,” I said. I had wondered what had happened to force her to hide her pregnancy and come alone on this journey. She was brave, I realized, braver than I.

  On the surface of it, I was in a better situation. I was a gentlewoman supported by my sister, not unmarried and pregnant. While most of these sixty women would marry, they had skills and the chance to work at any job. The choice was up to them. And if they chose marriage, they were free to follow their heart.

  I had no option other than to make a respectable marriage, but the thought left me feeling cold. Perhaps with Lady Persephone’s connections, I told myself, I would meet the right sort of gentleman with whom I genuinely felt a connection.

  I wished Sarah well and said goodbye to the others just as Mrs. Burk appeared out from behind the ship’s large funnel, a smug look on her face. How long had she been standing there? I wondered. I couldn’t deny the uneasy feeling her presence always invoked in me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Charlotte, where have you been?” Harriet said, rushing over to me the minute I stepped into our cabin. She was edgier than usual, but I searched her eyes. It wasn’t because of the laudanum.

  “I was… out walking,” I replied. “Why? Has something happened?”

  “It’s Lady Persephone. I was sitting with her in the cardroom and she mentioned how impressed she was with you, how she would like to help you find a good husband when we get to Victoria. I didn’t even have to ask her for the favour.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” I said without conviction. “But why are you so upset?”

  Harriet began pacing the room. “Persephone went on to tell me that Sir Richard is extremely concerned about the threat of American annexation. Apparently, there has been a parade of politicians from the south, visiting the colony. They’re trying to raise the expectation of American rule and they’re speaking directly to the large number of gold seekers from California.”

  I didn’t completely understand what she was saying. “But what does it have to do with us and my marriage prospects?”

  “Everything. Sir Richard is writing to the prime minister, strongly advising him to send a contingent of senior members of the government to counter the American effort. He’s gone so far as to make a suggested list of people to send. Charles is on that list.”

  “Isn’t that good news? He’ll be alone. It would give you a chance to reconcile with him.”

  “He’s not the only one on the list.” She stopped her pacing and turned to me. “So is George.”

  A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me as an image of George, standing over me, struggling to remove his trousers, flashed in my consciousness. I shuddered. “Can I never be quit of that man?”

  She sat on her bed. “There’s more.”

  “For heaven’s sakes. What?”

  “Lady Persephone knows George well, and she saw the two of you out on the boat together at my party. She thought you made a lovely couple and wondered why George had let you go without proposing.”

  I sank down on the bed next to her. “And you said?”

  “That it seemed there simply was no spark between the two of you.”

  “She accepted that?”

  Harriet shook her head. “She said that sparks have nothing to do with it, that George needs a wife and you would fit the bill nicely.”

  “At least she hasn’t heard the rumours about me.”

  “Not yet. But if George does venture to the colony, she will sit him down and push him to make an offer for you. Of course, he’ll no doubt tell her his dreadful story about how you tried to seduce him and blackmail him into marriage. And then, we are right back where we started.”

  I sat in silence for a few minutes, letting Harriet’s news sink in. “No, not quite,” I said. “Time is on our side. Sir Richard can’t even mail the letter until we make it to Bermuda, and then it would be months until the dignitaries arrived. By then, I could be well and truly married to someone else. That would make everyone happy and help get you back in Charles’s good graces.”

  “I suppose so. But Persephone will want you to wait for George, so she won’t help with the matchmaking.”

  “And I have no dowry to entice anyone.”

  Harriet came to sit opposite me. “That’s not exactly true,” she said quietly.

  “What do you mean? Papa didn’t leave us a legacy.”

  “I know I should have told you this a long time ago, but the whole thing left me feeling so ashamed.” She looked away. “It was early in my marriage. I was still nervous about getting my role as chatelaine just right. I came to the kitchen late one evening to leave Cook instructions about a special dinner we were having that week, and I overheard a conversation through the capsule pipeline. Charles was in his office, having a talk with his banker.”

  I thought of my own similar experience. It seemed a lifetime ago. “What did you hear?”

  “Papa didn’t forget about our dowry needs. He borrowed against the estate. He took a loan from Cousin Edward’s father, and in return, he promised to leave the estate to Edward. Charles was furious when he found out; he had agreed to marry me without a dowry thinking he would inherit the estate. I had even expected him to inherit. But Papa did leave a sum of money for both of us. I heard the banker say so. Charles insisted the funds be mingled with his own. When the banker protested, Charles assured him he would take care of your dowry when the time came, but he hasn’t. You were his way of getting even with Papa.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All this time, I had felt obliged to Charles, ashamed of my father. “Papa left us a legacy, but we never knew? The solicitors didn’t bother to advise us?” I clenched my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. “I can hear them now, ‘Not a subject for a lady. Leave it to the menfolk to take care of.’ ”

  “I’m so sorry, Char. If I told you it wouldn’t have changed your circumstances; you still didn’t have a dowry, but you had a right to know.”

  “It would have changed the way I remembered our father. I’ve harboured resentment that he didn’t deserve.” I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes and blinked hard. “Was it so hard to just tell me?”

  Hari hugged her elbows. “I felt caught up in my loyalty to Charles, as his wife. If I admitted that Charles was a thief and a liar, our marriage would be like a house of cards, everything would come tumbling down.”

  “But your marriage came apart months ago. You could have told me then.”

  Harriet met my gaze. “You might not agree, but in spite of everything I would take Charles back if he would have me. I still have hope that I can reclaim my life and my place in society. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  I couldn’t sit next to her a moment lon
ger. I rose from the bed and began to pace the room, trying to tamp down my feelings of betrayal. “We have always trusted each other, but you’ve let me down.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve always protected and looked out for you. That will never change. I found a way to make it up to you. Charles stole your future, so I stole it back.”

  I stopped and turned to face her. “How?”

  “I oversaw the household accounts and submitted the invoices to Charles’s bookkeeper to pay. When Charles told me he was sending us away, I sent the bookkeeper two very large demands for payment. I claimed amounts for several Persian carpets and new silver tableware. I plan to write him when we land in Victoria and tell him that if he agrees to bring us both home, I will give the money back, but he has to promise to give you a proper dowry.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “We will use it as a dowry for you and to make our way in the New World.” My sister looked at me, her expression open. “So you see, it’s been sorted. Now, please say you forgive me. It’s been eating me up inside keeping this from you for so long, but I did what I thought best for both of us.”

  “I forgive you,” I said. I didn’t want to upset her further. She seemed exhausted, spent by the events of the morning. I handed her the new vial from Dr. Carson. “For now, let’s just focus on your health.”

  She took the medicine and lay down on her bed to rest, but I couldn’t relax. I was like a boiling pot with the lid left on, full of unexpressed emotion. Knowing that Papa had thought of my welfare in his final months made me wish I could reach back in time for one last embrace. At the same time, I was full of anger at Charles and what he had done, and despite what I said to Harriet, I was still upset with her for keeping this a secret. Yes, she had my best interests at heart, but I didn’t agree with what she’d done, not to me or to Charles. He was not the sort of man to take this lying down, but it was too late. Harriet had already taken the money. If Sir Richard succeeded in bringing him to Victoria, what would that mean for me and Harriet?