by Abigail Armani
England, 1876
When Mary was summoned to the parlour, she could tell by the expression on her mother's face that something momentous had happened. In a state of great excitement, Lady Ashford surged forward to greet her daughter.
"Sit, my dear. Your father and I have some wonderful news!"
"Indeed we do," affirmed Sir Henry Ashford. "You may perhaps be aware that the Marquess of Stirling has been showing more than a passing interest in you, my dear."
Mary frowned, for Walter Ponsonby, whether he was a Marquess or not, was an odious man. "Yes Papa, but the interest is not reciprocated."
"It soon will be," continued her father, "for he has most graciously asked for your hand in marriage, and I have accepted."
Stunned, Mary stared at her father in disbelief. "No! I don't believe it."
"Yes! My dear daughter, think of it - you will be a Marchioness!" gushed her mother. "What greater honour is there?"
"I will not marry him," said Mary. "He is old. He is fat. He is ... abhorrent in every way!"
For a moment, there was a shocked silence, and then the expression on Lady Ashford's face changed to one of hostility. "How dare you say such dreadful things about the Marquess! You should be thankful he has even noticed you."
"I am not thankful in the least, Mother, and I will NOT wed him."
Sir Henry Ashford rose from his chair, his face flushed with anger and outrage, matching the red hue of his silk cravat which brightened up his black Victorian attire. "You will, and you will do so with good grace." He smiled thinly and dropped the next bombshell. "It is all arranged, daughter. One month from now, you will be the Marchioness of Stirling."
"I will not," declared Mary emphatically. "I would rather die!" She rose and left the room, slamming the door behind her in a most unladylike manner. Ignoring the commands to return, she ran upstairs to her room and flung herself on the bed. Balling her fingers into fists, she smashed them down repeatedly on the lavish counterpane then burst into floods of tears.
And that was how Kitty found her. The lady's maid approached, full of concern for her mistress. "Why my lady, whatever is the matter?"
In between sobs, Mary told her what had occurred. "If I must marry, I will marry a man of my choosing. Though quite how I would meet such a man remains to be seen. I am a prisoner here, Kitty. I am subject to endless stupid balls and social gatherings full of disagreeable men and even more disagreeable vain and silly women. I hate my life here, Kitty. I hate it!"
"There, there, my lady," soothed Kitty. She frowned, for she knew what her mistress did not - that Sir Henry Ashford had acquired a certain reputation at the gambling tables, and rumour was rife that he owed a considerable debt to the Marquess of Stirling. She bristled at the thought of Sir Henry using his daughter as a means of alleviating his debt. "Have you no feelings at all for the Marquess, my lady?"
"Ugh!" came the response. "None at all. The man is a fat warty old toad!"
Kitty hid a smile and was inclined to agree. "Well then, you will not marry him."
"I need a plan," sniffed Mary. "Will you help me Kitty? Please?"
"Of course I will, my lady ... though I'm not yet sure how ..."
"I don't have money of my own - but I do have jewellery. Will you arrange for it to be sold, Kitty?" Her face brightened as an idea began to take shape. "I can use the proceeds to fund my journey."
"Your journey?! But my lady - where will you go?"
"I... haven't decided yet, but I will go somewhere. I just need a plan."
Kitty looked doubtful. "My lady - a young woman of character and breeding like yourself can't go rushing off around the countryside alone."
"Nonsense. I can and I will." Mary wiped her tear-stained face and went to her dressing table. She handed a ruby ring with matching earrings and pendant to Kitty. "These should fetch a tidy sum. I have a gold chain too." She reached for another box and thrust it at Kitty. "Take it. Take them all. Please get what you can for them Kitty, and say nothing to anyone of these matters."
"Of course, my lady. You know you can trust me and I will do my utmost to help you, though I am full of misgivings and fearful for your safety and reputation."
"Oh fiddlesticks, Kitty! You have been in my employ long enough to know I care not for reputation. You may think that running away is a sign of weakness, but I do not agree. I will need to utilise all my strength and determination to pursue this course of action - but I cannot do it alone. I need your help, Kitty."
"You shall have it, my lady." Kitty sighed, knowing full well that her young mistress was determined and stubborn in equal measure. "May I tell William? He may be able to offer some suggestion."
"Ah yes, your sweetheart. You may tell William, if he can keep it secret?"
"Of course, my lady, he is a loyal and trusted servant." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Then there is Joseph the blacksmith and his wife Lily. I'm sure Joseph could give advice on where to sell your jewellery. And he would be discreet, I guarantee it."
Mary listened then nodded her acceptance. "Very well, Kitty, if he can be trusted, then go to him, but swear him to secrecy, and Lily too."
Kitty ran to the servant's quarters located on the top floor of the house and hid the jewellery under the mattress in her room until she could take the opportunity to make enquiries. She spent the remainder of the afternoon about her duties, and when it was time for supper in the servant's hall she was unusually subdued, her mind racing, wondering what was to be done. She was afraid for her mistress, it really was unthinkable for someone of her station to run away unaccompanied. Had it not been for William, she would have offered to go with her. Still, she had good measure of Mary's character - her mistress was eminently capable yet headstrong and determined, and once her mind was made up, nothing could sway her intent. She sighed, then became distracted by Alfred, one of the senior footmen. Seated opposite to Kitty, he pulled a worn, folded piece of newspaper out of his pocket with a flourish.
"See here everyone - my cousin Ruby replied to this advertisement from a man in America seeking a wife!" This was news indeed. All eyes turned expectantly to Alfred as he began to read. "Young handsome man of means seeks handsome young woman between 18 and 24 years of age to be his wife and share his life and property. Sincerely, Isaiah Bean, Montana, May 1875. How about that then? She was all set to head off to America to wed a man she's never even met!" Encouraged by the other servants, Alfred continued his tale. "Thousands of men have left their homes in droves to travel to the promised land of the Wild West. America is rich in opportunity. Folk want a better life. And who can blame them for wanting that?"
"The Gold Rush has made fortunes for some of them, I hear," chimed in one of the parlour maids. "I read about it in his Lordship's newspaper. But what of your cousin? Is she not leaving England after all?"
"No. She was very keen on the idea - corresponded with Mr Isaiah Bean for the best part of a year - and when she eventually made her mind up to go, she even got herself all the necessary travel papers, but at the last minute withdrew. It seems the shy curate heard of her plans to depart and plucked up the courage to step in and declare his intent. Ruby is now the curate's wife."
"Thank the Lord for that," said cook. "A much safer life than running off to the Wild West to face goodness knows what. And anyway, what decent self-respecting man would advertise for a wife? It's not right."
"It's very common out there," said Alfred, "though not as common as before the civil war."
"Indeed." As soon as Mr Tavistock the butler contributed to the conversation, all eyes turned towards in him deference. "And what a bloody war it was too. It may have ended a decade ago but are you aware that many southern states lost 1 in 5 of their white males of military age?"
"Such losses are indeed dreadful, Mr Tavistock," said Mrs Madison the housekeeper. She addressed her next remark to Alfred. "I would have thought then, that there would be no shortage of American women chasing after what few men remain?"
"Yes, that is true, Mrs Madison, but from what I have learned from Ruby, Montana is a newly formed territory, and The Homestead Act has made a significant impact, attracting thousands of settlers."
Mr Tavistock regarded Alfred appraisingly, pleasantly surprised at the young footman's grasp of such matters. "That is very interesting, Alfred, but how does it relate to Mrs Madison's question?"
"Well, as I understand it, Mr Tavistock, American citizens over 21 years of age - or anyone who has filed for American citizenship - can claim 160 acres of government land. They have to live on the homestead for five years and make certain improvements to gain title to the land. Men have either left their wives back home or waited to marry - but it seems there's a great shortage of ladies out in these new communities. It's not an environment that would suit everyone, and the work is very physically demanding in the heat of the summer. Many women aren't interested in that sort of life, which is probably why newspaper's out west regularly carry advertisements devoted to acquiring a wife by mail order."
"That's a very informative explanation, Alfred," remarked Mr Tavistock. Unbeknown to Alfred, he had just gone up a notch in Mr Tavistock's opinion.
Alfred beamed at the compliment. "Thank you kindly, Mr Tavistock. I'm only repeating what I learned from Ruby."
"Well it's not decent," sniffed cook dismissively. "Mail order brides? What nonsense. Pass the potatoes, Alfred."
Talk turned to other subjects, and after supper, Kitty picked up the discarded bit of paper and absent-mindedly put it in her apron pocket. A little later, when Mrs Madison was occupied, Kitty retrieved the jewellery from her room and sneaked out into the dusk, hurrying to the blacksmith's house where Lily lived with her husband Joseph and their seven children.
Ten minutes later she reached the village. The smithy was located at the end of a little lane just off the main street. The fragrance of wood smoke filled the air. She knocked on the door of the little cottage adjoining the smithy. Lily opened it and gave a delighted smile.
"Kitty! What brings you here so late? Come in." Lily hugged her friend. "Joseph, we have a visitor."
"Evening, Kitty. Come sit by the fire." Joseph waved her inside.
"It's actually Joseph I'd like to talk to. I need his advice - about selling some jewellery."
"Oh yes?" The burly blacksmith raised an eyebrow.
"Not mine - I only wish it was! It belongs to Lady Mary." She cast a glance round the room. "Are the children in bed?"
"Aye. There'll be no prying eyes, but keep your voice low; there are sharp ears in the room above."
So Kitty dug deep into her cloak pocket and took out the ruby pendant, ring and earrings, and the gold chain.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Lily. "Oh my - those must be worth a fortune!"
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