He tried to work through it all but was overwhelmed by the necessity of composing answers to everything. His publisher advised him to engage a clerk to protect him from losing valuable time which should be devoted to writing.
Although he prized his independence above all things, Gibson agreed to put the idea to a trial. He sent a note of enquiry to Fanny’s brother John Price, asking if any of his acquaintance were available to assist him for several mornings every week.
A reply swiftly came, not from John, but from Prudence, offering her services!
Mr. Gibson recalled a long-ago conversation with Mrs. Butters and Fanny, concerning the hardships imposed upon women who wished to earn a living. Most professions were closed to them, and those few for which they were eligible, such as seamstress, paid wages so low as to barely sustain existence. decided that he might make a trial of engaging a female to be a clerk. Why, after all, should the office be exclusively performed by men? Prudence wrote an excellent hand, he already had female servants at his house in the person of his housekeeper and cook, so there could be no impropriety in working together with a young woman in his study, for three mornings every week, so long as they were never alone in the house.
Accordingly the experiment was attempted. Prudence Imlay proved to be an intelligent and useful assistant. Her forthright manner was very congenial to Mr. Gibson, and he believed she would quickly become acquainted with the importunings he received, and would be zealous in protecting him from them.
“Here, sir, is a letter from a lady proposing marriage! Do you receive many of these?”
“I do, on occasion. Please refuse her, politely but firmly.”
“Why do not I just toss the letter in the fire, sir?”
“That would not be very civil.”
Prudence rose, crossed to the fireplace and disposed of the letter. “I think a refusal might mortify the lady more than your silence, or might even encourage her.”
“It was rather forward of her to propose marriage—I expect you are correct.”
Prudence took her seat again and gazed at him earnestly. “Do you believe that only men can propose marriage? That is,” she added hastily, “speaking only in general terms, not of anyone in particular.”
Gibson smiled. “I had never contemplated the question before now, but, as a general principle, I can think of no reason why a woman should not propose marriage, were she so inclined. But, perhaps it should only be attempted when the man is, shall we say, indifferent to the usual conventions of social intercourse.”
Prudence nodded. “Of course, most women would be too timid, wouldn’t they? I think it is silly, the way girls sit about and wait.”
“So we agree, then, that a young woman of good sense and firm resolution, knowing her own mind and her own best interests, could propose marriage—no, let me say, it were better, in such a circumstance as we are contemplating, it were better for the young woman to inform the man in question, ‘John, we are getting married.’ Supposing the man’s name was John, of course. It should be treated as an established fact, you know, rather than a question. A fait accompli.”
This advice was rewarded with laughter. Mr. Gibson could not resist asking, “When shall I wish you joy?”
Prudence shook her head. “We have not enough to be married on. I know how John feels about it. There is no good in marrying just to be poor together.” She recalled that she was speaking to her employer. “Oh! Mr. Gibson, I hope you do not think me ungrateful, or presuming!”
“Not at all, Miss Imlay. Your candour could never offend me.”
“The wage you pay me is a very generous one.”
“It is not generosity to pay you as much as I would have paid a man. It is simple justice.”
A grateful smile from Prudence, then she collected herself and briskly turned back to the remaining papers on the desk. “Here is an invitation to attend a new wine warehouse in Cheapside. I daresay they want to lure you in as a customer, so they may boast that Mr. Gibson patronises their store.”
“Who has sent it? Who are the proprietors?”
“The letter is from a Mr. John Orme. He says he is writing on behalf of his friends.”
“Mr. Orme? He is the attorney who helped me look into the matter of government spies among the working classes. Who are his friends?”
“The enterprise is called...” Prudence read the card: “Meriwether and Duchesne.”
* * * * * * *
Mrs. Norris, though by no means relenting in her premonitions of disaster for Edmund’s school, surprised everyone by inviting Portia Owen to tea on the days she came to Mansfield to teach. Miss Owen quickly realized what Mrs. Norris was about; she sought by persistent questions and suppositions to gain an understanding of how matters stood at the great house. Were the students pulling the building down around their ears? Was Edmund in danger of over-exerting himself and ruining his health? Portia did not attempt to argue Mrs. Norris out of her opinions; she understood that the old lady’s misgivings and censures gave animation and purpose to her existence.
Portia also listened patiently while Mrs. Norris complained of Edmund’s errant wife, who pretty well stood at the head of her list of unsatisfactory persons. Edmund had received almost no communications from his wife in Italy. Yet Portia felt it was not her place to venture her opinion,
