“Amor De Cosmos,” he said, holding out his card. He was the editor of the Daily British Colonist. “How are you and the other sixty marriageable lasses feeling right now?” He pulled out a notepad and pen.
“We’re all feeling a little overwhelmed.”
I picked up my pace, but he matched it.
“And what led you to leave England and come here? In need of a husband, I presume?”
“I—we are hoping for a better life than we could have had back home.”
“My readers will want to know what sort of man will attract the ladies’ interest? They are all vying for your favour. The strong woodsman? The intellectual businessman? The sensitive poet?”
Would he not stop? “I… can’t say.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, and turned to Sarah, ready to interview her, but seeing the baby in her arms, thought better of it and hustled after Florence.
The quivering, undulating crowd of expectant bridegrooms reluctantly parted as we made our way two by two, like captured prisoners of war, through the harbour and into the town. At one point, we had to stop and step around the luggage cart that had lost a wheel and overturned, spilling trunks and cases out onto the street. Some of the women stopped, seeing to their belongings, but the welcome committee urged us on. We marched up a wide dirt street lined on one side with several two-story brick and stone buildings. On the other side, on the edge of the harbour, were wooden warehouses and fisher’s shacks. On several of these, I saw a poster proclaiming our arrival.
THE TYNEMOUTH’S INVOICE OF YOUNG LADIES
A general holiday should be proclaimed; all the bunting waved from flagstaffs; salutes fired from Beacon Hill; clean shirts and suits of good cloths brought into requisition, and every preparation made to give this precious “invoice” a warm welcome.
How fitting that I should see the notice of the Tynemouth’s arrival today, I thought. It was a bookend to the one that Charles had handed me only a few short months ago at the beginning of this journey. As much as I still grieved Harriet, and always would, I took it as a sign that I needed to put the tragedy behind me.
We continued on to our new home, a narrow one-story building of grey wood and few windows on a large fenced property. Stepping inside, we discovered a low-ceilinged room with two long rows of tightly packed cots arranged military style.
“We’re ladies, not soldiers,” Florence said in disgust.
I had to agree. The accommodations were sparse. My private maid’s room on board the ship seemed like luxury in comparison.
Through the main window, we had a view of the backyard, where an open fire served as a kitchen and a line of washbasins and tubs as a laundry room. Given the barrels of rainwater, there was likely no running water. At the back of the property sat one decrepit latrine with only a half door for privacy. My spirits fell at the sight. This was a far cry from how I imagined Sir Richard and Lady Persephone were being welcomed at Governor Douglas’s.
Behind us, Reverend Burk cleared his throat and called for our attention. I cringed at the thought of another long prayer, but it was Mrs. Burk who held up her hand.
“Ladies, Reverend Burk and I must leave you now. We are under the employ of the Columbia Emigration Society and they are sending another shipment of brides. We are going back to England and will chaperone them just as we did you.”
“Poor buggers,” Alice mumbled.
As we waved our goodbyes at the front door, I was shocked to see men standing behind the fence just fifty feet away, watching our every move.
“Sarah, look,” I said, pointing.
“Don’t worry,” she replied, patting Jacob’s back. “This is only temporary. Ignore them and come inside and unpack your things.”
Sarah’s small trunk rested neatly on her bed, and my larger one was at the foot of mine. As soon as I saw it, I knew something was wrong. At first, I thought it was just the new scuffs and scrapes, but my stomach turned when I realized the lock was broken too. I threw back the trunk lid and dug deep. My fingers easily found the jewellery boxes on the bottom and I let out a short laugh of relief. But when I flipped open my red-lacquered box, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was empty. Wiggles’s necklace was gone.
I flopped down on the bed, my head in my hands. How could I have let this happen? I should have worn the jewel, not packed it. How would I ever tell Wiggles her precious gift was gone? How would I start a new life with no way to raise money? It could be months, maybe years, before I received Hari’s money, if I ever did.
Sarah tried to soothe me, telling me everything would work out all right. I knew she meant to comfort me, but she would be leaving soon, heading north to her father. In that moment, I envied that she had family here and desperately wished Harriet was still by my side. My grief hung on me like a stone. How would I find a way forward without Hari? During those last weeks on the boat, the one thing that had brought me solace was a new, fragile dream of buying my own house and maybe some land. That dream had disappeared with my empty jewellery box.
Chapter Thirty-two
The welcoming committee arrived just after breakfast the next morning. They were clearly in a hurry to say what they needed to and get on with their day, but the women were all anxious to hear about employment opportunities and wages—myself included, now that Wiggles’s precious necklace had been taken.
Sarah and Alice didn’t join us. Sarah had set off to the BC Express Company to buy her ticket for the next coach to Barkerville while I watched Jacob. Alice, having found a
