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‘Yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir.’
*~*~**~*~*
Free!
Free!
Free!
I was free!
Free as a bird!
No, actually much freer than a bird! A bird had to build a nest and fill it with ugly, quarrelsome baby birds and then spend all his time stuffing their greedy little beaks with earthworms. I didn’t have to stuff anybody with anything. I could just tell them to get stuffed!
My aunt was in a sour mood, of course, but since this was sort of her natural state, I wasn’t particularly worried about it. As for Morty - I wished him all the best, wherever he was. The happier he was in his current place of residence, the less likely he was to come back to me. And when a little pinch of guilt overcame me now and again for not worrying more about the fate of my fiancé, I had only to resort to the pages of the Times to recover my earlier sense of exalted relief at not being faced by the prospect of marriage:
QUARRELSOME WIVES
It has come to the attention of the Editor of this paper that recently, a number of cantankerous women have gone so far beyond the boundaries of propriety as to take their husbands, the very men to whom they swore a vow of loyalty in front of God, to court. Why, one may ask, did they feel the need to accuse the men who should be dearest to their hearts? Was it because they were murderers? Thieves? Traitors to the Crown?
Far from it! It was mere, petty dissatisfaction - rebellion against the way in which God made the world. Forgetting their vow of obedience, they dared to contradict the master of the house and then, when faced with the just punishment for their quarrelsome ways, they dared to call upon the law of England to defend their breaking of their wedding vows.
Can such behaviour be tolerated?
Just as God did not tolerate Eve’s sin, we must not tolerate these latest offences of women against the divine order of things. When a man desires to punish his wife, this is his business, and his alone. Only women without an ounce of proper feeling in them would protest anything to the contrary. It is well-known that those women who object to their husband’s castigating have been led astray by influences from outside the home. Working women, those are the ones who are protesting against their just punishment. If we want to put an end to the quarrelsome nature of many wives, we must put an end to women’s employment. Undoubtedly, it is the predominant cause of wife beating, and completely contrary to the purposes for which woman was given to man. Woman’s purpose is to be the angel in the house, not the devil outside of it.
Thus, I call upon every right-thinking man in Great Britain
to not give work to women, or associate with so-called ‘ladies’ who have reached an unbecoming degree of independence by practising a profession. If we all recall the divine order of the world and return to what is proper and right, it may not yet be too late to save Great Britain from the terrible fate that is threatening.
Charles Marcus Earl
The Editor[7]
Do you understand why I might be a teensy-weensy bit anxious about getting married?
Yep. I thought so.
‘Lillian!’
My aunt’s voice tore me from my delicious fantasies of strangling the editor of the Times. Lowering the paper, I glanced up just in time to see her rushing into the room. I was expecting her to make some cutting remark about how unfeminine of me it was to read the paper, and had already prepared a mollifying response - but I didn’t need it.
‘Oh Lillian! Lillian, how wonderful!’ My aunt rushed towards to me. There was a radiant smile on her face. My guard went up immediately. ‘Simply wonderful! Oh, Lillian, I am so glad that that awful Mr Fitzgerald has disappeared!’
Cocking my head, I lifted one eyebrow. ‘Well…so am I. But I must admit, I’m rather surprised you feel that way.’
‘O.h, don’t be silly!’ She pulled me up out of the chair and hugged - actually hugged - me to her. ‘Of course I’m glad he’s gone! You deserve much better!’
With those words, my good mood evaporated, and a thrill of apprehension shot through me.
‘Better?’ I demanded. ‘Better like whom, exactly?’
Pink Letter Lady
A baronet! She had actually managed to find a blasted baronet! And as if baronets weren’t rare enough in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, she had found one who apparently wanted to marry me! And even worse: an hour spent in my company had not been enough to change the man’s mind!
What the bloody hell was I going to do? Aunt Brank had been eager enough for me to get married before, but now? When there was a noble title involved? She would move heaven, earth and hell to pull this wedding off. If need be, she would drag me to the altar by my hair. The only way I would be able to escape was if I fled England!
