Southampton

“Well of course I’m not going to allow her to read it!”

Meg could hear her mother shouting from the parlor below her. She’d always known that sound travelled up the radiator pipes to her room, but she had only recently discovered that pressing an ear to the pipe (or a glass if one had such a thing handy) allowed even more sound to come through. In this way, she had discovered quite a bit of information that she would have otherwise not been privy to. This evening was no different. Ditching the history textbook Ms. Strickland had insisted she read, she made her way over to the radiator and had a listen, wondering what had gotten her mother so completely bent out of shape.

“Why ever not? It’s not as if it even mentions the arrangement,” her uncle replied, his voice showing more indifference than irritation.

There was a jolt, as if her mother had tossed something on a table or slammed her hand down. “While Mr. Steele may believe our case to be helpless, that other attorney, what’s his name? Marsh—he thinks there might be a chance that we can stop this ridiculous farce from coming to fruition.”

“I’m just not so certain that is our best course of action,” Bertram replied, his voice still calm. “Business has gone down drastically. Our profit margins are growing narrower each day. Perhaps it would be best if….”

“Perhaps nothing!” her mother shouted so loudly Meg could have easily heard her without the pipe. “This is my company every bit as much as it is yours or was Henry’s, and I’m not about to see it shift to someone else simply because my dead husband thinks he found a way to outsmart us!”

To say that she was confused was quite the understatement, but Meg continued to listen while she pondered what she had heard so far, hoping there would be some sort of information to fill in the gaping holes in her understanding.

“I’m just saying, Millie, if we had the money instead, I believe it would allow you be much more comfortable. As it stands, I’m not certain we shall even be able to take that trip to France you’ve been planning for next month.”

Meg’s face lit up at the mention of a holiday. It had been quite some time since they’d ventured overseas, and she quite liked those types of journeys. Usually, the monster was so distracted by all of the entertainment and newness of the vessel, he’d leave her alone completely. In fact, she’d spent quite a bit of time off on her own the last time they went abroad. If her mother had any idea the trouble she had caused….

“You must find a way to make the company profitable again, Bert! I will not resort to living off of the Ashton’s money!”

Ashton? Meg was certain she had heard that name before, though she really wasn’t sure just where. A distant memory began to crawl back into her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Mary Margaret is pretty enough. With the proper training, she could find a suitable match….”

“Mary Margaret is a wild animal,” Bertram interjected. “Proper training isn’t the half of it.”

“Well, who was it that wouldn’t allow me to send her off to boarding school?” her mother asked, her voice betraying her failed self-control.

“She would only have been sent right back,” her uncle insisted.

“In a few years, she’ll begin attending balls. She’ll need to know how to act properly then, how to dance, how to speak like a young woman.”

“You can certainly teach her how to dance,” Bertram said, and Meg could picture the detestable crooked smile he likely had on his face, that one eye narrowed. She shivered.

“Oh, Ms. Strickland has tried, but she’s gotten nowhere. It’s as if Mary Margaret insists on failing, looking daft, and seeming ignorant.”

“I think that might actually be the case,” her uncle offered.

“All I’m saying is, I’m not ready to give in to John and Pamela Ashton. I do not wish to be their charity case!”

“And all I’m saying is….”

Before Bertram could finish his sentence, Meg heard footsteps outside of her door. She scurried back to her work desk, picking up the book and flipping a few pages over from where she had left off the last time Ms. Strickland had come by to check on her.

“Mary Margaret?” the stern voice asked as she threw open the door, as if she intended to surprise her charge and catch her off-task.

Perhaps wearing slippers instead of those clod-hopping boots might make that a bit more feasible, Meg thought as she casually lifted her eyes from the page. “Yes, miss?”

“How is your studying going? Are you able to recite the kings of England from James I to William III?”

“Yes, miss,” Meg replied, closing the book. She would have been able to recite all of the ruling monarchs from Egbert to their own Edward IV without ever having opened the book at all. Meg was quite good at memorizing and understanding history and literature. She was even good at foreign language. Maths were what hung her up, but she didn’t mind being asked to spend her time working on things she could already do. That way, whenever she was asked to perform there would be less chance of meeting the business end of the switch Ms. Strickland had traded her ruler for last year. While Meg was still careful not to let them see her cry, it smarted quite a bit more than the ruler had.

“Begin,” Ms. Strickland insisted, and Meg found a spot on the wallpaper to train her eyes on as she recited the names and dates of each of the rulers that had held the crown these past three hundred years, including the leaders of the commonwealth as well. When she was finished, Ms. Strickland only nodded sharply, never offering any praise or assurance. “I suppose I should find something more difficult to assign next time,” she said. “For now, move on to Latin. Review the conjugations from yesterday and then continue with the next list.”

“Yes, miss.” As Ms. Strickland turned to leave, Meg regained her seat and pulled her Latin book out of the stack of texts on her desk.

While she had more privacy studying here than she had when they used the downstairs study, she had begun to despise this room over the years, and every time the door closed, she couldn’t help but shiver, particularly when she could hear her uncle’s voice or footsteps in the house.

It had been four years, and not much had changed. Meg pushed those thoughts aside and began to look over the list from yesterday again. She did her best to concentrate, but pieces of the conversation she had overheard came floating back to her. Why was that name—Ashton—so familiar? Why had her mother said the company wasn’t doing well? Were they about to be put out onto the street?

She honestly wasn’t sure she’d mind too much if they were. Recently, she’d been forced to spend more time with the daughters of her mother and uncle’s high society friends, and quite frankly, she wasn’t certain she wanted to have anything to do with the lot of them. Sitting about, sipping tea, attempting to outplay each other on the piano or harpsichord, gossiping about others who were not present—it all seemed like a waste of time to her. She’d much rather be out riding one of the horses from the carriage house or climbing a tree.

Though she could play the piano well and embroider, those things were not what interested her. The nearness of the ocean was always tempting; the water seemed to call to her, to promise an escape. More than once, she had considered sneaking aboard a steamship bound for America. It was only fear of what the sailors might do to her if they should find her that prevented her from trying her hand. She knew enough about what unscrupulous men could do to little girls to prevent an attempt at escape under her present circumstances.

But someday, when she was older and wiser, she would do just that—get aboard a steamship and voyage to America. There, she could leave all of this behind and start over. There, she’d find a way to become the young lady her Da had always dreamed she would be.