In the Land of the Long White Cloud

that’s in the past—over ten years ago now. Even if skirmishes do occasionally still flare up, they aren’t due to the presence of the colonists. The natives have always been tractable. No, it was the sale of land that was the issue, and, who can say, it’s entirely possible that our people cheated this or that tribal chieftain. But since the queen sent our good Captain Hobson over there as lieutenant general, those conflicts have let up. The man is an ingenious strategist. In 1849 he had forty-six chieftains sign a treaty in which they declared themselves subjects of the queen. The Crown has had right of preemption for land sales ever since. Unfortunately, not everyone has played along, and not all the colonists maintain the peace. That’s why there are still occasional disturbances. But in general the country is safe—so no need to fear, Miss Davenport.” Robert Greenwood winked at Helen.
    Lucinda Greenwood knit her brow. “You’re not really considering leaving England, Miss Davenport?” she asked sullenly. “You can’t seriously be thinking of answering that unspeakable notice our pastor published in the parish leaflet? Against the express recommendation of our ladies’ committee, I might add!”
    Helen fought not to blush again.
    “What sort of notice?” inquired Robert, turning to Helen, who merely hemmed and hawed.
    “I…I don’t know exactly what it was about. There was just a notice…”
    “A community in New Zealand is seeking girls willing to marry,” George apprised his father. “It seems that this South Sea paradise suffers from a lack of women.”
    “George!” his mother chided, horrified.
    Robert Greenwood laughed. “South Sea paradise? Well, the climate is rather like that of England,” he corrected his son. “But it’s certainly no secret that there are more men than women in the colonies. With the exception of Australia, perhaps, where the female dregs of society have washed ashore: cheats, thieves, whor…ahem, women of easy virtue. But when it comes to voluntarily emigrating, our ladies are less adventurous than our lords of creation. Either they go with their husbands or not at all. A typical trait of the weaker sex.”
    “Indeed!” Lucinda Greenwood agreed with her husband, while Helen bit her tongue. She was far from convinced of male superiority. She merely had to look at William or think of the endlessly dragging studies of her brothers. Well hidden in her room, Helen even kept a copy of a book by women’s rights advocate Mary Wollstonecraft, but she knew she had best keep that to herself. Lucinda Greenwood would have let her go immediately. “It is against the female nature to board dirty, foreign-bound ships without male protection, take up quarters in hostile lands, and possibly perform tasks God has reserved for men. And sending Christian women overseas to marry them off there borders on white slavery!”
    “Now, now, they don’t send the women off unprepared,” Helen interrupted. “The advertisement clearly envisions previous correspondence. And it expressly mentioned highly esteemed, well-positioned men.”
    “I thought you hadn’t even noticed the advertisement,” Robert teased, though his indulgent smile softened the sharpness of his words.
    Helen blushed anew. “I…ahem, it might be that I briefly skimmed it…”
    George smirked.
    His mother did not seem to have caught the brief exchange. She had already moved on to a different aspect of the New Zealand problem.
    “The servant issue in the colonies strikes me as much more problematic than any lack of women,” she explained. “We debated the issue thoroughly at the orphanage committee today. Apparently, the better families in…what’s the name of that town again? Christchurch? At any rate, they can’t find any good domestics there. Maids are almost impossible to come by.”
    “Which could be entirely the result of a general lack of women,” Robert Greenwood remarked. Helen stifled a smile.
    “In any case, our committee will be sending over a few of our orphan girls,” Lucinda continued. “We have four or five good little ones who are around twelve years old, old enough to earn their living themselves. In this country we’d be hard-pressed to find a position for them. People here prefer somewhat older girls. But over there they should be smacking their lips.”
    “Now
that
sounds more to me like white slavery than marriage brokering,” objected her husband.
    Lucinda shot him a