In the Land of the Long White Cloud

sharply. “You don’t want to indulge this little girl’s whims, do you?” he asked Mrs. Baldwin with an incredulous expression on his face.
    Dorothy whimpered.
    Daphne had thus far observed the scene with an almost indifferent mien. She knew exactly what lay ahead for Dorothy, for she had lived—and survived—on the street long enough to comprehend Morrison’s gaze better than Helen or Gwyneira. Men like him couldn’t afford a maid in London. But there were enough children for them on the banks of the Thames who would do anything for a piece of bread. Children like Daphne. She knew precisely how you buried the fear, the pain, and the shame, how you separated your body from your mind when a shithead like that wanted “to play” again. She was strong. But it would crush Dorothy.
    Daphne looked at Helen Davenport, who was just learning—plenty late, in Daphne’s opinion—that you couldn’t change the ways of the world, no matter how much you behaved like a lady. Then she looked at Gwyneira Silkham, who obviously still had to learn that as well.But Gwyneira Silkham was strong. Under different circumstances, for example as the wife of a powerful sheep baron, she could have done something. But she hadn’t come that far yet.
    And then there were the Candlers: charming, kind people who would give her, little Daphne from the gutter, a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If she just played her cards right, she’d marry one of their heirs, lead a respectable life, have children, and become one of the region’s “notables.” Daphne could have laughed. Lady Daphne Candler—that sounded like something from one of Elizabeth’s stories. Too beautiful to be real.
    Daphne ended her reverie abruptly and turned to her friend.
    “Get up, Dorothy! Don’t howl like that,” she snapped at the girl. “It’s unbearable how you get so worked up. For my part, I don’t care if we trade. You go with the Candlers. I’ll go with him.” Daphne indicated Mr. Morrison.
    Helen and Gwyneira held their breath, and Mrs. Candler gasped. Dorothy raised her head slowly, revealing her face, which was red and swollen from crying. Mr. Morrison frowned.
    “Is this a game? Red Rover, Red Rover? Who says I’m just going to trade our girl away?” he asked angrily. “This one was promised to me.” He reached for Dorothy, who screamed in terror.
    Daphne looked at him, the hint of a smile appearing on her lovely face. As though inadvertently, she ran her hand over her prim hairdo, freeing a few strands of glowing red hair.
    “It won’t be any loss to you,” she breathed as the locks fell down over her shoulder.
    Dorothy fled into Helen’s arms.
    Morrison grinned, and this time there was no disguising his pleasure. “Well, if it’s like that…” he said and pretended to help Daphne fix her hair. “A red minx. My wife will be delighted. And you will surely be a good maid to her.” His voice sounded like silk, but Helen felt as though she were being sullied by the sound of his voice alone. The other women seemed to feel the same way. Only Mrs. Baldwin was immune to feelings, regardless of what kind. She wrinkled her brow disapprovingly and appeared to seriously consider whether sheshould allow the girls to follow through with their exchange. Then she graciously handed the papers she’d prepared for Daphne to Mr. Morrison.
    The girl looked up only once briefly before following the man out.
    “Well, Miss Davenport?” Daphne asked. “Did I behave…like a lady?”
    “I love you and will pray for you,” she whispered as she watched the girl go.
    Daphne laughed. “I thank you for your love. But you can save your prayers,” she said bitterly. “First wait until you see what card your God pulls out of his sleeve for you!”

    Helen cried herself to sleep that night after excusing herself from dinner with the Baldwins under the flimsiest of pretexts. She would have liked to leave the parsonage and curl up in the blanket Daphne had forgotten in the stall. She could have screamed at the very sight of Mrs. Baldwin, and the reverend’s prayers made a mockery of the God her father had served. She had to get out. If only she could afford the hotel. If only it would have been even halfway decent for her to meet her fiancé without a go-between and chaperone. But it couldn’t last much longer. Dorothy and the Candlers were on their way to Haldon. Tomorrow Howard would learn about her arrival.

Something Like Love
    C ANTERBURY P LAINS —W