Thursday, July 12, 1888
How do two people so different end up seemingly happily married?
This question came to mind nearly every time I found myself in the company of Mrs. Esther Granville. Having no brothers to carry on the family printing business, Esther had managed her father’s pride and joy—a newspaper, pamphlet and catalogue printing operation on Fleet Street—since his death ten years before and it had thrived under her direction.
She was an extraordinary woman, a brilliant businesswoman, and I admired her immensely. Well, mostly. My esteem for her diminished slightly when I recalled that she settled for the curmudgeonly editor at The Gazette Weekly, my boss. The two had a fondness for words and one another and that had been enough to sustain their marriage. Although Mr. Granville’s views were more conservative than Esther’s, his admiration for his wife’s ambition and business savvy never faltered.
I imagined my marriage to Simon would likely be similar, except we would not, obviously, have children together.
“A woman can have children and a career outside the home. It’s not only possible but I believe it is the future,” Esther said, speaking passionately to the audience in the room, some of them watching more attentively than others. “We must petition the government to create some kind of social program that allows women to work outside of the home while also being mothers. Having reliable childcare is a must if women and men are ever to reach parity in this world.” Esther’s wide, serious eyes softened and she gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”
The room of women, all of us members of The League for the Advancement and Enrichment of Women, applauded, myself clapping more enthusiastically than many. A few of the ladies in the row in front of me exchanged looks with one another, their eyebrows cocked.
I knew that look; I had seen it before from many of the L.A.E.W. ladies. Esther and I had both been criticized several times for having ideas too progressive for even these women. If you cannot suggest ideas for radical change at a women’s suffrage society, where can you?
Just imagine the look on their faces if Esther had brought up her opinions on birth control.
After Esther spoke, Mrs. Kent rose to address the room. “Good evening, ladies. I know this is an unorthodox request but I was wondering if we might take up a collection for a friend of mine. She used to be a member of this very society. Do any of you remember Mrs. Morton?”
Several women nodded.
“Well, as many of you may know, she lost her husband last year and has since fallen on hard times. She is moving in with her son soon but could use a little bit of charity until then.”
Mrs. Carrigan, the club’s founder and president, nodded in approval. “Mrs. Morton is such a kind woman and would do all she could for any of us. I am sure we can gather something together.”
We broke for refreshments and Esther sidled up to me while I was surveying the sandwiches.
“Mrs. Morton made a bad financial decision and now we are expected to pay for it instead of giving to people who actually could use our charity,” she grumbled. “Why give to the homeless or the sick when you can give money to Mrs. Morton?” She frowned and moved along to the pastries on the long buffet table.
I eyed her. “What did she do?”
Esther pulled me aside so the other ladies could not hear our gossip. “Are you familiar with spirit photography? When a photographer uses tricks to make it look as if a ghost is in the picture with the person posing?”
“Oh, lord.”
Esther continued. “The woman became obsessed with these pictures because she felt like it was the only way to be close to her husband again. The photographer took advantage of her trust completely and charged her a ridiculous price for several of these photographs. When her son found out and told her this photographer was a charlatan, that it was all tricks, well, the snake had already left London before her son could confront him.” She shook her head. “She was humiliated, and her son is furious with her, the poor fellow.”
“What on earth?” I immediately felt my insides burning and the skin over my knuckles went taut. “He took advantage of a vulnerable widow. He used her grief to his advantage. That is despicable.”
Before I could think on it any longer, Mrs. Carrigan smiled wide at me and joined us, not sensing we were having a private discussion.
“When do you return to work, Mrs. Blushing Bride?” She sipped her tea.
“Oh. I started working again the Monday after the wedding.” I smiled weakly and felt myself tense. I knew what came next.
She widened her eyes at me, truly shocked. “Mrs. Baxter, you didn’t! No honeymoon on the continent before returning to the newspaper? What a shame.” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh, well. Perhaps you are trying to get as many stories written as you can before you and Mr. Baxter start a family.”
I swallowed and clamped my lips together. “Mm,” is all I said, adding a slight nod for effect.
Mrs. Sheldon, a woman in her forties and not one of the club members I usually spoke to, scampered over. “Mrs. Baxter, dear, let me know if you need any baby blankets or clothes. My sister makes the most darling baby blankets.”
Next, Mrs. Dalton floated over. “Oh! We should have a baby shower here for Mrs. Baxter! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Carrigan added. “That sounds like a delightful idea!”
Perhaps if I concentrate hard enough, I can make myself disappear and they will just keep talking and not notice I am missing at all.
Esther glanced at me, likely sensing my discomfort.
“Speaking of children,” she said, “what can we do to further this idea of speaking to someone in Parliament about the childcare idea? Do we know anyone who we could talk to?”
I slipped out of the huddle and returned to the buffet table. I picked a carrot from a vegetable platter and crunched lazily. When I married Simon, I knew that would change how people saw me but I had hoped it would not begin so soon after the wedding. I had gone from daughter to wife and then immediately to will-be-a-mother-soon.
Eventually, I figured, they would assume Simon and I could not have children and that would be that. They need not know that I did not want children and that I certainly did not want anything to do with how children come about.
From what I could overhear from my spot by the wall, their conversation had turned back to babies. So-and-so’s daughter was expecting. So-and-so’s sister had just given birth to her third. So-and-so’s niece was expecting for the first time and was so excited to be a mother, et cetera, et cetera.
Esther joined me again, a weary smile on her lips. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, I am fine.” I sighed. “Just something new I have to get used to, I suppose.”
“Our bodies are never truly our own, even in the eyes of these forward-thinking women.” Esther plucked a sandwich plate from the table. “Mr. Granville said something about you only being at the newspaper for a few more months.”
I sighed again, feeling my forehead pinch. “Really? He is looking to replace me already?”
“Not because he wants to, dear. He just expects he will have to,” she said. “I cannot come out and tell him that will not be an issue, now, can I?”
Esther was far more involved in her husband’s business than most wives, in part because Mr. Granville had a very high regard for his wife’s opinion and partly because she was the publisher of the newspaper. She was also a major reason Mr. Granville hired me in the first place. I owed her everything for that.