Chapters The Taming of Josephine Prologue
The lady of the house held her eyes on the pen fluttering along the monogrammed page, carefully composing each word in her head before uttering it clearly and eloquently as it was written.
My dearest niece,
Words cannot express the sympathies I hold within my heart for your profound loss. My beautiful sister left for those wild American shores nearly two decades hence, and today, the sorrow grips me as it did then—my heart, it feels as though it has ceased its beat.
Please child, know that our doors remain ever open to you, especially in this time of need. The very notion of having an orphan in our esteemed family, whether she finds herself in Montana or Malay, is utterly unconscionable! You bear the name Finney, but you can also be a Gainsborough.
I implore you, come home to Heathfield Manor. It is here you may claim your ample inheritance and rightful place among the well-esteemed circles of our fair society.
Your Aunt Emily,
Mrs. Hugh Gainsborough
Lady of Heathfield Manor
The lady sighed and redirected her voice to her maid, “Thank you, Agnes.”
The maid bowed her head in response and took the letter from the dictation machine, which had ceased its whirring of clockwork driving the scribe.
Naturally, she did not hold the pen herself. For a woman of her position, such a thing would be preposterous!
The lady watched the maid fold the letter and slip it within its envelope — alongside fare passage across the Atlantic, first class on the finest of airships.
Perhaps there was a time when she would have felt the impulse to hold a pen, to fold a piece of paper, or to stuff an envelope. After decades in the elegant armbinder, she’d utterly internalised the essence and reality of leisurely life. Why even reminisce about her own scribbles when a finely-made device could do it perfectly? When a maid of the highest calibre could ensure the highest of standards?
That maid sealed the envelope with a drop of hot wax and returned to her, “Ma’am.”
After giving the envelope and its address a once-over she nodded, as much as her proud neck corset would allow, “That will do, Agnes.”
The maid nodded and placed the letter carefully in her left apron pocket. Fished from the right pocket, she presented a soft, rubber peach in exchange. The lady opened her mouth graciously and the maid carefully placed it inside. With the simple touch of a free finger, the fake fruit automatically inflated, sealing the lady’s mouth, preventing further dictation.
The Lady’s eyes smiled at her daughter, similarly trammeled and secure across from her in the fine sitting room.
It was done.