Chapter One
Harriet Stevenson was not one who had much appreciation for the sitting- around-doing-embroidery-and-getting-dull-husbands that was expected of her sex. Ever since she had broken the pattern of boys, boys, boys in the Stevenson family, she had continued to break all the ideals her parents held to be important. Children should be seen and not heard. Females are destined for marriage and therefore must be as pure, unspoilt and innocent as possible. Girls are not entitled to the same liberties as boys are. Little girls should never play with little boys. Big girls should never play with big boys. Almost-women should never even talk to almost-men unless under strict supervision.
It must be said now that the Stevenson family did have a reputation for being high-sticklers over moral ground, with the exception of Harriet. When ultra-chaste Mary Bennet met super-virtuous William Stevenson, it was a match made in heaven, as they call it. A complete lack of romance coupled with a good serving of self-righteousness meets a steadfast belief in one's own generosity and perfection and just like that, two people know they are meant for each other. The Stevenson's married soon after they met and embarked on what they saw as the exemplary Christian lifestyle, churning out boy after boy, each as dull as their parents - until Harriet came along and ruined everything the Stevenson's had worked for.
Ah, those poor Stevenson's! The work they had put into their image as the most moral family in the area was forever destroyed when their little girl with the flashing eyes first made her present felt in the previously calm little village of Hawley, in northern Surrey. Mrs Stevenson had always felt an apprehension regarding her only daughter after nine sons. Surely such inexhaustible, furious screaming had to give away the naturally wicked soul of a baby? Surely when a child's first word was "Won't" rather than "Mama", it indicated the already abandoned state the particular child's soul was in? And surely when a ten-year-old child threw her embroidery in the fire and ran away to go swimming with her little friend, (who was, incidentally, a male), it was impossible for such a mother to withhold from feeling deeply alarmed at the path her evidently slatternly daughter seemed to be taking? And what mother could thus refrain from treating such a child a little harshly, or always taking her to task for her wretched disregard of all the Stevenson's held dear? Indeed, if such a mother naturally loved her daughter a little (or even a lot) less than all her sons, who could blame her?
Harriet, now aged seventeen, was still as terribly thoughtless as to the rules as she had ever been. Although her best friend was no longer a male, she ran off to be with her male friends as often as she could escape from the small Stevenson house. She was extremely hard to find on a Sunday morning, and refused to even shake the hand of the man her parents had intended her for since the cradle. (Of course Harriet could hardly be blamed by anyone of sensibility - the young man in question, Rupert Porker, was an absolute dolt, although doubtless very respectable.) Harriet had always been pretty, but very recently she had become veritably stunning - now yet another characteristic which caused her poor parents many sleepless nights. Those same flashing emerald eyes she had had since birth were set off by curly raven-black hair, a nose that could be boasted about, and a faultless figure. In fact, she was so wonderful to look at compared to her nine rather podgy and slow brothers that in moments of extreme stupidity, (which were not uncommon), her father wondered if she was actually his. As well as all this, she was cursed (in her parents' opinion) with a remarkably quick mind which manifested itself, most of the time, in rude retorts to them, and in ingenious ways to escape things she didn't want to do.
Only four of the Stevenson offspring lived at home still - Thomas, Richard, Walter and Harriet. Thomas was soon to be married, and it was very clear that Dick and Walter were soon to be engaged. Not through their own choice - oh no, not at all! - Miss Cornish and Miss Porker had been intended for them since birth, just as Harriet had been intended for Rupert Porker. But they were slow lads, without much mental power between them, and without the least hint of romance, and they were quite content living life doing what their parents told them. All their elder brothers had married particular girls on their parents' orders and been quite happy (even if their wives were not) and produced a satisfactory amount of children so far.
One night as Mr and Mrs Stevenson lay in bed, the former said to the latter, "My dear - I cannot help thinking that Harriet is rather against marrying Rupert Porker."
Mrs Stevenson sighed. "Yes, I know, and I am sure I have no idea what is to be done."
Mr Stevenson thought laboriously for a few minutes. "We could marry them off now?"
"My dear sir, how could it be done? You know Harriet is wretchedly clever and would probably find some way of getting out of it."
"We won't tell her about it!" said Mr Stevenson gleefully, animated at the thought of getting rid of their biggest problem. "We'll organise everything ourselves, take Harriet to the church, and marry them before she can say nay!"
Mrs Stevenson was concerned. "I rather think, my dear husband, that Harriet would refuse to say 'I do.' Shocking, I know, but as her mother, I know her unfortunate wicked ways intimately, and I cannot place reliance on her acquiescence in the matter."
"True," said Mr Stevenson, worriedly. He thought again. "I say, Mary my dear, this probably sounds disgracefully romantic, but do you think we could lock her up?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Lock her up, and give her the choice of remaining in that room for the rest of her life, or marrying Rupert Porker."
"Goodness me!" said Mrs Stevenson. "It sounds very dramatic." Mrs Stevenson did not much approve of the dramatic.
"Well, my dear, I cannot see what else is to be done. Her disgraceful behaviour continues to shame us, and I would rather see her married, and someone else's problem, or locked up all her life, than see her run off with some man with no connections and shame us still more. You tried sending her off to your sister at Pemberley seven years ago, but she just came back worse. I do not know what else we can do."
"That is very true," said Mary, struck for the first and last time in her life by a semi-romantic idea. "You know, sir, I do begin to think that maybe you have had a very good idea!"
"Ah, well," said Mr Stevenson, going red and breathing heavily, "you know I am very thoughtful."
"Yes, my dear, that you are."
And so it happened one day that Harriet found herself called up to the stairs by her mother, who was strangely red. "What is it?" she said.
"My dear Harriet, you should not speak like that. It does not befit a girl of your age."
"Tosh," said Harriet rudely, and began to walk down the stairs.
"Harriet, come back here!" said her mother firmly. On getting no reply, she tried again. "Harriet, I have some material here I would like you to choose from for a dress!"
That worked the trick. Harriet, whom her mother knew was very vain, turned around at once, and came back up the steps. "Where?"
"In this room here."
Harriet looked inside. She could see a bed, and a piano, ('why a piano?' she thought), but she could see no dress material. "Where is it?"
"Step inside," her mother urged. "You'll see it then."
With another mistrustful glance, Harriet stepped inside. Mrs Stevenson slammed the door with a clang and locked it. A rush of emotions threatened to overcome Harriet - what on earth was going on? "Mother? Mother!" she called through the door.
"I'll be back shortly, Harriet," was the only reply.
Harriet pushed and shoved at the door in vain - Mr Stevenson had just that morning installed several new locks. "What are you doing?" she screamed. "Let me out, let me out, let me out!!"
She sunk down on the bed when nothing happened, and waited with a scowl on her face, glancing round at the barred windows.
Finally, her mother came back to the room with her father, and a servant. They slid open a panel in the door that now had bars over it. Harriet immediately started screaming and swearing at them, demanding explanations and to be let out at once. They waited until she had finished, and then her father spoke. "Harriet, please understand we are only doing this because we love you and truly want the best for you." He actually believed this now, having convinced himself of it the night he and his wife had decided what had to be done.
"Like hell you do," spat Harriet.
Rapidly Mr Stevenson's love for his daughter diminished. "Listen, you cheeky little slattern, you have two choices. To stay locked in this room for the rest of your life, or to marry Rupert Porker."
Harriet listened in disbelief. "What?" she whispered.
"Harriet, if you refuse to allow us to make the best choices for you, we will have to force you to accept them," said her mother. "Surely you must wish to be married?"
"You have got to be teasing me," said Harriet desperately, although she knew quite well that the concept of 'joking' was foreign to her parents.
"Here is some food," said her mother, and the servant passed a plate through a flap in the door. "We will give you some time to consider."
The panel slid shut. Harriet threw a book they had left for her at the door; it was Fordyce's Sermons, and to her pleasure broke at the spine as it hit the door. She threw another similarly morally-uplifting book on the floor and put her head in her hands. For once, Harriet's normal adroitness had failed her at the unexpected ridiculousness of her parents' plans. She gritted her teeth. Was she as stupid as them? Obviously it seemed so to her for a while. But Harriet Stevenson was not one to sit around and mope when things were beginning to look desperate - oh, no! Instead, she threw a few more books around the room, managed to tip her jug of water out through the bars onto the treacherous servant who had aided and abetted Mother and Father's dastardly game, and sat down and thought.
So, they were going to make her marry that fool, or force her to live in this room for the rest of her life. They couldn't be so stupid that they truly believed they could keep her there forever. However, forever didn't seem much worse than several years or even several months in her angered state of mind, and they could probably manage to keep her there for at least a significant period. She racked her brains. Right now, she was so distressed and furious that thoughts were not running through her head in that orderly way she was used to. She stood, and picked up the meal on the floor, and started to eat. Starving herself would make an impression, yes, but she was hungry, and besides, she didn't want to get too thin. It was so unfashionable.
As the food passed through her mouth and into her system, she found herself able to think much more clearly. There is something very normal about beef stew and potatoes that helps one feel much more normal in an abnormal situation. So, it looked like she was to stay in here; they were to pass in food through the flap in the door, until she, mentally exhausted, gave in and married Rupert Porky, as she and her friends called him - even her best friend, Julia, who happened to be his sister. It shouldn't be too hard to think of a way to escape, she knew. Her parents were so stupid that she would be surprised if they managed to keep the door locked for two days. However, she couldn't rely on that, and Harriet walked over to the window to see if there was any possibility of escape through that way. The window itself only opened a little, and the bars refused to wobble even a little as she shook them hard. So that would not be a possibility. Too bad, because she had climbed out her bedchamber window many times, although her parents didn't know it.
Next she had a look at the locks on the door. They seemed to be perfectly tight. She looked around the room. There was a shelf full of books, (all moral or educational, of course - Mrs Stevenson would die before allowing those scandalous tools of Satan which call themselves 'novels' in her house), a piano, as mentioned before, a bed with all the normal items of furniture around it. Obviously she was supposed to spend her time in here in an uplifting manner. She had never taken to music, so could not understand why the piano was there, and was disappointed to see that there were no tools there for the only thing she was good at - drawing. She would have to be polite next time she saw somebody and beg for some pencils or paints.
And so - it looked like there was no way out through the obvious ways alone. She would have to think. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling above, racking her brains until some semblance of ideas started to form.
Harriet Stevenson was not one who had much appreciation for the sitting- around-doing-embroidery-and-getting-dull-husbands that was expected of her sex. Ever since she had broken the pattern of boys, boys, boys in the Stevenson family, she had continued to break all the ideals her parents held to be important. Children should be seen and not heard. Females are destined for marriage and therefore must be as pure, unspoilt and innocent as possible. Girls are not entitled to the same liberties as boys are. Little girls should never play with little boys. Big girls should never play with big boys. Almost-women should never even talk to almost-men unless under strict supervision.
It must be said now that the Stevenson family did have a reputation for being high-sticklers over moral ground, with the exception of Harriet. When ultra-chaste Mary Bennet met super-virtuous William Stevenson, it was a match made in heaven, as they call it. A complete lack of romance coupled with a good serving of self-righteousness meets a steadfast belief in one's own generosity and perfection and just like that, two people know they are meant for each other. The Stevenson's married soon after they met and embarked on what they saw as the exemplary Christian lifestyle, churning out boy after boy, each as dull as their parents - until Harriet came along and ruined everything the Stevenson's had worked for.
Ah, those poor Stevenson's! The work they had put into their image as the most moral family in the area was forever destroyed when their little girl with the flashing eyes first made her present felt in the previously calm little village of Hawley, in northern Surrey. Mrs Stevenson had always felt an apprehension regarding her only daughter after nine sons. Surely such inexhaustible, furious screaming had to give away the naturally wicked soul of a baby? Surely when a child's first word was "Won't" rather than "Mama", it indicated the already abandoned state the particular child's soul was in? And surely when a ten-year-old child threw her embroidery in the fire and ran away to go swimming with her little friend, (who was, incidentally, a male), it was impossible for such a mother to withhold from feeling deeply alarmed at the path her evidently slatternly daughter seemed to be taking? And what mother could thus refrain from treating such a child a little harshly, or always taking her to task for her wretched disregard of all the Stevenson's held dear? Indeed, if such a mother naturally loved her daughter a little (or even a lot) less than all her sons, who could blame her?
Harriet, now aged seventeen, was still as terribly thoughtless as to the rules as she had ever been. Although her best friend was no longer a male, she ran off to be with her male friends as often as she could escape from the small Stevenson house. She was extremely hard to find on a Sunday morning, and refused to even shake the hand of the man her parents had intended her for since the cradle. (Of course Harriet could hardly be blamed by anyone of sensibility - the young man in question, Rupert Porker, was an absolute dolt, although doubtless very respectable.) Harriet had always been pretty, but very recently she had become veritably stunning - now yet another characteristic which caused her poor parents many sleepless nights. Those same flashing emerald eyes she had had since birth were set off by curly raven-black hair, a nose that could be boasted about, and a faultless figure. In fact, she was so wonderful to look at compared to her nine rather podgy and slow brothers that in moments of extreme stupidity, (which were not uncommon), her father wondered if she was actually his. As well as all this, she was cursed (in her parents' opinion) with a remarkably quick mind which manifested itself, most of the time, in rude retorts to them, and in ingenious ways to escape things she didn't want to do.
Only four of the Stevenson offspring lived at home still - Thomas, Richard, Walter and Harriet. Thomas was soon to be married, and it was very clear that Dick and Walter were soon to be engaged. Not through their own choice - oh no, not at all! - Miss Cornish and Miss Porker had been intended for them since birth, just as Harriet had been intended for Rupert Porker. But they were slow lads, without much mental power between them, and without the least hint of romance, and they were quite content living life doing what their parents told them. All their elder brothers had married particular girls on their parents' orders and been quite happy (even if their wives were not) and produced a satisfactory amount of children so far.
One night as Mr and Mrs Stevenson lay in bed, the former said to the latter, "My dear - I cannot help thinking that Harriet is rather against marrying Rupert Porker."
Mrs Stevenson sighed. "Yes, I know, and I am sure I have no idea what is to be done."
Mr Stevenson thought laboriously for a few minutes. "We could marry them off now?"
"My dear sir, how could it be done? You know Harriet is wretchedly clever and would probably find some way of getting out of it."
"We won't tell her about it!" said Mr Stevenson gleefully, animated at the thought of getting rid of their biggest problem. "We'll organise everything ourselves, take Harriet to the church, and marry them before she can say nay!"
Mrs Stevenson was concerned. "I rather think, my dear husband, that Harriet would refuse to say 'I do.' Shocking, I know, but as her mother, I know her unfortunate wicked ways intimately, and I cannot place reliance on her acquiescence in the matter."
"True," said Mr Stevenson, worriedly. He thought again. "I say, Mary my dear, this probably sounds disgracefully romantic, but do you think we could lock her up?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Lock her up, and give her the choice of remaining in that room for the rest of her life, or marrying Rupert Porker."
"Goodness me!" said Mrs Stevenson. "It sounds very dramatic." Mrs Stevenson did not much approve of the dramatic.
"Well, my dear, I cannot see what else is to be done. Her disgraceful behaviour continues to shame us, and I would rather see her married, and someone else's problem, or locked up all her life, than see her run off with some man with no connections and shame us still more. You tried sending her off to your sister at Pemberley seven years ago, but she just came back worse. I do not know what else we can do."
"That is very true," said Mary, struck for the first and last time in her life by a semi-romantic idea. "You know, sir, I do begin to think that maybe you have had a very good idea!"
"Ah, well," said Mr Stevenson, going red and breathing heavily, "you know I am very thoughtful."
"Yes, my dear, that you are."
And so it happened one day that Harriet found herself called up to the stairs by her mother, who was strangely red. "What is it?" she said.
"My dear Harriet, you should not speak like that. It does not befit a girl of your age."
"Tosh," said Harriet rudely, and began to walk down the stairs.
"Harriet, come back here!" said her mother firmly. On getting no reply, she tried again. "Harriet, I have some material here I would like you to choose from for a dress!"
That worked the trick. Harriet, whom her mother knew was very vain, turned around at once, and came back up the steps. "Where?"
"In this room here."
Harriet looked inside. She could see a bed, and a piano, ('why a piano?' she thought), but she could see no dress material. "Where is it?"
"Step inside," her mother urged. "You'll see it then."
With another mistrustful glance, Harriet stepped inside. Mrs Stevenson slammed the door with a clang and locked it. A rush of emotions threatened to overcome Harriet - what on earth was going on? "Mother? Mother!" she called through the door.
"I'll be back shortly, Harriet," was the only reply.
Harriet pushed and shoved at the door in vain - Mr Stevenson had just that morning installed several new locks. "What are you doing?" she screamed. "Let me out, let me out, let me out!!"
She sunk down on the bed when nothing happened, and waited with a scowl on her face, glancing round at the barred windows.
Finally, her mother came back to the room with her father, and a servant. They slid open a panel in the door that now had bars over it. Harriet immediately started screaming and swearing at them, demanding explanations and to be let out at once. They waited until she had finished, and then her father spoke. "Harriet, please understand we are only doing this because we love you and truly want the best for you." He actually believed this now, having convinced himself of it the night he and his wife had decided what had to be done.
"Like hell you do," spat Harriet.
Rapidly Mr Stevenson's love for his daughter diminished. "Listen, you cheeky little slattern, you have two choices. To stay locked in this room for the rest of your life, or to marry Rupert Porker."
Harriet listened in disbelief. "What?" she whispered.
"Harriet, if you refuse to allow us to make the best choices for you, we will have to force you to accept them," said her mother. "Surely you must wish to be married?"
"You have got to be teasing me," said Harriet desperately, although she knew quite well that the concept of 'joking' was foreign to her parents.
"Here is some food," said her mother, and the servant passed a plate through a flap in the door. "We will give you some time to consider."
The panel slid shut. Harriet threw a book they had left for her at the door; it was Fordyce's Sermons, and to her pleasure broke at the spine as it hit the door. She threw another similarly morally-uplifting book on the floor and put her head in her hands. For once, Harriet's normal adroitness had failed her at the unexpected ridiculousness of her parents' plans. She gritted her teeth. Was she as stupid as them? Obviously it seemed so to her for a while. But Harriet Stevenson was not one to sit around and mope when things were beginning to look desperate - oh, no! Instead, she threw a few more books around the room, managed to tip her jug of water out through the bars onto the treacherous servant who had aided and abetted Mother and Father's dastardly game, and sat down and thought.
So, they were going to make her marry that fool, or force her to live in this room for the rest of her life. They couldn't be so stupid that they truly believed they could keep her there forever. However, forever didn't seem much worse than several years or even several months in her angered state of mind, and they could probably manage to keep her there for at least a significant period. She racked her brains. Right now, she was so distressed and furious that thoughts were not running through her head in that orderly way she was used to. She stood, and picked up the meal on the floor, and started to eat. Starving herself would make an impression, yes, but she was hungry, and besides, she didn't want to get too thin. It was so unfashionable.
As the food passed through her mouth and into her system, she found herself able to think much more clearly. There is something very normal about beef stew and potatoes that helps one feel much more normal in an abnormal situation. So, it looked like she was to stay in here; they were to pass in food through the flap in the door, until she, mentally exhausted, gave in and married Rupert Porky, as she and her friends called him - even her best friend, Julia, who happened to be his sister. It shouldn't be too hard to think of a way to escape, she knew. Her parents were so stupid that she would be surprised if they managed to keep the door locked for two days. However, she couldn't rely on that, and Harriet walked over to the window to see if there was any possibility of escape through that way. The window itself only opened a little, and the bars refused to wobble even a little as she shook them hard. So that would not be a possibility. Too bad, because she had climbed out her bedchamber window many times, although her parents didn't know it.
Next she had a look at the locks on the door. They seemed to be perfectly tight. She looked around the room. There was a shelf full of books, (all moral or educational, of course - Mrs Stevenson would die before allowing those scandalous tools of Satan which call themselves 'novels' in her house), a piano, as mentioned before, a bed with all the normal items of furniture around it. Obviously she was supposed to spend her time in here in an uplifting manner. She had never taken to music, so could not understand why the piano was there, and was disappointed to see that there were no tools there for the only thing she was good at - drawing. She would have to be polite next time she saw somebody and beg for some pencils or paints.
And so - it looked like there was no way out through the obvious ways alone. She would have to think. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling above, racking her brains until some semblance of ideas started to form.