“The rest of you shall be offered up as brides without delay,” the committee woman had said. After walking through the horde a short while ago, as well as doing their washing with the men looking on, the committee member’s remark had been met with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

If the other women felt anything like Mercy, then they were terrified by the overwhelming number of men and their wild exuberance about getting married. But as Mr. Scott had pointed out to her on the ship the previous day, the Columbia Mission Society had sponsored their trip, paid their fares, and made the arrangements for their care specifically to provide brides for the men in this new land. He’d made it quite clear that she was obligated to follow through with her part of the bargain, even if she hadn’t known the purpose of the voyage at first. Either that or she’d have to return home to England or else pay the Society back for the cost of her trip.

Although she hadn’t yet figured a way out of her predicament, she hadn’t stopped thinking about her options. Perhaps her best course of action was to continue her pretense. She’d act like all the others and attempt some enthusiasm at the prospect of marriage.

And she’d pray hard Mr. Scott would give up his threat to make sure she was one of the first women matched to a man. Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned it again. Perhaps after Sophia Shaw’s proposal, he’d put it out of his mind. Or perhaps now that he’d had the chance to see for himself exactly how many men were waiting for a wife, he’d stop worrying about her and Joseph. If she could avoid Mr. Scott until the Tynemouth left, he’d soon be gone and out of her life.

A giant of a woman with wide shoulders, thick arms, and a heavy girth entered the building through a back door. Mercy recognized her as one of the women of the Female Immigration Committee, particularly because of her hat with its colorful feathers, as though a flock of jungle birds had made a nest there. In addition to her outlandish hat, she was attired in a gown that was bright and flashy, certainly not as genteel or delicate-looking as the other committee members.

“Ladies,” she said as she approached Mercy’s group. “My name is Mrs. Moresby, and I’m here to escort you to your accommodations.”

Mercy let the tension ease from her shoulders. From what she could tell, they weren’t being married off tonight.

“We’ll be walking a short distance to the Marine Barracks,” Mrs. Moresby remarked, opening the door and holding it wide as the women filed past. Once they were all in the yard again, Mrs. Moresby moved to the front of the line.