“There are seven government buildings here in Victoria,” Mrs. Moresby explained while waving at the brick structures that surrounded them. “All of them in close proximity of the main legislative building.”

Mercy didn’t listen to Mrs. Moresby’s history of the order in which the buildings had been constructed. Instead, as they walked into view of the men who were still lined up along the fence, Mercy kept her head down and her attention on the dirt path.

Calls and whistles had accompanied the women all through their brief effort at washing three months of grime from their arms and faces. Mercy had done the best she could to remain quiet and avoid notice.

Now, as she made her way through the yard, she hoped no one would pay her any mind.

“Mercy Wilkins!” called one of the men. “Will you marry me?”

Upon hearing her name, Mercy stumbled and would have fallen if Miss Lawrence hadn’t been next to her. The gentlewoman steadied her.

“I got five hundred pounds and a claim on the Fraser River!” the man shouted.

Mercy sidled closer to Miss Lawrence. How did this man know her name? Why was he singling her out?

“I’ll make you a happy woman, I promise!”

Miss Lawrence quickened her pace, pulling Mercy along with her. “Don’t respond,” Miss Lawrence said. “Pretend as though you haven’t heard him.”

Thankfully, they reached the Marine Barracks within seconds, a spacious two-storied home that sat directly behind the legislative building. As they crowded inside the front room—the parlor, according to Mrs. Moresby—Miss Lawrence led Mercy to a cushioned chair and helped her sit down.

“Thank you for your help, miss,” Mercy said, trying to still her rapidly beating heart.

“’Tis I who should be thanking you, Mercy.” Miss Lawrence tugged up her high collar. “You’ve been more than kind to me this entire ordeal.”

Mercy couldn’t help but see the bite mark on Miss Lawrence’s neck, the one she tried to carefully hide. The wound hadn’t yet healed all the way. Maybe the mark would never go away. Miss Lawrence would likely have to live with her scars as glaring reminders of her past.

As though sensing Mercy’s attention to her neck, Miss Lawrence fumbled for her reticule, unfastened the clasp, and pulled out a fan.

“You’ll not be a-going with the other group to be a governess?” Mercy asked.

Miss Lawrence flipped open the fan and began pumping at her flushed face. “They’re all very learned women. While I . . . I am more limited in my education.”

Mercy doubted Miss Lawrence was as limited as she was. She’d never had any learning—not how to read or write or do sums. “No matter. I bet you’ll find a fine gent soon enough. Those navy officers who came aboard yesterday seemed real interested, and it’s no wonder with how pretty you are.”