“I will look forward to meeting them,” Joseph said. “However, as the ship’s only surgeon and without an assistant, I’m afraid I won’t have much time for leisure.”

“I understand completely, my lord.” Mr. Scott ducked his head in deference. “I too will likely find myself taxed beyond endurance in shepherding the flock the Lord has given me for this voyage.”

Joseph nodded and stepped back into his room, intending to bid the reverend farewell, but the man shuffled forward until he stood stiffly in the doorway, blocking Joseph’s retreat.

“I had hoped to sail to Sandwich Islands with the illustrious Reverend Thomas Nettleship Staley, the newly consecrated Bishop of Honolulu. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Joseph shook his head.

“I was honored to be asked to serve with him in an effort to convert the natives and spread the gospel among the heathen aboriginals. However, Miss Angela Georgina Burdett Coutts—have you met the delightful Miss Coutts?”

As heiress to the Coutts Bank’s millions, every member of London’s aristocracy knew of Angela Coutts. “Indeed, I have a time or two—”

“She’s quite the devoted philanthropist and social reformer, is she not? Her good deeds and Christian charity along with Charles Dickens inspire us all. I was honored when she singled me out as the champion of her cause.”

“Which cause is that, Mr. Scott?” Joseph asked, even as he scrambled to find a way to excuse himself from the reverend’s company.

“I am to chaperone and guide the young single women being sponsored by the Columbia Mission Society. I’ve been tasked with the important job of keeping them away from the temptations of evil, so that when they arrive to Vancouver Island and unite with the men anxiously awaiting their appearance, the women can enter the sacrament of holy matrimony as pure brides.”

“So the rumors about the Tynemouth being a bride ship are true?” Joseph wasn’t surprised by the news, thanks to Aunt Pen’s warning, and yet irritation niggled him nonetheless. Captain Hellyer should have told him more about the nature of the Tynemouth’s mission.

Mr. Scott pulled himself up and lifted his chin above his stiff collar as though preparing to launch into a sermon. “I know what you are thinking, Lord Colville—of past such endeavors made by our great country. But let me put your anxieties to rest. Maria Rye, the founder of the London Middle-Class Emigration Society, has screened and chosen the women herself.”

“The women are not from the prisons, then?”

“Oh no, my lord. I’m told the group is comprised mostly of distressed middle-class gentlewomen seeking governess positions until suitable husbands are found for them.”

“I see.”