Forget-Me-Not Bride Read Free Page B

Republican gathering in New York. On the first inside page there was a photograph of a bride and groom under the headline, ‘Bride who shopped for a groom returns to City’ .
    Mildly interested, Lilli read on.
‘Thirty-year-old spinster, Harriet Dutton, transformed her life a year ago when, via the Peabody Marriage Bureau, she answered gold-miner, Daniel Berton’s, advertisement for a wife. Six months ago Mr Berton struck gold in Nome, Alaska and the couple have now returned to the city where Mr Berton intends investing his new-found riches in San Franciscan real estate.’
    The groom, heavily moustached and looking awkward in an ill-fitting frock-coat, was smiling sheepishly, one of the bride’s net-gloved hands tucked shyly into the crook of his arm. He had the face of an upright, honourable man and Lilli hoped he and his wife would continue to be happy together. There was nothing else of interest on the page and she turned to the Classified Advertisement column. All the employment agencies in the city were listed. All seemed to be clustered south of Market Street, between Eighth Street and the waterfront.
    â€˜City Hall!’ the conductor yelled as the cable car approached the junction of Market and Larkin Street. ‘City Hall!’
    Hastily folding the Examiner and tucking it once more under her arm, Lilli stepped off the cable car into the busy street. Heads turned in her direction as she did so. Her Celtic colouring of smoke-dark hair, pale creamy skin and deep blue, thick-lashed eyes was a stunning combination and she attracted many appreciative male stares as she walked at a brisk pace towards the nearest of the employment agencies listed in the Examiner .
    â€˜All the book-keepers we place are required to have previous experience and references,’ a thin-lipped, bespectacled woman said to her primly. ‘As for a position as a school-mistress …’ Her rimless spectacles slid down her bony nose. ‘No-one under the age of twenty-five is ever considered, no matter how impressive their qualifications. And your qualifications, Miss Stullen, are non-existent.’
    She met with a similar response at the next, and then the next, employment agency she visited. Gritting her teeth she then tried her luck at an agency that dealt only with domestic and catering staff.
    â€˜And where were you last employed as a chamber-maid, Miss Stullen?’ a whey-faced young man inquired.
    â€˜I’ve never been previously employed, but I’m intelligent, quick to learn, hard-working, honest …’
    The young man looked at her with condescending pity. ‘This is a very selective employment agency, Miss Stullen. Applicants for positions are required to have experience and …’
    â€˜I’m looking for a placement as a chamber-maid, not a chef!’ Lilli protested frustratedly.
    A shutter came down over the young man’s palely freckled face. ‘Whatever the placement you are looking for, you won’t find a placement via this agency,’ he said, distaste in his voice. ‘Domestic staff are required to be polite and respectful, to be seen but not heard …’
    Lilli didn’t wait for him to finish. With her skirt swirling around her ankles she headed for the door, allowing it to swing noisily shut behind her.
    Once out in the street she fought down the panic bubbling in her throat. It was way past lunch-time and she had achieved absolutely nothing. Not only that, she now knew with stomach-churning certainty that her chances of ever achieving the kind of employment she needed, were practically nil. Sick at heart she paused at the street corner, shaking the Examiner open yet again, studying the general classified advertisements in the hope that there might be something there:
YOUNG lady, good figure, wants to pose for artist; references exchanged; positively no triflers …
    ANY person knowing of impending business failures or having any