Chapter Text
There’s another ship coming into the harbor. There’s always ships coming, going, unloading and loading, off to another port further up the coast, or to some far off, exotic land. She has a perfect view of them from her bedroom window. They’ve fascinated her ever since she was young, but it wasn’t until the last two years that she truly longed to be onboard one of them. Any of them. She’d even be glad of a pirate ship if it would take her far away from here.
The bedroom door opens and Adelaide automatically tenses her shoulders.
“You’ve done your job, now leave. And make sure we’re not disturbed.”
Her eyes flutter closed. She knows what that means.
Setting down the hairbrush she had been using on Adelaide’s long, deep red locks, her maid bows respectfully before skirting around the master of the house and exiting the room. If only there was some excuse to get her to stay. But there isn’t, and it would only delay the inevitable, anyway, so she folds her hands stiffly in her lap and waits.
Heavy footsteps cross the wood floor until her husband comes into her field of vision, standing in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back and blocking her view of the harbor. The candle on her dressing table throws strange shadows across his chiseled face.
“Two years and you still haven’t given me a child.” He states it like a mantra, almost every day. “Even a daughter would be acceptable at this point.”
There’s nothing to say to that, nothing that she hasn’t tried saying before and had it thrown back in her face, so she remains silent. He likes her best that way, anyway. There’s no reason to rile him up right now more than he might already be.
Finally Charles turns just enough to cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “Take off that shift and get on the bed.”
She obeys.
It’s when she’s lying in bed later that night, wide awake while her husband snores, that an idea begins to form in her mind. She’s known for nearly two years now that she’s tired of being treated this way, but it’s just now that she begins to think about doing something to change it. Yes, her father matched her up with Charles Harrison with the best of intentions, and paid him a sizable dowry. Yes, she has tried her best to play the part of the perfect wife - other than producing a child - ever since then, solely to honor her parents.
But she’s had enough. She can’t keep pleasing her parents and her husband at the expense of her own soul, which is steadily being dragged down into the depths of despair every time she’s ordered onto the bed. It’s time for Mrs. Adelaide Wilson Harrison to make her escape and live her own life.
The very next day, while Charles is at work, she rummages through his wardrobe and chooses an off-white shirt, a blue waistcoat, brown breeches, and a dark brown coat. Nothing too fancy. For the rest of that day and all of the next she locks herself in her room and sews, adjusting everything until it fits her much thinner figure. When Charles is at home, she stows them away in various drawers and boxes that she knows he’ll never look in.
It’s on the third day that she finally tries everything on at once, throwing on a navy blue cravat, a brown tricorn, and a pair of her own stockings and shoes to complete the outfit. Smiling, she turns this way and that, admiring her reflection in the mirror and marveling at the feeling of freedom. She’s not sure how much of it comes from the actual freedom of movement, and how much of it is anticipation of the freedom that is nearly within her grasp.
There’s only one small thing standing between it and her right now.
Her hair.
Sighing, she steps closer to the mirror, wrapping a strand of it around her finger. She likes her hair. Besides her bright blue eyes, it’s her best feature. Sure, red hair seems to go hand and hand with the plethora of freckles that cover her entire face - entire body, actually - but it’s such an unusual color in this part of the world, especially as dark as hers is. It was her hair that first caught Charles’ attention.
She frowns at that thought, stares at the strand on her finger a moment longer, and drops it. No more procrastinating. It’s time for the hair to go.
Snatching up the scissors still sitting on her dressing table from sewing, she tosses the tricorn hat to the side and takes a deep breath, then begins to cut.
Several minutes later, Mrs. Adelaide Wilson Harrison is no more.
Mr. John Gray dons the tricorn once more with a confident tap, gathers up the already packed bag waiting on the bed, and without a second glance, marches out the front door and toward the harbor.