A Place at the Ledger

Didsbury, 1910

The pale morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows at Hartwell House, glimmering on the polished silver so it looked like crystal.

Violet Hartwell slipped into the room with a newspaper under her arm, glancing out the window as she admired the garden scenery. The gardens were still damp from the rain the previous night, but the heavy droplets on the roses sparkled like glass.

Richard Hartwell looked up from his coffee and smiled.

"Good morning dear."

"Good morning father."

Taking her seat beside him, she opened the newspaper and began to read the business section.

Across the table, Lydia Hartwell raised a brow.

"Must you begin the day reading shipping reports, Violet?"

Violet glanced up.

"I find it's rather interesting."

"Interesting?" Beatrice echoed, suppressing laughter as she stirred the sugar. "Why, I cannot imagine anything less interesting, nor what is going through your head to find such a thing so appealing. Indeed you can not lead a very exciting life if that is how you spend your free time."

Richard chuckled.

"Well we all have different tastes and interests, don't we? You and your sister just happen to have very different interests, and perhaps that is a good thing, for it would be boring if we were all the same now wouldn't it?"

"Stepsister." Beatrice corrected lightly.

As a brief silence followed,Violet lowered her gaze to the newspaper.

The distinction was hardly new, for Beatrice's mother Lydia had remarried her father some three years ago, yet it seemed Beatrice still always had to emphasise and remind everyone of this fact.

Richard cleared his throat.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind hearing what is so interesting this morning."

Violet brightened immediately.

"The article discusses The Royal Commission on Divorce, debating over allowing working-class women to file for divorce on the grounds of cruelty and desertion."

"And what are your thoughts on that, my dear?"

"Well, I think upon hearing of the number of working-class women who have suffered in abusive marriages previously, having no choice but to wait for their brutal husbands to die, I think that such a thing ought to be allowed. Why, it's clear that they struggle enough as it is, but the thought of them suffering like that, with their poor children exposed to it too, is simply unbearable."

Richard chuckled.

"You have the words and mind of a wise woman, my dear."

Lydia looked as if she was suppressing herself from choking on her tea, as she let out a loud snort.

"Why on earth should a young woman have to concern herself with such matters?"

Richard looked at his wife.

"Why ever not?" he asked civilly.

"Because of exactly what I said-she is a young woman-a young lady at that, whose only concerns ought to be finding her place in society."

"But Violet is different my dear-special at that, and has in mind a different path in life to one that most girls of her standing may have. Besides, it would be such a waste of an excellent mind where she simply to conform to society's expectations of entering society."

Beatrice sighed dramatically, complete with banging down her fork and knife with more force than was necessary, as her and her mother shared a conspiring sneer. Turning back to face her husband, she continued.

"I simply cannot see why you encourage such a thing, Richard. She is your daughter, not your apprentice, and I merely think that it would be wiser for Eleanor to focus upon accomplishments more suited to her position."

"Such as?"

“Piano. Embroidery. Society.”

Violet exchanged a glance with her father.

“Society sounds exhausting,” she murmured.

Beatrice rolled her eyes.

"You are incredibly strange, stepsister. I don't think I shall ever understand you, for us young ladies ought to be grateful for the background we have been raised into. I know I am, for instead of struggling away with a life of drudgery and living in a filthy hovel, I am fortunate enough that I shall have the chance to live the life of Riley, with a rich man who will marry me, and never having to lift a finger myself-except to play the piano, embroider and prepare for dinner parties of course. You ought to be too."

"But I don't want to live the life of Riley, I want to be stimulated-do something productive with a purpose in life."

Letting out snort as she looked at Violet as if she had grown two heads, Beatrice opened her mouth again-another lecture no doubt-thought Violet. Fortunately though Violet was saved by the footman who entered carrying the post.

Richard accepted the letters and began sorting through them, to which Violet watched with much fascination.

Business Correspondence.

Contracts.

Invoices.

Overseas agreements.

Richard noticed her gaze of fascination.

"Fancy helping me out after breakfast?"

A grin spread across her face.

"Truly?"

"Truly!"

Lydia observed the exchange, unable to hide her look of disapproval.

"You spoil her Richard. You waste far too much time mentoring her on skills she should never need, neglecting your other daughter in the process as she prepares to enter society."

"Nonsense! I am merely helping my daughter pursue her dream, her future career path. But if Beatrice needs any help with anything then she ought to just let me know, and I shall always be here to assist."

Indicating his dismissal of the conversation, Richard returned to his letters, while Lydia looked away.

While the room remained warm and comfortable, there was a tension in the air that could be cut with a knife.

Violet could not shake the familiar feeling that she occupied two worlds at once.

In one, she was her father's beloved daughter.

In the other, she was merely a tolerated presence in Lydia Hartwell's household.

Indeed, only one of those worlds felt like home.

***

The study was Violet's favourite room in the house.

Her sanctuary.

Her special place.

The one place in the house where her and her father could be truly alone, where it truly felt like old times again, before Lydia and Beatrice had entered their lives.

The drawing room had belonged to Lydia, whereas the dining room had belonged to appearances.

The study, however, belonged to her father, and was a room of work rather than display.

A room of fascination and ambition, lined from floor to ceiling with books whose leather spines bore titles in gold lettering.

A large mahogany desk stood before the window, neatly arranged despite the piles of correspondence waiting to be answered.

Violet followed her father into the study like an eager puppy.

"I thought you might be eager to see today's letters."

"I guess so, yes." Violet replied, although really she knew so, as did her father, as his eyes twinkled.

As Richard settled into his chair, he handed her a stack of envelopes.

"Would you be so kind to sort these for me?"

Eleanor accepted them immediately.

After years of practice, the task had become second nature to Violet now, as she quickly separated the correspondence into neat piles.

There were client letters, court notices, invoices, and internal documents from Hartwell & Pierce.

Observing her unusual but endearing enthusiasm over such a task that would be considered simply mundane to most girls her age, her father smiled with affection.

"You know, Miss Hartwell, I am beginning to think you are actually far more efficient than poor Mrs Fletcher. Why, it is clear she is past her prime, for her age is clearly taking its toll on her. I have politely suggested retirement to her, but she simply wouldn't hear of it, for you know how obstinate she can get.

Violet laughed.

"Oh poor Miss Fletcher. She would be horrified to hear you say that. You know she is married to her job, it is all she seems to have in her life. Still, as good a job as it must be, we all ought to have a balance in our lives."

"Well, fortunately she isn't here. Besides, it is simply truth. And yes, you are right, we all need a balance in our lives, though it seems Miss Fletcher does not quite understand that we need young, fresh minds as yourself."

Violet felt a warmth rise in her heart. Of course her father was always going to shower her with compliments, but she could see that he meant it, and compliments like this had always given her such great hope and encouragement.

She carefully straightened one pile before handing it across the desk.

"This one appears urgent-something about a dispute over a will?"

Opening the letter, he read the contents carefully. After a moment he sighed.

"Indeed it is. It is amazing how disagreeable families become when inheritances are concerned."

"Why, what has happened?"

“The deceased gentleman left his estate to his eldest son. The younger son claims there was a later amendment.”

Eleanor frowned.

“Was there?”

“That is what we must determine.”

She considered this.

“And if there isn’t?”

“Then the original will stands.”

Her father reached for another page.

Eleanor hesitated.

“If the amendment was never witnessed properly, it wouldn’t matter anyway, would it? I mean it is obvious that a witness always needs to be present for it to be valid."

Richard paused.

Slowly, he lowered the document.

“That,” he said, “is an excellent point.”

A smile tugged at his lips.

“Have you been secretly studying my case files?”

“Only the ones you leave lying about.”

“I knew it.”

She laughed softly.

The familiar ease between them settled comfortably over the room.

Outside, a horse-drawn carriage rattled along the street. Somewhere downstairs, a clock chimed the quarter hour.

Richard leaned back in his chair.

“You know, Vi, most girls your age would find these matters dreadfully dull.”

"Well that is a pity, because I think it is something that many girls might be most interested in if they gave it a try."

“Quite.”

Reaching into one of his drawers, her father pulled out a notebook.

"Perhaps one day you might like to learn shorthand? You could even come to my office one day and I'll have Miss Fletcher teach you."

But Violet immediately took the notebook and started writing, quickly copying a sentence into shorthand.

Richard smiled.

"That is...not bad. In fact, it is remarkably good."

Violet smiled.

"Miss Fletcher lent me a guide book."

"I should have known."

Violet smiled, as she glanced toward the typewriter positioned near the window.

It was still a novelty in many offices, but she had always found it fascinating.

Rows of black keys gleamed in the morning light.

"Father, one day I should like to learn to use the typewriter properly."

"Oh yes, and what should you do with that knowledge?"

Before she knew it, the answer had escaped her.

"I should like to work in a solicitors office."

For a moment, the room fell silent.

Most people would laugh at such a remark, for it was a well-known fact that a woman never stepped foot in a solicitor's office, at least not to work.

"And why is that my dear?"

Because she loved the work.

Because she loved the order of it.

Because she felt useful here in a way she never did at dances or garden parties.

Because this room felt more like home than any drawing room ever could.

“I think it matters,” she said quietly. “Helping people. Solving problems. Keeping things running. I know I could be good at it.”

Her father smiled.

“You are organised, intelligent, diligent, and curious. Those qualities are worth far more than society gives them credit for.”

Hope flickered inside of Violet.

The words seemed magical.

Her father believed in her, so why shouldn't she?

For now, with the morning sunlight streaming through the study windows and her father’s faith in her shining brighter still, the future seemed full of possibility.