Swallowing, Viola looked out the window to the front garden of the cottage and shifted in her chair.
What was she to do?
She had known that writingA Hard Truthcould not be kept a secret forever. That there would be difficult decisions in her future because of it.
And yet, the guilt of betraying her father’s trust hadn’t stopped her from writing the story either.
After the events in Manchester last summer, Violahadto do something to bring attention to the plight of women like Martha. Yes, she had promised her father to wait, but the old Duke of Kendall was not budging on seeing Dr. Brodure appointed to bishop. It could beyearsbefore anything changed.
God had gifted her with an outsized voice, Viola had reasoned. It felt nearly sinful not to use that talent to affect real changerighthisinstant.
A Hard Truthhad effortlessly spooled from her pen.
Thankfully, not even the editor ofThe Rabble Rouserhad realized that ‘Oliver Aubord Twist’ was actually Viola Brodure.
But after seeingA Hard Truththrough to print, she had stopped pursuing such stories. The remorse of keeping the secret from her father was simply too heavy. And then the old duke had died, giving Viola hope that her father wouldfinallyrealize his professional goals and free her to write as she wished.
She could wait a little while longer to continue her fight. She could be patient.
The problem, of course, was that the new Kendall wanted her to write something that would be the exact opposite ofA Hard Truth.
She had struggled for months to come up with a plotline that would meet with the duke’s approval. When she pondered the story he requested, her mind devolved into a vast, barren sea with no ideas in sight, the kingdom of her inspiration utterly vanished.
But now, faced withThe Rabble Rousereditor’s request, idea after idea raced through her head, a vivid landscape of scenes, dialogue, and plot all aimed at condemning the current Poor Laws and advocating for change.
If she wrote any of these stories—if she put them forth for publication—it would be one more betrayal to her father.
If he found out, he would be devastated.
If Kendall found out, she and her father could both be ruined—cast out of their home and her father left without employment.
She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead and licked her dry lips.
Yet, it felt nearly sinful not to use that gift to do what she could to better the lives of millions.
Unfortunately, this was the logic that had led her to submitA Hard Truthfor publication in the first place.
What a dreadful mess she had made of things.
“You seem contemplative, daughter,” her father said from his seat by the hearth. “Is all well?”
Viola startled, nearly dropping her letter to the floor.
She shot her father a reassuring smile. “All is well, Papa. Just a mound of correspondence to address.”
“Would you like some assistance? I know His Grace is keen to see a draft of the short story you have promised him. We must ensure you have adequate time to write.”
Occasionally, when the letters from Viola’s admirers became too much, she would solicit her father’s help in penning replies. That, of course, was the last thing this current situation needed.
“You are too kind, Papa, but it is not too much at the moment.”
“Well, please let me know if that changes.”
Her father beamed at her and went back to reading his book.
His hair had receded another inch this year, Viola noted, slowly transforming from gray to white. One of a thousand reminders that her father would not always be with her.
Yes, she truly was the most traitorous of daughters.
