EMILY
The following day, Emily headed up University Avenue, past the hospitals to the verdant lawns outside Queen’s Park, her thoughts never straying far from the prisoner’s letter that was now tucked into her leather bag.She was eager to get to the Legislative Library, to see the text of this Female Refuges Act, the “Incorrigible Law.”She was always a fast walker, mostly because she was impatient; it was one of the reasons she didn’t like waiting for people, or being late herself.But, particularly in her childhood, that impatience had occasionally manifested as impulsiveness or recklessness.She’d learned to harness it, and her tendency to do things quickly and efficiently had served her well in university, and now in her career.But in her life more broadly, patience was still a challenge for someone who wanted quick answers and fast results.
Sweaty from the brisk journey, she scaled the steps up to the front doors of the sprawling Legislature.
She had a brief exchange with the security guard, offering her credentials and requesting access to the library.He nodded her through, and she proceeded up the thickly carpeted steps to the main foyer, following the signs.She had never been in the Legislature before, and despite her feverish focus on the task at hand, she did take a moment to absorb theopulence of her surroundings.There was only one woman MPP.Not many women got to set foot inside the Legislature, unless they were a politician’s secretary, or worked in the cafeteria.
Or the library.
“Hi there,” Emily said, approaching the woman behind the long circulation desk, hand outstretched in greeting.The librarian was in her fifties, with short curly hair not unlike Doris’s, and a neutral expression.She shook Emily’s hand.
“My name’s Emily Radcliffe.I’m a…journalist,” Emily said, deciding on the spot that her training sounded far more qualified than her current job title.“ForChatelainemagazine.”The woman nodded in interest.Most women of her age knew whatChatelainewas.“My editor sent me over in the hopes that you might be able to help us out.We’re trying to locate a piece of legislation called the Female Refuges Act.Do you know it?”
The librarian paused, shook her head.“Not offhand, but I can find it for you.Give me a few minutes, please.”She retreated to a card catalogue while Emily waited, tapping a finger against her satchel.Even on the soft leather, the sound carried in the quiet library.The librarian glanced over her shoulder, and Emily ceased her tapping.
“Sorry,” she muttered.“Bad habit.”
Ten minutes later, the librarian returned with a labelled file.“Here you are, then.You can use one of the reading desks over there, and just bring it back when you’re finished, please.”
Emily thanked her, feeling embarrassed about the impatient tapping, and hurried to a desk.
She was alone aside from one or two other young people who looked like students, probably from nearby Victoria College.She flicked on the table lamp and sat down, withdrawing her notepad and pencil from her bag.
FEMALE REFUGES ACT, 1927
ONTARIO
The Act was not long.Emily skimmed the first bit, which offered legal definitions of the terms used within.An “industrial refuge” was essentially a women’s prison.
S.2.(1) Any female between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five years, sentenced or liable to be sentenced to imprisonment in a common gaol by a judge, may be committed to an industrial refuge for an indefinite period not exceeding two years.
Emily’s eyebrows raised.So they could keep a young woman in prison forup totwo years.Who determined the length of the sentence?The judge?The prison warden?
She recorded the first section word for word, then returned to the page.“Prisoner transfers…parole…” she muttered.There was a lot of detail about logistics, as well as a clause stating an inmate had to be examined by the prison physician within three days of arrival, and every six months thereafter.So there was evidently meant to be an on-site doctor at these institutions.She glanced at the prisoner’s note, which was resting beside her notebook.
Doctor is evil.
Emily tapped her pen, wondering what might be behind that particular allegation.
She turned back to the file.There were several more sections about medical care, including that prisoners could not be discharged if they were suffering from contagious or infectious disease, including venereal disease or syphilis.Emily wondered how one might contract VD in an all-women’s institution.But then she remembered that this Act was meant to apply to prostitutes, who, she supposed, might well come into the prison with some sort of VD.She didn’t know much about it and blushed a little at the thought, then swallowed hard.What a ghastly sort of existence that must be.
Next came the definition of who could be committed to one of these prisons:
S.15 (1): A person may bring before a judge any female under the age of thirty-five years who,—
(a) is found begging…or receiving alms;
(b) is an habitual drunkard or by reason of other vices is leading an idle or dissolute life.
Emily made a face at the vagueness of “idle life.”What sorts of behaviours could be captured under such a term?Laziness?Unemployment?And couldanyone, not just the police, bring a woman before a judge?
She thought for a moment, re-read who could be committed.
“So this isn’t even for violent offenders,” she said aloud.The librarian glanced over.Emily gave an apologetic wave, jotted some notes, and moved to the following sections.
And there it was, that ambiguous yet wholly incriminating title, the scarlet letter that could condemn these women to such a punitive fate.The clause referred to in the inmate’s note:
S.17: Any parent or guardian may bring before a judge any female under the age of twenty-five years who proves unmanageable or incorrigible…
