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The Origins of Miss Marianne Blackstone

Astronomy. Botany. Chemistry. Geography. History. Yes, they were all indeed there, and all categorized correctly. Marianne smiled approvingly up at her bookcase, which, thanks to her elder brother, William, held several new additions to her book collection, along with all of the other books she owned. Altogether, they were no small number; two hundred and thirteen were all accounted for, categorized according to topic, and all had their spines facing to the left. Marianne was very proud of her collection. She hoped to read and collect enough books so that someday, it would look like a proper personal library, like the ones those professors and lawyers Father was always bringing over for tea would have.

Marianne imagined the thousands of books read by the members of the intellectual community, and on every topic imaginable: books about physics and exotic lands and poisonous plants and strange chemicals and even the far-off cosmos themselves. How wonderful it would be to read all of them!

Marianne loved reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. She had loved learning in general for as long as she could remember, and as there was always so much to learn about the world, she was almost constantly seen with a book. No subject was boring to her, not even the most obscure histories; even knowledge that adults did not think she had any business knowing was not foreign to her, such as the mechanics of the steam-powered streetcars in the city, the detailed workings of the government, and how women were able to look thinner than they really were.

Her father thought it a marvelous thing that she was so eager to understand how the world worked- "A woman in this modern age must not be stupid, nor ignorant of facts!" he always said- but her mother frowned upon it. Samantha Blackstone, known around those parts as one of the most beautiful women and gracious hostesses around, thought it highly improper for a decent Victorian lady to shun guests and have her head stuck in the pages of a book all of the time. (She never said such things out loud, of course, but it was highly implied every time she ensured her daughter overheard her saying things like, "How dreadful it must be, to stay indoors all day! Isn't fresh air nice?")

Marianne didn't think it was dreadful at all, of course. She was far more content curled up with an interesting book about chamber music or the rainforests of Africa than twittering over petty gossip with what Mother considered to be "good company". Mother's friends, the other ladies of the suburbs of London who came over for tea every week, were of no interest to Marianne. Yes, a book made far better company than they.

"Hey you!"

She looked up to find her second-oldest brother, John, peeking into her bedroom door. At sixteen, two years older than herself, one would think that John would be more mature; anyone who knew him, however, could almost be certain that the ubiquitous smirk on his face did not hold kind intentions. He was the most mischievous boy she knew. She had every right to be suspicious when he called her.

"Father's downstairs," he said simply. "He wants us all in the drawing room immediately." Marianne raised an eyebrow as he left. Was that all? There must have been a good reason for John to pass up the chance to tease her. She decided to see what was the matter.

The door to the right of the foot of the staircase opened to the drawing room. Her mother and John were already there, and her father, a portly man with a bushy mustache and twinkling eyes, beamed at her as she entered the room.

"Well, now that everyone is here," he began, "it gives me great pleasure to make an announcement to you all! Do you recall two weeks ago, when I brought a gentleman at the bank over for dinner?"

"Yes," John said, "wasn't that Charles Booker? He was one of the most profitable merchants in England, thanks to his family's sugar plantations overseas, last I heard."

Edward Blackstone looked impressed with his son's knowledge of the important financial news of the day. John's lips curled upward into a small smirk that Marianne knew was smug satisfaction; John was an aspiring banker, and if he wanted to get an apprenticeship, he saw no problem with sucking up to Father.

"Mr. Broker has provided an interesting opportunity to me. My associates at the bank predict that in the next five years, the value of sugar should go higher than a Zeppelin airship! With that, the highest profiteers should be those who own property in Guiana. And I have decided to purchase a bungalow there."

"Oh, darling!" Samantha cried, clasping her gloved hands to her chest, "is that to be our new vacation home? What a lovely place to spend the winters, the rainforest!"

"No, my dear," Edward replied, "We are going to live there."

John perked up at the news. Samantha's eyes grew wide. Marianne herself stood frozen to the spot, dumbstruck. Leave the cozy cottage she had lived in all her life? Uproot herself from everything she had known and move to a strange place with wild animals? No one lived in Guiana except for farmers and merchants. There would be nothing to do there, no one to talk to.

Leaving their home in the suburbs of London meant leaving her window-seat that overlooked the meadow out back, the garden on the side of the house with the gazebo and the tulips and the honeysuckle vines and the young peach tree with the swing underneath it.

It also meant leaving Joshua, the only person she considered interesting enough for her in the entire world.

He came to deliver her father's evening post on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, and she made sure to be there to greet the door. He was always polite, greeting her with a tip of a hat before commencing chats about the weather or some other mundane thing. The conversation would always get much more interesting as he expanded it to include things like his new bicycle, his life in the city, and all the different types of people he delivered mail to on his route.

Marianne listened to all of this with great intrigue, never having traveled to Inner London except for occasional shopping. Her parents talked about city life with a slight air of disdain- as 'proper' folk, they would never directly offend anything, no matter how much they disliked it- and her brother, with no sense of honor, constantly made fun of the people there.

She had grown up with the idea that the city was a filthy, miserable place for any self-respecting Englishman, and no one with any sense of dignity would choose to live there. She was convinced that all people there were ornery, vulgar people with their noses constantly soiled with dirt and who never enjoyed nice things because of the poverty they lived in.

But Joshua changed all that.

Even though she had known all along that anyone who didn't live in London's suburbs wasn't exactly like those her parents had described, Joshua had made that a reality for her, with his bright eyes, his easy laugh, and his tales of everything London, from the urchin boys on the street to the fine ladies who lived on Mansion Row. Although he was only twelve, a mere two years younger than she, he sounded like he had seen a lot more of the world than she had. She both envied and adored him.

And now she would never see him again. All because of some stupid island that some stupid merchant- the wealthiest merchant this side of the Thames, but still very much stupid- had told her father –stupid, stupid Father!- to move to.

It just wasn't fair.

She took her leave while her parents were discussing the cost of an Atlantic voyage, and whether they would be able to take the china. God blast the china! Marianne thought as she stormed down the hallway. China is replaceable. Books get wet on sea voyages. There's no way the captain would let me take a crate of them.
Everything she had worked for, her collection of knowledge, would have to be left behind. There's no way her parents could be serious about this. If they were, it meant they didn't know how important her library was to her and therefore didn't truly know her at all.

She needed to think. Marianne reached the end of the hall, where the large glass doors led to the outside garden. She grabbed the doorknobs and flung them wide open, already savoring the thought of relaxing on her favorite swing-

Only to be engulfed by a blinding light and to instantly find herself standing in a forest.

What in the world…?

Description
The Origins of Miss Marianne Blackstone

Astronomy. Botany. Chemistry. Geography. History. Yes, they were all indeed there, and all categorized correctly. Marianne smiled approvingly up at her bookcase, which, thanks to her elder brother, William, held several new additions to her book collection, along with all of the other books she owned. Altogether, they were no small number; two hundred and thirteen were all accounted for, categorized according to topic, and all had their spines facing to the left. Marianne was very proud of her collection. She hoped to read and collect enough books so that someday, it would look like a proper personal library, like the ones those professors and lawyers Father was always bringing over for tea would have.

Marianne imagined the thousands of books read by the members of the intellectual community, and on every topic imaginable: books about physics and exotic lands and poisonous plants and strange chemicals and even the far-off cosmos themselves. How wonderful it would be to read all of them!

Marianne loved reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. She had loved learning in general for as long as she could remember, and as there was always so much to learn about the world, she was almost constantly seen with a book. No subject was boring to her, not even the most obscure histories; even knowledge that adults did not think she had any business knowing was not foreign to her, such as the mechanics of the steam-powered streetcars in the city, the detailed workings of the government, and how women were able to look thinner than they really were.

Her father thought it a marvelous thing that she was so eager to understand how the world worked- "A woman in this modern age must not be stupid, nor ignorant of facts!" he always said- but her mother frowned upon it. Samantha Blackstone, known around those parts as one of the most beautiful women and gracious hostesses around, thought it highly improper for a decent Victorian lady to shun guests and have her head stuck in the pages of a book all of the time. (She never said such things out loud, of course, but it was highly implied every time she ensured her daughter overheard her saying things like, "How dreadful it must be, to stay indoors all day! Isn't fresh air nice?")

Marianne didn't think it was dreadful at all, of course. She was far more content curled up with an interesting book about chamber music or the rainforests of Africa than twittering over petty gossip with what Mother considered to be "good company". Mother's friends, the other ladies of the suburbs of London who came over for tea every week, were of no interest to Marianne. Yes, a book made far better company than they.

"Hey you!"

She looked up to find her second-oldest brother, John, peeking into her bedroom door. At sixteen, two years older than herself, one would think that John would be more mature; anyone who knew him, however, could almost be certain that the ubiquitous smirk on his face did not hold kind intentions. He was the most mischievous boy she knew. She had every right to be suspicious when he called her.

"Father's downstairs," he said simply. "He wants us all in the drawing room immediately." Marianne raised an eyebrow as he left. Was that all? There must have been a good reason for John to pass up the chance to tease her. She decided to see what was the matter.

The door to the right of the foot of the staircase opened to the drawing room. Her mother and John were already there, and her father, a portly man with a bushy mustache and twinkling eyes, beamed at her as she entered the room.

"Well, now that everyone is here," he began, "it gives me great pleasure to make an announcement to you all! Do you recall two weeks ago, when I brought a gentleman at the bank over for dinner?"

"Yes," John said, "wasn't that Charles Booker? He was one of the most profitable merchants in England, thanks to his family's sugar plantations overseas, last I heard."

Edward Blackstone looked impressed with his son's knowledge of the important financial news of the day. John's lips curled upward into a small smirk that Marianne knew was smug satisfaction; John was an aspiring banker, and if he wanted to get an apprenticeship, he saw no problem with sucking up to Father.

"Mr. Broker has provided an interesting opportunity to me. My associates at the bank predict that in the next five years, the value of sugar should go higher than a Zeppelin airship! With that, the highest profiteers should be those who own property in Guiana. And I have decided to purchase a bungalow there."

"Oh, darling!" Samantha cried, clasping her gloved hands to her chest, "is that to be our new vacation home? What a lovely place to spend the winters, the rainforest!"

"No, my dear," Edward replied, "We are going to live there."

John perked up at the news. Samantha's eyes grew wide. Marianne herself stood frozen to the spot, dumbstruck. Leave the cozy cottage she had lived in all her life? Uproot herself from everything she had known and move to a strange place with wild animals? No one lived in Guiana except for farmers and merchants. There would be nothing to do there, no one to talk to.

Leaving their home in the suburbs of London meant leaving her window-seat that overlooked the meadow out back, the garden on the side of the house with the gazebo and the tulips and the honeysuckle vines and the young peach tree with the swing underneath it.

It also meant leaving Joshua, the only person she considered interesting enough for her in the entire world.

He came to deliver her father's evening post on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, and she made sure to be there to greet the door. He was always polite, greeting her with a tip of a hat before commencing chats about the weather or some other mundane thing. The conversation would always get much more interesting as he expanded it to include things like his new bicycle, his life in the city, and all the different types of people he delivered mail to on his route.

Marianne listened to all of this with great intrigue, never having traveled to Inner London except for occasional shopping. Her parents talked about city life with a slight air of disdain- as 'proper' folk, they would never directly offend anything, no matter how much they disliked it- and her brother, with no sense of honor, constantly made fun of the people there.

She had grown up with the idea that the city was a filthy, miserable place for any self-respecting Englishman, and no one with any sense of dignity would choose to live there. She was convinced that all people there were ornery, vulgar people with their noses constantly soiled with dirt and who never enjoyed nice things because of the poverty they lived in.

But Joshua changed all that.

Even though she had known all along that anyone who didn't live in London's suburbs wasn't exactly like those her parents had described, Joshua had made that a reality for her, with his bright eyes, his easy laugh, and his tales of everything London, from the urchin boys on the street to the fine ladies who lived on Mansion Row. Although he was only twelve, a mere two years younger than she, he sounded like he had seen a lot more of the world than she had. She both envied and adored him.

And now she would never see him again. All because of some stupid island that some stupid merchant- the wealthiest merchant this side of the Thames, but still very much stupid- had told her father –stupid, stupid Father!- to move to.

It just wasn't fair.

She took her leave while her parents were discussing the cost of an Atlantic voyage, and whether they would be able to take the china. God blast the china! Marianne thought as she stormed down the hallway. China is replaceable. Books get wet on sea voyages. There's no way the captain would let me take a crate of them.
Everything she had worked for, her collection of knowledge, would have to be left behind. There's no way her parents could be serious about this. If they were, it meant they didn't know how important her library was to her and therefore didn't truly know her at all.

She needed to think. Marianne reached the end of the hall, where the large glass doors led to the outside garden. She grabbed the doorknobs and flung them wide open, already savoring the thought of relaxing on her favorite swing-

Only to be engulfed by a blinding light and to instantly find herself standing in a forest.

What in the world…?