With the close of the war and the rise of the many blessings of industry that multiply under Her Majesty’s care, the world lays out a multitude of guises for the working wife, or even the unmarriageable lady, under which to better herself and others.
She may be employed in one of our countless factories, making everything from horseless carriages to airships to sky palaces, for which many able bodied folk are needed, and in which endeavour those of character are most favored.
She may seek a higher purpose with the Angels – not God’s cherubim, not yet, sweet things, but with Her Majesty’s Angel Corps. I joined up to make a difference in the war, and while the conflict is won, the mission of the A-C continues to be vital to the safety of Britain. Where else can a girl dedicate herself to learning the aeronautic arts, to piloting Her Majesty’s finest battle dirigibles? A position of such honor should be the aspiration of every girl.
Yes, our modern age affords the young woman a brighter future than she has ever seen before. But there is one profession to which I cannot lend my recommendation, and seeing it advertised here in the Gazette does shame to the publication. That’s the job of the so-called Gimmick Girl.
The indignities and dangers of such work should never be saddled upon a woman of 25, much less a girl of 16 or less.
For those not yet familiar, a door to door personal ro-bot saleswoman is asked to walk the streets unsupervised, to visit the homes of unknown and possibly unsavory clients. With the menace of miasma shrouding London, this enough should be reason to ban the company’s advertisements in this paper, but – if it can be believed – thre is still further cause for alarm.
These young women are asked to handle, daily and without safety gear, a variety of so-called mechanical companions. Have we not heard of the injuries these supposed household helpers can inflict? Do we not all know that there are, among us, both scientists and renegade boffins who would tamper with these clockwork monstrosities illegally; and if those madmen have no regard for the law, how much care might they have for a young woman’s honor?
Yet there is even more cause to trouble yourself, readers. Just last month, there was a report of a grisly murder at the hands of a small fleet of mechanical companions. The vicious little things – elven though they may be – seem to have banded together on their own, without human intervention. Are our young ladies carrying the seeds of a mechanical insurrection with them through the streets of London? And when will one of them become the next victim?
God save the Queen,
Captain Hildebrandt Beam of Her Majesty’s Angel Corps