I hope you received the letters I wrote to you and Mama. We’re now ten days out from the Cape; it’s almost five months to the day since we departed England. You must tell me if Charlotte did marry Mr. C and is now mistress of Longbourn—poor Mama, having to go lower to her!
I attended my first ball! Which would have been a grand affair had I not been importuned. No! Not like that—some Dutch boy spiked my drink with strong liquor that smelled of juniper. I, in my naivety, thought it only a flavoured cordial and was becoming quite boozy, though I didn’t realise it, only ever having before drunk small quantities of watered wine, which is not so strong in spirits. And who came to my rescue!? None other than Mr. Darcy, yes! He who was at the court in St. Albans and put us into the dower house. Though I cannot blame him for that—he did manage to secure us an income and showed that all of the fittings and furniture were ours. I do believe he’s an honest and upright man; his major fault is his being overly reserved in his manner, though being very handsome, I can forgive him that! Mr. Darcy put me into the care of Mevrouw Brand, in whose house I’m staying;she kindly took me back to her home, gave me coffee to clear my head, and put me to bed. ‘Twas like I was a small child again, being fussed over by dear Mama—oh, how I miss my family! I heard later that Mr. Darcy had the boy who importuned me placed in the stocks, which greatly angered his father, a powerful farmer (known by the Dutch word, ‘Boer’); but the governor, Earl Caledon, approved, so all is well.
I have an epiphany—we gentlewomen are brought up too refined, too cloistered in our grand houses wearing fine clothes but with no exposure to the real world of rakes, fraudsters, gamblers, and their ilk, for which we’re totally unprepared. So, I’ll ask Mama to expose you and the girls, and perhaps Jane also, as she’s prone to forgive bad behaviour without being aware of its intended incivility—I have never heard her speak ill of a human being in my life. So, we’ll start with liquor and other hard drinks, these being gin, whisky, jenever, and vodka, which are the strongest; fortified wines such as port, Madeira, and sherry, which are strong but not so as the liquors; wine, brown ale, porter, stout, and cider, which are lesser in spirits; and small beer and table wine. Ask Mama or Uncle Gardiner to obtain a small sample of each of these. Then take a sip so you know their odour and the taste upon your tongue; thus, if some sly person slips such into your lemonade (as happened to me!), you’ll be aware of the disguise, and quietly dispose of the drink. Then excuse yourself from their presence. There! Is it not a brilliant plan?
The company on the Hindostan is much changed since the voyage from Portsmouth to the Cape. Then, I dined with Captain Pasco and his wife Mrs. Rebecca Pasco and Mr. Ellis Bent and his wife, Mrs. Eliza Bent. The Pascos led with lively conversation, particularly that of Mrs. Pasco, who has been travelling with her husband since ‘05, when they married. But the Bents have left to be on the Dromedary; our table now consists of the Pascos, as before, but also Colonel O’Connell, who is to be lieutenant governor ofNew South Wales; Mr. Darcy, the deputy judge-advocate; and Ensign Huey, who is Col. O’Connell’s secretary.
Col. O’Connell is an older man, close in age to dear Papa; Ensign Huey seems quite young, though he’s well-read and joins our conversation quite readily. The colonel also enters into conversation with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man and talks very pleasantly. Mr. Darcy is mostly quiet, but that is his natural reserve, for when he wishes to exercise it, his voice is quite commanding.
Mary, I do not comprehend men! Is it so difficult for Mrs. Pasco and me to be the only women at dinner without three men—for I do not include Captain Pasco—engaging in the most bizarre behaviour? One will offer me a cut from the side of beef, and immediately another will proffer a selection of vegetables (for we’re well supplied with fresh food, having just left port) or another some spiced ragout. Do they not realise I’m very well capable of getting my own? And as for dessert, my plate would be piled high with an impressive mound of tarts, jellies, puddings, etc., were I not to decline. Indeed, I was forced to forgo apple pie—which is my favourite—because one of the gentlemen would immediately get me baked custard (which I loathe), cheesecake, or a portion of heavy pound cake, which seems to be the cook’s favourite, but not mine! Can you explain their behaviour? Mrs. Pasco just rolls her eyes, though I sometimes notice a small smile upon her lips; Capt. Pasco seems oblivious to the games being played at his table.
Once the children are asleep, I often take my guitar to the cuddy where we spend the evenings. Usually, I select my own pieces, but ofttimes they request Irish or English airs. Mr. Darcy has a fine baritone voice, which he seldom uses, though he did sing a Bach cantata with me: ‘Komm, mein Jesu, und erquicke’. But the other gentlemen have (I shall be polite) ordinary voices and find it hard to maintain the tune, though frequently theywill stand up and sing with me—I would rather they did not.
Here I am complaining about my company, when you, Mama, Kitty, and Lydia are forced to live in the dower house. Has Jane returned yet? If she has, I do so hope Mr. C cannot lay a claim against her. Oh, I must finish my missive! A midshipman has come to say a packet boat has signalled: Captain Pasco will send a parcel of letters aboard to forward to England.
Please forgive me for not being there for your fifteenth birthday. Sweet Mary, you are now so grown up; I miss you dreadfully. I enclose many kisses with this letter. They will be free to seek your soft cheek when the seal breaks.
Your tearful sister, and ofttimes lonely—Elizabeth.
***
Elizabeth and Harshita developed a true friendship, despite the difference in their rank and consequence. Harshita’s little boy, now some four months old, proved an easy charge: to Elizabeth’s relief, he slept each night without waking; he seldom cried; and, seemingly by magic, Harshita knew when to take him to the head. Harshita, never quite at ease on the quarterdeck, preferred to take her exercise on the upper deck among the regimental wives. Elizabeth watched with quiet satisfaction as Harshita was at last wholly accepted among them—Indian, Irish, English—drawn together by the unspoken kinship of motherhood.
“Harshita, how fares Mrs. Wilcox?” The woman referred to by Elizabeth was a soldier’s wife who had lost her husband some two months before. She decided to continue her journey to New South Wales; there being naught for her in England but the workhouse.
“She manages, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Harshita, “though she’s bothered by some of the soldiers and should choose soon—for her own sake and to keep the peace.”
“Whatever do you mean? But surely she’s owed a year and a day to grieve. Wouldn’t she be shown every kindness and respect in her mourning?”
“Perhaps for the quality, but a soldier’s wife needs protection. If she takes another husband, the matter is settled, and the men will cease their quarrelling. ‘Tis the way of things in the army.”
Later, while walking on deck, Elizabeth pondered this. Why did women require protection? She thought it meant promenading with them, safeguarding them from discomforts and dangers whilst walking out. But it did not! What a sheltered life she had led in Meryton: dining with the same four and twenty genteel families; meeting the same farmers, cottagers, and the merchants in the town; all of them her respected friends.
Here am I, a midwife delivering infants but failing to consider how those children began in the womb. Thebegetting, as the Bible said, began with men taking their pleasure—oh, how could she have been so foolish and innocent? Dame amor, besos sin cuento—give me love, kisses without count. Butkissesalone were not what men desired. Her romantic ideals began to shatter. Men flirted not only for the pleasure of good conversation and convivial company.
Had the Dutch boy at the ball expected more? As she left the ballroom, she heard him call her awhore. She blushed at the very idea he thought her easy with her virtue. Why? Because she wore her hair up, secured with pins and not a cap; because she danced without an introduction—but that was proper, it being aprivateball! Yet the Dutch boys thought her a wanton. For the first time since boarding the vessel, Elizabeth cast up her accounts.
At dinner, she realised they were flirting with her: EnsignHuey, Colonel O’Connell, and even Mr. Darcy. Did they see her as a young woman without protection, sailing alone to New South Wales—a colony settled by women of easy virtue?
Thus she was of no mind to deal with Ensign Huey’s approach as she stood, some days later, on the poop. The flaming colours of sunset were just beginning to fade, one bell before supper. She had made her way there to relax after dealing with a particularly hard labour of one of the regimental wives. The woman survived, but the babe had not—the first infant Elizabeth had lost. She was disheartened, adrift, and angry at a distant Deity, who seemed not to care.
“In vain have I struggled.” Ensign Huey stood behind her; she swung around at the sound of his voice. He faltered, then continued: “My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire …”
“Mr. Huey!” interrupted Elizabeth, throwing her arms vehemently into the air. “You are too hasty, sir! Say no more; your address, if that is what you intend, is not welcome. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, but we have known each other for barely one month. You know me hardly at all.”
He stood staring at her, uncomprehending. Elizabeth did not allow him to continue.
“Enough, it has been a long and tiring day. If you truly respect and admire me, leave me be—I must retire and tend the children. Goodnight, sir. Please tender my apologies to Captain and Mrs. Pasco.” Elizabeth hastily descended from the poop and then down the gangway to her cabin.
Inside, all was quiet. Harshita was asleep, holding her boy snugly to her. Henry and Beth lay huddled on the cot. Removing her day dress, stockings, and stays, leaving only her chemise, Elizabeth crept in beside them, holding them tight. They stirred but did not wake, secure in her embrace. Tears tumbled from her eyes. Ensign Huey was merely a boy, butshe hurt him through no ill will on her part. Tomorrow he would be angry, in poor humour. Yet they would be in company for another month. She could not imagine it. Fortunately, she soon fell into a deep slumber.
She awoke the next morning to the ever-present groaning of the ship’s timbers, the thump of the pumps, the slap of the waves against the hull, the whistle of the wind through the rigging, and the stink of damp and rotting wood. For the living, life would go on. She would mourn the stillborn babe; she would forget Ensign Huey’s ill-chosen address. Time would explain.
Miss Bennet did not say a word at dinner, and Darcy was at a loss to explain it; he determined he would approach her the next time they met on deck. He felt they had developed a friendship both in Rio de Janeiro and the Cape, and the meals at the captain’s table were most enjoyable. The previous evening she had been silent, and Ensign Huey sullen. Colonel O’Connell kept the conversation alive by telling of his time with the 1st West India Regiment, in which he served in Suriname, Grenada, and Dominica.
He arose early, as he knew she did, and ascended to the quarterdeck, where, as he expected, Miss Bennet was standing alone. There being a large swell, it took all of his concentration to walk towards her where she was standing by the taffrail.
“Miss Bennet, I was about to compliment the weather, but that would be a lie—the tempest of last night was appalling. Are the children much afraid?”
