“It is, indeed, a beautiful and bountiful park. Am I to understand the London government wishes it to remain so, to preserve the herds?” asked Darcy.
“And also to slow the advance of settlers into the land of the native peoples. But to no avail. These plains will be split up and turned to grazing sheep, the domesticated cattle pugging the waterholes, horses allowing weeds to grow uneaten, wheat and barley in place of the nutritious yams the natives harvest. My role is to not only protect the cattle but also the native peoples; but, I fear, ultimately all will disappear from the landscape. There’s a selfish streak in us, Mr. Darcy, that wants what others have, though we already have plenty ourselves.”
They lit fires around the camp, and the men set a watch to guard against the wild cattle. As she lay in her cot, Elizabeth found she was unable to sleep. Arising from her bed, she lay down next to William—the cots were narrow, with barely enough room for her to rest beside him.
“Lizzie,” he whispered, aware that any speech may carry in the still night air through the thin canvas of the tent, “what ails you?”
“I fear I have misled you, William. I said I was only afraid for Maria, but that is only half of it. There’s a small child within me, who was terrified—who is still fearful. When I close my eyes, she sees the horns of the cows bearing down upon her. This child wishes to curl up and hide away.”
“But why do you believe you deceived me? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s natural to be fearful. But you always appear so strong…”
“So I thought myself. Oh, William, you make me feel safe, that I could achieve anything. But it’s unfair to rely on you so—you have your own burdens.”
“My darling Lizzie, you can never be a burden.”
Darcy held her tightly. After some time, she relaxed and fell asleep. She always seemed so capable, so much in command of herself. Yet, beneath that strong exterior, which she displayed to the world, he saw—as she said—the innocent child beneath, struggling to cope with all the changes wrought over the eighteen months since her fleeing England. Was it selfish of him to have married her, perhaps taking advantage of her vulnerability in the colony? He could easily have afforded the cost of her return trip to England. But he couldn’t contemplate a life without her—without doubt, he had fallen in love. He couldn’t fix the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words that laid the foundation.
Many in London would call him a fool for marrying awoman of inferior connections and no dowry, the daughter of an inconsequential country squire.
More fool you!
He wished to shout it loud enough that his voice would carry around the world to Mayfair.
I didn’t marry you, my darling Lizzie, because of my need for a wife in my role as judge-advocate. I married you for your heart, your compassion, your intellect, and your sparkling wit—of course, your beauty was but a bonus. And when did I come to love you? Perhaps I always have, though didn’t know it: at the court in St. Albans, your rosy cheeks tinged with angry disdain; at Funchal, with your soul lost in Bortolazzi’sLa pena ch’io sento;at Rio, relaxing on theHindostan, your chestnut curls sparkling in the setting sun; on Table Mountain, watching anOreadtaking delight in her being on top of the world; at Boondi, holding your delicate hand as we walked the sandy beach. When we became one flesh—when you joined your body with mine.
Chapter 23
St. Andrews, October 7, 1810
Over the next two days, Elizabeth and Darcy toured the surrounding neighbourhood. Journeying on horseback, they left the camp under the care of Sgt. Monogan, Harshita, and the two girls. On the first day, they rode towards Stone Quarry Creek, some ten miles from the camp. In the course of the day's excursion, which was again through a beautiful, rich country consisting of open forest, hills, and dales, they met with numerous herds of wild cattle, amounting in all to about six hundred head. On the second day, they made for the summit of Mount Hunter, from which the view was exceptionally fine, but were disappointed concerning the height of both it and nearby Mount Taurus, which hardly deserved to be called mountains and would only be classed as hills in most other countries. For Elizabeth, they compared favourably to the hills near Meryton, and she took some delight in the familiarity of taking some refreshment on them—as she had as a child in her native Hertfordshire.
It rained a good deal during the night, which delayed their departure before setting out for St. Andrews at eleven o’clock. After a pleasant, easy ride, they arrived at Mr. Thompson's house, situated on theBunbury Curran Creek,at about a quarter before four o'clock in the evening.
“What a lovely situation,” said Elizabeth. “The scenes in all directions are so pleasing to the eye. And the buildings are of such good order and regularity—it’s the best farm we’ve seen in the country!”
“And all completed in the past nine months,” concurred Darcy. “I’m highly impressed by Mr. Thompson’s industry.”
The gentleman had built an excellent farmhouse with nearby offices, garden, and stockyards, and felled a great quantity of timber, clearing a field of ten acres for corn, a great part of which had already been sown.
Darcy turned to Mr. Joseph Ward, the steward who had been expecting their company. “Mr. Ward,” said Darcy, “your farm is exceptionally well-ordered and very neat. You’re to be commended for your hard work. How much stock does the property carry?”
“The horned cattle consist of about ninety head,” replied the man proudly, “and the sheep consist of about fourteen hundred—they’re in prime condition. The land hereabouts is very fertile and good for both pasturage and tillage.”
They were presented with an excellent dinner, and retired for the night well pleased with the exertions of the day; though, in truth, it had not been as arduous as the previous two days’ explorations.
They arose early the next morning, and following a hearty breakfast, they determined to visit Varro Ville and Mr. Robert Townson. Since his farm was close by, they walked through open forest until they came to vineyard terracing near the house, which was built on the lower slopes ofBunbury Curran Hill. A fine kitchen garden occupied sloping ground to the northwest. Mr. Townson had only recently completed his house, which was now occupied by himself, the steward Mr. Miles Byrne, and his wife, who acted as housekeeper-cook.
They were greeted at the porch by Mrs. Byrne. “Ye must be Mrs. Darcy and yer man. Welcome to Varro Ville, ma’am. Mr. Townson is with Mr. Byrne—I’ll send for him. But please, will ye come inside while I prepare some tea?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Byrne,” replied Elizabeth. “When you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to Maria Mitchell, of whom I wrote in our correspondence.”
Maria remained at the door until Elizabeth ushered herinside. The girl stood nervously in the small vestibule, looking around her new home. “Better to do so now,” said the housekeeper with a kindly smile. “She looks a practical miss. How do ye do, me dear? As ye may have gathered, I’m Mrs. Byrne, the housekeeper and also cook. Mrs. Darcy wrote highly of ye—I believe ye know your letters and numbers, and have been trained for a maid-of-all-work.”
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Maria is also excellent with a needle—she should be of great benefit to you.”
“I’m no great one for wasting time. Come on, lass; ye can help me prepare the tea. There are also some biscuits ye can carry from the kitchen.” With that, introductions were done, and Maria followed Mrs. Byrne out of the room. Elizabeth and Darcy, together with Mr. Garby, entered the small parlour.
“I would be obliged, Mr. Garby,” said Elizabeth. “Would it be possible to check on Maria now and then? Mrs. Byrne seems a goodly lady, but Maria is only young. And being displaced from her home of the past five years must be very unnerving.”
