“My support for such emancipation is driving a wedge between me and both the government—Lord Liverpool, in particular, wishes a return to leg irons, long working days, and whips—and theExclusives, as they term themselves: those settlers, military officers, and officials who wish to exclude former convicts from having full civil rights.
“You know of whom I speak—those who wish to recreate an aristocracy in New South Wales, mimicking that of England. By way of example, some refuse to sit with emancipist Simeon Lord as Magistrate, even though he’s the wealthiest man in the colony. They don’t approve of him or of me; they write to London with their complaints, all the while trying to obtain some advantage for themselves.
Darcy sat back in his chair. Since the O’Connells departed, tensions in the colony lessened, but Darcy knew many were upset that he, himself, sat with emancipists on the Magistrate’s bench. But they were not those he respected nor with whom he associated outside of his roles as judge-advocate and lieutenant governor. And with his connections in London, he escaped overt criticism. Yes—he would support Macquarie’s policies. Indeed, they aligned with his own views: that a penal colony might evolve into a civilised society; that poor seed might flourish in fresh soil; that the highly rankedare of no greater inherent worth than the lowly positioned; and that government has a moral duty to act in the interests of all and not only the privileged.
Both he and Macquarie sat quietly, contemplating the changes ahead. “I’ll write some letters of introduction both for yourself and Mrs. Darcy,” said Macquarie, breaking the silence. “I assume she’ll need to travel via India—I recommend Bombay, as it’s more, shall we say, genteel than Calcutta. I’ve many contacts there, having been military secretary to Governor Duncan in ‘01.
“Darcy, you and your charming wife shall be greatly missed. Let us have a farewell dinner on Tuesday next. Send Mrs. Macquarie a list of all those whom you would like to attend—and we’ll have a very merry time.”
***
Elizabeth stood and walked to the chair that was placed near the Broadwood piano forte. She sat, took up her guitar, lightly strummed the strings, and adjusted the tuning. Smiling, she addressed her dear friends who had gathered in the drawing-room following the excellent dinner hosted by Mrs. Macquarie.
“I’ve persuaded Mr. Darcy, my sweet William…” She looked to him as he went to her, standing on her right side, a hand gently placed on her shoulder. “I’ve persuaded him to sing with me. You may not know it, but he has a fine baritone. Of course, ‘tis the only reason we are wed!” Her audience chuckled, for Darcy and Elizabeth still behaved as newlyweds. “Thus, of an evening, we sing to each other—songs of love, of joy, sometimes of sorrow, of the homes we left in England, of our new home here in New South Wales. This song, which I’m sure you all know, is of particular relevance to us here in Sydney.”
Elizabeth began the refrain on her guitar, gently picking the melody and setting the rhythm for Darcy to follow. He clutched her shoulder, his eyes moist as he began the ballad.
O fare you well, I must be gone
And leave you for a while:
But wherever I go, I will return,
If I go ten thousand mile, my dear,
If I go ten thousand mile.
Elizabeth took up her part, that of the lover left behind.
Ten thousand miles it is so far
To leave me here alone,
Whilst I may lie, lament and cry,
And you will not hear my moan, my dear,
And you will not hear my moan.
And then they alternated the verses, Darcy singing in response to Elizabeth’s lament.
The crow that is so black, my dear,
Shall change his colour white;
And if ever I prove false to thee,
The day shall turn to night, my dear,
The day shall turn to night.
O don't you see that milk-white dove
A-sitting on yonder tree,
Lamenting for her own true love,
As I lament for thee, my dear,
