Page 14 of Lizzie’s Spirit

Elizabeth smiled up at him, for though she was tall for a lady; he was perhaps a head higher.

“Delighted, Captain… Miss Bennet. I’m accompanying Mrs. and Mr. Ellis Bent, who takes up the position of Judge-Advocate for New South Wales.

Are you stationed here in Madeira, or do you travel onward el sewhere? ”

The captain appeared to be an extremely pleasant man, of good countenance and excellent manners.

During their conversation, Elizabeth found he had made himself a perfect master of the Portuguese language and could talk with interest and knowledge of the inhabitants of the place.

In a very short time, Elizabeth was quite at ease.

On her left was a passenger en route to the West Indies, who appeared more interested in the soup and excellent wine than in conversation.

Her attention was almost exclusively focused on Captain Grant’s lively repartee.

Further down the table, Darcy found himself seated next to an older lady who had just arrived from the Port of Rio de Janeiro on her return journey to England.

On his other side was Miss Spurrell, who was travelling as the lady’s companion.

Miss Spurrell was of a rather quiet demeanour.

From their limited conversation, Darcy concluded she was the daughter of a clergyman and had only recently taken the role of companion.

On asking her impressions of Rio de Janeiro, he learned that, in company, she had met Major Johnston and Mr. MacArthur from New South Wales, who were returning to England.

That the ringleaders of the rebellion had fled showed some semblance of law had been restored in the colony.

This intelligence he would pass on to Colonel Macquarie.

While the soup was being removed for the next course, Darcy glanced along the table and was pleased to see Miss Bennet in attendance.

He had looked for her prior to being called to dinner, but she had been absent from the drawing-room, and he had anticipated she may have remained on the Hindostan .

At that moment, she glanced towards him; he was rewarded with a wide smile, which, to his eyes, lightened the room, that had turned rather gloomy as dusk had fallen without the lamps being lit.

Her fine eyes flashed, but rather than the anger he had seen in the courtroom of St. Albans, they were full of pleasure and welcoming recognition.

He returned to his meal; he would talk to Miss Bennet once the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room.

“Mr. Darcy, have you met Captain Grant of the 11th?” Darcy turned towards Miss Bennet, who approached him with a tall officer by her side.

“My pleasure, sir. Mr. Darcy from Derbyshire.”

“Captain Grant, now an itinerant soldier but formerly from Nottinghamshire—which would make us neighbours. Would you, perchance, know Willie Harrison, the barrister? A good friend of mine who’s from your county.”

“Yes, indeed. Willie and I attended Trinity together, though several years apart. I last met him in London, but he chose criminal law, whereas I went into Chancery. Not my wisest choice, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, Willie talked often of Lord Endless —though he finds saving felons from the gallows equally unedifying. But enough of the law. I’ve just met the charming Miss Bennet, and I understand you are acquainted.”

Elizabeth blushed. “A minor acquaintance, captain. Mr. Darcy was kind enough to save my family from being cast from our home in Hertfordshire. I meant to thank him for helping us, although such wasn’t his responsibility.

In fact, I mean to apologise to Mr. Darcy for some rather harsh thoughts I had of him at the time.

” Turning to Darcy, she looked to him: “I trust, sir, you’ll forgive me, although it would be improper of a lady such as I to expose myself by relating my sentiments then, which have changed markedly from my sentiments now. ”

Darcy chuckled. “I understand you completely, Miss Bennet. We shall speak no more of it. I take it your family is safe and that gentleman found the manor rather bare? ”

“Forgive me, sir! I received letters from my mother and sister telling how that man came to claim his bride. But, as you are aware, she was gone. I do believe, however, he may marry a spinster from the village, as her father took him under his wing and offered him sanctuary in his home.”

At this moment, Mrs. Bent came up to Elizabeth and requested she entertain the guests with a performance.

Both Mrs. Bent and Mrs. Macquarie had already performed on the piano forte, which, in the warm Madeira climate, was a little out of tune, and the action of the instrument needed attention.

Elizabeth called to a footman to retrieve her guitar from her chambers.

Taking the instrument from its case, she quietly tuned the six strings of the Spanish guitar.

Darcy watched her intently—would a country Miss, of little consequence, expose herself before the guests of the Consul?

Darcy himself had heard the famous Madame Catalini sing in the Haymarket—he had attended when she made her London debut.

Miss Bennet played the first bars of the introduction.

Darcy tensed. Indeed, a piece by Bortolazzi—surely beyond the skill of all but the most gifted singers.

And then, the pure strains of Bortolazzi’s personal arrangement for Catalini of his La pena ch’io sento filled the room.

All conversation ceased; all eyes turned towards Miss Bennet.

Her clarity, the purity of her Italian, filled the space—she was incomparable; her tone, the lightness of her expression, and the virtuosic graces of which, hitherto, he believed only Catalini could aspire, spilled out through the open windows of the house and into the air of the Madeira night.

Her audience stood stunned by her virtuosity—this was a performance that only a special few would ever hear.

Her heart poured into her music; this was her soul made transcendent.

** *

A few days later, Colonel and Mrs. Macquarie invited the Bents to view the Church of the Lady of the Mount, and in this endeavour, they were attended by Captain Grant and Mr. Darcy; the children were left in the care of their maid.

The scenery of the island was best seen on foot or by mule; the use of carriages impracticable, owing to the steepness of the roads.

Since neither Mrs. Macquarie, Mrs. Bent, nor Miss Bennet felt confident enough to drive a mule, the ladies were carried in hammocks, but Miss Bennet elected to walk, despite the severe incline and the path being littered with sharp stones.

The hammocks consisted of finely textured netting, slung on a single pole and carried on the shoulders of native men.

A good supply of cushions made them a luxurious conveyance.

The church was more than two miles up the hill.

Being the feast of San Antonio, the walls were hung with scarlet tapestry fringed with gold; the floor was strewn with sweet-smelling flowers and leaves and was lit with at least five hundred candles.

On leaving the church, they descended to the town.

The streets were narrow, crooked, and dirty, often paved with small, pointed pebbles that pierced through the soles of their shoes at every step.

The mountain rills trickled through some of the streets in their passage to the bay, but instead of contributing to the cleanliness of the town, these little streamlets produced every kind of nuisance.

There, the inhabitants washed their clothes, cleaned their fish, deposited the offal of butchers’ shops, emptied the contents of their night machines, and, in short, brought together all the filthy and offensive materials that were collected in the town.

By chance, to escape the ordure littering the streets, they went into a church where a young woman was taking the veil.

The ritual was of too much interest to permit their quitting the spot till the ceremony was over.

The young woman was attended by two noble Ladies in full dress; she was also adorned with flowers in her hair.

“She’s so young,” said Elizabeth, “no older than I. Why would she take the veil when her whole life is ahead of her?”

The girl sat on the steps opposite the altar, a Lady on each side of her, who endeavoured to support her spirits with cheerful conversation.

She did her best to support their efforts, but with a visible struggle.

Elizabeth pushed forward to hear the conversation and crouched very near to her.

A long time passed before the arrival of the priest. While they waited for him, those Ladies next to Elizabeth told her the convent to which this poor girl was so soon to belong was the strictest ever known.

The nuns were so poor they were obliged to labour very hard for their support, and with all that, the situation of the convent was so extremely damp and unwholesome that the nuns died at a very early age.

“Is there a bride price? Are the nuns paid to take the girl? Where are her father or mother to prevent such a travesty?” Elizabeth looked around her, but not one of those attending came forward even though she spoke in the local Portuguese dialect.

The Ladies looked at her and shrugged: this was the way of the world—such a girl was a burden to her family, and with no dowry, it would shame her father to have her marry.

At last, the priest, attended by a member of his order, arrived; he was a very old man and went up to the altar—the girl knelt at his feet.

The priest read for some time in Latin and then murmured: Venite, filiae, audite me, timorem Domini docebo vos —Come, daughters, hear me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord .

He looked confused when he saw only one novitiate, not many. At length, he finished.