Page 29 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“No, the piano forte is not an instrument with which I’m proficient; I play very ill indeed,” responded Elizabeth.

But before she could explain that the guitar was her preference, Mrs. Campbell asked the ladies if they would perform.

Unaccountably, Mrs. Putland smirked at Elizabeth as she made her way with alacrity to the piano forte.

Hers was a fine performance, which was applauded heartily as the men entered the room just prior to her completion of several Mozart sonatas.

Mrs. Bent followed with a fine rendition of Haydn’s Variations for piano forte.

Her playing, easy and unaffected, was listened to with much more pleasure than that of Mrs. Putland, though not playing nearly so well.

The other ladies demurred, but Mrs. Putland, rudely speaking over her host, requested Miss Bennet give a performance.

“Will you exhibit for us, Miss Bennet?” she asked with an insincere smile.

Clearly, Mrs. Putland was seeking some accomplishment she possessed but Miss Bennet did not, jealous of the latter having been praised for her knowledge of estate management and of her connections.

It mattered little that Mrs. Putland was well respected for her fortitude in opposing the armed soldiers who came to falsely arrest her father and perhaps to murder him in ‘08.

That she saw Miss Bennet as a rival was certain.

“Of course,” responded Miss Bennet, “but I’ve not my instrument. Mrs. Campbell, do you possess a lute or guitar?” Mrs. Campbell asked a servant to bring the instrument from her parlour.

“Oh, a five-course guitar by Voboam—an exceptionally fine instrument. Please, I’ve not played such for some time and will need to tune it to my voice.”

Darcy smiled to himself. He saw how Mrs. Putland had manoeuvred Miss Bennet into performing, whether she wished it or not.

He had heard the lady play many times on the journey from the Cape to Port Jackson and that sublime moment in Funchal when her performance became transcendent.

He did not know the difference in playing a five-course, double-strung guitar such as that of Mrs. Campbell, but her exquisite voice would compensate for any faults in her fingered accompaniment.

The gentlemen and ladies moved about the room, taking coffee from the table; the buzz of voices in agreeable conversation filled the space.

Miss Bennet struck a chord, adjusted the strings slightly, and ran her fingers over the frets.

Her fine voice filled the air. The words of Carew’s poem, Mark how the blushful morn, sprang to life through Lanier’s continuo:

Mark how the blushful morn in vain

Courts the amorous marigold

With sighing blush and weeping rain,

Yet she refuses to unfold.

But when the planet of the day

Approacheth with his pow'rful ray ,

Then she spreads, then she receives

His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So may'st thou thrive in love, fond boy,

If silent tears and sighs discover

Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover.

But when with moving accent thou

Shalt constant faith and service vow,

Thy Celia shall receive those charms

With open ear, and with unfolded arms.

Her audience stood transfixed. Her voice soared—the clarity, the emotion: there was none in the colony who was her equal. A prize indeed.

At the end of the evening, Andrew Thompson, a guest of Campbell’s, offered to return Darcy and Elizabeth to their lodgings in his carriage.

He was an emancipated convict who, through diligence and zeal, had won the favour and confidence of two governors, King and Bligh.

He held the position of Chief Constable of Green Hills (a town on the Hawkesbury River), was a successful farmer, built and owned many boats, and traded between Sydney and New Zealand.

Thompson was also a hero, having saved the lives of some one hundred and nine settlers during the floods of ‘06 and ‘09.

But due to his being immersed in the floodwaters for three days and nights, he contracted an illness of the lungs, which saw his health deteriorate.

His accent was North Country, but not very broad, and both Darcy and Elizabeth found something likeable in his honest, shrewd face.

“I might pay ye a visit, Miss Bennet,” he said, just before she stepped down from the coach at the orphanage.

“I’m not long for this life—Mr. Arndell reckons I’m proper poorly—but I’ve managed to save a bit over the years.

Shame is, my kin back in Scotland won’t have owt to do with me, what with me bein’ a convict and all.

They say my money’s no good, tainted, so I’ve left a fair sum with Governor Macquarie to handle as he sees fit.

“Ye’ll not know, but Mr. Bent’s stoppin’ at my house in Sydney for a spell, and from him and others, I’ve heard nowt but praise for you.

” He coughed and turned his face away, a handkerchief held to his lips.

He broke off then, hacking into his handkerchief and turning away.

After a moment, he gathered himself enough to go on.

“Would you see fit to take a bit of money for the orphanage? Maybe set up a fund for the lasses who show a bit of promise—no reason they should grow up for nowt but drudgery and the like—maybe a school, summat like what Knox talked about with his Liberal Education ? My house in town could be done up for it, if you’d have it. ”

“Of course,” replied Elizabeth, excited at the prospect of founding such a school but saddened by Mr. Thompson’s anticipating his passing. “Sir, it would be my honour.” She clapped her hands. “Oh! A school for girls—is it possible?”

“That’s settled—we’ll talk on it another time.

” He paused, his eyes moistened. “Me dog, Bumper, and me books’ll be needin’ a place to bide; maybe here at the orphanage’ll do, seein’ as I hear you’re mad for readin’ and teachin’ the lasses their letters and sums…

and Bumper, well, he does love a bit o’ friendly company. ”