Page 34 of Lizzie’s Spirit
Before she could continue the conversation, the butler called them in to dinner.
As guest of honour, Miss Bennet led them in on Colonel Macquarie’s arm; she followed on the arm of Mr. Darcy.
She could hear, behind her, the mutterings of those lower in the order, each attempting to press their claim to precedence.
To avoid disharmony, particularly as Commodore Bligh and his daughter, Mrs. Putland, had unfortunately accepted their invitation, no emancipists were invited.
Once again, their cook achieved a small miracle working in the hot environs of the kitchen: soup, boiled turkey, roast beef, fricassee, curried duck, kidneys and tongue, stewed oysters, wild duck, vegetables, tartlets, and jellies were all laid before her guests.
“Esto es magnífico; hay mucho que felicitar, senora— This is magnificent; there is much to congratulate, Madam !”
“Gracias, Capitán. La senora Macquarie agradece mucho su cumplido,” said Elizabeth, who was sitting next to the captain of the Spanish frigate Santa María Magdalena , which was visiting the port. He turned to her, speaking rapidly in his native tongue:
“You speak Castilian, Senorita? You are Spanish, perhaps from Toledo, which is my home?”
“Oh no, Capitán, I am English. But I have learned much of your country, particularly your music and songs. And your art! How I envy you, who have seen the frescos of Mariano Salvador Maella in the Toledo Cathedral—I heard they are magnificent!”
Mrs. Macquarie looked to her husband; he was as astonished as she at Miss Bennet speaking rapid and fluent Spanish, laughing with the Spaniard as though they were old acquaintances, not just introduced.
The Capitán of the visiting frigate—which only that day set anchor in Port Jackson—was invited because Spain was a strong ally of Britain in their war against France; this was the diplomatic thing to do, but he came without his lieutenant to translate.
None in the governor’s entourage spoke the language, and his English was singularly poor.
“Miss Bennet,” said she, “perhaps you could play some Spanish songs for the Capitán when we retire.”
Elizabeth translated for the Capitán, and his smiles and gesticulations showed the Macquaries he well appreciated their condescension.
Mrs. Macquarie relaxed. She knew Miss Bennet spoke Dutch and Portuguese and supposed Spanish was similar to the latter.
Did she speak other languages? Such competence would be of great assistance in managing entertainments for visiting dignitaries from other countries.
As though knowing her mind, Mr. Darcy spoke wistfully as he watched Elizabeth speak animatedly with the Spaniard.
“The lady is also fluent in Latin, French, Italian, and German. If your husband requires it, her understanding of law Latin and law French exceeds mine.” He smiled.
“When we first met, at the Court of Chancery in St. Albans, she quoted from Cicero, Rousseau, and the Bible, and knew both Dutch and Italian sayings. I thought these the utterances of an automaton, learned by repetition with but shallow understanding. I stand humbled, ma’am.
Miss Bennet is a polyglot, a true proficient. ”
Mrs. Macquarie stood, and the ladies retired, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars.
They had scarcely entered the drawing-room when Mrs. Putland complained to her hostess of Miss Bennet’s rudeness in carrying on a conversation with the Spanish captain that no others at the table could comprehend.
“It was extremely rude of her; she displays an offensive sort of conceited independence, such indifference to decorum.”
“On the contrary,” responded Mrs. Macquarie, “it shows a consideration for a guest of the governor that is particularly pleasing. None other at the table can speak Spanish with any facility. The captain is a plenipotentiary of the Spanish government; a favourable report of the British treating him with respect and dignity, notwithstanding the distance between New Holland and Spain, will be to both our governments’ advantage.
If you’ll but excuse me, Mrs. Putland, I must see to the coffee and tea. ”
Mrs. Putland was not pleased with this reply; she sought another lady to whom she could complain of Miss Bennet.
Perhaps Mrs. Bent, who had shown some displeasure with Miss Bennet in the past, notwithstanding the Bents’ sponsorship of the lady’s journey to New South Wales.
She found her in conversation with Mrs. Palmer, the wife of the Commissary.
“This is my third child, but the sickness is much worse than when I bore Henry and Beth. I am now six and twenty; I supposed I was still young enough to carry without great discomfort.”
“My last, Sophia, was delivered in ‘03 when I was some two and forty.” Mrs. Palmer rolled her eyes at the memory. “I knew little sickness, but, dear me, the aches and pains! Mrs. Bent, you are still young. Find yourself a good midwife who can soothe your fears and help you carry the child.”
“I’m told ginger and lemon tea help with the morning sickness—have you found it so? ”
“Sound advice. But I wager that remedy didn’t come from Mrs. Sims.”
Mrs. Bent replied rather hesitantly. “No, I visited with Miss Bennet. She sat with me, talking of my time with Henry and Beth. She asked what foods made me ill; whether I ate rich meats or lean; whether I drank much wine or spirits; advised that I should heat milk before drinking it, and that all water from the Tank Stream should be boiled, both for drinking and for toilette.” Mrs. Bent spoke almost in a whisper: “I am so ashamed. From the Cape to Sydney, all the care of the children was left to her. Mr. Bent and I travelled on the Dromedary while she remained on the Hindostan , where she also had the care of the regimental wives. And yet, despite my neglect of both her and the children, she treated me with the utmost kindness and deference.”
Coming near, Mrs. Putland overheard the conversation and turned away.
It was unaccountable. All were blind to Miss Bennet’s impertinence, her shrewish manner, her lack of fashion, her impropriety for associating with the wives of the common soldiers, and, indeed, the ill-bred girls of the orphanage.
That she, the governor’s daughter—for she believed her father was the rightful governor of the colony—should give way to a person of so little rectitude and consequence.
The gentlemen returned. Colonel O’Connell accompanied her father, Commodore Bligh, and they made their way to her.
“Darcy is a good fellow,” said the commodore.
“His father knows Sir Joseph Banks and suggests that, with his letter of introduction, Mr. Darcy senior will arrange a dinner for myself with Banks, Castlereagh, Matlock, and Yorke, the First Lord. By Jove, with such support, I shall be an Admiral of the Blue! The same as Bertie at the Cape, what a scoundrel that man is!”
At that moment, Mrs. Putland understood her following the commodore to England would lead to further loss of consequence.
Her mother would resume the role of hostess to her father; she herself would scarcely be recognised in society.
Through this lens, she now saw the present company in rather a different light.
Though not handsome, Colonel O’Connell was a rather dashing fellow dressed in his full regimentals.
His countenance was pleasant, as was his conversation.
But, more importantly, his rank of lieutenant governor made him completely charming.
Mrs. Macquarie was well pleased with the evening.
The commodore had remained civil, no doubt due to Mr. Darcy’s efforts on his behalf in London and also to Miss Bennet flattering him.
She spoke of his success in bringing breadfruit trees from Otaheite to Jamaica in ‘93. This was a topic very dear to him; surprisingly, she knew of his receiving a gold medal from the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufacturers and Commerce. For the entertainments, Mrs. Putland and Mrs. Bent exhibited on the piano forte; she herself played her violoncello to much acclamation; and Miss Bennet sang some beautiful Castilian seguidillas , a form of Spanish love song. The music had the character of improvisation, remarkable for strange and sudden modulations. Mrs. Macquarie saw tears trickling down the cheeks of the Capitán as he mouthed the words of the coplas— the love poems, both serious and comic—sung by Miss Bennet’s enchanting soprano.
***
“Well, my dearest Betsey, how did you find Miss Bennet?” Colonel Macquarie was relaxing in the private parlour with his wife after their guests departed. “Should I talk to Darcy, or should we lend them our full support?”
“Oh, she’s most accomplished, genteel, and very refined in her speech.
She’s truly well-bred, more so than Mrs. Eliza Bent or Bligh’s daughter.
Notwithstanding it’s indelicate to be a midwife, she follows a grand tradition of women such as Madame du Coudray and Justine Siegmund, who was midwife to the Brandenburg Court.
Yes, we’ll support her—I like her exceedingly and will seek her friendship. ”