Page 48 of Lizzie’s Spirit

On their return to Sydney, Elizabeth and Darcy found that their new house, or villa as they called it, was nearing completion.

The residence stood on Bridge Street, diagonally opposite the house of Mr. Simeon Lord.

That house, being of three storeys, would have obscured the view from the villa, but the latter was sited sufficiently high up the hill that all of the scene across Sydney Cove and Bennelong Point was visible from the parlour and verandahs.

Elizabeth was quite delighted with the views, more so since the light of the early sun streamed through the slotted shutters and illuminated the rooms of the house with the pinks and golds of dawn.

Having removed from Andrew Thompson’s townhouse, they completed the building works required for the classrooms and library on the ground floor and redecorated the Schoolmaster’s upstairs apartments, anticipating the arrival of the Wrensfords.

A whaler had arrived from Van Diemen’s Land with news that the Canada anchored at Hobart Town, discharging some cargo and passengers, and would shortly follow to Sydney.

Robert Wrensford was of medium height and brown hair, with a wind-burnt face not uncommon for those who made the long journey from England; his wife, Mrs. Kirsten Wrensford, was of similar height and, in figure, typical of those from the Nordic countries: fair skin, light-coloured hair, and blue eyes.

Elizabeth and Darcy met them on the Government Wharf.

“Mr. Wrensford, a pleasure to meet you and your wife. May I introduce myself? Mr. Darcy and my wife, Mrs. Darcy. ”

“Sir, it’s an honour—I can tell the likeness, having met your brother.” He bowed, and his wife curtseyed, though her movements were a little uncertain, needing to adjust to the lack of movement of the ground.

“There is great similarity between Frederick and me. Come, we’ll walk to our house, which is nearby. Once your baggage has been landed, we can show you to your apartments.”

“Mrs. Wrensford, I believe you are from Denmark?” Elizabeth took the lady’s arm and followed the gentlemen as they walked up the lane to Bridge Street.

“Ja, Frue… Yes, ma’am, from Copenhagen.”

“How marvellous. You must teach me your language. Even now, I can hear the similarity to both Dutch and German. But your Danish is North Germanic; languages of which I’ve no fluency.”

“In truth, my German is better than my English. Are you fluent? I would not have thought you knew such, living here, halfway around the world.”

Elizabeth switched seamlessly to German, and although Mrs. Kirsten’s accent was strongly influenced by her Danish background, they enjoyed a lively conversation until they reached the villa.

The sky was clear, though with a slight breeze blowing from the ocean to the east, the air was refreshingly temperate and not overly hot, as it would become in the later afternoon.

Elizabeth poured tea for Mr. Wrensford. His wife was delighted to be able to drink fresh coffee since their departure from the Cape.

“I can see, Elizabeth,” said Darcy, smiling, “that you’ve already found a kindred spirit in Mrs. Wrensford.”

Elizabeth glowed. “Indeed, sir, I can now converse properly in both German and French and not have to endure your tortured English accent when we discuss Rousseau, and maybe, be able to speak of Kant with some intelligence in the original—though he tends to the verbose and theoretical.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Darcy, I have not read Kant nor Rousseau. My upbringing in Copenhagen was quite restricted.” She looked to her husband, with heightened colour, “But under dear Mr. Wrensford’s instruction, I have learned much of the world beyond Denmark.”

“Have no fear,” said Elizabeth, lightening the conversation, “I was only teasing Mr. Darcy. His French is almost perfect, but his understanding of French philosophy is rather limited.” She paused, seeing the astonished look on Mrs. Wrensford’s face.

Never had the lady seen such easy manners between husband and wife.

Certainly, they behaved as equals in their marriage, and he not her superior.

Mr. Wrensford had also been observing the exchange, and some issues of which he was unclear began to resolve themselves.

“Mr. Darcy,” said he, “your brother stated I was to report to the Warden, who was responsible for all pertaining to the supervision of the institution. I understand you don’t take that role.

When shall we be introduced? For, even though we have just disembarked, both Mrs. Wrensford and I are eager to commence our duties. ”

“Indeed, as judge-advocate for the colony, my time is fully occupied.” Darcy laughed. “My apologies, sir, please don’t take offence, for I failed to make the proper introduction—you’ve already met the Warden, or, should I say, Wardeness, for she’s my wife, Mrs. Darcy.”

There followed an uncomfortable silence.

Obviously, Darcy’s pronouncement was unexpected.

For a woman to be warden? Many seminaries in England were run by women, but, Elizabeth supposed, such was not anticipated here in the colony.

But for the Wrensfords, the surprise was evinced by her obvious youth.

“She’s so young,” thought Mrs. Wrensford, “her fine complexion, smooth skin, nary a wrinkle; her good-humoured countenance, which took delight in all around her; her natural self-consequence and easy manners—these were not the traits expected of a warden of the school.”

Mrs. Wrensford was saved from further awkwardness when a sergeant came up to them.

He saluted, not her husband, but Mrs. Darcy: “Ma’am, the baggage for the Schoolmaster and mistress is delivered to Mr. Thompson’s house.

All seems in good order, but ‘twere better if inspected by the gentleman and lady, to ascertain if anything is damaged or missing.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Perhaps you could accompany us as we remove to the school.” Elizabeth turned to her guests.

“The school is on George Street, which is an easy distance from here. Your apartments are above the classrooms. I trust they will be satisfactory—my dear Mr. Darcy and I occupied them until a few weeks ago, but they have been redecorated since. Let us depart so you can supervise the housekeeper, Mrs. Steward, with the unpacking.”

“We have a housekeeper?” Mrs. Wrensford looked to her husband in obvious surprise and satisfaction.

“Of course,” said Elizabeth, “there is a housekeeper-cook, her husband who is your outdoors man, and a maid of all work. If you require more assistance—perhaps a maid to assist with your dressing—then I can send over a competent girl from the orphanage.”

As they walked down Bridge Street, a gig came up. They moved to the side of the road, with the gig stopping adjacent to them.

“Well met, Darcy!” The driver, dressed as a full colonel of the British army, turned to the Wrensfords. “Newcomers off the Canada , no doubt—always welcome in the colony. Mrs. Darcy, could you do the honour of an introduction?”

“I present to you Mrs. Kirsten Wrensford and Mr. Robert Wrensford, mistress and master of Mr. Thompson’s school… Your Excellency, Governor of New South Wales, Colonel Lachlan Ma cquarie.”

From the bench of the gig, Macquarie gave a polite nod in response to the Wrensfords’ formal curtsey and bow.

“Delighted to meet you. I’ve a great interest in the school, and if you impart to those girls worthy of it only one-tenth the knowledge of Mrs. Darcy, then we’ll be well satisfied.

” He once more addressed Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, how is it that Sgt. Monogan will salute you, but for me, his superior officer, he only stands at attention? Though very smartly done, I must admit.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Sir, I believe he was too long at sea. For he became accustomed to the officers on board the Hindostan saluting thus. Perhaps, given time, he may give up saluting me and transfer his salutations to yourself—we can only hope.”

“When pigs fly… Darcy, I require a little of your time. There are some urgent matters on which I need your opinion.” He paused, then turned back to the company.

“One moment, if you please. Mrs. Macquarie is having a dinner on Thursday next—I believe you and Mrs. Darcy will be attending. It would be appropriate for an invitation to be sent for Mr. Wrensford and his lady to join us. Mr. Thompson will also be in attendance—it will make a jolly gathering with much discussion of the school.”

Taking his leave of the Wrensfords and Elizabeth, Darcy stepped onto the gig, and with a flick of the reins, Macquarie set the horse up Bridge Street towards Government House.

Elizabeth and the Wrensfords continued walking to the schoolhouse.

The latter looked at each other in stunned amazement.

They were onshore in the colony for only some two hours and yet they had already been introduced to the governor—the ruler of New Holland—and invited to dinner at his residence.

They had not understood the rank of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, assuming that a judge-advocate was little more than a magistrate who presided over county courts.

Clearly, he was much more. And Mrs. Darcy?

For a sergeant in the regiment to salute her, a young woman, and then the governor to make a joke of it.

This place turned upside down all the societal conventions they accepted without thought in England.

“Matron, ye’re needed most urgent!” A young girl ran from the door of the orphanage as the group passed, walking along George Street.

“Maggie, I’m in company. What ails you?”

“’Tis Bill Makepeace—his missus is in ‘er pains, an’ he says you must come quick!”

“But why haven’t Phoebe and Ann gone, for they know her well, and hers will be an easy labour?”

“They’ve gone to see Meg Cowans, ‘cause she’s right poorly with all sorts o’ pains and achin’ bones.”