Page 53 of Lizzie’s Spirit
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth, a sob catching in her throat. “Oh, William—surely not, it cannot be true!”
“There is little more—the letter was written in haste. The scrawl almost unintelligible; half the words missing. But how did Frederick come to challenge that miscreant? And then to be shot, in the back! ” Darcy looked up from the letter, a single page, so very ill-written.
Anguish clouded his countenance. “My father begs my return to England. He is gravely ill—the ague saps his strength—and with Frederick gone, he fears for Georgiana, and for Pemberley itself. Oh, Lizzie, what are we to do?”
There was nothing to discuss. William was now heir to Pemberley, a great estate, the largest in Derbyshire, seat of the Darcys for over two hundred and fifty years. Certainly it could not be given up. Their dream of being Australian was just that—a dream.
Could there be a greater cruelty? Together they had established a good life in the colony through hard work, their diligence, and gaining the respect of all who met them.
And now, to be torn from the place they had come to love, their endeavours rent asunder.
But Elizabeth knew but one course of action—
“You must return, William.”
The torment in Darcy’s eyes was palpable, his jaw clenched tight. He fought to keep his composure.
“But Lizzie, if I were to embark on the Swiftsure , then it departs in only ten days. For sure, it will take the quickest route back to England, for it travels via Cape Horn. But we haven’t time enough to settle our affairs, to appoint a deputy for myself, or to hand over your responsibilities.
And what of St. Andrews? And Boondi? We cannot depart without seeing to all these things. ”
They had been married two years and one half.
Since Cape Town, Elizabeth had seen William every day for some one thousand two hundred days—in his company longer than Anne Boleyn was married to Henry VIII.
It would break her heart, but what else to do?
His father and sister needed him, at this moment of loss and pain, more than she—if that were possible!
“You shall go, and I’ll remain to settle our affairs, and thence to follow. You know in your heart, such is the truth of it.”
Elizabeth leant into Darcy’s chest, her arms wrapped about him.
Such misery—firstly, the grief of Frederick’s dying; and now, that magnified a thousandfold by her being separated from him, that half of her which would become a dark pit, an empty void longing to be refilled with his presence and love.
Could she feel safe without him? Could she shutter their life here in New South Wales without his strength and support, knowing he was making the treacherous passage around the southern tip of the Americas?
But if he could round the Horn , then so could she : La force ne vient pas des capacités physiques, elle vient d'une volonté indomptable —strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will .
***
Reluctantly, Darcy made his way to Government House. “My apologies, sir, but I’ve some unfortunate news that will affect you and the colony.” He gave a heavy sigh, then straightened—he was judge-advocate; he would be in command of himself.
“Indeed, Darcy, what has you so discomfited? I’ve never seen you thus.”
“Sadly, you’ve the right of it. I received yesterday a letter carried by the Swiftsure; its content was most distressing. My older brother, Frederick, died—was murdered—some four months ago.”
“Murdered! That is grave indeed. And the remainder of your family—are they safe?”
“My younger sister is as well as may be, but my father is ailing. He was unwell before this event, but he’s devastated and may already have passed.”
Macquarie looked at the younger man, whose features were etched with grief and distress. “I’m so sorry, Darcy… I see your dilemma. You’re the heir, are you not?”
“Yes, Pemberley is a large estate. My sister, at sixteen years, is too young to manage it. There’s no other whom I could trust. You’ve guessed my intent, sir; I must resign my commission and return directly to England.”
“I, too, have received some letters from London. No! Not with news as grievous as yours. But they are extremely relevant to your situation.” Macquarie retrieved a paper on his desk.
“A new lieutenant governor has been appointed—Colonel George Molle will take up the role from August ‘14, some eighteen months from now. Twelve months are remaining in his current posting, plus time to journey here. He has served with me—but he is not my choice. Nevertheless, some eighteen months before he arrives; during which time, by my appointment, you are still lieutenant governor. Also, Lord Bathurst has informed me that the Court of Civil Jurisdiction is to be abolished and replaced by a Supreme Court and a Governor’s Court to be established dealing with civil disputes. These will be promulgated by letters patent also in the August following.”
“I cannot delay my return by eighteen months!”
“Certainly not! But if you can agree to it, I ask you not to resign your positions but to represent me in London, for there I dearly need an ally. I feel storm clouds gathering; and until the new system of justice is established, my policies require a strong advocate close to the centre of government. Many in London don’t understand that Sydney and Hobart Town are no longer penal settlements—we are growing civilian towns, increasingly open to free settlers who seek a better life than in England.
Moreover, as you know, skilled convicts rapidly assimilate into the workplace and often create much wealth for themselves by diligence and hard work.
“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 the Exclusives , 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 ranked are 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, As I lament for thee.
The river never will run dry, Nor the rocks melt with the sun; And I'll never prove false to the girl I love Till all these things be done, my dear, Till all these things be done.
Elizabeth looked up to Darcy; she saw the tears in his eyes as he saw those in hers. Perhaps there wasn’t a single dry eye in the room. Elizabeth laughed, her gentle, tinkling laugh they all would miss once she and Darcy departed.
“I thought to change my line to make it more Australian , as it were. But I could find naught to rhyme with ‘ white cockatoo’— thus I allowed a ‘ milk-white dov e’ some presence in this great country of ours .”
“And I,” responded Darcy, “have seen our rivers run dry—more likely, overflow their banks!—and ofttimes, the heat of the sun feels as though it can melt the very rocks beneath our feet.” He paused, taking Elizabeth’s hand in his as she arose and stood by his side.
“But we both, Elizabeth and I, have come to love this country and will miss the green hills of the Cowpastures, the roaring surf at Boondi, the winding streets of Sydney—but most of all, the people whom we know, respect, and admire.”
“Charge your glasses.” Macquarie stepped forward, “A toast to the King, His Majesty George III.” They sipped their wine. “And to Darcy and his lady; may God bless them always!”
“Hear, hear!”
The exclamation filled the room, spilling out of the open doors and windows, rolling down the Governor’s park into Sydney Cove, drifting across the moonlit water to the camps of the Eora dotted along the foreshore of Port Jackson.
The sound dwindled, leaving naught but the crackling fires and the slap of waves against the rocks at the water’s edge.
***
The surf rolled onto the beach at Boondi, the spray of the waves illuminated by the first hint of dawn.
The air was warm, presaging yet another hot day, but for Elizabeth, this was a perfect beginning.
They disrobed by the small hut they had built by the lagoon behind the dunes—their retreat from the civilities of town.
Walking hand in hand by the small creek and onto the beach, clothed in only chemise and shirt, they approached the water’s edge littered with shells, strands of seaweed, and other debris cast up by the restless ocean.
“William, you are to depart so soon—I’ll shock you once again, lest you forget the impertinent, improper Miss who had the good fortune to fall in love with you and you with her.
” Elizabeth ran, laughing, into the roiling surf, plunging under a wave that reared over her head.
Surfacing, she turned and walked slowly back towards Darcy.
The sun breasted the horizon, silhouetting Elizabeth against the golden dawn—the goddess Amphitrite emerging from the sea, the rays of the gilded sun weaving a net of gold about her chestnut hair.
Darcy knew nothing else that he must come closer, take her in his arms, feel the salt upon her lips, her tongue seeking his.
Their embrace was frenzied, passionate, such tumultuous desire, each for the other.
This is so improper—barely clothed with the sea swirling around our naked forms, my body enfolded in his—but I can’t care, for he’ll be gone, and this glorious memory will always be mine to hold and to treasure.
They returned to the hut. With tenderness, ardour, affection, and a lust that was both overwhelming and subdued, they joined together—with the forlorn hope that such carnal pleasure would assuage the pain and sorrow they would soon know when the Swiftsure carried William away, leaving Lizzie alone to dismantle the life they had built together in the colony.