Page 63 of Lizzie’s Spirit
Their conversation continued in a similar convivial vein.
Opposite Elizabeth sat Lady Nepean. She was an attractive lady of about sixty years.
On discovering that Elizabeth had been both matron and warden of the female orphanage and school, by her questions and discourse she showed she was well-informed and took a keen interest in the welfare of such unfortunates.
Indeed, she was Patroness of the newly established Society for Promoting Education of the Poor.
The lady glanced to her husband, a small smile on her lips. Theirs being a marriage of over thirty years, some silent communication passed between them.
“You’ve met the Honourable Miss Eleanor Needham?” said Sir Nepean, with an air of complacency.
“It would be hard, my lord, to avoid her in Mr. Forbes’s house.
Indeed, you might say I ran into her at the earliest opportunity—or, more correctly, she ran into me.
” Elizabeth related the amusing tale of the girl rushing down the steps to the verandah and colliding with her.
Subsequently, Eleanor had become a shadow to Elizabeth, following her around and proudly showing off her acquaintance with a lieutenant governor’s wife.
“Most find her very difficult,” said Lady Nepean, “but I can see you have, through your work at the orphanage, much experience with controlling young ladies—well, not yet ladies but believing themselves to be so.”
“I can forgive her,” said Elizabeth, “with her mother dying just a year ago and her father absent, life would have been very difficult. But how is it that Mr. and Mrs. Forbes have responsibility for her?”
Mr. Forbes, who sat next to Lady Nepean, entered the conversation. “Lord Needham, her father, has been a friend of many years. When his wife died, he was away from town and wrote to me, asking that we care for his daughter until his return. Of course, my dear Beth and I immediately agreed.”
“He’s not returned?”
Mr. Forbes looked to the governor, who nodded to him. “Lord Needham can be a difficult person and possesses a character that doesn’t deal kindly with any sort of dissent. He sincerely believes his outlook is always correct.”
“Ah, I understand. Similar to Commodore Bligh, who was the Governor of New South Wales before General Macquarie. In his case, the rigidity of his stance and the inflexibility of his administration led to rebellion.”
“Just so. Lord Needham had been visiting the Cape on official business when his wife died. But rather than immediately returning to Bombay, he chose to remain. Nothing could induce him to return and settle his affairs, particularly to reunite with his daughter. Lord Caledon, the governor, could do little. Needham was intransigent. Even a threat to put him on a packet to England was not enough.”
“Surely, he could have been sent to India?”
“Perhaps, but he refused. Caledon was left with no alternatives. He had no authority over him, and Needham stated he was on confidential business for the Viceroy; that Lord Caledon should write to Lord Minto for instruction.”
“A peculiar man, who, I believe, dissembles,” said Sir Nepean. “But Needham’s inaction leaves us with a problem.”
“The return of Miss Needham to her father?” Elizabeth saw where this discussion was going. It did not sit well with her. “I’m still astonished as to why Lord Needham does not return to Bombay. Surely, for his daughter’s sake…?”
“I must apologise, Mrs. Darcy, for my indiscretion, but there’s another lady in his lordship’s life, and his official business , as far as we can tell, was following this lady to Cape Town. He’s obsessed with her and is content to leave the daughter with Mr. Forbes.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” murmured Elizabeth, not intending her thoughts to be heard.
“His wife was a very genteel lady, and her company is sorely missed in town.” Lady Nepean spoke quietly to Elizabeth, “The daughter, Eleanor, has been left to fend for herself. Perhaps being at table is not the appropriate place to discuss such, but my husband and Mr. Forbes believe you may be the best person to accompany the girl to the Cape. And, given her behaviour, you’re the only person to whom she listens. ”
“Think on this, Mrs. Darcy, for I know that over the coming months, you’ll have other issues with which to cope.
“Would it be appropriate, ma’am, to visit Thursday next?” she asked of Mrs. Forbes, who sat next to her husband.
** *
“I cannot go! Why can’t my father come here to Bombay? He knows I hate travelling by ship—I hate it, I hate it!”
“Miss Eleanor,” said Elizabeth gently, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. “Why do you hate ships so? When did you last take a sea journey?”
The girl’s brow furrowed; she screwed up her face.
It was clear to Elizabeth that her memories of such were distant, if they existed at all.
But her distress was very real; and, if she could not be persuaded to travel, then either she would remain here in Bombay, a burden on the Forbes and Sir Nepean, or the journey to the Cape would be one of tantrums, aggravation, and continuous pique.
At tea with Lady Nepean and Mrs. Forbes, all had seemed so easy.
Yes, by journey’s end at the Cape, she would be some seven months into her pregnancy, but she was certain she could cope—as long as the journey was not delayed.
“Oh, Lizzie Darcy , I’m still impetuous—I could have refused to accompany the child.
” But she knew the distress of being separated from loved ones.
Surely, Miss Eleanor would be better cared for by her father? She rather wished it were so.
“But it’s all in the book. Do you not know what happens to ships at sea? There are great storms, lightning shivers the mizzenmast, the hold springs a leak—it’s all so terrible.”
Elizabeth paused in her rebuttal. The child had read, or been read to, a story of shipwreck and calamity. Perhaps at too young an age for her to distinguish reality from amusement.
“Which book is this? I would certainly like to see it, for if what it says is, indeed, true, then we must rethink our journey to the Cape.”
Miss Eleanor ran to her room and returned clutching a well-worn copy of the New Robinson Crusoe , an abridged version for children.
Elizabeth had read the original French book of ‘88; this was a recent English translation.
Eagerly, the girl riffled through the pages, pausing at the illustrations: a ship on fire, a man washed ashore, knocking coconuts from a tree, and a great thunderstorm with a man lying prone on the ground.
In all, there were thirty-two such woodcuts.
Miss Eleanor pored over each in great detail until she had, once again, made herself hysterical with distress and dismay.
In the background, one image showed a herd of llamas. Elizabeth turned to it and exclaimed, “We’re safe, Miss Eleanor, for Robinson Crusoe was wrecked upon an American shore; and, we travel to Africa, far to the east.”
“Why so?” said the girl, looking intently at the picture.
“Those animals are llamas— the book says they come from Peru, and the castaway had come ashore near there.”
The young girl’s face once again furrowed as she thought about this.
Could it be that travelling to Africa was different from travelling to the Americas?
She had little knowledge of such things.
But Mrs. Darcy appeared so confident. The child’s opposition to sailing diminished, just a little, for she had an overpowering desire to be reunited with her father, of whom she had many fond memories.
“What say you,” said Elizabeth, “that we put together a barrel containing all those things we would need if we were cast away? Only a small barrel that will fit easily in our cabin. Then, we could be like Robinson Crusoe and could seek food and shelter for ourselves.”
This was a risky gamble, for the girl might see the contradiction—that the ship would not be wrecked sailing to Africa; but they should insure themselves against such an event happening.
As often with young children, the idea was taken up with great alacrity and completely displaced the fear of journeying by ship: firstly, they were not sailing to the Americas; secondly, they would be as well outfitted as Robinson Crusoe himself.
Elizabeth and Miss Eleanor put together a list of those things thought necessary.
Of course, they sought the advice of Mrs. Forbes, who joined in the game.
Thus, their small keg, taken from Mr. Forbes’s warehouse, contained two knives, spoons, bowls, a pair of scissors, a comb, a housewife, pins, flint, steel and tinder, a small fire pot, a water skin, a knapsack, and trinkets for trading with the natives.
The last items had Miss Eleanor spending much time gathering glass beads, brass rings, and other similar items. As was her way, the girl soon had the whole household collecting items for the Crusoe Keg , as she called it, but then discarding them because of the limited space, as not all could fit inside.
But the servants were happy to oblige because, in just a week, they would no longer be at the beck and call of the little tyrant.
“Miss Eleanor, why are you putting a chemise into the keg? Do you imagine us washed ashore without clothes?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Darcy, that would be most improper. But what if natives stole them, or they were eaten by tigers? Robinson Crusoe was never unclothed.”
Elizabeth found argument fruitless; thus, two light cotton chemises were folded into the keg—one for Elizabeth, and the other for Eleanor.
***
“Ladies, gentlemen, please keep to your cabins until the start of the forenoon watch.” Captain Coxon entered the cuddy and spoke to the passengers assembled there. “We up anchor at sunrise, six bells of the morning watch, and the quarterdeck and poop will be no place for gentlefolk.”
“I want to see the harbour,” complained Miss Needham to Elizabeth as they made their way to their cabin.
“Captain Coxon is a fair man, Miss Eleanor. We’ll be able to go on deck at the forenoon watch when we’ll see the lighthouse on Old Woman’s Island .
But now, the crew is very busy and we shan’t get in their way.
The tides are irregular in the harbour, and with the southwest monsoon failing, the winds are fickle.
The captain will work very hard to bring the ship safely out. ”
As Elizabeth assisted Eleanor into her night-rail, she thought it would be a long two months. The girl was less prone to outbursts of temper, but it took all of Elizabeth’s self-control to cope with her mercurial nature.
“Twenty-six weeks enceinte! My legs keep cramping.
‘Tis so difficult to walk with the rolling of the ship and my increasing bulge.” She calmed herself, taking long breaths.
She retrieved the copy of Robinson Crusoe from the shelf above the cot.
“How many times before have I done this? On the journey out, I read from Tommy Thumb’s Pretty Song Book —‘twas easier with Henry and little Beth. And now I read to Eleanor.”
Bumper, who had greeted Elizabeth with much exuberance—tail wagging and face licking—the day before, came and placed his head on her lap. As she read the story, she gently stroked Bumper’s head. Soon, both child and dog were fast asleep.
With only the gentle swaying of an oil lamp to illuminate the cabin, Elizabeth retrieved her copy of the ship’s manifest to finalise the entries in her ledger.
Together with the captain, the Grosvenor’s factor, and Mr. Forbes, they had loaded an impressive cargo of raw cotton and silk, Indian mahogany and teak, tea, spices including pepper and cinnamon, indigo and dyes, printed Indian chintzes, and other finely woven cloth.
Mr. Gardiner’s letters of credit, those of Captain Coxon, and, more importantly, the Darcy credit with Mastermans of London opened many warehouse doors that otherwise would have remained shut.
While gold and silver were much sought after, direct access to the London banks held more allure.
Each bill of exchange, even if lost, could still be reclaimed if the number, date and issuer were known; whereas once lost to shipwreck, pirates, or theft, precious metals were gone forever.
They carried no gold, silver, or quantities of diamonds or other precious stones.
“There are no secrets in Bombay,” explained the captain.
“Were we to take on board bullion, every pirate along the African coast would know within days. Our journey would be dogged by them, night and day. While our guns can hold them off, an ill wind or a forcing sea could place us in an imperilled position.”
For Elizabeth, the profit on the cargo was of little concern, even though it would exceed many tens of thousands—they expected a profit of eight thousand pounds from the indigo alone.
She missed William dreadfully. Each day was lonely, more so when she had sat at the crowded dinners to which she was invited.
As a vice-regal—she so hated the appellation—she could not refuse.
She missed the informality of Sydney society, where the governor dined with settlers, merchants, and emancipists alike.
In Bombay, the conversation was all about lace, jewels, intrigues, and the latest fashions.
Fortunately, she was married; otherwise, for newly arrived young women, the making and breaking of matches for them furnished employment for the ladies of the colony until the arrival of a new cargo of female flesh.