Page 84 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“Ellie, we’re near to a town. We should wear our chemises with the necklaces and aprons over the top. That way, we’ll retain some modesty. Our skin is suntanned, but not as dark as the Xhosa or Khoikhoi, and our hair is so long. None will mistake us for other than English or Dutch.”

“Is it over, Lizzie? We’ve walked ever so far.”

“Dearest Ellie, we are very, very close to the end. Now, let’s walk ever so proudly along that road that runs just above the beach. It’s not much more than a farm track, but we’ll show the settlers and soldiers how a viscount’s daughter and the wife of a lieutenant governor deport themselves.”

“But what about Bumper? They’ll think he’s just a scraggy dog. It’s not fair—he saved us, Lizzie. He catches food and is ever so brave.”

“Bumper is a vice-regal dog, he belongs to Mr. Darcy—all will know it. Come, let us climb off this beach; I’ve had enough of sand. Can you see the fort standing there on the hill? Look, there’s a Union Flag flying.”

They walked past mean houses built of rough timber and rammed earth, with leaky shingle rooves.

The occupants came out to stare at them; indeed, they were very strangely attired.

Elizabeth’s long chestnut hair was braided down her back, little Ben wrapped in a red blanket, and her beaded necklaces and apron marking her as a woman of status among the Xhosa .

Ellie, her golden locks haloed by the early morning sun, was also adorned with beaded necklaces and apron.

Perhaps a queen and princess come from the far north—so unlike a Khoikhoi woman, or the English or Dutch—the latter wore drab grey and black dresses, their arms, legs, and ankles hidden from view, their hair covered with caps.

Then a whisper. From whence did it start?

Mamlambo— they were sea people, their twisted braids disguising serpent spirits, come to parley with the English.

“I think they’re following us, Lizzie.”

“Don’t be afraid, Ellie; we’ve endured much worse.”

A tall officer, seated on a large black gelding, came cantering down the road. He was accompanied by a troop of six soldiers. He gazed at them in amazement; then, a broad smile spread across his face.

“Mrs. Darcy and Miss Needham, I presume.”

“Why, Captain Grant,” replied Elizabeth, “why ever are you here at the Cape? For we last met in Madeira, na Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Monte— at the Church of Our Lady of the Mount .”

***

“Miss Bennet! Indeed, ‘twas June of the year ‘09. But I am now Major Grant, commandant of Fort Frederick. You married Mr. Darcy?—I’m not surprised, for he paid you marked attention in Funchal. Anyway, you and Miss Needham are very, very welcome.”

He dismounted. “My apologies, ma’am, but this road is too rough for the carriage. We must walk to the house. Please, can my men carry your belongings?”

She laughed, “All but little Ben, Major. But the both of us, Ellie and I, would appreciate being relieved of our burdens. ‘Tis been a long, long journey down the Xhosa coast.”

They walked a further two miles along the track—it could hardly be called a road—leading a most peculiar procession.

Major Grant walked ahead with Elizabeth and Ellie, the soldiers carrying her guitar, knapsack, and the waterskin.

Behind, perhaps thirty others, both Dutch and Khoikhoi, followed.

The crowd always increasing, for it seemed all the occupants of the houses joined the procession as it passed, until half the population of the town formed the parade.

The road widened, unpaved but hard-packed, so reminiscent of the streets of Sydney.

Major Grant came to a halt in front of a handsome, white-washed, two-storey building.

To Elizabeth’s eye, the best house in the town, similar in aspect and design to Mr. Thompson’s.

The crowd, still growing in numbers, gathered around, pointing and gesticulating; their babble a mixture of the Khoikhoi language, Dutch and a smattering of English.

The door of the house opened, and a well-dressed English woman stepped out. She gazed in bewilderment at the noisy crowd.

“Whatever’s the commotion?” she exclaimed, looking to the Major.

“Charlotte, my dear, we have some guests. ‘Tis Mrs. Darcy and Miss Needham, just walked in from the Zuurveld.”

“Oh, my goodness, the poor dears. Is it really them? They’ve been missing for the past four months.”

That voice, so familiar. Elizabeth looked curiously at the lady standing on the stoep.

“Charlotte Lucas? Is it truly you? Oh, Ellie, we are indeed saved, for Charlotte was my very good friend in Meryton.”

“Lizzie? Lizzie Bennet? They said ‘twas Mrs. Darcy who was lost. Oh, what a turn-up. Major, bring them into the house, and send the rabble away.”

“My apologies, Charlotte, but we’re so immodestly dressed.” Elizabeth felt exceedingly uncomfortable now they were returned to English society. “Both Ellie and I have only chemises to wear. Our clothing was swept away when we were washed off the Grosvenor .”

She paused, looking between Ellie and Charlotte. “Oh, I must make introductions. The Honourable Miss Eleanor Needham…”

“…Mrs. Collins. So very pleased to meet you, Miss Needham. You’re so very welcome to my home.”

The girl screwed up her face. She looked to Elizabeth, then burst into tears. “Oh, Lizzie, whatever am I to do? I’ve no clothes! Whatever will people think—my father will be so ashamed of my dressing like this—‘tis so improper.”

She wrapped her arms around Elizabeth, burying her head into little Ben’s blanket. Her sobs were heartfelt. Overwrought, now she no longer needed to pretend all was well.

“Oh, Ellie, darling, I’m sure Mrs. Collins can find you some clothes.

Your father will be so proud of you walking three hundred miles from where we were washed ashore.

You are so much better than Robinson Crusoe—you didn’t need to be rescued—you rescued yourself and helped me escape from being wed to the chief. Dearest, you make me so very proud.”

A warm bath, fragrant soap, towels to dry herself, and a brush to untangle her hair.

A luxury after four months without—this was civilisation indeed.

Then, a laundered shift, a petticoat, and a simple cotton dress, buttoned down the front.

A little short in the leg, showing her ankles, but wonderful nevertheless.

Elizabeth had forgotten the pleasure of dressing for dinner.

Charlotte’s cook prepared a simple meal, made aware that both Ellie and Elizabeth needed time to adjust to food so very different from the shellfish they had become accustomed to. Just the three of them, Charlotte, Lizzie and Ellie sat to table. Major Grant took his meal at the fort.

“Lizzie, there’s much I wish to know of your journey. But, before you begin, please don’t think the less of me.” Charlotte and Elizabeth sat in a small parlour, which overlooked Algoa Bay. Ellie, so very young and quite worn-out, had gone early to bed.

“Whatever do you mean, Charlotte?” Elizabeth paused. “Oh, I suppose ‘tis about you and Major Grant.”

Charlotte nodded, turned to look out the window, her face flushed.

“I believe he’s a good man,” said Elizabeth, “though I knew him only briefly in Madeira. It’s obvious he cares very much for you. Oh, Charlotte, as long as you’re happy, ‘tis all I care about.”

“Is that really so, Lizzie? You are now so high, married to Mr. Darcy, lieutenant governor of New South Wales. Surely you understand how English society would shun me if they knew my situation.”

Elizabeth grasped Charlotte’s hands. “You think I could disdain you? Never. I’ve just walked through your town, my breasts exposed, my chemise worn and threadbare, and my apron scarcely modest. I was to be married to a Xhosa chief—and, if we had not found a turtle nest, I had resolved to turn inland and be wed—because Ellie and little Ben were starving.

Society would condemn me for it, though initially they may have had some sympathy, but only for salacious amusement at my having been taken by a noble savage .

No, Charlotte, we women endure all manner of ills. That is all I know.”

She gently wiped a tear from Charlotte’s cheek. “Please, tell me of Mr. Collins. I was selfish and fled Meryton, leaving you to wed him, when, according to the law, it was my duty. You must have endured so very much.”

“Oh, he was an awful man. You had the right of it, Lizzie, when you left Meryton. Fool me! I could only see what a prize being mistress of Longbourn was and never took the time to see the cost of winning that prize. Mr. Collins was uncouth; his language base—how he came to be a clergyman? I do not know!”

Charlotte took a sip of tea; poured another cup for Elizabeth. She continued,

“But if that were all, then between Sir William and me, we could have managed him. Maybe improved his speech, introduced him to more refined, genteel society. Hah! He thought himself already so smart that none could teach him anything. Where had he got the notion that a country squire was as high as nobility? He would have the best—furniture, ostentatious decoration, the coach and four. And the meals! Lizzie, your mother set a good table, but she also knew economy and prudence. I tried my best, but he insisted on inviting our neighbours to lavish dinners and other entertainments. Not just the four and twenty in the neighbourhood, but as far away as Hatfield, St. Albans, and even Luton.”

“Upon my word, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, “the estate could not bear such expense, for it was also supporting the Bennets in the dower house.”

“Indeed,” replied her friend, “and that was our doom. He had no understanding of finance or rents and leases; that Longbourn was owned by a trust and not by the tenant living in the manor. So he borrowed—the income from the farms paid the interest—but the debt grew through his egregious expenditure until the banks would lend no more and demanded he repay what he owed.”

“Oh, my goodness. And that is how you are here, at the Cape?”