Page 93 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“Mrs. Bennet, there’s a particularly diverting article in the Times,” said her husband, looking up from the newspaper, “with some connection to us, I believe.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Bennet? You know I take no interest in gossip from Town.”

“You recall we owe our occupation of the manor to Mr. Darcy, which gentleman contacted your brother Phillips and showed him the entail was broken, and that my cousin, Mr. Collins, by quitting the place, had forfeited his rights as the heir presumptive.”

“Of course, we knew him first in court at St. Albans.

‘Twas Lizzie and me.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

Oh, how was her dear daughter? They had not heard from her for over eighteen months.

But, she told herself, the passage of letters to and from New South Wales had proved most erratic, with some lost altogether. She could but pray for her.

“A very handsome man, and he was exceptionally kind to us with our moving to the dower house and gaining income from the estate. Phillips tells me that was his doing; that the judge was responsible for forcing Lizzie to flee.”

“Yes, my dear, we’ve had you recount that history many times. I, too, feel the absence of Elizabeth very much. But let me tell you what the paper reports; I believe you’ll find it most entertaining.”

All of the family were seated in the morning parlour, the younger girls dressing bonnets, Mary reading, and Jane embroidering a motif onto a handkerchief. None teased her that the initials, CB , did not stand for Catherine Bennet, but another who had captured her heart.

“Mr. Darcy has been elevated to Marquess, no less! Apparently, the title was lost, or some such, and the Lord Chancellor’s office had sought it out, verified the patent was still extant, and our Mr. Darcy is now Lord Darcy .

But that’s not all. ‘Tis only a year past that he returned from New South Wales, where he was lieutenant governor and judge-advocate. Didn’t our Lizzie write she was acquainted with a Mr. Darcy?

Perhaps the same man, as it’s an unusual name.

“To continue. He had married there, in Sydney, but returned as his elder brother had died, and he then became heir to Pemberley, a large estate in Derbyshire worth over ten thousand a year.”

“Heaven forbid! What a sum—you said he’s married. What pin-money his wife will have, what jewels and carriages!”

“Indeed, ma’am, but let me finish the story.

Shortly thereafter, sadly, his father passed, and he’s now master of the estate.

His wife followed him some months later, having settled their affairs in the colony.

While he journeyed via the Horn, she travelled by way of India, thence to the Cape.

But a great storm overtook the vessel, which was flung onto the African coast.”

“Oh my,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, “did any survive?”

“The vessel re-floated, and they made good their escape from the rocks upon which it had struck. But Lady Darcy and another, a young girl of but eight years, were washed overboard, presumed lost.”

The attention of the whole family was now engaged.

“So he’s a widower.” Lydia, the youngest daughter, laughed. “Perhaps he’ll marry me. I do wish to be a marchioness; then you would need to address me as Lady Lydia !”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear, for his lady survives. She walked some three hundred miles along the coast; thence she came to Cape Town. All the time, she was surrounded by savages with naught for company but the young girl and a dog, called Bumper— an odd appellation.”

The name stirred a memory for Jane, who had, some time past, read a letter addressed to their Aunt Gardiner from Lizzie.

Could it be? Her hand went to her mouth—oh, Lizzie had written of being hostess at Government House when Governor Macquarie had gone away.

And Mr. Darcy was lieutenant governor there, who would certainly act for the governor when he was absent.

But why hadn’t she told them of her marriage, if that were the case? Yet, letters all the time went astray…

“Please, Papa,” she said, with some passion, “how is the lady? Is she returned to England?”

“Yes, indeed, and with Lord Darcy’s son, born in Africa on her journey down the wild east coast. Remarkably, she birthed the babe unattended.

Unusual for a gentlewoman, she was also midwife to the 73rd Regiment in Sydney.

What strength of will she must have to survive such—as the report says, a most remarkable woman.

And, ‘tis said, a great beauty, with the noblesse of a marchioness born to that rank—a very fine lady indeed.”

Both Jane and her mother looked at each other, tears welling in their eyes. They knew of only one midwife of that regiment.

“Mama,” exclaimed Kitty, who happened to glance out of the window, “there’s a woman walking to the house. Very finely dressed but there’s no carriage. Whoever can she be?”

Mrs. Bennet peered out the window, which was rather dusty and lent only a poor view.

She saw the lady come closer, striding quickly towards the manor.

She held a small child in her arms. That walk, so familiar; a curl of chestnut hair escaping from beneath her hat, framing a beautiful countenance spread with a smile—bright enough to challenge the sun—directed towards her destination .

“Lizzie!” the lady cried. “’Tis our Lizzie! Mr. Bennet, she’s come home.”

The family leapt from their seats and rushed to the steps at the front of the house, decorum forgotten. On seeing them, Elizabeth began to run; both she and her mother embraced, holding each other tight, having not beheld the other for more than five years.

“Mama,” cried Elizabeth, tears glistening on her cheeks, “I’ve missed you so!” Then she laughed, “But take care not to crush your grandson!”

Mrs. Bennet released her impassioned embrace. “Oh, my goodness! Oh my, is he truly your son? So big. Mr. Bennet! You must come and see Lizzie’s boy!”

All hesitation disappeared, a dam of repressed emotion broke, and the whole family gathered around. “Here, Mama, take little Ben.”

“Little Ben? What name is that!” said Mrs. Bennet, holding the boy in her arms, gazing warmly into his face. He stared up at her, puzzled by the attention, raising a small hand to touch her mouth.

“His name is Bennet George Edward—Bennet after dear Papa, George for his paternal grandfather, and Edward for Uncle Gardiner.”

Free of the boy, Elizabeth gave each of Lydia, Kitty, and Mary a heartfelt hug. Then she turned to Jane, having not seen her since February ‘09.

“Sweet Jane, I’ve missed you so very much!

We’ve been apart so long.” Their embrace was fervent, each reunited with their dearest sister.

At last, she turned to Mr. Bennet, who was standing a little back from the group.

There were tears in his eyes. For him, he had not seen Lizzy for more than six years, since before his apoplexy. She threw her arms around him.

“Dearest Papa, you’re recovered. Your mind and body reunited—this is the miracle for which I’ve long been waiting.”

“My Lizzie, my Lizzie.” The effort of speaking was too much; tears freely flowed down his face. He held her tightly, barely able to comprehend that his favourite daughter, who had inhabited his study as a child more often than he, was now back home.

“You’ve brought your mother a present,” he said, gaining some equanimity. “It seems a long time in the making for one so small.”

“Oh no, sir,” replied she, with a twinkle in her eye—her father was truly recovered, having found his droll humour—, “it took the normal time, some nine months; but ‘twas the finding of a suitable father—you, dear Papa, set a very high standard. Indeed, ten thousand miles I travelled to find one I could respect, admire, and love as much as you. I believe, sir, you will be quite satisfied with my choice.”

They entered the house, moving to the drawing-room.

“Mrs. Hill,” said Elizabeth, “you’ve looked after dear Mama and Papa so well—see, Papa is all recovered.” The housekeeper blushed and gave Elizabeth a deep curtsey.

“’Twas my duty, my lady…”

“None of that—you sat me on your knee when in clouts. Oh dear, I’m no longer Miss Elizabeth —perhaps Lady Lizzie , that sounds very fine.

” Elizabeth, much to Mrs. Hill’s embarrassment, gave her a warm hug.

She whispered, “A marchioness is still a young girl at heart—you’d best hide your lemon tarts, for I’ve not forgot where you keep them. ”

Thereafter, there was no want of discourse.

Mrs. Bennet could scarcely talk fast enough but found herself loath to give up Ben to enable Elizabeth’s sisters to hold him.

After some time of being passed from one strange lady to another, his good nature failed, and he began to cry, looking around for Elizabeth for comfort and security.

“He’s tired and also hungry. Let me sit in the corner chair, where I can have a modicum of privacy.” Elizabeth took her son and settled herself; then undid her laces to enable Ben to suckle.

“You feed him yourself? Surely, you’ve a wet nurse.” Mrs. Bennet looked at Elizabeth with some discomfort. “And here, in the parlour, with Mr. Bennet in company?”

“You must excuse me, Mama, for Ben has known only my breast since he was born—I had no other option. My sole company at his birthing was an eight-year-old girl. As for Papa, I’m his daughter.

He saw you suckling both Jane and I, for I know he was a dutiful parent and attended our births and your needs.

If he wishes, he can leave—but were he to escape to his study, then I would follow.

‘Tis certain he has many new editions since I was gone away.”

***

A black landau swept onto the gravelled driveway. On this occasion, it was Lydia who saw it halt before the door.

“There is a large carriage just pulled up. Oh, I’ve always wished to ride in a landau. Then everyone in the village would see me, and I could wave to them, ever so gracefully.”