Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  He eyed her uneasily. ‘Hallo.’

  ‘And hallo to you.’

  The boy was also thin, and had that alert look. In the genteel dining room he looked incongruous, full of contained energy.

  Elizabeth turned back to Lydia with a sigh.

  ‘Well! Where does one start?’

  ‘With lunch,’ Mrs Gardiner said.

  Elizabeth took her place and tried to calm down. Lydia was safe, that was the main thing. There was no hurry.

  After lunch, Lydia asked Mrs Gardiner to keep an eye on Peter. ‘I need to talk alone with Lizzy.’

  Lydia had been assigned a bed, where she lay against pillows while Elizabeth took the armchair.

  ‘I should thank you.’ Lydia regarded her without smiling. ‘For arranging things.’

  ‘It was really Uncle Gardiner …’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘He told me you’d helped. Generous of you, in the circumstances.’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘Dearest, whatever can you mean? Of course I wanted you home.’

  ‘Oh come off it, Lizzy. We both know what happened. I acted like an empty-headed hedge-creeper and injured the whole family. You lost father, Longbourn, your reputations, everything. If I was in your place I wouldn’t be so forgiving.’

  ‘You were only sixteen.’

  Lydia snorted. ‘Will you stop being polite? Listen.’ She leaned forward. ‘I never liked you much. So superior and clever, always joking with father about how the rest of us were all idiots. Except Jane. But we’re different now, and you were right about one thing, I was an idiot. So maybe we can be mates, and to be frank, I need one.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I can’t stay with Uncle and Aunt. Pete’s not a bad boy but he’s a handful. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  Elizabeth hesitated, shaken by so much plain speaking. ‘Unfortunately, I’m estranged from my husband and staying with friends.’

  Lydia stared at her. ‘I assumed Mr Sibley had contributed to my fare.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She swallowed. ‘Do you remember Mr Darcy?’

  ‘I thought you hated him.’

  ‘You were not the only foolish one.’

  ‘So you’re living with Mr Darcy now?’

  ‘No.’ Elizabeth explained. ‘However, Jane says you can stay on their farm. Plenty of company for Peter, and Mary is there too.’

  Lydia’s eyes rolled. ‘I couldn’t stomach all those scandal-loving Meryton biddies walking past with their noses in the air. Not to mention Mary quoting scripture at me.’

  ‘So what are we to do?’ Elizabeth threw up her hands. ‘You have to live somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll work.’ She leaned forward. ‘I thought maybe you’d take me in while I got started. But if not, I’ll manage.’

  ‘There are people I can ask …’

  ‘Like Mr Ten-thousand-a-year from Pemberley?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘It really is good to see you back at last. I have so much to ask.’ She paused. ‘Do you mind talking about it?’

  ‘Don’t feel you have to. I wouldn’t want to upset you.’

  Elizabeth nodded, seeing that this warning was intended seriously.

  ‘The worst part was the voyage out.’ Lydia lay back, looking into the distance. ‘We sailed in winter with 120 cons, all women. They boarded us in chains. Then we were unshackled and taken down to the prison deck, where there were cages linked by a corridor. I shared a mess with ten women, mostly in for shoplifting, or whoring with theft. Like me.’

  Elizabeth tried to imagine it. ‘Where did you sleep?’

  ‘Hammocks. Routine was always the same. Up at 5.30, or earlier if you were on cook duty.’ She grinned. ‘Which I never was, being useless. We were issued drinking water and biscuits, then taken on deck, one mess at a time, to wash and use the privies. Then down for breakfast. Scrub out the mess. Inspection. On deck for prayers, followed by exercise and school.’

  ‘School?’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Religious instruction.’ Lydia cackled. ‘To set us on the path of righteousness. Dinner was at midday, then lots of cleaning and scrubbing, supper at five, more prayers, bed. Every day, for six months. It was the worst experience of my life, but most of us survived. The two that died were already sick when they got on the ship.’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘It sounds unbearable.’

  ‘The first weeks I wanted to die, but you get accustomed to it. Some days go better than others, and when they do, you even feel happy. Like once when this washerwoman Fanny Jones bashed me and got caught by the super. That was great. The cow got carted off to the mess where they put the hard cases, and stopped annoying me.’

  ‘What had she done?’

  ‘Called me names, punched me, stolen my food. None of them liked me, you see. They thought I was the instructor’s pet because he kept asking me to read from the Bible. I was Miss La-di-da and Miss Snooty. I hated them all, but when I got Fan thrown out, the others were nicer.’

  ‘They feared you?’

  ‘Respected me, because I tricked her by whispering an insult when I heard the super coming. She was unpopular anyway because she kept nicking biscuits.’

  ‘Did the crew treat you well?’

  ‘Did they try it on? A few leers, but they were afraid of the captain. It was male convicts you had to watch out for, but luckily they were sent on a different ship.’

  ‘And when you reached Sydney?’

  ‘We had to stay on board for the medical inspection. Then they took us to the Female Factory, which in those days was a group of huts by the River Parramatta. We got the best ones at first because we were new arrivals waiting to be assigned. If you stayed on as a factory worker they put you into second class, or down into third if you were convicted of another offence in the colony.’

  Elizabeth recalled one of Lydia’s sketchy letters, where she had used the word assignment. ‘And that was when you went to your first family?’

  ‘The Haggarts.’ Lydia winced. ‘He was a sheep farmer. They took me on as nanny, but his wife made me scrub floors and wash clothes, which ruined my hands. I stayed a few months until hubby took a fancy to me, wifie said it was my fault for being a coquette, and I was sent back to the factory.’

  A tap on the door, and Mrs Gardiner entered.

  ‘Lydia dear, can you come down?’

  Lydia sighed. ‘Pete playing up?’ She looked at Elizabeth. ‘See what I mean?’

  Elizabeth nodded, impressed by her sister. Lydia might have been coarsened by Australia, but she was practical, stoical, considerate.

  21

  It was a week before Elizabeth summoned the courage to tell Fredo. There was much to do first. Darcy promised to investigate accommodation; he also rented a carriage so that she could take Lydia and Peter to visit Jane at Hadfield Farm. Elizabeth was uncomfortable at falling more and more in Darcy’s debt, but had come to understand the satisfaction he took in helping others.

  The trip to Hertfordshire began well. Lydia was wary of Jane, whose hopes of marrying Bingley had been ended by her elopement. But Jane’s warmth was reassuring, and Mary welcomed her sister back without drawing embarrassing moral conclusions. Jane’s children were interested in kangaroos, Mr Hadfield in merino sheep. Peter was the only problem. At first he explored the farm happily enough with the other children, but a fight broke out after the girls laughed at his accent. Jane’s youngest boy tried to defend them and ended up with a nosebleed. Jane and Lydia managed to restore order. The girls apologised; the boys missed dessert. But Elizabeth detected relief on Jane’s face when it was time to leave.

  In London, Darcy had found an alternative. Charles Bingley owned an apartment in Chandos Street which he used on business trips to London. Through an exchange of letters he agreed for Lydia to stay there provided she employed a trusted maid-of-all-work.

  Darcy arranged a viewing. The furnishings were reassuringly plain: no heirlooms for a five-year-old boy to damage. Noise might be a problem: an elderly couple had the apartment undern
eath, and shared the hallway. The spare bedroom meant that Elizabeth could stay overnight sometimes: Peter had got used to sleeping with his mother. The street was near Covent Garden, midway between Mayfair and Cheapside.

  Lydia moved in. The Gardiners breathed a sigh of relief. Elizabeth worried whether Lydia could cope on her own.

  But first, she had to tell Fredo.

  The hackney left her outside St Paul’s. Elizabeth crossed the churchyard towards Carter Lane, holding an envelope with her latest corrections. She had left the children with Mrs Wrigley in the Regent’s Park tea-rooms. Fredo was expecting her; he had agreed to see her alone.

  They sat facing one another in the study—as if to underline the businesslike nature of the meeting. Yet there was warmth in his reception which contrasted oddly with the severity of his written messages. He leafed through the pages, read one or two paragraphs carefully, and nodded approvingly.

  ‘Excellent, dear. Thank you.’

  Elizabeth reddened: dear was unexpected. ‘Fredo …’

  ‘I have waited a long time for this day.’ He studied her. ‘I have heard nothing more from Mr Allsop, so I assume you have broken off your association.’

  ‘I no longer work, ah, for pin money at the magazine, if that is what you are asking.’ Elizabeth cringed inwardly at the deceptiveness of her reply.

  ‘Good. Good.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘This separation must end, Elizabeth. Surely we can agree terms and go forward as a united family.’

  She hesitated. ‘There is something I must tell you.’ In her head, she imagined the honest continuation. I am a liar and a cheat. I am still writing for the magazine. I am in love with another man …

  Doubt crossed his face. ‘I hoped you had decided to accept my offer and return home.’

  ‘My sister Lydia has returned from Australia.’

  He flinched, but after recovering his composure replied, ‘Why should that be an impediment? I have always been aware of such a possibility. I ask only that you do not aid her with funds that belong to me. Also, of course, that you exclude her from our circle of acquaintance.’

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘Surely you can sympathise with my predicament. Lydia is penniless. She has a son to support. She has not lived in this country for decades. How can I abandon her?’

  ‘We have been through this before. Of course your sister has difficulties. She should have taken that into account when committing her crimes. Your choice lies between her welfare, and that of your husband and children.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to meet Lydia, Fredo. I will avoid mentioning her to Grace and Robert. But I must see her. Surely you see that?’

  ‘No. I do not.’

  ‘Then we are at an impasse.’

  His fingers drummed on the desktop. ‘As I have explained before, Elizabeth, actions have consequences. If you persist in this inconsiderate folly, I will have to protect my children.’

  Elizabeth’s stomach lurched: she had feared just this reaction. ‘They will never meet Lydia. She will not come to this house, and I will never bring her on our outings.’

  ‘There will be no outings.’ His hand slapped the desk. ‘I will be forced to take special precautions so that Grace and Robert can have no contact with you whatever.’

  She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You will no longer be told where they are.’ He sighed, as if struggling to remain polite. ‘My duty is clear, and it is important that you understand it. I will not have my children associating with criminals.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The children will remain here, with you.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Have you been listening? The children will be sent away, since I cannot leave London. Fortunately there are relatives on my side of the family whom I can trust.’

  She regarded him coldly. ‘They will lose their father as well as their mother?’

  ‘Yes, through your irresponsibility.’

  ‘And your own actions?’ Elizabeth tried to control her contempt. ‘Do they have consequences?’

  He drew himself up. ‘Every night I kneel humbly before Almighty God and beg Him to to guide me. Do not presume to judge me, Elizabeth.’

  There was a long silence. It was tempting to cite New Testament passages that supported her position, such as the parable of the Good Samaritan. But such arguments would infuriate him further—especially if he had no convincing answer. She recalled Caroline Norton’s chilling words. As a wife she had no legal existence. Her children belonged to Fredo. He could do with them whatever he wished.

  22

  ‘Donkeys, Aunt Lizzy! Come and see!’

  Elizabeth rolled over and saw Peter looking down at Chandos Street. It occurred to her that the boy should be told not to enter her room when dawn had barely broken.

  Lydia came through the open door. ‘Pete, what are you doing? Out of here!’

  He mumbled an apology and left. Lydia did not cuff him, Elizabeth noticed. She had explained that after the rough discipline of Sydney, such a punishment had little effect. What deterred him was the threat of no dinner.

  Elizabeth went to the window to see what the fuss was about. All along the lane donkey barrows were parked, as costermongers unloaded mountains of apples, potatoes, cabbages, into baskets and carried them off. It was Saturday, she recalled. Market day.

  She dressed quickly and joined the others. No maid to help. They had been introduced to a girl called Ellen who lived with the couple below; by arrangement with Bingley she would attend to the fires and help with cleaning and laundry. But for much of the day they would be on their own—a novelty for Elizabeth, although not for Lydia.

  ‘Coming for a walk?’ Lydia asked.

  In the distance they saw a pink glow as the sun rose. They edged along the pavement, past men and boys that carried baskets over the cobbles. In Garrick Street and Henrietta Street it was the same. Every spare inch had been commandeered for the unloading of fruit, vegetables, flowers, shoes, and so on. A horse drawing a cart full of turnips leaned into a neighbouring barrow and helped itself to an apple. Peter pointed excitedly as a shouting match flared up between the owners.

  They passed into the main square, one of the most colourful sights Elizabeth had ever witnessed. Gas lights glowed in the shops. Flower girls passed leaving the air scented with violets. Irish women sat behind stalls of apples, smoking pipes and calling out Basket, yer honour? The cries blended with a hum issuing from thousands of voices. Carrots and onions hung in bunches. They passed every kind of fragrance, from herbalists to oranges piled high to chestnuts roasting over fires.

  Elizabeth had viewed smaller markets from the window of a carriage. She had walked past stalls set up by the railings of St Paul’s Cathedral. But to be thrown into this huge whirlpool of activity was overwhelming. She looked at Lydia and Peter, neither of whom seemed concerned.

  ‘Shall we go back?’

  Lydia pointed. ‘We could have breakfast.’

  Below the pillars of the market, cafés were demarcated by sheets of linen, draped over ropes to protect from the wind. Inside these parlours people sat on benches or upturned baskets, in front of improvised tables laden with plates of bread and butter, and urns of coffee. The café Lydia had spotted was a cut above the others—more expensive no doubt, but boasting chairs and better-dressed clientele. They feasted on crusty bread, plum jam, coffee, and baked apples drizzled with honey. Elizabeth listened as Lydia confidently struck up conversation with a woman who worked nearby in a draper’s shop. They talked of hours, wages, perks, references, schools.

  As they circled back towards Chandos Street, Elizabeth asked, ‘Would you work in a shop if the opportunity arose?’

  ‘References would be needed.’ Lydia screwed up her face. ‘I suppose your husband …’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘No help from that quarter.’

  ‘Mr Darcy?’

  ‘I could ask.’ She sighed.

  ‘They might have work for Pete too when he’s older,’ Ly
dia said. ‘But until then I’d have to pay to send him to school. There are church charity schools in the area that don’t cost much.’

  Elizabeth fell silent. She had stayed in Chandos Street to help her sister cope with an unfamiliar city. Now she realised Lydia was accustomed to improvising, and turning her hand to any work that presented itself. It was rewarding to catch up after their long separation, but Lydia did not need her, except as a go-between with Darcy, her real benefactor.

  To spend the entire day with Lydia and Peter would overstrain sisterly affection: by mid-morning, Elizabeth was in a hackney bound for Mayfair. She stopped first at Mountjoy House, expecting to find Julia at her desk. Instead she was admitted to the drawing room, where the countess sat opposite a smiling Mrs Norton.

  ‘Caroline!’ Elizabeth joined her on the settee. ‘Are you well? I ought not interrupt a literary conference.’

  ‘Restored in body.’ Caroline Norton said. ‘As for my mood, the less said the better.’

  ‘More trouble with Mr Norton?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘The newspapers,’ Julia said. ‘Poor Caroline is back on the front page of Crim Con Gazette.’

  ‘Another cartoon with Lord M.’ Mrs Norton grimaced. ‘But the worst part is inside, where I am denounced as a husband-hater. Some diligent mischief-maker has collected every adjective I have employed to describe men that mistreat their wives.’

  Elizabeth tried not to laugh: much as she liked Caroline, she knew from experience that the scandalous author gave as good as she got. ‘I could add a few more adjectives on my own account.’

  ‘Our guest came to see you really,’ Julia said.

  ‘Untrue, dear Julia.’ Caroline said. ‘It is a rule with me that business should be combined with pleasure.’

  ‘Julia representing pleasure?’ Elizabeth suggested.

  ‘And yourself, business.’ Caroline waved a notebook. ‘I was hoping the ever-amusing EB might pass her critical eye over my letter to the Lord Chancellor.’

  Julia coughed. ‘I ought to go upstairs to see Samuel. If I leave you two together do you promise not to fight?’