Lizzie, My Love

by Sara Bennett - Lizzie, My Love

  “What is it? Jane, please...”

  “You’re going to have a baby. That’s all.”

  That was all. Lizzie tried to speak, couldn’t, tried again. It came out as a croak. “A what?”

  “A baby,” Jane repeated more gently, and hugged her sister so tightly she could hardly breathe. “You’re going to be a mother. Oh Lord, who’d believe it? You, a mother,” and she went off into more peals of laughter.

  It took some time for Lizzie to grasp the importance of the fact, and to realize that Jane was probably right. And when she did believe it, she began to weep again with a mixture of joy and despair.

  “You love him very much, don’t you Lizzie,” Jane murmured, watching her sister’s ineffectual attempts to stem the tide. “You’d have to, to leave him so’s he could get back to another woman. And when you really needed him so much for yourself. Oh Liz, are you sure he—”

  Lizzie blew her nose determinedly. “Never mind, Jane. The baby doesn’t really make a difference. He’d still feel he had to stay with me, and I’d be a burden to him, and... I couldn’t do that to him. Not to Zek. I saw his face, Jane, when he knew the burden I was going to be, and how I was going to keep him from the woman he really loves, and I never want to see him look like that again. As though he were being slowly drained of life and blood. Jane.” She drew a shaky breath. “Do you think I can stay here a little while, until I’m sorted out?”

  “As long as you like,” Jane said promptly. And then, with a gleam in her eyes, “You’ll never guess who passed through here last month, my girl! One of your admirers.”

  Lizzie looked blank, and Jane sighed.

  “Jason Wilson, Lizzie! From the voyage over. He’s in Sydney. He even left me an address, so’s I could call on him any time I’m down there. You too, I expect. I told him about you and Mr. Gray, Liz, but by the look of him I’d say he weren’t too pleased.”

  “Oh. It seems so long ago... I mean, the voyage and all.”

  A pause, and then Jane rested her hand on Lizzie’s, her manner and tone soft and contrite. “I’ve done a stupid and cruel thing to you. Can you ever forgive me, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie smiled. “I think so, my dear. Without you saying what you did he might never have offered me the position of housekeeper, and certainly wouldn’t have married me.”

  “But without me saying it, you wouldn’t be here now, crying your eyes out,” Jane muttered, brooding.

  Lizzie sighed. “It’s done, Jane, and no amount of regrets will undo it.”

  After a moment Jane said, “You’ll have the baby, Liz, whatever happens.”

  The baby. Zek’s and hers. Lizzie smiled at the idea of it, wondering how she could ever have thought she was dying. It seemed so ridiculous now, so stupid. All that fuss!

  Johnny appeared in the doorway. “Jane, there’s customers.”

  Jane rose, smoothing her skirts, and went out into the taproom. Johnny lingered, eyeing Lizzie.

  “You look tired. Rest up, Lizzie. We can have a talk later.”

  She nodded, and found a bed in the old room she and Jane had occupied when they first arrived. It was done out quite nicely now, with curtains and a counterpane and a proper bed for two. She lay down, listening to the murmur of voices through the door that led into the taproom, and was almost instantly asleep.

  ***

  Dreams woke her some hours later, and she lay staring into the darkness thinking of Zek and the baby, and listening to Jane and Johnny talking softly next door. After a moment she rose with an effort and went to find them.

  Jane looked up with a smile, and Johnny poured Liz a cup of tea from the pot they had on the fire. She sipped it, smiling gratefully and cupping it in her cold hands.

  “It’s like old times,” Johnny said, summoning a wink. Lizzie smiled, and Jane nudged him with her elbow.

  Johnny stoked the fire and said, “Do you want to send word to him, Lizzie? He’s probably guessed you’re here anyway, but it might set his mind at rest, if he knew certain-like.”

  She shook her head. “Knowing I’ve gone’s more likely to set him at rest! If I tell him where I am he might think he has to come and fetch me home like a dutiful husband.”

  There was a silence, Jane bit her lip and looked miserable. Lizzie reached out and patted her hand. “It’s not your fault, love!” she said gently. “What’s done is done.”

  Johnny nodded. “I’ve told her that, but she seems to enjoy being a martyr and miserable. Maybe we should agree with her that it is all her fault and she’d be happy.”

  Jane elbowed him again, but her eyes were loving as they met his. Lizzie looked away, suddenly feeling empty as an oyster shell that’s been picked clean and left to dry on the beach.

  “There’s plenty of things to do around here, if you want to stay and help,” Jane went on. Then, to Johnny, “Liz here is going to have a baby!’

  He laughed, turning to Lizzie with bright eyes. “That’s fine.”

  Lizzie, smiling back, wondered how she could ever have thought him somehow below her because of his past. He was a dear, kind man, as Jane had tried to tell her. As Zek had tried to tell her.

  “I think I shall go to Sydney Town,” she said at last, into the companionable quiet. “If you will give me Mr. Wilson’s address, at least I shall have one acquaintance there, and perhaps he can find me work. No, my mind is made up. I know I will manage, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I must, for the child’s sake.”

  Their arguments had no effect, and in the end Lizzie just laughed at them and they gave up. When Johnny had gone off, yawning, to bed, and the two women were left together, they spoke of the past. Old stories, old jokes, old tears. Jane found some plum cake, and reminding Lizzie it would soon be Christmas, handed her apiece.

  “You’ve changed Liz,” she said softly. “You’ve grown gentler somehow. You always seemed so... bandaged up, if you know what I mean. As if you was afraid to be yourself. Now you’re not, and you’re softer. Even your clothes are different, and the way your hair is... oh, you know! I never was good with words, like you.”

  Lizzie laughed. “You’re certainly less volatile than you were, sister-mine!”

  Jane scowled. “If I knew what that meant I’d have something to say to you.”

  Lizzie started to laugh.

  “Liz... Liz, you can’t really mean to go to Sydney Town. It’s such a big place and... oh Lizzie...”

  But Lizzie’s jaw was firmly set. “I mean it, love. I have to stand on my own two feet. I must! I can never go back to Zek. You have to see that. I never can. Now no more talk of it. I’ll stay a while, I promise, but in the end I’ll be off and you mustn’t pretend to yourself that I won’t.”

  Jane sighed and bowed her head, but there was defeat in the droop of shoulder and mouth. Lizzie sighed, too, and for a moment fear of the future and grief of the past clouded her determination, but it was only for a moment. She pushed both aside firmly and lifting her own head looked with clear sight to the future.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE day was clear and cloudless. A perfect January morning. Liz lifted her face to the blue heavens and smiled, ignoring the bump and rattle of the cart and the bustle of life about her. George Street was alive with the populace of Sydney Town, all eager to be about their business this fine summer’s day. Lizzie felt the eagerness in the air, felt it stirring her own blood and spirit.

  The time with Jane and Johnny had helped to rebuild her strength and courage. The terrible sickness had passed, though she still felt a trifle delicate at times. A visit to the new doctor in Evanstown, who had lately made his home there after arriving from London, confirmed Jane’s diagnosis. Not that Lizzie had been worried it might be a mistake. The signs were much too clear.

  Jane and Johnny... Lizzie smiled at the memory of them, and the happiness of the Christmas spent in their company. It had saddened her to have to go, but she knew that she must make a move. If she put it off for too long, she would have remained there in the
circle of their love and protection indefinitely. And that was no good for Lizzie. She needed to stand on her own two feet.

  Of Zek there had been no sign and no word. Not that she had expected to hear from him, Lizzie told herself sternly. He must be far too grateful to be rid of her honorably to pursue her. Well, that was behind her. She had set her face to a new and bright future, and she would never turn around again.

  So Lizzie told herself, as the cart set her down in Elizabeth Street, and she made her way, with her only luggage, the old and battered carry-bag, to a respectable boarding-house Johnny had given her the direction of. The woman who ran it was blowzy but kindly, and mothered her as Lizzie told her a little of her past. Her room was up a steep flight of stairs, and the woman panted and puffed up in front of her, gasping out meal times and rules and regulations in a hoarse voice.

  “No men in the rooms, love, I don’t have that sort here. And no takin’ in washin’ either. Meals downstairs, three times a day, and I feed my guests well if I do say so meself. You’ll be comfortable, love?”

  This last, was as Lizzie finally reached the doorway behind her and followed her in. The room was small, but tidy and comfortable. It would suit her well enough until she found work.

  “Thank you, I will indeed,” Lizzie said, turning with a smile.

  The big woman nodded—narrowed, curious eyes in a round, puffy face. Broken veins on her nose spoke of imbibing, secret or otherwise. Sometimes Lizzie thought the colony thrived not on sheep, wheat and convicts, but on rum.

  “Where did you say you last worked?”

  “Near Bathurst. I’m hoping to find more here.”

  “Work!” The woman looked pitying, and a little scornful for such naivety. “Little enough o’ that here at the moment. Maybe you should have stayed in Bathurst. What was it you did there?”

  Lizzie turned to the window. It was small paned, and the glass a little warped, but it gave a view into the street and she looked with interest on to the traffic of Sydney Town.

  “I was a housekeeper,” she said quietly.

  The woman behind her shrugged, and turned away to the door, pausing on the landing. “I wish you luck, love,” she said, more gently, “but you’ll be needin’it.”

  Lizzie sighed at the sound of the closing door. The same story. It seemed so long ago that she and Jane had stood outside the laundry and faced the same predicament. But then luck had found them in the shape of Johnny. Luck would come again, it must. It was something she deserved after all her unhappiness.

  Unhappiness? Her hand strayed to her belly and she smiled, thinking of the life that was growing there. Things were not so bad. She could never truly lose Zek, could she, when she was to bear his child?

  ***

  She slept well and deeply, and rose hungry for the lavish breakfast. The other occupants of the establishment seemed unfriendly, or perhaps it was caution which prevented them from welcoming her. Besides, Lizzie did not wish to sit chattering to strangers. She had plans of her own, and lost no time in setting out into the thriving heart of Sydney Town.

  She asked in shops at first, and then at a few of the grander houses, hoping for work as a servant or assistant, or word of where she might find it. She visited some agencies, but they seemed unhopeful in the extreme, and by the end of the day she felt a niggling worm of despair. But there was still Jason Wilson. Lizzie had hoped she would not have to play upon his friendship, her pride rebelled a little at such a trick. But if she were desperate... And there was Zek’s child to think of. With a sigh, she climbed the stairs to her little room. Tomorrow she would find Jason. There was no longer any room for pride.

  ***

  Mr. Jason Wilson lived on Hyde Park, and she had no trouble finding the house, a tall, redbrick place with great bay windows and a smooth, green lawn. She hesitated at the gate, wondering if she was doing the best thing, but the determination and desperation which had carried her thus far carried her on.

  “Yes?”

  The maid at the door eyed her insolently, but Lizzie was used by now to the attitude of the ex-felon, and merely demanded to see the master in a voice which sounded confident of success.

  Jason Wilson was still breakfasting, and took some time to appear. But when he did his pleasure more than made up for Lizzie’s wait in a dim little sitting-room which was the convict maid’s revenge.

  “Miss Banister! Oh Miss Banister, how marvelous.” The smile with which he greeted her dimmed a little at the edges, and he cocked his head to one side. “Or should I say Mrs. Gray?”

  Her own smile trembled, but she lifted her head in the old way he remembered and said, “Miss Banister will do very well, Mr Wilson.”

  He came forward then to take her hands. “I did not hope, when I gave my direction to your sister, that it would be you who took advantage of it!”

  “I hope I am not taking advantage, sir, but I have need of your help.”

  “Why Miss Banister–”

  “Mr. Wilson, I am looking for work, respectable work. I need to work—”

  He was frowning a little, but did not seem as surprised by her request as she had expected. After a moment, he asked her to sit down, apologizing for forgetting his manners, and she sat on a straight-backed, padded chair, grateful for its support.

  “Miss Banister, when I heard of your marriage toZek I was... I was rather sorry. Oh, forgive me if I pain you but I had thought you a woman of more foresight, and more sense. I thought you would recognize such a man for what he was!”

  “Mr. Wilson,” Lizzie said sharply and firmly, “I do not wish to hear any more of what you have to say about my husband. The fact that he was not the man for me is neither here nor there. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me where I might ask for work, I shall trouble you no more.” She stared at him haughtily a moment before realizing how wrongly she was going about things. Lizzie bit her lip. “Oh sir, I’m that sorry! I never meant... I... oh dear.”

  But he was laughing. “Miss Banister, you are just as I remembered you. I’m so glad. I thought for a moment Zek had... well, no more of that,” with an uneasy eye on her. “Of course I shall find you work. I shall do better than that! I am in the market for a housekeeper myself. My last one was good enough to hand in her papers last month when I demanded to know what had become of my best sherry. The fact that I objected to her selling it to her soldier friends was insulting to her, and she left for greener fields. I have not thought about replacing her, until now...”

  Lizzie could hardly believe her ears, and took a moment to answer.

  “I don’t know what to say. You are so kind. I don’t want to trespass upon your kindness. If you truly wish me to act as your housekeeper, I would be more than pleased to repay your friendship with hard work.”

  “Truly, it is no favor I am doing you, Miss Banister. I am more than glad to see you again, and go on seeing you.”

  Lizzie smiled, looking down at her hands. They were rough from the work at The Thirsty Felon. They had been softer not long ago, when Zek had treated her like a pampered lady. Bui that was in the past, and must remain so.

  “I will get the girl to show you the housekeeper’s quarters, Miss Banister, and then you shall have tea with me. If... that is, if you are still agreeable to the idea.”

  Lizzie sighed. “Mr. Wilson, I think I should tell you something before I agree to any of your kindnesses.” And taking a deep breath she told him about the baby.

  “Miss Banister,” he said, a whisper. “But Lord, girl, you cannot call yourself ‘Miss’ with such an event on the way!”

  Lizzie bit her lip. “I had not thought of that. Oh dear. I suppose I must be Mrs. Banister.”

  “Lizzie, does Zek know about this? He cannot know, I am sure of it. Perhaps you should write him and tell him I am looking after you?”

  “No.” She stood up. “If you do not wish me to stay, then I will leave. I know it is a lot to ask, but—”

  Jason looked at her a long moment, remembering.
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br />   Remembering Zek his friend, and Zek so confident and sure of himself, so bitingly sarcastic of Jason’s proprieties and homilies, and his mockery of Jason’s own spotless way of life, the thought of Zek’s wife playing housekeeper to him, serving him, was a tremendous boost to his ego. It was a pity that she would not write to Zek, and he would never know. And never know about the child. For a moment he gazed into the future and saw himself playing the bountiful master, presenting gifts with an offhand manner while Lizzie wiped away grateful tears and gazed at him with the pathetic adoration of a whipped cur. That Lizzie would never look at anyone like that did not enter into his thoughts, and he smiled at the picture he had created for his own vanity.

  “Mr. Wilson?”

  Jason puffed himself out, smiling suddenly with real pleasure. “Miss Banister... Mrs. Banister, I wish you to become my housekeeper above all things. Please stay.”

  His smile was appealing. Lizzie hovered, wondering whether after all she was doing the right thing. But there was really no choice. In the end, she had already made her choice. She sighed and nodded.

  “I hope I shall suit you, Mr Wilson. I shall certainly do my best to make your home a comfortable, well-run one. And of course, if you should wish to terminate my employ when the child…”

  “Nonsense. I am your friend, Lizzie, as well as your employer. You must know that.”

  “Thank you.”

  He merely nodded, his smile hidden. He wondered briefly how it had come about that Zek and Lizzie had married; they had seemed so at odds aboard ship. Worlds apart in all things. It was strange to him that two such people could have come together even long enough to conceive a child ... “Mr. Wilson? I said I shall have to collect my things from the boarding-house.”

  “But of course. I will send someone around at once. No, I insist. I will call the girl now to show you your rooms.”

  “Mr. Wilson, you’re far too kind. I only hope—”