The Bad Miss Bennet Abroad

by The Bad Miss Bennet Abroad (retail) (epub)

  I stood riveted with horror but my husband greeted me amiably enough and introduced his companion who staggered to his feet and attempted a bow. I ignored him and addressed myself to my spouse.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I did not find you, my love, because I was not looking for you. It was pure coincidence that I discovered you were staying here. I came to London to finalise affairs with the East India Company. This gentleman,’ he indicated his companion, ‘has recently returned from India and was telling me of his experiences.’ I shuddered. I did not for one moment believe him. He had deliberately tracked me down. The stable lad at Pemberley had directed him, no doubt. I should have offered the boy a larger bribe.

  When the fellow departed my husband became less cordial, demanding to know why I had run off. ‘To escape from you,’ I told him. He laughed and seized another chicken leg, calling for fruit and tossing me a peach as if I were a monkey. My fury increased when I noticed an elegant new gilt snuff box on the table that looked to be of value. No doubt he had purchased it with the money from my jewels.

  ‘I assume that your friends could not or would not assist you – or did your parents throw you out?’ he asked with a sneer. I was aghast at his effrontery. He waved his tankard at me and drank to our success in India, ‘As I assume you will now be accompanying me.’ I bowed my head and he laughed again.

  ‘You know I am completely indifferent to you,’ I told him. He agreed and said that he felt the same way toward me, but it would have been embarrassing to explain my absence to the Company.

  If only women had choices in life. Why had I not left for the continent and joined a convent? I knew the answer. I must choose life, whatever the consequences.

  I was obliged to take my husband to Longbourn to make our farewells where he ingratiated himself in his usual cynical manner. At least he did not try to borrow money from Papa. It was obvious even to him that my father had none. I could scarcely contain myself when my mother and sisters demanded tales of my time in Brazil. When will I see baby Sebastian again? When, if ever, will I see England again?

  My usual healthy appetite had deserted me due to my melancholic state. As I toyed with a fricassee of rabbit at the dinner table, under mama’s watchful eye, I imagined myself back in Paraty for a moment. I thought fondly of the guava paste made by Eufrasia on one occasion. It was, I explained to my family, a pink, firm sauce that was excellent as an accompaniment to cold meats or cheese. When paired with cheese the Brazilians called it Romeo and Juliet.

  ‘They serve a gallimaufry of meats and fruits,’ I explained.

  This explanation was received with blank looks from the family and one of my husband’s high-pitched laughs. My sister Mary, naturally, demanded an intricate explanation for the name, which I refused to give. I retired to my room and wept in solitude.

  When we returned to London I occupied myself in buying new clothes for the tropics, taking care to keep my money away from Mr Macaulay. The weather was dull and overcast and he declared himself anxious for some sunshine. No reference was ever made to his Jamaican home. I wondered how his brother was coping with the mortgaged estate.

  April 19th

  Eventually, the dreadful day dawned when we would embark. Adelaide and I were pale and drooping at the prospect. I had sent a note to Captain Marshfield and received instructions that I should wait to be contacted by someone in India. I would be paid the usual small fee but at least it would be mine. I would rather buy an elephant than allow my husband to lay hands on the money.

  ‘You never know, madam, there are diamonds in India too.’ Adelaide’s optimism had resurfaced but I could not share it. Only that morning I had received a polite but firm letter from the publisher, John Murray, declining to publish my Gothic romance. The gods were indeed showing their displeasure. Nevertheless, I resolved to take the manuscript to India. Perhaps in the future I might publish it privately. Naturally, I did not add to my husband’s pleasure by giving him this news.

  Chapter 27

  I stared up at the huge black and gold hulk that was the Repulse as it wallowed in the sinister green waters of the East India docks. The ship was well named. Everything about a long sea voyage repulsed me and I was again facing a journey of four to six months, after being on land for only a matter of weeks. We would round the Cape of Good Hope in this vessel. My heart sank into my boots. My husband had no such qualms. He gazed with admiration at the ship.

  ‘Look at that beauty! See the guns on it? A great East Indiaman, a lord of the ocean.’ I said nothing. ‘The captain is an agreeable fellow, Woodward by name. I had some conversation with him earlier.’

  ‘Does he resemble Captain Maguire?’ I recalled the Irish officer on our journey from Jamaica. ‘Ah, Maguire,’ replied Mr Macaulay. ‘He proved to be something of a villain. It seems that his papers were not in order. He should not have been in charge of a ship. I had it from Captain Woodward who knew all about the affair.’ I turned and faced him.

  ‘Do you know this for a fact?’

  ‘Yes, it is absolutely true. I believe Maguire faced severe penalties.’ Bile rose in my throat. I addressed my erstwhile spouse.

  ‘You must realise that if Maguire was not authorised to sail the ship he was not authorised to conduct a marriage? That means we are not lawfully wed!’

  Mr Macaulay took my arm and moved towards the gangplank. ‘Do not worry, my dear, nobody will know unless we tell them.’

  I gave him a shove that almost toppled him over the jetty. ‘What are you doing, woman?’ he gasped as he tried to right himself. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ I refrained from answering that question. The answer was too obvious.

  ‘My jewels!’ I hissed. ‘If you are not my husband then you had no right to sell them. You are a thief, sir!’ Mr Macaulay dusted himself off and again attempted to drag me up the gangplank. ‘Do not embarrass yourself, my dear. We are going to India because we have no choice in the matter. Come!’

  Chapter 28

  April 22nd

  My Dearest Selena,

  Since I informed you of my husband’s dastardly behaviour regarding my jewels, and our imminent departure for India, you will have wondered how I fared. I regret to tell you that even greater tribulations have overtaken me.

  You may recall that Mr Macaulay and I were married at sea by the ship’s captain during our voyage from the West Indies. As I was reluctantly about to board the ship for India, my husband told me that the captain who performed the marriage was not empowered to do so – his papers were not in order. In short, we were not legally wed!

  My consternation was bottomless. My body gave off effusions of rage, especially when I recalled the loss of my jewels which he had removed and sold. Mr Macaulay appeared unmoved by my reproaches, telling me that we had no alternative. Indeed, he almost dragged me on board. He had spent the money obtained from the jewels and we would have no way to sustain ourselves, Mr Darcy having once again cast me off.

  It pains me to admit this, dear friend, but I have undertaken a voyage to the Indies in the company of a man who is not my husband. Naturally, I know I can rely on your discretion in this matter. All would be lost if this became common knowledge.

  I will write again when we reach our destination. You may be sure that I shall find a way to improve my lot and to be revenged on Mr Macaulay. In the meantime we must keep up the pretence of matrimony.

  Pray do not forget to send me a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein when it is published.

  I remain your dear friend,

  Lydia Bennet Wickham (Macaulay manqué)

  Part Three

  Chapter 29

  June 2nd, 1820

  Mr Macaulay’s faith in the ‘great East Indiaman’ would, alas, prove to be misplaced. But more of that later. Having been almost dragged up the gangway onto the Repulse, we found that a mishap had occurred with our booking and no berths were reserved in our name. There was a good deal of damnation and blasting
s from Mr M, but we were forced to spend another two days in London before embarking on the Tanjore which was bound for Southern India with two companies of Lancers on board. The less said about them the better.

  I am now imprisoned on this wooden hulk with only the close company of my wretched non-spouse, two disagreeable missionaries and their insipid wives. Thank heavens for Adelaide! Apart from a distant sighting of the Azores we will not see land until almost the end of the voyage, and we will have to round Cape Horn with its terrible storms where the ship will, no doubt, be torn apart like matchwood and we will all sleep with the mermaids.

  ‘Don’t take on so, madam!’ Adelaide, loyal Adelaide, is on hand as always to offer cheery words. Indeed, what would I do without her? She warns me whenever Mr Macaulay hoves into view so that I may avoid him as far as possible. The loss of my jewels causes me so much heartburn that I must needs resort to our dwindling supply of camomile tea. Water is, of course, strictly rationed. Even Adelaide has occasional fits of depression.

  ‘Will we ever spend time on dry land again, madam?’ she asks me. ‘I mean a long time – more than a year or two?’ I wish I could offer her some assurance on this subject but my future is full of nothing but question marks. All I can promise is that if I ever acquire some of India’s fabled jewels we will return immediately to Paris, permanently. She would prefer London, naturally, but Paris is good enough for me, I can tell you!

  My maid’s woeful expression remained unchanged. ‘What happens if you are only given an elephant or two instead of jewels?’ she asked.

  ‘No doubt those beasts are very valuable and could be sold for a good price,’ I told her without much conviction. Elephants may be as common as monkeys in that country for all I know. Mr Macaulay has told me that elephants are the chief mode of travel in India – although the officers have horses (naturally).

  ‘We will be lucky to cover fifteen miles in a day with the beasts, plus the camels and baggage trains.’ He takes some pleasure in painting as bleak a picture as possible of our future life. Accustomed as he is to the intense heat of the West Indies, he has no fears on that account. Sometimes, when we are alone, he runs around on deck tearing at his clothes in mock affliction and yelling, ‘the heat, the heat!’ Adelaide and I do our best to ignore him.

  Fortunately, he spends a great deal of time playing cards with the military personnel on the ship. Frequently he loses, and he will then have recourse to the brandy bottle. As I no longer have any jewels for him to steal, I worry little. I still have Mrs Makepeace’s pearls and I wear them day and night. Short of mounting an attack on my person he cannot remove them. I keep a heavy glass bottle at my side when I sleep, so that I may ward off a surprise ambush. Adelaide keeps watch and Mr Macaulay is usually too drunk to be any danger.

  June 15th

  Last night I had the misfortune to be seated at dinner next to Mrs Amelia Morrison, wife of the Reverend Morrison, one of the two Methodist missionaries. The woman has no style whatever and her muslins are a disgrace. She regaled me with descriptions of their plans to convert the heathen natives causing me to feel a sudden rush of sympathy for the said natives. Mrs Morrison eyed my pearls covetously, remarking on the fact that I wear them constantly.

  ‘No doubt they are very valuable,’ she remarked. I sensed that this was a rhetorical question, and gave her an insincere smile. She leaned forward to her husband across the table and remarked that, ‘Mrs Macaulay’s pearls would furnish a goodly number of mission posts for the heathen natives.’ I was so outraged by this appalling lack of manners that I almost choked.

  Mr Macaulay chimed in with a leer, ‘It would be a great act of Christian charity, my dear.’ Overcome by fury, I told the assembled table that I kept the pearls on my person because my husband was a gambler. He is not my husband, anyway, but I did not wish that to become common knowledge.

  There was an embarrassed hush for a moment while Mr M laughed the whole thing off and the other missionary, Mr Beck, tactfully asked me if I was interested in the history and geography of India.

  ‘I led a society for the encouragement of the subject in my last parish,’ he explained.

  Mr Macaulay remarked through gritted teeth, ‘Indeed, my wife was a keen member of our local histrionics society!’ Mr Beck look bemused and I assured him that while I knew little about India, I was greatly fascinated by Roman history and the Ancients in general. Mr Beck said that, in his opinion, the Romans were somewhat too exciting and disturbing for the female sex.

  ‘Oh, the gorier the better for her,’ Macaulay continued. ‘My wife would have lived on the Aventine hill in another life.’

  And I would have had you thrown to the lions, I thought. At this point Mrs Morrison pressed a small volume of her husband’s sermons into my hands and I thrust it into my reticule intending to throw it overboard at the earliest opportunity.

  On our departure, the channel was very rough and most passengers suffered from mal de mer. As Adelaide and I had long ago acquired our sea-legs we decided to remain in our cabins until the unpleasantness on deck was over. One cannot promenade on the quarterdeck without stepping over recumbent soldiers. There is, however, a military band on board and I hope to cavort a little with some of the officers later on. There is precious little entertainment otherwise. The Methodists will disapprove, I dare say. I shall contrive to be as happy as a bird with one wing. In the meantime I am reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein again which is deliciously horrid and transports me completely from this wretched ship.

  Once past the Needles, we bade farewell to the shores of England and eventually the sea became calmer. The Tanjore is a fairly new ship and the cabins are in far better condition than we have experienced on previous voyages. My whole world has once again shrunk to this twelve feet by eight feet space. When I think of the spacious halls of Pemberley I declare I could even endure Mr Darcy’s company for an indefinite period.

  Chapter 30

  July 25th

  As the days followed each other with nothing to do except observe whether the wind was in the right direction, whether a storm was due, would we be tossed around like ninepins and so on and so on, I resorted to playing games of draughts and backgammon with some of the officers. Adelaide, I noticed, is becoming very friendly with one or two of the bandsmen, despite the fact that many of them have their wives with them.

  ‘Well, I do like a good tune, madam,’ was her excuse. As we passed the Azores we saw the rocky islands protruding from the ocean, wreathed in white fluffy clouds. A pod of dolphins was spied alongside the ship, where they leaped and tumbled for a good while, to everyone’s delight.

  Mr Beck, who is a good soul, if dull as ditch water, has offered to teach me some words in Hindustani. He says this will be useful to me and I could not disagree. Adelaide is learning with us. She has always had a facility for languages although she cannot read well. The weather is growing very warm and I am much bothered by prickly heat, an uncomfortable rash that I remember well from our days in Brazil.

  It is now the end of July and although we have been at the mercy of a contrary wind for two weeks, we will soon cross the equatorial line where we will receive a visit from King Neptune and Amphitrite. The glimpses of the Southern Cross and the sight of the flying fishes playing around the ship lighten our hearts.

  July 30th

  We – the officers and ladies – assembled on the quarterdeck yesterday to await the arrival of the sea god as we anticipated the merriest event of the voyage. Together with the other ladies, I had donated an item of clothing to adorn Amphitrite, the sea king’s spouse, who is to be portrayed by the largest, most muscular and unattractive member of the crew. The royal couple arrived on a gun carriage drawn by several half-naked seamen representing tritons.

  Neptune was naked from the waist up and wore a pasteboard crown. He carried an offering of salted fish and a dead sea-bird as well as an ear trumpet. The procession included the Royal Baby, another large crew member with a greased belly; the ship’s d
octor; the barber with his razor; and someone dressed as a ‘sea bear’.

  The band played Rule Britannia and God Save the King as a rope was laid across the deck to represent the Line. The unfortunate male passengers and crewmen who had not previously crossed the line were shaven and dressed in ridiculous costumes before all manner of indignities were inflicted on them, followed by a dousing in sea water. Ladies were fortunately excused, although Mr Macaulay and I were introduced to King Neptune and bowed before him.

  At the end of the ceremonies we were all doused with water by the fire engine and four hundred people amused themselves by throwing sea water over each other. We all gave a donation to Neptune before he left and in the evening the band played, we danced, and the sailors sang songs before splicing the mainbrace (that is to say, drinking grog). The celebrations continued into the early hours, but Mrs Morrison was taken to her cabin early by her husband, who did not approve of ‘pagan practices’.

  I made haste to write about these events on the following day, having slept late after the excitement of the ceremony.

  August 25th

  Some of the passengers have been shooting numerous sea birds, including albatross. One of the crew told me that shooting these huge creatures was considered bad luck and we might have cause to regret it. I remembered the poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge that we had learned in the schoolroom, and I grew very uneasy.

  When we rounded Cape Horn the gales were terrifying and the sea rose in awful grandeur, the waves as high as mountains. One of the Lancers was lost overboard and we all thought we would join him, but somehow we survived. A member of the crew was killed by a falling spar and there was a solemn service as he was buried at sea.