by Jean Burnett
Who could have imagined that Claudine and Mr M would make an alliance? She, the wife of a senior officer, so respectable and upright. Mr M, of course, is not married and has no scruples whatsoever as I have reason to know. Later, I discovered that Claudine was wealthy in her own right. My false spouse would not have set his cap at her otherwise. We do not know how they managed to flee the fort by night. Help must have been given to them, guides bribed and animals used. Byron II was still safe but some of the military horses were missing. They were later found at a staging post. I do not know what retribution will follow from the Company – desertion and mutiny are punishable by death, no doubt, but Mr M, like the cat, has nine lives. I would not be in Claudine’s shoes for anything.
I am regarded as an object of pity – and of suspicion – in the garrison. They ‘cast camel’s glances’ at me, as the local saying goes. Perhaps they think I aided and abetted the pair, but that is absurd. What would I have gained from such a startling action? Of course, in reality, I would have been only too pleased to help get rid of them. Mr M had not taken anything of value because there was nothing to take. I was wearing my pearls, and Byron II would have been a liability for them.
The Commander of the Fort was kindness itself. When I told him that I wished to leave as soon as possible, he arranged an escort, and Adelaide and I departed a few days later after perfunctory farewells. I heard mutterings that Mr M owed a great deal of money to various officers.
June 27th
We were escorted to Jaipur where we were offered accommodation in the palace, arranged by Kymar Singh. My trunk full of valuables was delivered to me, and plans were made for our journey to Bombay. I bade farewell to my lovely Byron II and told Adelaide to pack the hookah. We left for Alexandria where we spent a pleasant week or two admiring the classical ruins before embarking on a French vessel bound for Marseilles. Fudge accompanied us.
I thought it wise to leave India as soon as possible, but I had no wish to embark from Calcutta on one of the Company’s ships, full of Company officials. When we arrived in Bombay I sent off a letter to Selena by a fast ship leaving that very day. Perhaps she will receive it before I arrive back in Europe.
August 10th
My Dearest Selena,
I have finally achieved my desire to escape from Mr Macaulay and return to Europe! The strangest things can happen here. I had become friendly with the wife of one of the senior officers, Mrs Claudine Hetherington. She has been in India for two years and she kindly gave me useful information about life here and how it can best be lived. I had not thought that she had any ulterior motive other than friendship. How mistaken I was!
It appears that she cultivated me in order to get closer to Mr Macaulay. They formed a secret alliance – improbable as it may seem. They observed the utmost discretion; I am sure that no one here, myself included, had the faintest notion of what was going on.
Of course I was somewhat distracted myself, having formed a close friendship with Another. I will tell you more about this when we finally meet again. I hope it will not be too many months hence, dear friend. Due to the generosity of Another I have been well provided for and I can now effect an escape from India. Mr Macaulay and his inamorata have already disappeared under cover of night, to general consternation.
The officers and officials of the Company were furious, as you can imagine. In addition to his desertion Mr M had many gambling debts. My position has been most uncomfortable. I know that I was regarded as an object of pity and of suspicion.
Fortunately, Adelaide and I were able to leave for the journey to Bombay in haste, where we will embark on a ship for Alexandria. As I write this we are enjoying a few weeks of rest here before embarking on a French ship for Marseille. In a few months we will be in La Belle France once again. I expect to remain in Paris for a while. I do not think that it would be politic to return to my parents, or to Pemberley at this time.
I have told everyone that my husband died of the cholera. I beg you, dear friend, to repeat this news to anyone you meet who is likely to have known me. I doubt that Mr Macaulay will bother me again.
Before leaving the fort I received your letter informing me of your good fortune, which delights my heart. How wonderful that we may all be settled at last! At least, in my case I will be settled financially if not in any other way. As you said, dear Selena, the ways of Providence are unaccountable. Once more I am your dear friend,
Lydia Bennet Wickham
Our brief sojourn in Alexandria included a meeting with the British Consul who informed me that the movement for the abolition of slavery was gaining ground in England. This appeared to be his only news other than details of cricket games.
I wondered what was happening to dear Lord Byron who is still in Italy, no doubt. I recalled that we had almost met during my stay there. As I was drowning at the time and he was swimming nearby, it might have happened, but it was not to be.
August 17th
When we boarded the ship I wore black and told the captain I was a widow, my husband having died of the cholera. He was all sympathy and concern, even offering me his cabin for the duration. It will avail him little. I could not look at another man, especially a European, after Kymar Singh.
By the time we arrived on board I had successfully negotiated the sale of the jewels given to me by Kymar Singh. If the merchants were surprised to find such valuables being sold by a female and a ferenghi (foreigner) to boot, they did not demur. I received very high prices and I was told that some of the jewels were so fine they must have come from royal collections. I smiled enigmatically and said nothing. At last, I am financially secure.
I whiled away some of my time on the ship day-dreaming about Paris and its pleasures – the clothes, the food. I dreamed of pink tulle and lavender-corded silk, of Roquefort cheese and coquilles Saint-Jacques, of the Place des Vosges and the plane trees in the parks, of smoked salmon with dill crepes followed by chocolate mousse, and champagne with every course. And not a curry in sight!
News has come from recent arrivals that waistlines are dropping and the Empire line may be quite ‘passé’ by the time we arrive back on the Continent. Standing on deck in a stiff breeze, a sudden lust for Provencal calissons overwhelmed me. Those almond paste sweets were a passion of mine when I was in Paris. I say nothing of this to Adelaide who will think I am losing my wits if she is not so convinced already. She can pass the time making alterations to my wardrobe.
At this point my maid handed me the two letters that have remained unopened since I left the fort. I returned to my cabin and stiffened my backbone to read the missives from Lizzie and my mother.
My Dear Lydia (Lizzie writes)
You may be sure of the continuing warmth of my affection for you despite the shameful circumstances of your departure from Pemberley. These violent exits are becoming commonplace with you, are they not?
We heard that you are now in India with your husband. Naturally, we were all horrified to hear of the Tanjore’s shipwreck and greatly relieved to hear of your safe deliverance when it was announced in The Times. I hope, dear sister, that you have become reconciled to your husband and that you will deal tolerably well together. After all, Mama and Papa manage this. It is not given to everyone, sadly, to be as happy as Darcy and I – and also Jane and Mr Bingley. (Much gritting of teeth on my part when I read these lines.)
A husband who is a gambler is indeed a burden but let us hope that his employment with the East India Company will prevent him from any further excesses. (Hah!)
I trust that in due course you will be able to return to England. You will be welcome at Pemberley whenever you wish. Do not think harshly of my husband. He is concerned for your welfare and sends you his good wishes.
I am your own sister,
Elizabeth Darcy
What am I to make of this? I cannot imagine that Mr Darcy has changed his opinion of me – or of Mr Macaulay. How unhappy he will be if I return to Pemberley like a homing pigeon – and once more a wid
ow! Surely there cannot be any more curates to dangle before me. I threw the letter down and turned to my mother’s lavender-scented pages.
Dearest Lydia,
I am considerably vexed to learn that this letter will not reach you for many months. Why must you go so far away? I am sure that Mr Macaulay could have joined a regiment somewhere in Southern England where we might have had the pleasure of an occasional visit from you.
Is India insufferably dull? I hear the climate is insupportable and that few can bear it for more than two years if, indeed, they do not expire before. When I confide my fears to Mr Bennet he dismisses them with his usual flippancy. It is most vexatious. He declares that Mr Macaulay will probably meet with a fatality in the near future and you will be able to return home. I pray, dear Lydia, that you do not meet with any tropical misfortune.
Mary and Kitty are well but there are no beaux on the horizon for them. Mr Bennet makes no effort on their behalf. He will not consider a trip to Brighton.
My poor nerves are quite worn down and I am often prostrated with anxiety, especially when I think of you, dear child, in that dangerous land. I trust you are kept safe from leopards and tigers and other fearsome creatures?
Jane and Mr Bingley are well but, sadly, they have not been blessed with offspring. Is there any hope of issue from your union, my dear? If this should happen you must return immediately to England for the sake of your health and that of the child.
I have not visited Pemberley for some time. I confess I find Mr Darcy’s gaze somewhat ferocious, but Mr Bennet and your uncle are frequent visitors and they are made very welcome. It is all somewhat strange and vexatious. I would greatly enjoy seeing my two little grandsons. However, there is also the chance of meeting that dreadful Lady Catherine de Burgh whom I would wish to avoid at all costs.
Write soon and tell me of your situation. Fondest love from
Your Mama
Dear Mama, she will never change. As for Kitty and Mary they will be fortunate if they secure a penniless clergyman apiece. I have other things to occupy my time on this voyage. I must prepare a report for Captain Marshfield although I have little to interest him, or His Majesty’s Government. I shall certainly not be divulging details of my affaire du coeur with the panther-god.
August 21st
Last night when the passengers were at dinner I chatted to a French gentleman, Monsieur Audemars. When I spoke of my adventures in Brazil and India (carefully edited) he exclaimed that I should certainly write about them because they were so fascinating. He told me of a French aristocratic female who has written a memoir of her frightful experiences during the Terror of the French Revolution and her various escapes from capture.
This led to a mention of my Gothic novel which remains close to my heart. It still lies in its locked box among my belongings. Fortunately, it was discovered in the trunk salvaged from the shipwreck. I told Monsieur Audemars that I had considered publishing the book privately. After all, I now have the means to do this. He was most encouraging, even offering to put me in touch with someone who would translate the book into French. This would be a coup indeed! He advised me to use a masculine pen name for the sake of propriety. I am a respectable widow, after all. Mr Macaulay’s ridiculing of my novel still rankles.
When we arrive in France we will make our way to Paris. I have heard that the great violinist Niccolo Paganini is in the city. I have always wanted to hear him play. They say he is a great gambler and has sold his soul to the devil; a man after my own heart.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Copyright © 2016 by Jean Burnett
The moral right of Jean Burnett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781910859643
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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