A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  Georgiana did as she had promised and did not look out through the gun-ports, but she could not avert her ears, and so could not avoid hearing the noise coming from beside the Caroline, a certain thrashing that indicated the burial was not at all peaceful.

  The Caroline and the Lorraine eventually outsailed this unrest, the two ships diverging, the Lorraine on her easterly course, the Caroline heading toward the southeast, the Cape, and a rendezvous with the other ships of her convoy.

  Chapter 16

  Despite his concerns over his ability to continue digging ditches at the same pace the other men did, Mr. Darcy did manage their pace for four more days. During this time, he had seen enough of the winter wheat in the various fields they laboured beside to pronounce it weak, and this was the only thing that prompted him to break from his efforts, to meet with his steward and tenants to discuss what was to be done for the fields that looked likely to fail.

  It was a few days after this that the regular rain they had all become accustomed to turned to sleet, and this was enough to break the veneer of patience and self-control Darcy had shown. The sleet began while he was seated in the library with his wife, thankfully, and so she was the only witness to his outburst:

  “Damnation! That is sleet! In May! Are we never to get a reprieve from this infernal weather?”

  Elizabeth sighed and looked up from her book. “Oh my love, I am so sorry to see that.”

  Darcy walked over to the windows, staring at the ice pattering against them, and said, “Things go from bad to worse, and I do not know what to do. No matter what we attempt, we are thwarted.”

  Elizabeth did not know what to do to aid him, aside from approaching and embracing him as they watched the sleet fall. He allowed himself a little of this comfort, but then left her to go and have another conference with Richardson. It was just as well he did, for a little after he left, Mr. Parker came in with a letter for her, from her aunt Ellen, and it contained more news Elizabeth thought would depress him. The weather continued poor in Norfolk, Lady Ellen wrote, and caused the Fitzwilliams the same degree of worry over their crops that the Darcys currently suffered. Yet the Fitzwilliams had additional worries, and these stemmed from the demonstrations occurring in Norfolk – demonstrations that turned to riots, the instigators hoisting a flag that read “Bread or Blood,” and smashing the windows of shops and genteel homes in the course of their rioting.

  The Fitzwilliams had grown concerned enough that Marguerite Durand – Colonel Fitzwilliam’s intended – had left the house she had rented in Lynn and moved into the safe confines of Stradbroke Castle, still enough of a castle that the family had no fear for their safety if they needed to take to the old medieval portion of the home. Madame Durand had taken the lodgings to respectably separate herself from her betrothed, for Edward and the rest of the family were still in mourning for Lady Alice Fitzwilliam, who had died in childbirth five months past. Madame Durand had her own reasons for mourning, for she was not quite a year from the death of her husband, Charles Durand, who had been captain of the French ship Polonais, the one Matthew had captured during the Hundred-Day War.

  Elizabeth had not been involved in the series of events that had seen Matthew and Georgiana call on Madame Durand in Paris and offer to assist her in a legal case, and then, upon leaving Paris, to ask Edward Fitzwilliam – there as part of the army of occupation, prior to resigning his commission – to look after the French widow in their absence. Yet she thought it equal parts strange and romantic, and hoped to meet this Frenchwoman who had captured Edward’s heart, and brought an unexpectedly large inheritance as her dowry.

  “Bread or blood,” Elizabeth murmured as she refolded the letter, disturbed that men should be brought to such a state that they felt this was their choice. Then, seeking the same comfort she had previously offered her husband, she decided to go to the nursery and see her sons.

  They were both lying on the floor, on the blanket that had been laid there for their protection, watched closely by Mrs. Nichols, while the nurse’s own son tottered around the edges of the nursery under the watch, it seemed, of Sarah.

  “Kelly! I had not expected you here,” Elizabeth said, then fearing her surprised reaction might be taken as criticism, adding, “Please be sure Mrs. Reynolds knows, so she can supplement your pay for assisting here.”

  “‘Tis Rachel’s half-day, and I don’t mind helping,” Sarah said. “In truth, I miss looking after my little brothers and sisters, so I enjoy my time here. Oh, ma’am, look at Master James!”

  Elizabeth followed her gaze and saw that James had not only rolled over onto his belly in the brief time she had been speaking to Sarah, but that he was pushing himself off of the floor with his little hands and arms, with an expression of intense effort upon his face.

  “Oh, look at you, my little one!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and crouched down beside him, finding herself further rewarded with a smile and a goodly degree of cooing. His strength collapsed, then, and he would have hit his chin but for Elizabeth reaching out to catch him, so that instead of crying, he cooed still more. She looked over at George, but he seemed content at present to lie on his back, vigorously shaking his rattle, although when she smiled at him, he smiled back at her. Then she returned her attention to James, who was once again pushing himself up and looking every bit as though he desired to crawl, although he could not nearly be old enough to do so.

  “Your papa says you have my eyes,” Elizabeth said to him, “and I believe you may have your mama’s desire for activity as well. Just you wait until he sees you – I believe he shall purchase you a pony, once you are crawling. A pony – would you like a pony?”

  James cooed and laughed, which led to George’s following him into laughter, Elizabeth occasionally spurring them on by exclaiming, “A pony!” which James seemed particularly to like. This continued for some time, until George chose to roll over as well, and almost immediately burst into tears at the predicament of finding himself on his belly.

  Elizabeth did not know what to do, nor did Mrs. Nichols, whose own son was the first child she had ever cared for, but Sarah knelt down and said, “Some of them don’t like to be on their bellies, at first. Give him a minute, and if he doesn’t stop, ‘tis best to turn him back over.”

  George was given his minute and did not stop, so Elizabeth turned him back over, but found this did not stop his crying. She offered him the rattle that had so fascinated him earlier, to no avail; she picked him up and held him, also to no avail; and after she checked to see if he needed to be changed – he did not – told the other women she would see if he was hungry. A dressing screen had been placed in the nursery for this purpose, and Elizabeth sat behind it, received Sarah’s assistance with her dress and stays, then offered George her breast. He took it readily, finally calming as he nursed.

  “Are you to be the fussy one? My little worrier?” she asked him, softly. “Your papa worries, too. But you will have enough to worry over when you are his age, my dear little one. You should not start now.”

  Chapter 17

  Mary had chosen a strange year to become a clergyman’s wife. This had been apparent enough to her every Sunday at church, in her social engagements, and in her visits to the residents of her parish, where the talk could never help but stray to the weather. It became even more clear on Rogationtide.

  On that day, she donned her oldest day dress, her half-boots, and a cloak, and walked with David out to the church, where it seemed the entire parish stood awaiting them. Mary did not think this was normally such a popular ceremony, but at a time when there were whispers among the congregation that something must have happened to offend God, for Him to produce such weather, there were few who were not eager to do whatever might be done to bring themselves back on God’s good side.

  Mary had never attended a Rogationtide ceremony – despite her religious nature, outdoor activities had never been her preference – but she had been told by David what to expect. They would “beat the bounds”
of the parish, walking along and pausing at times so David could say a prayer or read a passage from the Bible. She knew he had taken extra care in his selection of these; he had asked for her recommendations, as to passages – which she had found very considerate and therefore pleasing – and come to bed late the night before, after settling on his choices.

  When the church bell tolled, finding a last few parishioners rushing up to join the crowd, David made his first reading:

  “By the breath of God frost is given: and the breadth of the waters is straitened. Also by watering he wearieth the thick cloud: he scattereth his bright cloud: And it is turned round about by his counsels: that they may do whatsoever he commandeth them upon the face of the world in the earth. He causeth it to come, whether for correction, or for his land, or for mercy. Hearken unto this, O Job: stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God. Dost thou know when God disposed them, and caused the light of his cloud to shine? Dost thou know the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of him which is perfect in knowledge?”

  From the back of the crowd came a low grousing: “He ain’t been balancin’ the clouds this year.” Then a reply: “Shut yer mouth, Benjy. It’s ‘cause o’ the likes of ye He’s offended.”

  They walked on, in the sort of steady drizzle that seemed to comprise this spring. They were on Lord Winterley’s land, now, trudging alongside one of the hedgerows that sided his fields, and David stopped before a stile, saying:

  “Let us pray: Lord, there is none among us, men and women, who have not sinned. For our sins, we ask for your forgiveness, and your mercy. For that which we sow, we ask for your blessing, that the rains you have over-blessed us with shall lessen, to only that which we need. In Jesus’s name we pray, Amen.”

  They all climbed the stile and walked on, through another reading from Job, and another prayer, and the ground turned even muddier, so that Mary found herself struggling, the muck seemingly sucking her half-boots in with every step. In an ordinary walk, David might have offered his arm, but on this one, they were all to follow him, and she was relieved when Thomas Hooper, one of the tenant farmers, noticed her struggle and came up alongside her to offer up his thick arm.

  “We can’t have the Reverend’s new wife slip, now, can we?” he said. “Not when ye seek to beat the bounds alongside all of us.”

  They stopped again, for David’s next reading, and Mary was pleased to hear it was her suggestion, Psalm 148:

  “Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps. Fire, and hail; snow, and vapours; stormy wind fulfilling his word. Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars. Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying fowl. Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth. Both young men, and maidens; old men, and children. Let them praise the name of the Lord: for his name alone is excellent; his glory is above the earth and heaven. He also exalteth the horn of his people, the praise of all his saints; even of the children of Israel, a people near unto him. Praise ye the Lord.”

  “Aye, praise the Lord,” Thomas Hooper said, and all but pulled Mary forward as they began walking again. A gate, more mud, another stile, Mary growing more exhausted and more thoroughly clinging to Hooper’s arm as they continued.

  David had before espoused to Mary his preference for the Lord’s Prayer, when she had been struggling as to the proper words to put into her own prayers, and he returned to it when next they stopped. After a round of amens amongst the group, they continued, and Mary was relieved to see the parish church in sight. When they came upon it, David stopped for his last reading, which was:

  “And God said, this is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations. I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud. And I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.”

  It was a careful balance he was aiming for, David had told Mary, when asking for her suggestions on his selected readings. His parishioners should be reminded of God’s power, without feeling their lot was futile, for this year and this harvest. Mary was of course biassed, but she thought David had achieved it, and after the crowd dispersed, when it was only the two of them standing there before the dampened stone church, she said: “I know this is not a usual Rogationtide, but I thought you did very well. Ending with Genesis – with the promise inherent in Genesis – that was a good cause for hope.”

  “As was your psalm, Mary. I liked turning their focus to praise, rather than seeking explanation for what is happening to us now. Perhaps the explanation is merely that we have not spent enough time in praise,” he said.

  “I hope that is the case, and that it can be easily rectified,” she said. “There is so much goodness among the farmers here – I do not see how they have sinned so substantially that they should be punished for it.”

  “According to the papers, it seems the whole country – and even the continent – suffers in the present weather,” he said. “Perhaps it is the result of our making war on each other for so many years. Or perhaps it is something we are too small to understand God’s purpose in, and must merely suffer through.”

  Chapter 18

  The Caroline arrived at Cape Town and reassured her waiting consorts, the brig Lyra and Indiaman General Hewitt, that they would still be going to China, now under the command of Commodore Stanton. She then proceeded to stay for a fortnight, taking on more food and refilling her water tanks. The latter was a cause of some relief to the ladies on board, for before the capture of the slave ship, the captain had allotted them a very little amount of fresh water for washing their smalls. Some of the Caroline’s water had been transferred to the Lorraine, however, and after this the remaining water had to be made to last. Their only hope was for it to rain, but it did not, and so they had been required to wash everything in sea water.

  Georgiana’s skin had been rubbed red from the salt lingering in her smallclothes, and her priority upon going ashore had been to purchase additional fabric, both for herself and Moll, who had even fairer skin. They could spend the next portion of their journey sewing additional shifts and nightgowns, in the hopes they would have enough to spare should they ever find themselves in such a situation again. She ordered additional grocery as well – what of it could be got there – and then returned to the ship to finish the ongoing letters she had been writing to Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth since leaving Gibraltar.

  The letters were added to through the course of the Caroline’s stay, with Georgiana’s further impressions of Cape Town, a trim, provincial place with a fine cathedral, framed by the mountains beyond it, and of the dinner they had attended, given by Governor Lord Charles Somerset. Georgiana waited until the day before their departure to complete the letters, feeling a sharp pang of homesickness for her family when finally she gave them over to Matthew to be posted.

  Such feelings of homesickness could only be enhanced when the Caroline and her consorts were required to pass into the 40s in order to round the Cape. It was winter in this hemisphere, and to go this far south meant Georgiana felt a bitter cold the likes of which she had never known, even in Derbyshire.

  She was required to give up the pianoforte and needlework, for even in the cabins with their coal braziers going, it was cold enough to make her fingers feel chilled and stiff. So instead she spent her time conversing with the men of the embassy and reading, alternating which hand she kept within the fur muff she was now exceedingly glad she had been able to find in Gibraltar. With both hands buried within the muff, Georgiana would make some attempt to go on deck each day, so as
to have some manner of air, but that air was so bracing it generally drove her below within a quarter-hour.

  The nights would have been worst but for Matthew, on the first night it turned truly bitter, coming into the sleeping cabin to find his wife huddled miserably over the brazier, shivering as she pulled on a second layer of woollen stockings. Upon seeing this, he commented with concern on her shivering, and began letting down the sides of the cots, lashing them together in the manner that had been used at the beginning of the Caroline’s journey.

  “This will be a little better,” he said.

  In truth, it was much better. They had lain apart since before Gibraltar, and beyond marital relations, Georgiana had begun to miss the simple animal heat of having a man beside her well before it had turned so cold. Now, with him drawn up close behind her and his arm draped over her side, she found it felt somehow like both a luxury and a necessity.

  They spent three nights clinging rather innocently together for warmth in their joined cots, and might have continued to do so, but the ship’s turn northwards brought with it the resumption of entertainments in the great cabin. As often happens with entertainments when they are delayed, they were, upon this resumption, rather overdone: in particular, there was a more rapid passing of the decanters of claret and port around the table, and a subsequent refilling of these decanters, than would have happened in a usual dinner.

  All who had attended retired in good spirits, and Commodore and Lady Stanton were no exception, coming to lie beside each other in their usual manner of late, but without the same soberness the cold had brought upon them. The first troublesome manoeuvre was brought about by Georgiana, who turned to face her husband with an expression wrought of the amount of claret she had consumed during dinner, which reinforced the natural desires that had been building in her for some time. With this look upon her countenance, she kissed her husband, and it was not a good-night kiss.