A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  “Not in the abstract, no. But we did so on a ship bound for China, and while I had my part in the act, it is you who bears all the risk.”

  “There may not even be any risk,” Georgiana said quietly, “for I am like as not to miscarry it.”

  He reached across the table and took up her hand, and by his countenance it seemed he believed miscarriage the better outcome for their present situation, but he would never speak it. After some time, he said, “If you do not lose the child, we have two options, and I do not particularly like either of them. When we touch at Batavia, we can seek to find you passage on a homeward-bound Indiaman. You would be back home in four or five months, and I am sure your brother and sister would welcome you at Pemberley, to have the child there.”

  “And travel all that way by myself?” she asked, intimidated just at the thought of it.

  “You would have Bowden and Kelly to attend you.”

  “I do not like that option. If the other is that I continue with you and have the child wherever I have the child, then that is the one I prefer,” said Georgiana, who had already done a good deal of thinking on this matter. “There are two surgeons aboard the ship – it is not as though I would be unattended.”

  “I very much doubt Clerkwell has attended any births. I do not know about Mr. Akers, but he is surely no accoucheur.”

  “My cousin Alice was attended by an accoucheur, and Elizabeth’s sons were delivered by Sarah Kelly.”

  “Do you believe Moll Kelly has the same degree of experience in midwifery that her sister does?”

  “I have not spoken to her of it, but I can hardly see how she would not, since her elder sister was employed for many years at our house in town before she was promoted to be Elizabeth’s maid. Moll, as the second-oldest girl, must have stepped into her duties.”

  “I will admit it would make me easier at mind if she had. I believe we should speak to all of them – individually, of course – on their experience, and determine where the land lays, there.”

  “I believe we should as well, but let us wait a little while, until we are nearer Batavia,” Georgiana said. “Let us be more certain we do have something to trouble them all over.”

  Georgiana said this as though her own mind was not yet settled on the course she preferred. Yet it was, and had been for some time. She did not want to go home, not without him, and not when Pemberley had proven no safer than anywhere else. Georgiana was resolved that she would do whatever it took to convince Matthew that she should stay with him, although she did not think she would ever share the most significant of her reasons with him. If there was nothing to worry him over, she would rather not worry him, but if these were to be the last months of her life, they must be spent with Matthew, and she must endeavour to enjoy them as much as she could.

  Chapter 21

  The twins proved to be excellent travellers. Their presence did slow the progress of the Darcys’s journey somewhat, for not only were they required to go out as a caravan – Elizabeth and Darcy, plus one or both of their sons in their post-chaise; Mrs. Nichols, George Nichols, Sarah, Mason, and sometimes one of the twins in a second carriage; and the Bingleys and their own retinue in a third and fourth carriage – but the transfer of James or George between carriages took additional time at the coaching inns when this occurred. Their progress was slowed far more, however, by the state of the roads, for even those that had been improved suffered too much under the rain, and none of the carriages was able to maintain its usual pace.

  During this stage, Elizabeth was holding James as he drowsed in her arms, and George laid in a basket beside his father, held secure by Darcy’s arm about it. George was awake and occupied with his rattle, shaking it occasionally but more often attempting to chew on it.

  “He seems much quieter than James,” Darcy said.

  “He takes after you, my dear. We shall have to take preventative measures to ensure he does not find himself standing silently on the edge of a ballroom in twenty years or so.”

  “Hmpf,” was all Darcy said, but a certain sly narrowing of his eyes indicated her teasing was not unappreciated.

  They rolled on, and Elizabeth placed James in his own basket on the floor beside her feet, before he dropped entirely into sleep. She gazed out the windows, where raggedly dressed men and women could be seen crossing the fields, following the turnpike road but without either the desire or the means to pay the toll. On farther, and there was a whole encampment of them. She began to better understand why her husband had insisted on multiple outriders for this journey – a rarity for them, for although they could afford it, Darcy did not like to show away, and usually found one man perfectly sufficient for riding ahead to the next inn to see to their needs.

  “Gipsies?” she asked Darcy, who had followed her gaze.

  “They do not have the look of gipsies, more displaced labourers, either from manufactories or farms. They do not look so accustomed to living in this way as gipsies,” he said. “We win the war and should be settled into peace and prosperity, and instead we have goods piling up at our ports, and fields so wet there is little use in hiring men to work them. Even if the weather – and the harvest – improves, I fear many will starve this year.”

  There were children in the camp, Elizabeth saw – young, thin children with knobby knees and elbows. She looked down at James, healthy little James with that pink plumpness of an affluent youth, and almost wept, both that her own boys were born into such prosperity, and for those mothers who must know their own children’s hunger.

  “What can be done for them?” she asked, softly.

  “We cannot help them all,” he said, but then continued, firmly, “I swear to you, though: no one associated with Pemberley will starve, nor Lambton or Kympton. We will take care of our own.”

  She looked up at him with glassy eyes, and said, “Oh, my love, I once said things to you that I regret a thousand times over, and never more than I do now, when you show I could not have been more wrong.”

  “You once counselled me to only think on the past as it brings you pleasure, Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, and it pleases me in this moment to understand how very wrong I was – I would never have thought then that you would willingly take on the welfare of so many, to shepherd through such a difficult year.”

  “Not entirely wrong. You know you set me on a path of self-reflection that proved tremendously beneficial.”

  “Perhaps, but I do not think the course you determined upon in this matter is any different than what you would have determined upon back then, were the circumstances the same. In such matters, I do not think you have changed at all, and I hope you know I love you for it.”

  She turned to kiss him and might have done so for a very long time but for the chaise lurching severely beneath them as it traversed a rut in the road. Elizabeth was kept from falling forward by one of her husband’s arms, and his other fortunately held George’s basket in place. James, however, was most rudely jarred and awakened, and Elizabeth retrieved him from his basket on the floor, murmuring consoling words to him. She looked over to Darcy and saw he was still affected, as was she, by both the kiss and their conversation.

  In refusing him that first time, she had very nearly thrown it all away – this wonderful man she had married, and these beautiful sons travelling with them. James, appeased by his mama’s nearness, settled into quietude, and Elizabeth thought her heart might burst.

  +++

  They made Hilcote by nightfall, but just barely, and only for having set off very early in the morning. After Bess and the boys had been settled into the nursery, their parents were, despite the late hour, required to admire the rooms that had thus far been redecorated – heavy and almost absurd in their luxury, Elizabeth thought – and then to partake of a lavish supper. Elizabeth did not mind the supper so much; although she was tired, she was also hungry, for they had not stopped to dine. Caroline presided over her drawing-room with a look of haughty superiority, as her guests selec
ted their food from a gilt table Elizabeth found so ridiculous, she struggled not to laugh over it.

  Aside from the vast swelling of her belly, at which she would occasionally look down with an expression of annoyance, Caroline’s figure appeared little altered. Elizabeth found herself tremendously grateful that her boys were good travellers, so they did not need to remain at Hilcote until the Harrisons and Bingleys departed for London, and she found herself gazing at Jane in sympathy, for the task her sister had ahead of her. But then perhaps birthing a child would produce some positive change in Caroline – perhaps that trial of pain followed by those first cries of her own child would alter her in some way for the better.

  Perhaps. Yet at this time, Elizabeth turned her mind forward in her own journey: they would stay the minimum time required for politeness, and then could move on to the visit Elizabeth was most anticipating. She had never been to the seat of her Fitzwilliam relations, and although she would have been content simply to see those relations again, she had the greater lure of a castle and her introduction to Marguerite Durand before her, and the thought of these things pleased her very much.

  Chapter 22

  Once the weather had improved, HMS Caroline passed back into her usual shipboard routine, and thus it was that Georgiana came up onto the main deck to the sharp crackle of gunfire. On days when he did not clear for action and exercise the great guns, Matthew still liked to have some practise at small arms: pistols, muskets, swords, and pikes were all plied, each by those who would use them in battle. On the forecastle, the seamen sparred in sweaty enjoyment of their task, amidships the officers and midshipmen fought zealously with wooden practise swords and more carefully with real swords and dirks, and the quarterdeck was where the sound of gunfire issued from, for a target had been hung from the spanker boom beyond the stern of the ship.

  Sensing some boredom from the embassy, Matthew had invited those of them so inclined to participate in the small-arms practise, and Mr. Hayne and Mr. Poole were happily engaged with wooden swords, fighting Lieutenants Egerton and Grant. Some others, including Lord Amherst and his son, awaited their turns at the pistol target. It might have been a dangerous place for a lady to emerge from the companion-ladder, between the guns and the swordplay, but Bowden cried, “Make way for the lady!” and everyone stopped what they were about. Georgiana went to stand by Matthew, who was observing the pistol and musket practise, and it began again upon her safely reaching his side. Lord Amherst hit the centre of the target with a pistol and was roundly applauded. They watched for some time – no one was quite so accurate as Lord Amherst – before one of the marines indicated it had come to the commodore’s turn again.

  “Would you like to try, Lady Stanton?” he asked, turning to Georgiana.

  “I am not sure that is appropriate,” murmured Georgiana.

  “I hardly know myself, but I should think it no more or less appropriate than your viewing it. I think you should try it, if you wish to.”

  If another man had said it, Georgiana would likely have taken this to be criticism and a suggestion that she should go below, but Matthew – raised for the most part on ships, and with rather minimal experience of drawing-rooms – had never had a very complete grasp of what was and was not appropriate for a lady to do. He meant it as innocently as he had said it, that she should try it if she wished to. Georgiana herself was not so certain whether it was appropriate. She thought her brother might not approve, but then her brother was not here, and indeed, the men of the embassy, including Lord Amherst, seemed to be giving her more encouraging looks than anything else. Her husband did not mind, they did not mind, and she was curious to try it, so finally she said she would.

  After she did so, she felt a lingering surge of concern about the baby – perhaps she should not while she was with child – yet this she reasoned away, for she had been standing here watching the firing for some time and did not think the noise would be so much louder for firing herself that it might bring on a faint. She had only fainted once before, and it had been over a much bigger shock. So she let Matthew lead her over to face the target, feeling herself closely watched by all of the men.

  Matthew held a pistol in his hand, a very finely worked one, from the looks of it. “One of the duelling pistols I purchased in France,” he explained.

  Georgiana knew he had purchased something from a gunsmith there, but had never bothered herself over precisely what had been in the case, and now she said, “I hope you do not intend to put them to that purpose.”

  Those few men near enough to overhear her comment chuckled a little, as did Matthew, and then he proceeded to show her the workings of the pistol and carefully place it in her hand. It was heavy, but Georgiana had been expecting it to be even heavier, and she held it up with little difficulty as Matthew instructed her on the correct stance and showed her how to fully cock it. When he had done so, he stepped back, and said, “Whenever you are ready, Lady Stanton.”

  Georgiana stood there for a few moments, wondering how she had got herself into this situation and working up the resolve to fire at the target. She knew the gun would kick back badly in her hand, but not how badly, and she hoped this French gunsmith who had produced something so beautiful had also produced something that would not turn violent in her hand. She began easing her finger on the trigger, then decided it would be better to be done all at once, and pulled completely.

  The gun jumped in her hand, not so violently as she had expected, but neither in quite the way she had expected. With this came the expected burst of flame, and a cloud of smoke, but none of these things put her anywhere near to fainting.

  She had not hit the target – had not at all expected to – but was given encouraging words by the men watching her. Mr. Ellis said he had jumped far more, his first time firing a pistol, and they all encouraged her to take another turn. Matthew handed her the second pistol of the pair, smiling and seemingly enjoying this as much as any of the other men.

  Georgiana took up her stance again, and carefully pulled back the cock. Now she had a better idea of how much the pistol would jump, and she eyed the target with a degree of determination to hit it. The jump, the crack, and the smoke again, and a new hole in the painted sailcloth target – not anywhere remotely near the centre, but within the target nonetheless. For this, she was even more roundly applauded than she was when she finished one of her Scarlatti sonatas, and she was thoroughly blushing when she handed the pistol back to Matthew.

  The small arms fire continued for some time, but before Georgiana could take another turn, there came a call from the masthead that there was something off the starboard bow. Both Matthew and Mr. Travis, whose watch it was, received this news with some degree of consternation, and stared up. Mr. Travis called out: “And what sort of something would it be, Simmons? If this is a game, Turnbull will have your hide.”

  Turnbull was the boatswain. Somewhat more nervously, Simmons called down: “Somethin’ like what I ne’er seed a’fore. Like a mass o’ seaweed like is got in the Sar-o-gas-o, but t’aint no seaweed.”

  With this, Mr. Travis and Matthew both climbed the mainmast and took out their spyglasses, then spent some time examining the something. Eventually, it could be seen by all on deck, a grey lumpen mass that extended over a goodly quantity of ocean. Matthew and Mr. Travis came down and ordered a boat lowered, under command of Lieutenant Grant, to investigate it.

  The boat returned, and Grant said it seemed to be some sort of strange floating rock. Solid – exceedingly solid – and yet somehow able to float. He and the men in the boat had chipped off pieces of it, and the largest one was given over to Matthew for inspection. He turned it over in his hand with a puzzled, thoughtful expression on his face, and then ordered that they were to have two lookouts in the mastheads at all times.

  This was one of the evenings in which the captain and his wife hosted some to dinner in the great cabin, and the strange floating rock was the first topic of discussion. Mr. Akers, being a naturalist, had
been given one of the pieces for study, and he spoke of a porousness of the rock, which must have been what allowed it to float.

  “Yes, but how should it come to be floating there in the first place?” asked Lieutenant Rigby.

  “I believe it is volcanic in nature,” said Mr. Akers. “Perhaps there has been some underwater eruption of lava, and this is the result. I understand it is a phenomenon somewhat common in the Pacific.”

  The rock followed the decanters around the table and was studied by each man as a curiosity. Georgiana had already seen it in the privacy of the sleeping cabin, and had been surprised by the strange, almost ashen roughness of it, as well as how very little it weighed.

  Conversation turned in time to the small-arms exercise of earlier in the day, and it could not very well do so without Lady Stanton’s turn being discussed and praised. Georgiana blushed all over again for it and began to wish she had not made the attempt, for although in itself she had enjoyed it, and would have liked to try again and see if she could be more accurate in her fire, she did not like to be viewed as a novelty.

  The topic was brought back up again in the sleeping cabin, when she and Matthew had retired for the evening – their cots joined back together, for the horse had quite fled the barn – and he said, “I must admit, you delighted me today.”

  “I think I should not have done it – it was not ladylike at all.”

  “I do not know why you are so concerned over such things, Georgiana. I will admit my experience to be limited, but I believe in any social situation it is the greatest lady who sets the tone, and you are the greatest lady on board this ship. Perhaps women are more judgmental over such things, but I assure you, men judge on other characteristics.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that some men – myself included, of course – prefer a lady who does not spend all her time indoors doing needlework. You were raised by a father and a brother, and perhaps this left you more attuned to masculine pursuits than you might have been otherwise – I myself should not be sure of my ability to stay with the Pemberley hunt, and yet you did, riding side-saddle – but do not think this is a criticism. I found it attractive, that you were not so delicate, and that was my first step in a fair way to falling in love with you.”