This held true until the day Darcy wrote to tell her Mr. Collins had died. Elizabeth opened the letter expecting his usual missive, beginning with something on his own health, which was still – thankfully – quite good, then continuing on to the status of everyone else. But this began with:
“Elizabeth, my love,
“Mr. Collins passed away in the night. I am sorry to shock you with such news, but it has come as a shock to us all. I know as of my last that you must have thought him rallying, slightly, but it seems he sunk further under his affliction and died sometime before sunrise.
“Poor Charlotte nursed him to the last, despite being ill herself, but now has been encouraged to rest. She takes the shock well, considering, and I believe, like myself, a part of her may be glad he is no longer suffering. I have not gone into complete detail of the grievousness of his condition, but I will tell you that the state of his arm, particularly, is something I shall never forget. Dr. McMullen considered having a surgeon in to amputate it, so bad it was, but he has never heard of such a treatment for scarlet fever and feared the operation might have killed Mr. Collins in his weakened state. As it is now, we shall never know.
“One of Lady Catherine’s neighbours, Sir Robert Avery, has been assisting with matters, which I am thankful for – I have not known a funeral since my own father’s death, and know not how to manage things in this county, particularly since it was the rector who died. But Sir Robert rode over to a neighbouring parish and has arranged that the vicar there shall come and manage the ceremony.
“I feel almost guilty in saying I am still well, but I know you will worry if I do not, as I would if not reassured of your health and that of our sons. The rest of those afflicted here are no worse, and Lady Catherine seems a little better, although of all of us, I believe she was most shocked by Mr. Collins’s death.
“I am so glad to hear George is through these first teeth. I hope James shall be through his quickly as well.
“I miss you terribly, my love,
“DARCY”
Elizabeth set the letter down on her lap in shock. It had been sealed in red – she expected Rosings was in some degree of upheaval, and Darcy had not been able to find the black wax, if even there was any in the house – and although her husband had always vaguely indicated Mr. Collins was very much worse than the others, she had not expected this.
Once the truth of the news had settled a little, it sent her mind on many paths of thought, flitting down them uncontrollably, like a bird that has got into a house and will try every room to make its escape. The first was that Charlotte was a widow; Charlotte was to lose the household and security of position she had married such a man for. Then, although she was not proud of it, Elizabeth was thinking of Longbourn, and the entail. For so long, she and her mother and sisters had lived under the shadow of that entail, and although they no longer did, Elizabeth wondered if it was broken, or there was some other male relation out there, who was now to inherit.
She was not pleased with herself at having these thoughts, that for some minutes after finishing the letter where she had learned of his death, Elizabeth’s mind had not been centred on Mr. Collins. He had been a silly, foolish, pompous man, but he had not been a bad man; there had been goodness, however misdirected and misapplied, rather than maliciousness in his heart. Elizabeth resolved to keep her mind on this – and poor Charlotte, of course – rather than Longbourn, although she realised she should write to her father, so he had this intelligence early and could decide how he wished to communicate it to his wife. Elizabeth should write her condolences to Charlotte, as well, she thought, and went to get her writing things.
Elizabeth learned later that she had another letter to respond to, one that had come by the regular post. Jane wrote from London that Caroline had borne – to her extreme surprise – a baby girl, albeit a healthy one, and one Sir Sedgewick seemed pleased over. Caroline had not been so pleased, however, although after she had named several paragons of the ton known to have borne a girl first and then an heir, she had at least acquiesced to her husband’s wish to name the baby Caroline.
Chapter 32
Before HMS Caroline arrived in Batavia, Mr. Akers, Mr. Clerkwell, and Moll were each interviewed regarding their experience in attending births. Of them, Clerkwell had never been present for a birth, Akers had delivered three babies in the whole of his career, and Moll had assisted in so many births she had lost count, but spoke with the least confidence in her skills of the three of them. This Georgiana thought to be modesty such as Moll’s sister might have shown, and she resolved that she would not allow Moll to be overruled when the time came, for Georgiana had not wavered in her resolve that her child’s birth should happen on the Caroline.
The interviews all took place on the ship but in sight of land, for the Caroline raised the island of Java nearly a fortnight before reaching Batavia; intending to take on water and some grocery at a village, Anjeri, before sailing on. Georgiana had adjusted well enough to life on board the Caroline, even with the renewed dizziness of her pregnancy, but she still favoured a chance to walk on solid land when she had it, and she responded eagerly when Matthew asked if she wished to go ashore with the watering party.
Having already been to Gibraltar and Cape Town, Georgiana had thought herself growing accustomed to coming ashore in new places. Yet those towns, although colonial, had retained some inherent attempt at Englishness, and they were not so much a shock as Anjeri was in sight, but even more in smell. She had grown accustomed to the smells of a navy frigate: the salty breeze of the air on the main deck punctuated with whiffs of tar from the rigging; the wood smoke from the galley fire; and the foetid smell coming from the berth deck, where too many men ate, slept, and sweated together for it to be otherwise. These smells were now so common to her as to make her French perfume, when the stopper was drawn for her to apply it before dinner, seem strange and exotic. Georgiana had not understood strange and exotic, though, and she realised this as the boat drew closer to the beach and her nose was assaulted with a rich, unprecedented thickness that made her feel as though she was breathing honey. Sometimes it had the sweetness of honey, sometimes a breeze brought a waft of sourness, of earthiness. Always, the scent was novel, more novel than the strange trees and the village before her.
The seamen who had been rowing jumped out to drag the boat up along the beach, and then Matthew handed her out. What happened now was a phenomenon better-known to Georgiana, where her knees seemed to think they were still on the Caroline and wobbled to compensate for the ship without seeming to understand they now supported her on dry land. It was all enough to make her feel quite dizzy, and as she took up an almost desperate grip on Matthew’s arm, he asked her if she was well.
“A little overwhelmed, I think – not unwell,” she said. “Give me a moment to adjust and I hope I shall be better.”
He reached over and clasped her hand. “I forget sometimes you are not so accustomed to this as I am. You are a remarkably good sailor, Georgiana. I will admit I did not think it would be so easy for a young lady to adjust to such a life, after having grown up at Pemberley.”
Georgiana took a deep breath and found herself becoming better adjusted to the richness of the air. “Perhaps it is as you said, that I am more accustomed to masculine pursuits than most ladies, although my father and brother could not have known the sort of life they were preparing me for.”
He chuckled. “Indeed, they could not.”
They walked on, up the beach and into the village, where what seemed a wedding ceremony was taking place. This they watched in curiosity for some time, and then walked on, Georgiana’s nose now met with a scent more familiar – although laced with unfamiliar spices – that of meat being cooked. It was not meat Matthew purchased, when they entered a sort of market, but a large fruit he called a cocoanut. This he carried back with him to the cabin, where he breached its shell with a marlin-spike, drained its juice into two cups, and then used a knife to split the nut op
en entirely. When Georgiana was found to delight in both the juice and the sweet flesh, Matthew sent Bowden back to purchase as many as could be had.
These Georgiana enjoyed as they sailed around to Batavia, quite relaxed in their company, for most of the embassy had decided to make their way overland to the town. Georgiana almost envied them, for she wished to see more of the lush, tropical island, and had an interest in closer observation of the Javanese. Yet there was a feeling of strength and stability, in being on the Caroline, and at least she could see the coastline as they sailed around. The weather being fine, and having no-one in the great cabin to play hostess to, she spent a greater proportion of her time on deck, passing the hours with her sketchbook. Georgiana had learned drawing and painting as part of her education but had never possessed much enjoyment of them; her sketches were to capture her travels only, but this was a rather remarkable journey she was on, and she wished to illustrate it as best she could. Some day she might tell her child of it, of the things he or she had been present for but not able to witness, although Georgiana remained dubious as to whether she would carry the child to birth. It had only been five weeks, between the time she had realised herself pregnant and the Caroline’s arriving here, and she had carried both of her previous babies for longer before losing them.
Batavia, Georgiana found, was also an overbearing sort of lush, rendered damp by a great degree of vegetation and its series of canals, although the buildings had a trim, provincial sort of appearance. She and Moll went ashore, to make what purchases she desired, but Clerkwell had indicated he felt it an unhealthy place, and Georgiana was inclined to believe him, so she did not linger ashore so long as she might have otherwise. There seemed a restlessness to the town, as well; the Caroline had carried duplicate despatches for an event that had begun some time ago, prompted by the original despatches: that the English troops and government should begin their withdrawal, for the island was being returned to Dutch ownership. The English bustled about making their preparations to leave; the Dutch were arriving and looking to set up their households; of the natives, Georgiana could not tell their preferences in the matter, although surely they must have had opinions, whispered in those places where they felt it safe to whisper them.
The Stantons and those of the embassy were invited to dine with the English lieutenant-governor, Mr. Fendall, who seemed sanguine enough about the prospect of his position ending, likely because he had held it for a very short time. Georgiana had grown used to these sorts of official dinners, and as the highest-ranking lady in attendance here, she spent this one seated beside the lieutenant-governor, glad Fendall proved to be a well-mannered man.
He spoke of his service to the Company for much of the beginning of the dinner, and as he had lived in places Georgiana had not been to – he had spent a span of better than thirty years outside of England – this provided their end of the table with ample conversation through the first two removes. When the last course, including a few strange fruits and the cocoanut, came out, he told them of something his predecessor, Governor Raffles, had witnessed in the previous year. It had begun with an explosion so loud, Governor Raffles and others in the town had thought it to be cannon fire, but that it continued through the night, and in the morning, ash began to rain down on the town, so they had concluded a volcano to be the cause. This was confirmed as the ash continued for several days, abated, and then with new sounds of explosions, began again.
When Governor Raffles, a naturalist himself, had asked for a survey of the damage, he had learned that the explosion came not from one of the volcanoes nearer Batavia, as he had expected, but instead from Mount Tambora, some eight hundred miles away. The devastation around the volcano was horrific: entire villages destroyed by lava and ash, some thousands dead, and those who had survived starving, their crops covered in ash.
“Poor unfortunate souls,” Mr. Fendall said. “We are still doing what we can to aid them, and I only hope the Dutch will continue with what we began.”
All at their end of the table murmured their sympathy for the poor villagers, and after some time had passed, Georgiana said, contemplatively, “We saw a great mass of something on the ocean, during the journey here – a light, ashy rock that Mr. Akers thought to be volcanic. Do you think they are connected?”
“They may very well be. We have heard reports from other ships of the sort of ash rock you describe. This is a strange part of the world, I think – I am sure Mr. Raffles could give you a better account of just how strange. On my own part, I will be very glad to return to India, as will Mrs. Fendall.”
“We are for Bombay, once the embassy has completed its mission in China,” Georgiana said.
“Ah, do mention it to Mrs. Fendall when you go through, then,” he said, looking down the table to where his wife was seated. “Our residence was in Calcutta, but I am sure she will have some general advice for you, on being a lady in such a place.”
Georgiana and Mrs. Fendall went through to the drawing-room not long after this, and upon applying to her, Georgiana found Mrs. Fendall full of advice on what she might expect of such a colonial outpost. Georgiana enjoyed their conversation more for its being with a new female acquaintance – so rare to her now – than the advice itself, and wished she could further their acquaintance better than her limited time in port would allow.
+++
Georgiana did call on Mrs. Fendall several times more, but as the Caroline finished taking on her stores, she knew she would need to take her leave. The General Hewitt and Lyra had already sailed, both ships being slower than the Caroline and needing the additional time, but the Caroline did share the harbour with one larger ship, a homeward-bound East Indiaman. This ship was the cause of a brief discussion between Georgiana and Matthew, who approached her as she was sitting on deck with her sketchbook.
“That is the Rose, a Company ship, and she is sailing to London,” he said. “If you have at all changed your mind over returning home, she would be your best choice. I can inquire about passage, if you wish.”
“Please do not. I have not changed my mind,” Georgiana said, firmly.
He nodded. “Then you should gather your mail, for she will carry it back. I will go with you, to the cabin.”
They went thither, and Georgiana gave him the letter she had been writing since the Cape. It omitted the news that she was in the family way, and she was beginning to feel guilty for doing so, but she was certain Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would worry over her, to receive this intelligence, and she did not want to share it until there could truly be said to be cause for worry.
Chapter 33
A few days after the news of Mr. Collins’s death reached the party at Margate, Elizabeth came to Anne indicating that she intended to take her sons and servants to her family home at Longbourn, now that the risk of infection had passed. Elizabeth offered that Anne could remain at Margate or travel with the rest of them, depending on her preference.
Anne, upon receiving this application, reminded Elizabeth that she was a single female, and could not remain in Margate for an extended duration with only a maid and a footman to accompany her. Thus, she would have to go with them to Longbourn until it was safe to return to Rosings. To this she was given an embarrassed apology and a promise that if Anne had interest, Elizabeth would see if Captain and Mrs. Ramsey might attend her to some watering-place, for Mrs. Ramsey loved the seaside and had been at Longbourn for enough time that she must be desirous of a respite.
When they arrived at Longbourn, however, it seemed to Anne that Mrs. Ramsey was running the household in place of Mrs. Bennet – who had taken to her rooms in a nervous fit – and Anne did not see how Mrs. Ramsey could be spared. It did not matter, however, for even without the sea-bathing, Anne found her health improving daily. She was thus required to consider more seriously why this might be, and this led her to develop three possible explanations. The first and simplest was that the sea-bathing had done her some lasting good; the second was that the blue mass had not
been the correct prescription for her illnesses and might have been causing more injury than benefit; and the third, and most troubling, was that something about Rosings itself had been making her ill. She resolved therefore to stay away as long as she could, and in so doing, to see if she could better determine which of her explanations was the correct one.
The family at Longbourn were in what seemed a sort of half-hearted mourning for their cousin, but Mrs. Ramsey, at least, was very welcoming to the guests, installing her nephews in a bedroom that had once been the nursery and was again converted over for this purpose, welcoming her elder sister with a warm embrace, and greeting Anne with pleasant, unaffected manners.
The day following their arrival, all the adults of Longbourn (save Mrs. Bennet) were seated at the breakfast table when a strong storm hit, with a rain so thick, nothing could be seen mere inches away from the windows. This prompted concern from the entire party, who flocked to the windows even though they could not see anything. Anne was at first relieved they had not been required to travel in this, and then thought vaguely that she should care as much as any of them – perhaps more, since she and Mr. Bennet were the only people in the room with estates to their names. She had always left the decisions about Rosings to her mother and Mr. Leyland, when her mother had been of a mood to agree with him, and the estate had usually done well enough, particularly when aided by the guidance of Fitzwilliam and Edward. Yet it did not seem likely to do well enough in this year – not when the rain continued as it did.
Elizabeth stood beside her father, watching the rain spatter against the window and praying that her husband, who had been uncertain as to the day of his departure from Rosings, had not been caught travelling in this. She wondered if the weather would move northwest and reach Derbyshire, and knew that regardless of whether Darcy had been trapped in it, he would be worried over just this possibility.
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