The Bad Miss Bennet Abroad Read online

  February 15th

  Only a few days after our first dinner he called for me at the inn. We drove first to La Nouvelle Heloise where he proudly showed me the mangos which had been cultivated from the first seeds introduced to the island from India.

  ‘The story is that a British man of war intercepted a French ship from the East Indies carrying these seeds. Their cargo was confiscated and the seeds brought here. Our mangos are the descendants of those first fruits.’ I smiled at his Jamaican use of language which is often old fashioned and quaint. The mangos, however, were magnificent.

  A plate of them was set before us and as we bit into the delicious orange flesh our faces became soaked in juice. The scent of tropical fruit and jasmine flowers was heady on the veranda. I could have been back in Brazil with Dom Pedro, but Mr Macaulay was at least easier to understand.

  He leaned close to me, attempting to mop the juices from my bodice with a linen kerchief. We swayed towards each other, giggling and dripping juices. I had not felt so carefree in a long time.

  Mr Macaulay suddenly put out his tongue and licked the side of my mouth before winking in a suggestive manner.

  ‘La, you are bold, sir!’ I cried as he once again attempted to mop my bodice. When we had recovered ourselves, he called for water so that we could wash off the stickiness. A servant offered a jug of lemonade and later we departed in a carriage toward Montego Bay. In the distance, I saw the figure of James standing in a field overseeing the work.

  ‘He enjoys it,’ said Mr Macaulay.

  As we drove, my host told me more about the island which he pronounced as Yamaca. ‘It is an Arawak word meaning a place of rivers and springs. The Arawaks were the first settlers here long ago. There are groups of them still but their numbers are dwindling. There are other groups too, especially in the Blue Mountains. We never go there.’

  ‘Why not?’ I was intrigued.

  ‘Because of the Maroons. They are former slaves who escaped from the Spanish when we assumed control of the island. They are very fierce, but the British made peace with them. They leave us alone and we leave them alone.’

  ‘The island appears to be full of mystery,’ I told him. He nodded.

  ‘There are many different groups and nationalities here – Jews, Arawaks, English and Americans, even Scottish/French settlers!’ He laughed and pointed the whip at himself.

  Chapter 20

  The week positively flew by as I was whisked around the island, being shown many of the beautiful vistas and magnificent rivers. Our longest journey was to a place north of the capital, Kingston. It was a small settlement known as St Thomas which was famous for its hot springs.

  I gave a bitter laugh when my escort told me this. Had I not spent enough time in the city of Bath? I explained to Mr Macaulay that the words ‘hot springs’ brought an image of broken down, unwashed people with unfortunate skin conditions. He laughed and said that St Thomas was very different.

  When we reached the springs high up in the rocks we found a crowd of people, black and white of all types and classes – the rich man, the slave and the free. The black men bared shining bodies as the water gushed over them. Others were pummelled and massaged by men and women with sticks.

  The white people stood apart while their servants brought pitchers of water to them. Many of the white people looked as if they wished they could also remove their clothes. We arranged ourselves on some flat rocks as if for a picnic, while Mr Macaulay called for water. He poured a cup for me and I regarded it, dubiously recalling the sulphuric taste of Bath Spa water. ‘At least it does not smell of bad eggs,’ I remarked.

  My escort urged me to drink. ‘There is nothing unpleasant in this water, Mrs Wickham. You have a treat in store.’ He downed a cup very quickly and poured another. I took a sip and then drank the cup down. It was a hot day and I was thirsty. My companion immediately poured me a second.

  I felt a strange sensation creeping over my body, a tingling like pins and needles but very pleasant. I drank more water and began to feel extraordinarily at ease with myself and the world around me. Mr Macaulay beamed at me and we both began laughing immoderately and talking nonsense. The warm, loving feeling grew more intense and looking around I could see others in the same condition, smiling vaguely and drinking avidly.

  ‘The water cures your physical ills and makes you feel good inside,’ intoned Mr Macaulay, as if quoting from the prayer book. He slurred his words a little and I giggled. ‘Yes, I feel almost regenerous.’ I meant regenerated but the word did not come out quite right.

  People were moving into the little grass roofed cabins nearby. My escort took my arm and we followed them into an empty cabin. There we half lay, half sat on makeshift couches while wonderful sensations coursed around our bodies. We began to giggle helplessly, clutching each other for support. Mr Macaulay grasped me in his arms and buried his face in my hair, but I pushed him away and he collapsed on his couch laughing helplessly.

  At that moment I was in love with the entire universe and everyone in it. I even felt benevolent toward Dom Pedro, his mother, and Mr Darcy. I even forgave Captain Lafitte for attempting to kidnap me. Never had the sky seemed bluer, the gushing water more crystal clear. God was in his heaven and I – Suddenly the feeling of well-being evaporated as the tingling sensations died away. I sat up feeling like my usual self, but at peace. Mr Macaulay’s eyes were closed and I prodded him gently. Reluctantly, he sat up, brushed himself down and offered to fetch the picnic which we had left in the carriage.

  As we began to eat I asked eagerly for more water. ‘It is such a hot day!’ He laughed and shook his head at the longing in my voice.

  ‘Too much of the magic water is not good, my dear. It should be used sparingly. The local people believe it is a gift from God and so they named the place after St Thomas the apostle.’

  ‘Do you think it is a gift from God?’ I asked. He gave me a sly wink.

  ‘It could equally well be a gift from the Devil. Perhaps I should take some back for James. He has need of it.’

  We ate our food and drank cordial in place of water before driving back to Falmouth over atrocious roads. The feeling of contentment was quite dissipated after being bounced over many miles.

  Back at the inn, I told Adelaide about the magic water and she immediately became pettish because I had not thought to bring some for her to taste.

  ‘It was probably spiked with gin,’ was her sour verdict. I was forced to mollify her with the gift of a fine, lace edged kerchief. I must keep her content. She knows too much.

  ‘It will soon be time to embark for England,’ I reminded her. We both groaned at the prospect and I wished for a supply of the magic water to enliven the journey.

  February 16th

  There remained only one more dinner at La Nouvelle Heloise before I left the island. Mr Macaulay had courted me most assiduously and I was not surprised when he announced that he had booked a passage on the Ocean Queen which would convey us to England. He was trying to impress me and I was willing to be impressed, dear reader, for was I not once again alone and friendless, if not exactly penniless?

  Before we left the island, I ventured to a jeweller’s shop to sell my miniature of Dom Pedro. How could I explain to relatives in England how it came to be in my possession? I could not afford to be compromised. The jeweller found the piece ‘most interesting’. I do not know if the fashion for lovers’ eyes has reached Jamaica. They are somewhat behind the times. Nevertheless, I received what appeared to be a good price. Adelaide was charged with getting our baggage to the ship and safely stowed in our cabin.

  As we embarked, Mr Macaulay held my arm saying, ‘May the winds be gentle. Are you acquainted with the operas of Herr Mozart, Mrs Wickham?’ I confessed I was not. ‘The aria I quoted from is the most beautiful song of farewell I have ever heard.’ He looked soulfully at me and hummed a few bars. ‘Will you not call me Martin now that we are to travel together?’ I smiled and lowered my eyes.

  ‘I cou
ld not use such a disrespectful title, sir.’ Perhaps this is an example of colonial manners.

  Chapter 21

  February 17th

  Mr Macaulay continues to pay court to me. As soon as I emerge from my cabin he materialises by my side, a dapper sprite with his extravagant West Indian mannerisms. When I recall his charming house and estate and his wish to live in England, I consider that I could do worse. However, this time I will settle for nothing less than a wedding ring. I could not in conscience return home a widow when such an opportunity presents itself.

  You may judge, dear reader, that I am acting in haste in this matter. It is true that I am somewhat impetuous by nature, but I also feel a degree of desperation. I would be undone if news of my liaison with Dom Pedro and the birth of our child became known to my relatives in England. In short, I need a husband and Mr Macaulay appears to be eminently suitable.

  Later that same day

  Accordingly, it appears that we can accommodate each other. Mr Macaulay is in need of a wife and I am able to supply that need. Our bargain was sealed when he produced a flask of brandy mixed with some of the magic water brought from St Thomas. The hour passed most pleasantly.

  Later still

  I must confess that I was taken aback when that gentleman, within hours of his proposal and my acceptance, suggested that we should be married at once by the ship’s captain. I had anticipated a ceremony in London or even at a port en route – the ship calls at Madeira and somewhere in Ireland, but my husband-to-be was insistent. He professed himself so eager for us to be united that he could wait no longer. Such enthusiasm is flattering, of course, but somewhat puzzling.

  When he returned from a consultation with Captain Maguire, he told me that the captain was more than willing to officiate. His first mate and Adelaide would act as witnesses and he looked forward to drinking our health at a celebratory dinner tomorrow evening.

  Twenty-four hours remain in which to contemplate my change of status. I was comforted by visions of Mr Macaulay’s large estate, reflecting that the unfortunate Wickham had nothing to offer me on our marriage except the ten thousand pounds supplied by Mr. Darcy which was soon dissipated.

  At last I would have a home, even if it was thousands of miles away. The prospect of living in the West Indies had little appeal but later, who knows? How impressed my relatives will be with my good fortune! No more penniless officers and lowly curates will be dangled before me. Mr Macaulay and my family know nothing of my adventures in Brazil and I shall take care to see that this state of affairs continues. I know I can rely on Adelaide’s discretion, but I must keep her with me always and see that she is well rewarded.

  February 18th

  A rapid change of cabins has been arranged. My maid, somewhat surprised, will occupy Mr Macaulay’s cabin and he will move into mine after the ceremony.

  When I told her that I had nothing to hand except my well-worn blue silk gown she muttered her favourite mantra, that I was not lucky with gentlemen.

  ‘But he is offering marriage!’ She shrugged and I thought I heard the word ‘chancer.’ I chose to ignore this and threw a handsome shawl over my gown. I will wear my pearls for good luck.

  February 28th

  The following morning dawned clear and bright enough with a heavy swell. When we presented ourselves to the captain in his cabin, Mr Macaulay eyed my pearls approvingly. He is something of a connoisseur of jewellery, although he has offered me nothing except the wedding ring set with a small turquoise, which he says is a family heirloom from France.

  The ceremony was brief and I suspect that the captain was not entirely sober, although it was only eleven of the clock. However, he is a sailor and an Irishman to boot. Afterwards, my husband swept me up in a tight embrace and Captain Maguire shook our hands vigorously before the ship gave a lurch which threw us against the cabin doors. Mr Macaulay pocketed the marriage document and escorted me back to our cabin where he insisted on consummating our nuptials, despite my protestations that it was almost lunchtime.

  Conjugal relations at sea in a cramped, narrow berth are not recommended, especially when there is a heavy swell. After several uncomfortable preliminaries my husband gave up the attempt and re-arranged his clothes. Although handsome of face, he is slightly under average in height and slight in every other respect, I noted. Nevertheless, we will deal well enough together, I believe. Married life is not to be compared with the passionate flights of les affaires du coeur.

  That night I managed to change into my lemon and white cut work gown and Mr Macaulay wore his best burgundy broadcloth coat. There was much drinking of toasts at the table and it was fortunate that the first mate is a sober individual, otherwise I cannot imagine who might have been fit to steer the ship. After imbibing a good deal of brandy my husband sank into his berth that night, giving me only a quick peck on the cheek and a pat on the rump. However, I am too accustomed to the ways of men to be affronted by his behaviour.

  I enjoyed a fair night’s sleep despite some snuffling and snorting from my spouse. And so I am now Mrs de Fontblanc Macaulay which has a satisfactory ring, and I am a respectable woman again. Let Mr Darcy dare to sneer! I recalled my meeting with another West Indian nabob at Pemberley before I left England, but I suspect that the Macaulay fortune is not in the same class.

  A few days later the ship docked at Madeira, where we enjoyed a few days on shore while it was provisioned and more goods were taken on board. This constituted our honeymoon and we found the island very pleasant and floral. It is known as the island of eternal spring, full of flowers, fruit and sweet wine. We were able to explore a little in a small carriage drawn by mules.

  It was with some reluctance that my husband was prevailed on to make me a gift of a piece of lace which is made exquisitely here. He claimed not to have more than a few coins on his person. Fortunately, I had enough in my purse for the purchase. I hope I have not married a miser.

  I whiled away some time on the voyage deliberating on the kind of household we would set up when we arrive in England. We will, of course, live in London and I shall insist on two matching footmen and our own carriage. My husband is unwilling to discuss these details, becoming vague on the subject whenever it is raised.

  He is very anxious to visit Pemberley and has taken it upon himself to dispatch a letter to my brother-in-law by a faster ship. I confess I do not look forward to meeting my relatives again after the manner of my leaving, but I accept that I must introduce my husband to the family.

  Mr Macaulay spends a great deal of time in the evenings playing cards and drinking brandy with the captain while I occupy myself with a copy of Melmoth the Wanderer, which awaited me in Jamaica, sent by dear Selena. It is recently published and quite delightfully horrid.

  March 9th

  When the ship docked briefly in Ireland, Adelaide said she would throw herself overboard if we did not disembark and I must admit that I shared her feelings. If only I could be sure that this would be my last long sea voyage, but there was no such re-assurance available.

  My husband is also eager to reach England. He speaks frequently of how much he looks forward to meeting the Darcys at Pemberley. I assume that, like the rest of the world, he is bedazzled by my brother-in-law’s wealth and status. I have not yet informed him of Mr Darcy’s antipathy toward me – and mine for him.

  March 15th

  Eventually, when the ship arrived in Liverpool, we were once again on terra firma, only to be shaken and jolted over country roads until we reached Derbyshire. I have surely aged a decade since I left Brazil. Adelaide must procure some Milk of Roses to recover my complexion as soon as possible.

  My husband, however, was all sprightliness and bounding energy He grew visibly more excited as we entered the grounds at Pemberley and progressed up the long driveway.

  ‘Magnificent! Magnificent!’ he burbled, ‘such a splendid vista. I had not realised…’ his voice trailed away almost reverently. Adelaide sniffed loudly and I raised my eyebrows.
/>   Chapter 22

  I held my breath as we stood in the entrance hall. My brother-in-law stood half way up the grand staircase looking down on us with an air of invincible superiority, aided by the supercilious portraits of his ancestors adorning the walls. Mr Macaulay and I looked up at him wordlessly. The spell was broken by Lizzie, who rushed forward to embrace us warmly. Mr Darcy descended the stairs reluctantly, I thought. He cast his eye over my spouse before shaking him by the hand. I was given the briefest of acknowledgements. The look in his eyes would have cast a chill over a Jamaican plantation.

  I tried to recall how many miles and how many countries I had traversed since I last set foot in this house. What life-changing events I had endured, dear reader! My mind began to bend under the strain of remembrance. If my family had but the slightest idea that I had given birth to a royal child, almost been carried off by pirates, tossed on the high seas, married on the high seas, not to mention being lady-in-waiting to a princess, they would have been quite scandalised.

  ‘Is that not so, my dear?’ Mr Macaulay was saying.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I replied as Lizzie led me away.

  After we had been shown to our room, I was called to admire Charles Fitzwilliam, the rapidly growing heir to Pemberley, together with his baby brother. I suffered a pang as I thought of my little Sebastian. How much had he changed since our parting?

  When we joined the men for dinner, we found them deep in conversation. Mr Darcy was becoming animated on the subject of estate management while my husband recounted his experiences as a plantation owner, omitting to mention that his brother has carried the burden of the Macaulay acres for some time. My brother-in-law deigned to address me at this point if only in the third person.