Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

October 1814, Jakarta, Java

T he Melisande was securely anchored in the harbour off Jakarta. Their adventures, for that was what she had to call them, had been paused temporarily. The ship and its crew needed rest and repairs.

The quartermaster's mate knocked on the door of the captain's quarters, and when Elizabeth bade him enter, he was carrying a large canvas bag.

"What do you have there, Youssef?" she asked as he carried it to the captain's dining table she used as a desk.

"It's the mail, missus," he said as he slung the bag up on the table. "It's your letters."

Elizabeth leant over and pulled the bag closer. "They are mine? All of them?" There must have been at least one hundred in there!

"They're for you and the captain both," he said. "Some of the mail went off to the North American station by mistake, some was accidentally left behind in Madras, and then the packet ship was nearly swamped in a storm, so there was another delay, but the quartermaster says it has all caught up with us at last, ma'am."

Between one thing and another, the Melisande had not received mail in almost ten months. Elizabeth had last received letters in the Cape and Zanzibar on their way east. Although she had continued to write and post letters to each of her sisters, her aunts and uncles, and her father, she had received none in return. It had been deeply disappointing. If Samuel had not explained that mail to naval ships often got detained or even completely lost, she would have been very worried, even frightened.

As it turned out, she had had little time to think about it. Once they had stopped for supplies at Simonstown, they had continued towards India with stops in Zanzibar and then embarked upon a longer stretch to Bombay. They had exchanged fire for several days in a running battle with a French privateer north of Madagascar before they had captured the ship, put its French crew in the hold, chained and under guard, and with an English prize crew aboard, towed it to Mauritius. They had then again made for Bombay and traced the coast of India on their way east. They had been blown off course by storms and more than once found themselves separated from the rest of the squadron. After the last, they had pushed on to their rendezvous in Penang and regrouped there before making their way farther east to Singapore, where she had said her reluctant goodbyes to the ship's passenger, Alice Channing.

Since boarding the ship, Alice had become her dear and intimate friend, as close as she had ever been to Charlotte. Over paper and canvas, with pencils and paints, Alice had tutored her in art; not just in capturing images but in how artists see in shapes and shadows, light and colour. Elizabeth had enjoyed hearing about her friend's unconventional childhood, spent at her father's diplomatic posts throughout Europe and Asia. Although Elizabeth's duties had taken precedence, and often she had been occupied with caring for the sick and wounded, their bond had grown.

When she had disembarked in Singapore to rejoin her family, Alice had presented gifts to both Elizabeth and Samuel. Somewhere, she had acquired some small pieces of ivory and had painted exquisite miniatures, one of Samuel for Elizabeth and a more intimate lover's eye painting of Elizabeth's eye for Samuel. Rather than being embarrassed, Samuel had chuckled when he opened the small, blue wooden box containing the miniature. "Miss Channing is a romantic, it seems."

Elizabeth opened the mail bag and began pulling out bundles of letters, battered and creased, water stained and ink-smeared. She separated them by whether they were directed to herself or Samuel, then further organised them by their authors, by recognition of their handwriting.

She saw one letter in a hand that she found familiar but did not quite recognise. Curious, she opened that one first.

March 1814

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

My dear Mrs Bancroft,

I do not know how else to begin except to state it plainly. Mr Bennet and I have married. You will read Mr Bennet's account of our decision to wed, but I wished to tell you myself directly, in my own words. Since the day I arrived at Longbourn and was met by a talkative and curious three-year-old who brought me a bright yellow feather and two acorns, you have been precious to me. I still have them.

As you remember, we at Longbourn have been in a peculiar state since Miss Lydia's death resulted in our being cut by our neighbours. The lines between our ranks began to be obscured even before you and your sisters married and moved away, and since then, our informality has only progressed.

After you sailed, your father returned home to discover that he had become an object of interest to the local single ladies. He disabused them of any notion that he would choose a wife from any family who had participated in our shunning. I am sure he has written you an account of that fateful tea party.

Yet the idea of remarrying took root in his mind. He began to see that marrying again could be of great benefit to himself, his family, and his estate. After a long period of consideration, he broached the subject with me. After much thought, I agreed.

Mr Bennet is not a romantic person, and neither am I. We have a respect for one another and share a wish to bring Longbourn back to life again, to make it prosper and flourish, and to always be a welcoming home to you, your sisters, and your families. Mr Bennet also enjoys the idea of making sport for our neighbours, as you well know.

Your sisters have generously given us their blessings, as have my former colleagues in service to the Longbourn estate. Our household arrangements are most unconventional, but they seem to work nicely for all of us. We are content.

Wishing you safe and happy,

Sarah Hill Bennet

A few hours later, when the captain entered their quarters, Elizabeth was leaning back in her chair, feeling somewhat staggered. Before her, dozens of opened letters were scattered over the surface of the table.

"Have you received bad news, Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

She looked at him and then at the letters. "No, not at all. Rather, I have had such a surfeit of good news. I am a bit overwhelmed by it." She laughed, shaking her head, then counted on her fingers. "Jane and Alexander have had a son. Their daughter, little Frances, is healthy and happy. Alexander has been knighted for his work on one of the royal properties. Mary and Gerhard have had a daughter. Gerhard has published several of his own compositions to some acclaim and is being invited to perform and conduct. Kitty and Henry are expecting a child. Henry has been officially commended for his work. My uncle has resumed some of his business connexions on the Continent…and my father has married Mrs Hill, our former housekeeper." She smiled and gestured to the bundles of unopened mail. "My family has been busy. You will no doubt read their accounts in your own letters."

Samuel smiled. "I look forward to it. Are you ready to see Jakarta?"

"Oh yes! Only let me put these letters away," said Elizabeth, rising from her chair and tying the correspondence back into bundles. "I wish to see it very much!"