Chapter 7
Elizabeth spent the days before departure gathering supplies and instructions from her uncle Gardiner.
She learned about the Levant Company, a powerful English trading corporation that held a monopoly on British commerce with the Ottoman Empire.
Like the East India Company, it operated as a joint-stock business with shareholders and appointed governors.
It was under their authority that her uncle imported and exported with the three merchant vessels he owned.
The Mary Catherine, a two-masted merchant brig named for Mr. Gardiner’s eldest daughter, would carry them for the entire journey.
The morning their ship sailed, Elizabeth stepped into the quarters she would be sharing with her father.
Her mouth fell open as she took in the cramped space.
She pressed her palms against the rough wooden walls, no more than an arm’s span apart.
The musty smell of old timber and tar filled her nostrils.
Turning in a slow circle, her skirts brushed the bottom bunk.
Through the thin wooden partitions, she could hear one of the crewmen’s rough speech as he packed crates into one of the other rooms. How would she dress in such a space?
Her gaze traveled up to the top bunk, so close to the ceiling that she would not be able to sit upright.
Another uncomfortable thought struck. Where would she tend to her most private needs? The chamber pot would have to be emptied by… Her cheeks burned at the thought. The contrast between this cabin and her bedchamber at Longbourn made her dizzy.
Elizabeth imagined her mother and younger sisters pressed together into the small cabin, sleeping in shifts. She chuckled at the thought but then sobered. No, it was best that they remained behind. She would not have been able to bear their complaints.
Stripping off her gloves, she began the practical work of settling in.
Books lay scattered across the narrow bed, a stool, and a tiny bedside table like fallen leaves.
Armfuls at a time, she packed them into wooden crates beside the bunk, shoving them underneath until they settled into place.
Her fingers fumbled with the latches of her trunk.
Bonnets, gowns, and nightclothes came out one by one, hung on wooden pegs that jutted from the wall like accusing fingers.
Each were buttoned in the front since she would have no one to help her dress.
Every inch of storage space was assessed.
What was essential, what could be packed away.
Propping open the cabin door, Elizabeth let in the London fog.
Unfortunately, the cool morning air brought the smells of the tide and waterfront filth with it.
Salt-tinged, the breeze carried voices from the dock—sailors shouting orders, fishmongers singing out their wares, carts and wheelbarrows rumbling over cobblestones. The cacophony made her temples throb.
Her father was in the common room, or what a crew member called the galley, searching the shelves nailed to the wall for any new reading material. Elizabeth longed to be on deck, absorbing the sights and sounds to document in her journal.
When she left the cabin, a boy blocked her path up the ladder.
His elbows poked through his worn shirt, and knobby knees were visible through holes in his trousers.
His hair hung in uneven chunks, black as London soot.
She noticed a wide gap between his front teeth.
Although he grinned up at her, his gaze darted from her face to her hands to the ladder behind him with a wariness that belonged to someone much older.
“I be Tommy, the ship’s boy. Ye best stay in yer quarters, miss, until we cast off and are on the river for a bit. You could trip over the lines and get in the way.”
“I see. Very well, Tommy. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet. This is my first voyage.”
“Well, tain’t mine. Been at sea since I was young. Probably made half a dozen or more trips to Gibraltar and beyond.”
“You have been six times?” Her brow arched.
“Well, maybe not that many. Enough to know where we be goin’.”
“I am pleased to hear it, Tommy. I will do as you suggest and remain here. Be safe.”
He touched his cap and scampered up the ladder with the agility of a monkey, his bare feet finding purchase on narrow stairs slick with sea spray.
Elizabeth sank into the small stool someone long ago fastened to the wall, which groaned under the weight. Retrieving her journal and graphite pencil, she wrote the day’s date: 2 April 1812, Thursday. Here she was, aboard a ship.
At a sharp rap on the door, she rose and lifted the latch. Tommy had returned and was now accompanied by a man carrying a medium-sized crate.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss, but yer order from the chandler be here. And there be a packet of letters handed off by Mr. Gardiner himself. Do ye want the crate stored below or were ye needin’ it in yer quarters?”
“Oh!” Elizabeth wondered where she could store the items without tripping over them. “Here, please.”
Over the next few minutes, crewmen delivered three crates, a small box, and three letters. One was from Aunt Gardiner, one from Jane, and a scrap of paper, unfolded and unsealed, came from Lydia.
The box was from a waterfront ships’ chandler that carried everything from turpentine and tar to tools and sailcloth.
Saving the letters for later, she unwrapped the contents of the small box, which contained Sheffield steel knives, scissors, and needle cases along with fine sewing needles and pins.
Her uncle had sent three crates from his warehouse, each lined with oilcloth to protect against the salt air.
The first held items he exported: fine wool shawls, printed calicoes, small pieces of superior English broadcloth, and handkerchiefs she could embroider during the long days at sea.
The second held packets of high-quality English tea, hallmarked silver teaspoons, and four fine bone china teacups and saucers.
The third held sweet-smelling lavender and rose-scented soaps, artist’s supplies, and small mirrors in decorative frames.
Whenever they were in port, Elizabeth and her father would likely be guests of British officers and their wives.
Those ladies would hunger for luxury items from home, and their husbands would welcome the chance to obtain them.
A captain or trusted crew member would handle each transaction for a fee, unless Elizabeth chose to present an item as a hostess gift.
Any funds she earned would remain with the captain until the journey ended, preserving her appearance as a proper English lady instead of a merchant trader.
Her father had brought a pile of books that would serve the same purpose. At least, that was the plan.
Setting the letters aside, she tucked the rest of the items under their bunk and then left to find her father.
Darcy stood at the window of his study, the evening shadows lengthening across the garden.
Parker, his valet, had finished packing hours prior and made no effort to conceal his relief at staying behind.
The Meridian’s narrow quarters left no room for servants.
Richard had volunteered for the upper bunk, which solved at least one problem.
The cramped quarters would be a trial. Attempting to court Elizabeth under his cousin’s watchful eye would be another matter.
But nothing could be done about either. By now, Elizabeth was already at sea.
Darcy turned from the window. Tomorrow would not come soon enough.
Elizabeth pressed her face to the small porthole, the grimy buildings of London’s docks sliding past. The Mediterranean beckoned, and they were answering its call.
Hours passed as they navigated the busy Thames. Behind them, London was a distant memory. Ahead lay the vast expanse of water that would carry them to places she never imagined she would travel. Next to her, her father suffered with every movement of the ship. If only she could bring him relief.
In the distance, across the channel, lay France—or rather, fog where France should be. What had she done, leaving everything familiar behind? Yet even as the question formed, anticipation surged through her. She could not wait to experience everything.
A hesitant knock came at their cabin door.
Elizabeth opened it to find Tommy holding a steaming tin cup.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss,” he said. “Cook thought you might fancy some tea. Proper tea, not the ship’s usual swill.
” He glanced past her to where her father lay motionless on his bunk. “How’s yer Pa farin’?”
She accepted the cup, touched by this small kindness. “My father is managing as best he can.”
The boy shuffled his feet. “The lads are sayin’ we might be in for a bit of weather. Could be three, maybe four days or more ’fore we clear the Channel proper and reach the Atlantic.”
Elizabeth considered what this meant for her father’s suffering. “Three days in these waters?”
“Aye, miss. The wind isn’t with us, see, and the Channel’s got her moods.
We might have to tack back and forth a fair bit.
” Tommy’s brow creased with sympathy. “Mrs. Bell, she’s a woman that Mr. Gardiner sends when we have lady passengers on the ship, says ginger comfits might help your father, if you’d like me to bring some. ”
“That would be wonderful, Tommy. Thank you for telling me about the conditions ahead. Knowledge is always preferable to uncertainty, even when the news is not what we hoped.” Elizabeth managed a smile despite her concern.
“Please extend my sincerest thanks to Mrs. Bell. I look forward to becoming acquainted with her once my father is able to stand on his own.”
The lad shrugged. “I’m thinkin’ that you will not see her for many days then.”
Sighing, Elizabeth replied, “I do suppose you are correct.”