Play No Evil （Free Indirect Discourse） #2
Like nearly anybody who lived in close quarters with a blind person they loved, the ladies had worked out hundreds of little adjustments to their daily lives to make Lizzy’s blindness less of an issue.
Elizabeth’s tumble over the step stool the previous night had been quite the anomaly because the ladies kept their houses almost entirely free of dangerous furniture.
One could not completely do without footstools, but there was not a single piece of furniture that did not serve a useful purpose; nor was a single piece of furniture ever allowed to deviate from the place where it belonged, even temporarily.
Elizabeth would memorise the positions of everything and avoid them quite automatically, and it had been some time since her last stumble.
Her inattentiveness the previous evening had been her downfall, not a failure of their system.
In yet another break from her mother’s custom, Anne had long ago invited Mr Hopkinson to take meals with them.
Naturally, this was not mentioned to her mother either.
This was not a terribly big break from tradition, as Mr Hopkinson’s status was somewhere between servant and family.
He was probably more analogous to a companion than anything else.
Anne invited him initially just to be available to read things to Elizabeth if necessary, or take down any words of wisdom she wished to speak of over meals.
After a while, the ladies began to feel he was akin to a missing grandfather, and began to invite him just to have his company, until it became a longstanding custom.
As the three sat to their meal, a footman brought in the day’s post. Glancing over the letters, Anne seized one immediately and broke the seal with trembling hands.
“Lizzy, this is a letter from Captain Jamison!”
“What does it say?”
Anne scanned the note, her frown deepening as she read, while Elizabeth did her best not to bounce in her seat in an accurate impersonation of Lydia. Knowing how impatient Lizzy was, Anne stopped partway through and started reading from the beginning.
~~~
12 Aug 1812
Dear Miss de Bourgh and Miss Bennet,
It distresses me greatly to inform you that I shall not be able to deliver you safely back to England. I offer my sincerest apologies, but it is simply impossible, and unlikely for any other captain with sense.
As you know, in a sudden fit of irrationality, the United States recently declared war on Great Britain.
We have heard rumours of debates in the Senate regarding war for some time, but most of us dismissed them, as there are always rumours of war.
A certain class of politician thrives on that sort of thing, and Washington is a perfect place to gather such individuals.
The declaration of war must have caught the British government quite by surprise, as it caught nearly everyone, but nevertheless, Britain is quite prepared for war and will prosecute it with vigour.
Practically, this makes it nearly impossible for a rational sea captain to trade with the United States, except where willing to take highly profitable cargo with the attendant risks.
British ships have blockaded all major American seaports, and all traffic is subject to the vagaries of the British Navy at war.
While His Majesty’s government still actively encourages trade between the belligerent countries, the war has made it risky.
There are numerous Letters of Marque issued which give sea captains and even privateers large rewards for capturing or sinking ‘enemy’ ships, and some captains take a liberal view of whom they classify as an enemy.
The Navy has also been pressing men into service at a prodigious rate, so even if a captain is left with his ship and cargo intact—neither of which is guaranteed—he is likely to lose a goodly portion of his crew.
To add insult to injury, should I happen to penetrate the British blockades to enter your harbour, I would then face the American Navy.
It has only two dozen ships to Britain’s eight hundred, but they are faster, stouter, and more aggressive in this climate, and of course, there are American privateers looking for quick profit as well.
The privateers are little different from authorised pirates.
Should I accomplish all this, I would then have to repeat the perilous voyage.
Perhaps this sounds a trifle self-serving, but you are both intelligent women and I believe I owe you a good explanation.
While it would be my honour to take you back home safely, I cannot risk my ship, my crew, or my family, or your own lives to do so.
I am sorry, ladies, but it simply cannot be done.
You are probably reasonably safe where you are for a time, but if the war drags on, you may wish to consider removing to a less hostile region.
If you could make your way overland to the Canadas, you could likely catch a British ship from one of the ports, but there is a question whether you would have trouble crossing the border.
Ask around carefully before you engage in such a scheme, as there is a good chance the Americans will guard the border with hostility.
There also seems a chance the Americans will try to seize all or part of the Canadas, as that would be an obvious goal for such a ridiculous war.
If you could reach the Canadas, I believe there will be much traffic, and there is a fair chance with your connections you could even secure passage on a Navy ship.
You might also choose to wait out the war somewhere to the West with more comfort than your present location.
New York is a bustling city, right in the forefront of the calls to arms, and misfortune may occur.
I do not believe you to be in acute danger, but resentment of the British will increase as the war continues, and I would loathe having you caught in the middle.
It might be better to settle yourselves quietly in a smaller town to the West. That is the advice I would give my daughters were they in your position, but I do not know the climate where you are so do anything with great care.
My deepest apologies and best wishes,
Captain Elijah Jamison
~~~
“That is hardly ideal.”
Anne snorted at Lizzy’s impertinence. “It appears we are to be Americans for a bit longer. It may not be all bad.”
“How so, Anne? I am quite happy to remain here for a time, but your tone implies you might not be in such a hurry to return as you were a week ago. Has something changed?”
Anne never quite had the chance to answer, as the butler entered to announce a visitor.
“Mr Read, ma’am.”
“Please give us a few minutes and then bring him to the drawing room.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lizzy turned her face toward the spot where Anne likely sat. “Mr Read?”
Fortunately for her equanimity, Elizabeth could not see Anne’s deep blush, though she could perfectly well assume it.
“Confess, Anne. Who exactly is Mr Read?”
“A gentleman I met last night. He… he… he asked me to dance, Lizzy. He singled me out even without having you as bait.”
Elizabeth laughed at the jest, but she was not to be dissuaded from her purpose.
“Actually, we never quite got around to dancing. I asked to sit out one, and he sat with me for the next—”
Very softly, Lizzy asked, “The next—”
Somewhat sheepishly, Anne squeaked, “—the next three hours?”
Elizabeth laughed at that and sprang up to dance around the room—or at least to twirl in the small circle permitted before she risked tripping or striking her head again.
Mr Hopkinson grinned from ear to ear, and even the footman and maid who had entered to clear the breakfast things could not resist a hearty laugh.
“Well, by all means, let us meet this Mr Read.”
~~~
“Mr Read, ma’am.”
Both ladies stood to greet the gentleman.
In yet another signal they had worked out over the months, they stood close enough that Anne could give subtle cues to her friend.
In this case, a light graze across the back of Lizzy’s hand with two knuckles allowed the two ladies to execute perfectly synchronised curtsies, which never failed to impress the easily captivated.
Empty showmanship rarely impressed Mr Read, yet he found himself struck by the signs of a close and loving relationship between two ladies who, by Miss de Bourgh’s account, had met only a year ago. Had they been introduced as the most loving of sisters, he would have believed them.
“Mr Read, welcome to our home.”
He appreciated the greeting, as well as the inclusiveness.
“Mr Read, may I please acquaint you with my dearest friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and my other good friend, Mr Eldridge Hopkinson.”
Mr Hopkinson would not pass muster as a ‘gentleman’ in England, but here he would do just fine. In fact—
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet and Mr Hopkinson. I have heard a great deal about you and none of it seems exaggerated.”
Elizabeth laughed at that. “Yes, I assume Anne mentioned a battered and bruised companion. She is always precise that way.”
The gentleman joined their mirth. He was happy to see they were not afraid to laugh; the simpering giggles some English girls exhibited set his teeth on edge.
“She seems to have neglected one or two points in her description—” he finally answered.
Anne—he struggled to think of her as anything but Anne—had omitted the salient detail that her friend was blind.
There had been a great deal of discussion about Miss Bennet, but that particular fact had not arisen.
Some might consider it a bad sign—omitting such an important detail about someone in their household—but he did not hold to that view.
Anne simply considered it unimportant, to her credit.