The Curse of Land's End

by Rose Lorimer

  The smell of leather and horse on her clothes intruded on my dreamland, and realisation struck me hard.

  How did she come to be here?

  I stood up, looking at her. Despite her best efforts, she was a fright. Her hair was escaping the single bun on her nape, her face was smudged and her clothes… She was wearing breeches!

  I felt dizzy and stumbled. She helped me to a chair. I must have been making faces because she was laughing now, as a gentleman I had not yet met approached.

  “William, this is my Uncle Edward Gardiner. My Uncle is one of Charles’ associates.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr Darcy. And in one piece,” the man said, shaking my hand. “But I am afraid any proper conversation will need to wait. I need to take Bingley to see his wife before he has a collapse. We will meet again soon.” He stopped and gave Elizabeth a meaningful smile. “Be safe.”

  “Thank you, Mr Gardiner. You too,” I replied, wondering what the smile could mean.

  Before I could ask, Mr O’Connell pulled over another chair and sat beside me. “If you are feeling better, I would like to know what happened to you. Bingley’s part of the story was quite straightforward. He arrived at the port area to meet his man, but was accosted by two thugs. Next thing he remembered was waking in that mine, wrists and ankles tied up. No explanations offered.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of laughter. The three of us turned.

  Miss Lucas was still stitching Richard’s wound. Despite the impossibility, I had the impression they were enjoying their closeness. Richard’s slurred voice could be heard saying something, to which Miss Lucas replied with laugher. Elizabeth and I exchanged glances. If she knew what I knew, we would receive a wedding announcement very soon.

  Mr O’Connell cleared his throat, as he schooled his amused expression. “Now, tell me, Mr Darcy. How did Fitzwilliam end up shot?”

  My own amusement faded away. “In a few words, it was my fault.” I told them how Richard and I had found Bingley and were about to leave, when a man came and I recognised him as Mr Glowbrenn, then how he had helped me to carry Bingley as we left the mine. “Once out of the mine, on our way back to Sennen Cove, he said he needed to rest. We stopped and with no further word, he got his pistol and turned it towards Richard’s back. I jumped on him and we struggled. He hit my head with the handle of his gun and I fell. When I came back to my senses, Richard had been already shot and was on the ground, Bingley beside him, trying to staunch the bleeding. We had no way to contact anyone. Bingley was the only one who could seek help — and the only one who did not know the way. It was Richard’s idea to lie down together and keep ourselves warm until help arrived. Before I lost consciousness again, Bingley told me he had hit the man with a rock while he tried to shoot at Richard again, making him miss his target, and how Richard had taken another pistol from his boot and shot the man before he charged against Bingley.”

  “We found no body around. Do you think he escaped?”

  “The bastard must be sprawled somewhere on the heath. I knew there was something strange about him,” Richard mumbled from the other side of the room. “I am just sorry he will not rot — pardon for my French, miladies. Too cold for that.”

  “That is why we returned,” Elizabeth said, telling me about the letter her Uncle Gardiner had found. “I am just sorry we could not be of further help.”

  “I beg to differ, Mrs Darcy. If it were not for you and Miss Lucas’ courage, we would not have found them in time. It would be almost impossible for them to be alive after a cold night like this one, especially Fitzwilliam.”

  “O’Connell. Can you ask the ladies to leave?” The colonel asked, then he lowered his voice as if we could not hear what he was saying. “I cannot say I need to take a piss in front of them!”

  As I have said already — incorrigible!

  Epilogue

  Darcy

  It was the end of another day. I turned my horse and rode back home. On my way, the sight of the small wooden bridge connecting Pemberley to the world made me shiver. My horse whinnied and reared, refusing to proceed. A cold breeze made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

  I looked back at the bridge to see a carriage crossing it. Panic crushed my chest and I urged by horse forward, but still it did not obey. I dismounted and ran. Not fast enough. The carriage fell into the deep water and was carried away by the current.

  I dove in to the freezing river after it. I knew I needed to save her. But when I reached the carriage door and looked inside, everything became dark. I looked around and was no longer in the river, but inside an old mine, the sound of a desperate cry cutting through the air. I looked down again and my heart froze. Hanging only by a hand holding mine was Elizabeth, her face disfigured, her voice weak and distant… William…

  “William… William!”

  Startled, I leapt to my feet, and in the next second I was standing by the bed.

  Too fast. I felt dizzy and stumbled. A pull on my arm brought me to land on something soft and giggling.

  I found Elizabeth beneath me, holding my shoulders and smiling.

  I rolled away from her, pulling her with me in a tight embrace. “Sorry, dear. Did I hurt you?”

  “Another nightmare?”

  I nodded against her soft bosom.

  She freed herself from my grip and kissed my lips, looking into my distressed eyes. “Do not worry about me. I am just fine.” She kissed me again, slowly, taking my breath away. “But I hate when it happens…”

  “What, my nightmares?” I asked lazily, already forgetting what I had dreamed about with her kisses.

  “No… That we cannot stay in bed today… Somebody is knocking on the door.”

  I relaxed, surrendering to something far more pleasurable. “You will be the end of me. You know it, do you not?” I asked, kissing her again.

  “I hope not,” she said when we broke the kiss. “I have enjoyed doing that for the last twenty-five years and expect to continue it for at least another twenty-five…” She stopped, widening her eyes. “It must be him!”

  Elizabeth jumped from our bed and ran to the door, grabbing her robe on her way. Breathless, she opened the door. “Morning, Johnson! What is it?”

  “Good morning, madam. Sorry to disturb your… hmm, sleep, but as requested I came to say the gamekeeper saw a carriage entering the lands of the property. I think he is arriving.”

  “Thank you, Johnson. We will be down shortly,” she said, closing the door and running to her dressing room. In the next minutes she was ordering her maid around to prepare her best gown and try a specific hair style she used when important guests were expected.

  I put on my robe and leaning against the threshold connecting our bedrooms, I observed her with a smile.

  She lifted her gaze and met my eyes. “What? Is it wrong for a mother to desire to receive the son she has not seen for almost two years with a modicum of good appearance?”

  I approached her and cupped her face, giving her another kiss on the lips. Her maid just averted her eyes, smiling. Our poor servants had no other option but to become used to our freely expressed love when alone at home — not just between Elizabeth and me, but also with our sons and daughters. That was the way we liked it, and, I believe, they did not mind.

  I looked down at Elizabeth. Part of her lustrous hair had turned silvery and in her face small ‘lines of wisdom’, as she used to call them, had appeared, but she still held my heart as a queen holds her sceptre. “You will never have a bad appearance, my darling, even if you waste all of our fortune trying.”

  “Oh, William... Did I ever say this is the one thing I love most about you? I can always count on you to make me feel beautiful.”

  I lowered my mouth to her ear. “You are beautiful, my darling. And, there are things a husband never tires of repeating.”

  She shivered, and if it were not for our son’s imminent arrival, our destination would be quite different, as it had been every Sat
urday for the last twenty-five years since she said ‘I do’ — well, at least after we returned from Cornwall.

  She returned my kiss with a peck on my cheek and a naughty smile. “Behave.”

  After properly groomed, and dressed in our best clothing, we reached the main entrance with perfect timing. The carriage was entering the front park. She grabbed my hand as a beautiful smile covered her face.

  The carriage stopped and our son stepped out.

  “Kywan!” Elizabeth said, opening her arms and enveloping our son with motherly hugs and kisses.

  He returned the hugs with the same enthusiasm, kissing her cheek.

  He stopped and gave her a good look, his eyes moistening. “Mother! Good Heavens. You do not change. You are as beautiful as you were when I last saw you two years ago.”

  “Thank you. It seems, you have not forgotten some of what your father taught you,” she said, giving me a quick glance.

  Kywan turned to me and greeted me with the same affection.

  “It is good to see you again, Kywan,” I said, returning his hug.

  “It is good to be back, Father. And I have so much to tell you about my trips—”

  “Yes, darling. But first things first. You must be exhausted. Settle yourself and have a bath. Because when you begin to tell us your stories, I will not allow you to stop until you finish them. I will ask for a tray to be sent to you, but we can have a proper meal in an hour. Now, off you go.”

  He looked at me, amused. I just shrugged. “What can I say? Obey your mother.”

  Later, after finishing our meal, we gathered in the drawing room for some Port and tea. Elizabeth sat beside Kywan, taking his hand. “It is so good to have you back, and in one piece. Now, tell us everything about the amazing things you have seen in the world.”

  “Mother! You would love it! Cairo is beyond anything we English can imagine. And the pyramids!”

  Kywan proceeded for the next half an hour telling us everything of his grand tour around the world; on each continent a different adventure.

  “But enough of trips. I have a surprise to show you two. Do not move,” he said, leaving the room.

  Elizabeth and I exchanged surprised glances, and I laughed. I just loved her face when she was curious.

  Some minutes later, Kywan returned with a package in his hands. “This is for the both of you,” he said, resting the bundle on his mother’s lap.

  I sat by her side as she attacked the poor thing, reducing the wrapping paper into small pieces.

  It was a book.

  We both touched the leather binding and in unison we read the title. “The Curse of Land’s End, by Kywan Darcy.”

  I lifted my eyes to Kywan. He looked like a cat-who-ate-the-bird. “You know you have given me a unique name. I have spent a good part of my life explaining to my friends why a Derbyshire born man had a Cornish name. So instead of continuously repeating ‘my parents were involved in a great adventure in Cornwall where I was conceived, and my name means God is full of mercy’, I decided to put it on paper.” He pulled his chair closer to us. “I have seen the most amazing places, and listened to the most incredible stories, but I realised very few of them were more unbelievable or more extraordinary than the one you two experienced…”

  My son’s words brought back the most terrifying but also the most amazing experience of my life. The one which challenged my deepest convictions and determination, but also rewarded me with the greatest miracle I could ever dream of, opening the door to a happiness I never thought possible. All because of the love and support of my dearest Elizabeth, a woman misunderstood by other men because God had selected her just for me, my heavenly gift. Even today, twenty-five years later, still haunted by memories of the bitterest period of my life, she was at my side, reminding me every day that life was worth living. That despite the bad nights, there were always the following mornings with better news…

  As it had happened twenty-five years ago.

  ***

  It took us another two days before Richard could leave the manor at Gwynver Hill. Elizabeth could not leave Miss Lucas alone with a man whose inebriated state had broken all barriers of his social reservations, declaring repeatedly how he had spent the last years of his adult life dreaming of a woman like Charlotte. The same man whose agreement to keep his hands to himself had been forgotten and who stole a kiss when she finished stitching him. Richard married Charlotte two months later, living happily at Rosings Park since then, bringing the estate back to its full glory with their four children.

  Before our return, Mr O’Connell informed us Mr Glowbrenn’s body had been found two days later, about a mile from where we were rescued. Richard’s shot had been precise. Again. The poor devil never had a chance of escaping.

  But there was yet another surprise.

  Mr Glowbrenn was, in fact, Pierre Les Champs, a man born to a Cornish mother, but whose French father had guided his bastard son into a life of crime. Following in his father’s steps, he had deceived poor Miss Nancarrow in the crudest way. Pierre never had intended to marry her, and had never been the weaker link in the chain as they told her. He had been, in fact, the leader of that criminal organization. Working as a French spy could never have been more natural than to someone like him. His father used to say the English were nothing more than ungrateful Frenchmen who thought themselves better than their compatriots on the continent. One of his men confessed his intention was to kill all of us, including Miss Nancarrow, and blame the curse for our demise. Once they found him dead on the same land he had cursed — an idea born while reading Captain Johnson’s Pirates — the whole scheme collapsed. A fortune of thirty thousand pounds in gold, precious gems and money was found in the old mine and Gwynver Hall, and sent to the Crown.

  And talking about devils and deceitfulness, the ‘walking shadows’ were the two black men we had shot at the mine. They were former slave traders who had joined the group after the abolitionists passed the new bill, in 1807, thwarting their commerce. In their search for precious stones in the heart of South American jungles, they had come across that exotic hunting technique and decided to use it in their enterprise. The sounds on the mine were nothing more than mine echoes of their shouts and moans as they cursed the intruders in their native language.

  In the end, we never found out what happened to the poison, and why it had not killed Elizabeth. We always added that to the long list of merciful things of our experience.

  Many years later, we learned that the word ‘Gazabar’ means ‘treasurer’ in Latin, which left little to the imagination about their intentions. And if Napoleon’s return in 1815 was any indication of the Gazabar family’s success to bring him back to power, his defeat at Waterloo must have been a sign of their defeat for we never heard anything else about them after that.

  Bingley and Mr Gardiner received a generous compensation for their losses and cooperation, and not much later their fleet had doubled. Bingley, Jane and their five children have been living at Netherfield since then.

  Ironically, what had been cause for so much anxiety ended up as a family joke. Mr and Mrs Bennet not only married all the other three daughters but also, defying all the natural laws, have outlived their only heir, and are still alive and lucid — well, Mr Bennet, at least — enjoying their twenty-seven grandchildren.

  Good news from my side of the family too. During her time in Scotland, Georgiana met a young laird heir and as the years passed, their friendship grew into a deep love. She married him six years later and had four children.

  Even Miss Wiley gained from the experience. After our safe return, she came to visit Elizabeth, begging forgiveness for her shameful behaviour, saying she had learned an important lesson. In the end, she married Mr Trevison, who met her at the Bennets’ house as she visited the family — to Mrs Bennet’s eternal vexation at having a suitor stolen from her daughters.

  ***

  “Father! Are you attending?”

  Kywan’s voice broke my reveries. �
�Sorry, son. I was daydreaming. You were saying?”

  “I said that after the huge success of ‘Frankenstein’ I thought perhaps the British public was ready for another astonishing story. And I was right. I did not tell you, but remember when I wrote asking for your friend’s contact, Mr Lackington of Finsbury Square? His father was one of the publishers of ‘Frankenstein’. I sent him a letter, enquiring if the family was still involved in the publishing market because I had a story I believed could be a great success. He replied, saying they were, and asked me for the drafts. After reading them, he agreed to publish it. And here it is!”

  “Kywan! This is excellent news! And how are the sales going?” I asked, controlling the pride growing in my chest.

  “That is the best part, Father. They published the book on the same day of my arrival back to England a week ago. I have sold over 10,000 copies already!”

  Elizabeth and I were astounded and for some minutes neither of us could say a word.

  “But that is not all. In my travels to South America, I found out something incredible. I know why you did not die of that poisoned dart, Mother! I met a Botanist who was studying those exact frogs in the Amazon forest. When I told him of your experience, he shouted in excitement. Making the story shorter, he told me my account confirmed one of his theories, that the venom could only be produced if the frog’s diet contained some specific insects of the forest. Considering that they were in England for God knows how long, they had lost their ability to produce the toxin. Imagine that! Of course, I have already added this information to my book. Your story is not just a romantic adventure. It is a window to knowledge and wisdom!”

  I laughed at his enthusiastic speech. “You are your mother’s son, Kywan! I could not be more proud of you.”