Clouds Over Pemberley

by Walter Oleksy

  “A man of the sea, I assume,” said Sean to his wife.

  “A ship’s captain, I wager,” Pippa replied.

  “But not of the Royal Navy.”

  The seaman had some difficulty carrying a breakfast tray to a table so Sean got up and went to him.

  “May I be of assistance?”

  “You’d think I’d be used to the deuced hook by now. I’ve had it more than two years. Thank you kindly, sir.”

  Sean took the tray, then suggested, “Would you care to join my wife and me at our table?”

  “I should be obliged. You are most kind.”

  During discourse over the next half hour, the Irish learned some of the man’s history.

  “I am captain of a whaler. My name is Jonah Ahab. I lost my right hand to a huge white albatross.” “I did not know that the albatross is an especially predatory sea bird,” said Sean. “The one I encountered while whaling in the North Atlantic two years ago had a very bad disposition. It flew at me and I tried to shoo it away but it bit me severely with its claw-like beak before I managed to strike it and sent it flying away. I have been in search of the evil bird ever since. I will ring its neck when I find it, and some day I shall. I will never stop looking for that monster. The devil created it!”

  He is perhaps a trifle obsessed, Pippa thought.

  Sean had the same thought. An obsession, such as for revenge, even against a bird, can do a great deal of harm and can even kill a man. But many people are obsessed by one thing or another. He knew a corset salesman in Dublin who had an obsession for drinking goat’s milk. It didn’t kill him, but he developed a tendency to kick up his heels, eat paper, and bray.

  Another thought came to the O’Reilly’s at the same time. Perhaps Captain Ahab could be of use in their research for Mr. Collins. They might match him up with one of the as-yet single Bennet sisters, Kitty or Mary.

  “Have you been at sea long?” Sean asked.

  “If so, your wife must miss you,” said Pippa. “I have not married. I am away at sea for sometimes years. And since the albatross attack, who would want to marry a man with a hook where a hand should be?”

  Said Sean, “Many men are injured in war or other misfortunes who have artificial limbs, but yet find a woman who loves them to marry.”

  “I have yet to find such a woman..”

  Said Sean, “Perhaps we could help you in that endeavor, if you are of a mind.”

  Ahab nodded that he was.

  The O’Reilly’s arranged to meet him again later that afternoon. While walking in Meryton after leaving the sea captain, they saw a boy carrying a sign announcing a traveling carnival had come to town. They went to a field where considerable activity was going on as men were erecting tents. The carnival was not yet fully assembled and a performance would be held later that day.

  “It’s like a small circus,” said Pippa, seeing two donkeys and a giraffe. They then saw some of the costumed performers outside the tents. One was swallowing a sword while another was belching fire out of his mouth, and a fat man with a big red nose was juggling. Who especially drew their attention was a handsome young man in a tight-fitting white trapeze artist costume that almost looked painted on him.

  The Irish nodded to each other and approached him. In small talk over the next few minutes they learned he was single. When the Irish later that day introduced Mary to the sea captain, she fell in love instantly. She did not mind at all that he lighted his cigarette with a hook, and admired his dexterity. Such a man could make a handy husband.

  Similarly, it was love at first sight for Kitty when the Irish introduced her to the handsome trapeze artist. It happened just like that, and he settled a thought that had long perplexed her. She had wondered about how a man wearing tights decided upon which side to wear his package, left or right. It intrigued her that the trapeze artist wore his in the middle. A man of decision, she thought. To her it meant stability and security. She admired such men and would like a husband who made up his mind about matters and took them into his own hands.

  A day after her meeting with Captain Ahab, Mary wrote to Elizabeth: He is a most dear man. He says he loves me entirely. Not for my beauty, or lack of it, of which I know I have none, but for what he calls the sweetness and innocence of my nature. And for what he says is my beautiful mind and knowledge of so much from reading. He neither reads nor writes, but has numerous other accomplishments, mainly physical. I think he could lift a horse. And I don’t find his hook an impediment in marrying him. Oh yes, he has already proposed and I have accepted.

  Kitty wrote to Elizabeth that same day: I have been introduced to a trapeze artist whose name is Rudolph Rover. He has a most uncommonly agreeable countenance. He said he is normally not a marrying man, but has proposed we wed or, as he says, “tie the knot,” and I have accepted him, most heartily. I’ve always wanted to travel, and there should be a lot of that, being married to a traveling carnival artist.

  Mr. Darcy smelled a mouse in the hasty marriage proposals of both men after they had spent just one night with the ladies. Seeing them together, Darcy said afterward when the Bennet sisters were absent, “You do not have to had deflowered the ladies. You have slept with them, and so have compromised them. They both wish you to marry them, so you will do so with haste. As incentive, I will provide each of you with a substantial amount of money, given as a wedding gift, provided you each agree to a double wedding, soon as Mr. Collins can wed you to the ladies.”

  Both gentlemen agreed and accepted Mr. Darcy’s gratuity. Mr. Darcy thought he has spent so much to bribe the men who have slept with Mary and Kitty and compromised them, as he had earlier bribed Mr. Wickham to marry Lydia, that he might have to become more proficient in craps to recover expenses.

  Sean and Pippa, in bed that night at The Royal Arms, felt satisfied they had done a good day’s work for Mr. Collins.

  “We’re in the money,” said Rover to Ahab, as they sat with ale at The Royal Arms. “The sky is sunny.”

  Said Ahab to Rover, “We’re the men who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.”

  “And we need not wear our ball and chain long,” Rover added as they saluted each other with their mugs. They had reached a gentleman’s agreement. Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, Mr. Darcy met Mr. O’Reilly at The Royal Arms and told him that the charity boxing event in Meryton would be held in a few days. Said Darcy, “Ladies are never allowed to be present at pugilistic events because they are too bloody. I’ve attended several and agree. The fight is to be bare knuckles. Is that agreeable to you?”

  “Yes. Fights in Ireland, both in the ring and in the street, are often fought with the fists.” Said Darcy, “Some time in the future, pugilists will be allowed to wear gloves. They may be padded, so contestants do not suffer too much pain when hit. I’ve read that comprehensive rules are being prepared regarding boxing. A boxing aficionado is working on the rules, under the patronage of a marquees nobleman, and are to be called the Marquis of Queensbury rules. Meanwhile, almost anything goes.”

  Sean smiled. “I fairly live by ‘anything goes.'”

  “I cannot imagine you as a fighter. Your countenance is so gentle and innocent. Like an altar boy’s.” “Behind my boyish appearance is, I assure you, a man. I’ve fought many bareknuckle fights, mostly in the streets of Dublin, but also in pubs, for a monetary prize. A traditional type of bare knuckle fight in Ireland is called ‘Irish Stand Down,’ in which adversaries do not maneuver around the ring. They punch and take punches standing toe-to-toe until one falls down and cannot get up again.”

  “The fights here will not be toe-to-toe. But a bout could be long and bloody.”

  “I’ve attended one in Dublin that lasted just over nine hours. It was so bloody, spectators afterward called it ‘The Vampire’s Delight.’” Wickham, who had heard of the upcoming pugilistic event, spoke to Mr. O’Reilly at the inn and volunteered to be his corner handler. He could hardly wait to handle him, between rounds. Sean accepted the offer, a
lthough uncertain if that was a good idea or not. But he still felt obligated to help Mr. Collins with his sermon research.

  In midweek, Mr. Darcy took Mr. O’Reilly by carriage to the home of the Bingley’s so the three of them could go together to the boxing matches in Meryton that night. Elizabeth and Pippa would remain with Jane at her home while the men were away.

  Darcy gave Sean something he could fight in that would be more comfortable than long pants. It was a pair of silk shorts bearing a replica of the Irish flag. He had asked Elizabeth if she could have such a boxing costume sewn for Sean in London and she did. They arrived by a post rider just before the fight.

  The costume was identical to the one Elizabeth had given Mr. Darcy, except it was of the flag of the British United Kingdom, but for the addition of the coat of arms of Ireland, a small harp in the exact center of the predominant red cross. Elizabeth thought she would make the flag look more Irish if two Kelly green shamrocks were embroidered over the harp, and the seamstress accommodated her request.

  “I daresay I am sorry but I have no detached codpiece to offer you, for your protection while fighting tonight,” said Darcy. “A support is of no consequence,” replied Sean. “I shall fight without any. I often do. The ancient Greeks fought and wrestled au natural, as did the Roman gladiators, and even the first Olympians. I shall have the flag of Ireland covering and protecting me.”

  They rode to a former warehouse that now housed Sts. Chrysolius & Cucuphas’s Second United Reformed Pentecostal Evangelical Church in Meryton, and Mr. Darcy wondered about from what it had been reformed. But he was sure it was sincere. Only the pastor could pronounce its name correctly, so the small congregation called it St. Chrysanthemum, “St. Chris” for short.

  As for names and titles, the pastor, a handsome young man, had himself called Dr. Bryan Upton, and Darcy wondered of what he was a doctor. He doubted the pastor was a medical doctor or a dentist. If the salutation was academic, from a postgraduate divinity degree, he thought it inappropriate and disrespectful to those other occupations to be included as being identified as they were. They are professors, not doctors. Academic doctorship was another of Darcy’s prejudices, of which he still had many, even after his marriage to Elizabeth Bennet

  Darcy, Bingley, and Sean went down to the church’s basement gymnasium where dozens of spectators, all male, had gathered in anxious anticipation of an evening of fisticuffs, many hoping they would be bloody. In the center of the room they saw a ring twenty-feet square and surrounded by clothesline ropes. Darcy and Bingley took seats in the front row while Sean withdrew to a dressing room, removed his street clothing, and stepped into his flag shorts which were indeed short, extending down to just above his knees.

  Wickham, in street clothes and not his Hussar’s uniform, arrived a few moments later in the church gymnasium, concealing a flask of brandy in a trouser pocket. He cursed himself for being late to assist Sean in disrobing.

  What a magnificent specimen of young manhood!, he thought at first sight of the boxer he was to handle between rounds. Sean stood bare-chested and in his brief boxing costume. Wickham's heart began to beat faster.

  In a teasing mood, asked, observing Mr. Wickham, “Is that a banana in your pants pocket, or are you happy to see me?

  “I am always happy to see you, sir.” When Sean was in the ring, standing in his corner and waited anxiously for the referee priest to start the event, Wickham thought he would perform a standard procedure, as any conscientious handler should. He patted the front of Sean’s boxing costume, to check on whether his supporter was positioned properly. Sean reacted casually and was not concerned by the intimacy because he was used to the inspection custom from previous fights. But six slow pats? Three quick pats were customary, and not with the palm, but the back of the hand.

  Wickham commented in surprise, his hand remaining where he had patted, “You’re not wearing any…” “Let that be my concern,” Sean replied, pushing Wickham’s hand off of him because it had unnecessarily dallied there. That had concerned him. You have some need, some temptation obsessing you, he thought, but be temperate and suppress it.

  Wickham noticed something on Sean and said, “In your haste to get into your boxing costume, you put it on backwards. The back, which you are wearing as the front, is solid green, but the front shows the flag of Ireland.”

  Sean looked down to see that it was so, and looked helpless at Wickham. In truth, Sean had gotten into his shorts backwards on purpose. Sean said, “I should look foolish if the spectators see me so.” “Allow me,” said Wickham and, without waiting for Sean’s approval, lowered the flag.

  Sean gasped in pretended astonishment and mortification at Wickham’s hasty action and was quick to cover himself. But he was however not quick enough, and spectators hooted and whistled as they saw him stand au natural and with his mouth open in surprise.

  Wickham turned the garment around and helped Sean step back into it, this time the Irish flag facing forward. Sean’s opponent, a giant of a livery wagon driver by trade, stood a head taller and was nearly twice his size, his barrel chest shirtless and in knee-length red flannel pantaloons.

  The referee instructed the contestants: “Biting, eye gouging, head butting, choke hitting to the throat, and hitting below the midsection is not permitted. Do not hit your opponent if he is down. If a fighter is knocked down, he has to rise within thirty seconds under his own power to be allowed to continue. The pugilist standing when the other is down after thirty seconds wins the match. Come out fighting now, and give everyone a good show. Remember, this is for charity, except for a small gratuity each of you will receive, the winner receiving twice, at the generosity of Mister Darcy.”

  The fight began and Sean and his opponent exchanged many blows in the opening round, but the Irish managed to dodge his body and head so that he gave more than he received. Sean’s footwork in the ring prompted Mr. Darcy to think the Irishman had the makings of a good dancer. Perhaps he would arrange a country dance at the Meryton assembly hall.

  A bell was rung after the first round and the adversaries went to their corners. When Sean was standing in his, Wickham began performing another of his tasks as handler, massaging his man’s arms and legs, then moving up to his pectorals and then down to his midsection. Sean thought Wickham was taking his work to extremes.

  Wickham’s passion increased between each round as he splashed water on his man from a bucket and then massaged his pectorals as Sean stood leaning against the ropes in his corner. Wickham was having his own fight with what he had begun to call his inner demon, fueled by brandy he drank from his flask.

  The fight went on and on, round after round, and Wickham hoped it would go on all night, despite Sean now receiving more blows than his opponent and his face and body turning red. The fight had become wet and wild. At the sound of the bell ending the thirteenth round, Sean returned to stand in his corner, his flag now soaking wet from perspiration and Wickham dousing him with water.

  Wickham feared he could no longer resist temptation and be temperate. After taking a longer drink of brandy, disregarding his conflicting angels and demons, he moved a hand down and massaged over his fighter’s shamrocks. He had finally engaged in the intimate encounter he long had wanted to, while feeling he had entered the back door to Heaven. Viva Voltaire!

  His Irish eyes are not smiling at me, Wickham noticed as Sean gasped in astonishment, and whistles and hoots arose from spectators in even greater number and volume than previous.

  From their front row seats at ringside, Mr. Darcy shouted at Wickham, “Villain!, Liberal!,” and Mr. Bingley, “Scoundrel!, Conservative!” Sean took Wickham’s wrist and forcefully removed his hand off of him, looking at him angrily, saying, “Sir, you presume too much. I have no need nor desire to be massaged there. I beseech you again and, finally, to control temptation by exercising greater temperance.”

  Wickham turned red-faced, aghast and mortified, thinking, Dear God, I have crossed the line! Giving in to my
inner demon by performing almost the ultimate intimate liaison on Mr. O’Reilly may have undone me.

  Sean thought back to his previous meetings with Wickham. Perhaps he had allowed him to take too much liberty with him. Damn Mr. Collins and his sermon.

  Sean cautioned Wickham, “Sir, should you be forward enough to repeat your previous action, I shall be obliged to leave off on my pugilistic opponent and turn my fists on you.”

  Wickham found the Irish hard to figure out. He had been so agreeable to him previously, now he had thrown ice water in his face. He half-wanted to flee the gymnasium, but remained, still determined to fight the demon within him that wanted him to live in the more dangerous of the two best of all possible worlds. He vowed to himself that he would henceforth exercise more prudence in his occupation as handler and thereby regain Mr. O’Reilly’s esteem. If necessary, he would cut off his errant right hand to get back in his good graces.

  And yet, he thought the Irish was encouraging him into temptation. You do tease, you know!

  Wickham watched in astonishment as Sean met his opponent in the center of the ring and, looking angrily, with one well-placed fist to the jaw, sent him crashing to the floor like a fallen oak tree struck by lightning.

  The referee waited a full thirty seconds, but the livery wagon driver did not get up, so he raised Sean’s right arm in victory. Some spectators then hoisted Sean to their shoulders and paraded him around the ring.

  The livery driver stood dejectedly in his corner when Sean went to him and asked if he was all right. His adversary replied, “I coulda been a contenda!” Afterward, Sean turned to Wickham and, deciding that his research for Mr. Collins regarding him was now concluded, firmly and conclusively, said with eye-to-eye contact, “Sir, I should not wish to see you again.”