Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure

by Lindsay Beaudine

  “Cornwall?” said Lizzy, with a delighted smile. “I’ve always wanted to go to Cornwall. Oh, Fitzwilliam, that sounds wonderful.”

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll leave for Cornwall in a few days. It’ll be good for us both, Lizzy.”

  Lizzy had visions of wild moorland, rugged coasts, turquoise seas, golden beaches and tin mines, their lofty chimneys reaching up as though praising God. She had heard old Cornish tales (mainly from Kitty) of pirates and smugglers, of strange creatures on Bodmin Moor and mermaids, half glimpsed in the waters near Land’s End.

  “I’ll talk to my man. Make sure arrangements are made in advance, taverns booked, that sort of thing.”

  Lizzy thought for a few moments.

  “No don’t do that,” she said. “Let’s simply take a carriage and our things and head for Cornwall. When we see an inn or a tavern we like the look of we’ll spend the night there. It will be like an adventure.”

  “An adventure?” said Darcy dubiously. “But, Lizzy my love, I’m not really an adventurous sort of man.”

  “I’m sure, Fitzwilliam,” she said, kissing his cheek, “that you simply haven’t had the opportunity that’s all.”

  He thought about her proposition for some time.

  “Very well, Mrs Darcy,” he said finally, “we’ll be a pair of wanderers from days of old – in a decent carriage of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I just hope Bingley never finds out. He’d mock me for months.”

  They began to make plans. Lizzy suggested that if they took the road to London they could stop for a night in Hertfordshire and perhaps see her family. From there they could head west towards Bristol and thence the road to Exeter and into Cornwall. Darcy said that a visit to Lizzy’s mother would be an adventure indeed.

  At last their boxes were packed and loaded onto the coach. Darcy ordered the coachman to head for Hertfordshire at full speed and they set off.

  The journey was a long one, made longer still by their diversion to Hertfordshire, as Darcy pointed out cheerfully. There were no railways other than a handful of little local lines. The roads were uncomfortable and often in a poor state of repair. However, they were both excited and happy and the journey passed quickly. Accounting for changes of horses and a comfortable night at a tavern near Northampton, they reached Hertfordshire after only a few days, just as the sun began to dip in the summer sky.

  They drove directly to Longbourn. Darcy helped Lizzy from the coach and they went up the short path to the house. Darcy rapped smartly on the door with his cane and after a few moments Mary answered.

  “Who is it, Mary?” called Mrs Bennet from inside. “If it’s that knife grinder again, tell him to go away. When I tried to slice some cold ham for your father, the knife was as dull as a butter knife.”

  “That’s because it was a butter knife, my dear,” said Mr Bennet.

  “Was it? Oh. Well in any event, tell him we don’t need anything sharpening. Except for your father’s wit.”

  “It’s Lizzy and Mr Darcy,” called Mary.

  “What do they want?” called Mrs Bennet.

  “Shouldn’t we ask them to come inside?” said Mr Bennet.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Mr Bennet. Mary, ask them to come in.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Darcy and Lizzy exchanged an amused grin and went into the sitting room. Mr Bennet stood up and embraced his daughter with delight. He shook Darcy warmly by the hand and cordial greetings were exchanged.

  “And how are you, Mrs Bennet?” said Darcy.

  “Fair, Mr Darcy. Merely fair. Nothing specific, you understand, just a certain languor from time to time. It’s my poor nerves, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” concurred Darcy.

  “This is a most pleasant surprise,” said Mr Bennet. “have you come to see Jane and Mr Bingley?”

  “Actually no,” said Darcy. “I believe they are holidaying in Sardinia at present. We are taking a short holiday ourselves. We are holidaying in England though. To be more precise we are on our way to Cornwall.”

  “Cornwall?” said Mrs Bennet. “How romantic. Have we been to Cornwall, Mr Bennet?”

  “Yes, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, with infinite patience as ever, “we spent our honeymoon in Cornwall.”

  “So we did, Mr Bennet, so we did,” said Mrs Bennet. “You must forgive my poor memory, Mr Darcy, but it was some time ago.”

  “We wanted to ask a favour, father,” said Lizzy.

  “Of course,” said Mr Bennet. “What is it?”

  “We wondered if we could stay here tonight. We haven’t seen you for some time and we thought it would be pleasant to spend a little time with you and mother and Kitty and Mary.”

  “We’d be delighted,” said Mr Bennet. “Wouldn’t we, Mrs Bennet?”

  “Most delighted,” said his wife.

  A room was aired and prepared for the guests. A meal was quickly prepared; though makeshift, all agreed that it was delicious. Mr Bennet served ale and the evening was most enjoyable. They talked and played cards and Lizzy sang a song while Mary accompanied her on the piano. Mr Darcy was pleasant and agreeable in a low-key sort of way, very different from Wickham’s glittering charm.

  “So which way are you travelling to Cornwall?” asked Mr Bennet as they all sat late into the evening.

  “We are heading towards Bristol,” said Darcy. “And then I believe we take the road to Exeter. From there we cross the Tamar and into Cornwall. There is only one major road and it goes all the way to Land’s End.”

  “And you have accommodation booked in advance of course?” said Mrs Bennet.

  “Actually, mother, no,” said Lizzy. “We decided to stay at any tavern we see which takes our fancy.”

  “How romantic,” said Kitty. “That’s just what a picaresque hero would do. Live by his wits and go from adventure to adventure.”

  “She has been reading,” said Mrs Bennet apologetically.

  “Indeed,” said Darcy. “And not Mrs Radcliffe, I think.”

  “No indeed, Mr Darcy,” said Kitty. “I have been reading Mr Fielding.”

  “Henry Fielding?” said Darcy. “Yes, I’ve read a little of his work. He’s rather amusing.”

  “Romantic too,” said Kitty.

  “Yes, that too,” said Darcy with a smile.

  “Well,” said Mr Bennet with a yawn, “I’m a little tired so I think I should retire to bed.”

  “Yes, we should retire too, Lizzy” said Darcy.

  “Indeed, my love,” said Lizzy. “We don’t need to wake early tomorrow and can spend some time here before we set out. It’s a long journey and we may as well enjoy it. We can leave in the afternoon if we wish.”

  Everybody retired to their respective bed chambers.

  The household was not woken early. Darcy and Lizzy enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Mr and Mrs Bennet and their two daughters.

  “I trust the breakfast is satisfactory, Mr Darcy?” said Mrs Bennet.

  “Very good indeed, Mrs Bennet, thank you,” said Darcy.

  “And where do you plan to visit in Cornwall, Mr Darcy?” said Mr Bennet.

  “We intend to cross the moors and then stay at one or two places on the south coast all the way down to Land’s End. After which we will make our way back near the north coast. Until, I suppose, we reach Devon and then we will return to Pemberely.”

  “It sounds splendid,” said Mr Bennet. He turned to his wife. “We should go back to Cornwall ourselves, my dear. It’s been such a long time.”

  “Oh, Mr Bennet,” she said, “I have so many things to attend to. I have you to take care of and husbands to find for our remaining daughters, not to mention my poor nerves. How can we take a holiday now?”

  “Perhaps you’re right, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, falling into the easy deception that his wife’s opinions could not be gainsaid; at least not without a certain amount of discomfort for him.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “M
ary,” said Mrs Bennet, “would you see who that is. And if it’s a man selling halfpenny ballads tell him we don’t need any.”

  “Yes, mother,” said Mary.

  “You see, Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Bennet by way of explanation, “a wretched looking man came here a few weeks ago to sell his wares. He persuaded Kitty to purchase four ballads – words and music badly printed on cheap paper - for tuppence. He assured us they were very wholesome. When Kitty began to sing them, accompanied by Mary on the piano, we found the words most inappropriate for a young unmarried girl. So, I gave her a book of hymns instead and told her to sing some of those.”

  “Most unfortunate,” said Darcy suppressing a smile. “And what did you do with the ballads?”

  “I threw them in the river.”

  Mary returned.

  “Well, Mary,” said Mrs Bennet, “is it some travelling man hoping to sell us his wares?”

  “No. It’s Mr and Mrs Collins.”

  “Oh good,” said Mr Bennet trying, without success, to sound enthusiastic regarding their visitors.

  “Well what do they want?” said Mrs Bennet.

  “Ask them yourself,” said Mary. “They followed me in.”

  “Mr Collins. Mrs Collins,” said Mrs Bennet when she saw them hover outside the sitting room. “How very pleasant to see you.”

  “On behalf of myself and my good wife, I thank you, Mrs Bennet.”

  “Good day, Collins,” said Darcy offering him his hand and making a formal little bow to Mrs Collins. “Mrs Collins.”

  “Good day, Darcy. And good day to you, Mrs Darcy. I trust you are both well and happy?”

  “Very much so,” said Lizzy.

  The next few minutes were spent on greetings and formalities.

  “So, what brings you here, Collins,” said Mr Bennet.

  “The Lord’s work, Mr Bennet, the Lord’s work. More specifically I have come to spread the gospel.”

  “Oh, indeed?”

  “Yes. It occurred to me as I was preparing my sermon one evening that I only really speak to my flock at church on Sunday. I deliver my sermon and then I don’t get the chance to impart my wisdom to them for another week.”

  “No, that’s true,” said Lizzy with a look at her father which clearly meant “thank heaven”.

  “So, I realised that if the mountain will not come to Mr Collins then Mr Collins must go to the mountain.”

  “I don’t quite follow you, sir,” said Mr Bennet.

  “It’s very simple. After my last Sunday service, I prepare another sermon or reading or parable. Then I take it out into the community and spread it among my flock. That is, I visit individual houses and deliver my words to the people. In their sitting rooms, perhaps.”

  “And how many of these readings to the people have you made?” said Mr Bennet.

  “None,” said Mr Collins. “You’re my first. My things are in the carriage outside, I’ll go and fetch them.”

  While Mr Collins went to fetch his paper and his little portable lectern, Lizzy spoke to his wife.

  “It all sounds very exciting, not to say virtuous,” said Lizzy.

  “Virtuous and exciting,” said Mrs Collins with a little smile, “yes that rather sounds like my husband. But what are you and Mr Darcy doing here? So far from Pemberley?”

  “We are on our way to Cornwall to spend a few days holidaying.”

  “And when do you leave?”

  “Right now, I’m afraid,” interrupted Darcy. “it’s a very long journey.”

  Mr Collins rushed in with his things, eager to begin.

  “I’m afraid we are leaving now, Mr Collins,” said Lizzy.

  “Oh, how unfortunate,” said Mr Collins. “I was going to deliver a reading based on the story of the Prodigal Son. It will tell how the father forgives his profligate son and slaughters the fatted calf to the disapproval of the elder brother.”

  “It sounds very interesting,” said Darcy.

  “It should prove most edifying,” said Mr Collins. “Are you sure you can’t stay for another hour or two?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Darcy. “It’s a long journey and we are eager to reach our destination.”

  “Where is your destination?” said Mr Collins.

  “Cornwall,” said Lizzy.

  “Cornwall?” said Mr Collins darkly. “They are still rather heathenish down there, aren’t they?”

  “Heathenish?” said Lizzy.

  “I believe they still follow some pagan practices and rituals. The old gods that sort of thing.”

  “Perhaps we shall see when we are down there,” said Darcy. “However, please do not concern yourself on our account. We do not intend to join in any of these pagan rituals so our souls should be quite safe.”

  Darcy and Lizzy hurriedly made ready to leave. Lizzy made a fond farewell to her parents and her sisters. Darcy cordially shook hands with Mr Bennet and gave Mrs Bennet, Mary and Kitty each a warm little bow. They said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Collins and agreed with Mr Collins that it was most unfortunate that they would miss his reading.

  They settled themselves in the coach. Darcy issued instructions to the diver and with a crack of his whip the coach headed west at a healthy gallop.

  Chapter 2

  After a lengthy journey west, they passed Bristol and headed south. They spent a night at Exeter and the next day skirted Dartmoor on the Launceston Road. At last they reached the Tamar. Darcy ordered the coach to stop and he got out. He called to his wife, urging her from the coach.

  “Come and see, Lizzy, it’s Cornwall. The other side of the river.”

  “How marvellous,” she said, shielding her eyes from the western sun.

  “Over there,” said Darcy with a sweep of his arm. “it’s Fowey Moor. Bodmin is just the other side.”

  “It looks a bleak place,” said Lizzy. “And beautiful. Bleak yet beautiful.”

  “The sun sets in a few hours so we should find somewhere to stay for the night. I’ve heard of a good place not too far. It’ll take us a couple of hours across the moor.”

  They got back in the coach and Darcy ordered the coachman to proceed. They crossed the bridge and entered Cornwall. As they did so a strange thing happened. The atmosphere seemed to change. They felt as if they were cut off from the rest of England and had entered a new country, wild and untamed.

  They continued at a good pace along the Truro Road. After two hours or so Darcy put his head out of the window and saw the sun beginning to set ahead of him. Without warning a thick fog descended as if from nowhere. It rolled across the moor like a malevolent spirit. The driver slowed his horses to a crawling pace lest they veer off the road and into a ditch.

  Darcy peered into the distance and made out a dark, ghostly shape, with gas lights and candles dotted about its surface.

  “There,” he said to Lizzy, “I can see something. It appears to be an inn. Yes, I can make it out now.”

  “Where?” she said, joining his at the window.

  “Over there.” He pointed to a large building of dark grey stone.

  With some relief he called to the driver and ordered him to stop the coach at the building. As they pulled up they saw an old sign swinging in the breeze, like some poor unfortunate thief swinging on a gibbet.

  Lizzy read the sign: ‘Jamaica Inn’.

  “This is the place,” said Darcy. “I read about it in Gentleman’s Magazine. It used to be an old farmhouse and they converted it into an inn. It had a reputation a quarter of a century ago. It used to be used as a base for smuggling. They’d bring brandy and tobacco over from France and land on the coast yonder. Then they’d bring the contraband and hide it at Jamaica Inn. And I don’t think that was the worst.”

  “Yes, but are the beds comfortable and is the wine good?” said Lizzy with a grin.

  Darcy gave an easy laugh.

  “The magazine didn’t mention the beds. Or the wine. However we should count ourselves lucky we found it in this fog.”

  They got o
ut of the coach and stretched their weary limbs.

  “Stay there, driver,” said Darcy. “I will go and enquire about rooms.”

  “Perhaps we should have booked ahead,” said Lizzy, looking at the sky, reddening in the west, barely visible through the fog.