Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure

by Lindsay Beaudine

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right,” said Darcy, “perhaps we should have been a little more cautious regarding the accommodation.”

  Darcy knocked on the main door. A woman, buxom and cheerful looking, greeted them.

  “Good evening, madam,” said Darcy. “Do you have a vacant room for the night?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a warm smile. “We always have a room. It doesn’t matter many people stay here we

  always seem to have a room vacant. Bring the young lady in, sir. Your wife I take it?”

  “Yes. This is Elizabeth Darcy. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “Very good, sir. I am Mrs Wiggins. We have a nice room on the second floor. I will ask my husband to take your bags up. Would you like supper to be sent up when you have settled in?”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wiggins,” said Darcy, “that would be splendid. Perhaps you will send up some wine as well.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Mrs Wiggins called for her husband and asked him to bring in the bags and arrange for the stabling of the horses and accommodation for the coachman. She showed Darcy and Lizzy to their room. The room was comfortable and attractive with wood panelling, rich, thick carpet and a large four poster bed with crisp white sheets and soft blankets. Mr Wiggins appeared with a silver tray on which were a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He placed them on a little oak table, bowed and left the room. Mrs Wiggins asked if they required anything else. On being told no, she gave a charming little curtsy and backed out of the room.

  Darcy took off his cravat. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Lizzy.

  “To us, my love,” he said.

  “To us,” said Lizzy.

  They clinked glasses and sipped the wine.

  “From France,” said Darcy looking at the bottle.

  “Imported legally, I trust,” said Lizzy.

  “I assume so. Mr and Mrs Wiggins don’t have the look of smugglers.”

  There were two easy chairs in the room. Lizzy sat down, facing the window which looked out onto the dark moor. Darcy filled her glass and sat opposite her. They smiled at each other fondly, weary after their long journey and pleased they had reached their destination; relieved that they had reached any destination.

  “Tell me more about Jamaica Inn, my love,” said Lizzy. “You said there were worse things than merely smuggling.”

  “Well according to Gentleman’s Magazine, it didn’t end there. It seems the gang of smugglers became greedy. There wasn’t enough contraband to satisfy their thirst for gold. Then one stormy evening, quite by chance, as they were on the beach waiting for the little boats laden with brandy and tobacco, there was a wreck. A ship from France on its way to deposit its cargo in Plymouth. All hands had been lost and the ship broke up on the rocks. A terrible cargo came ashore; dead men and chests filled with cloth, tobacco, fine wines and other goods. For the smugglers it was manna from heaven, or at least France. They left the dead unburied in the cove and took all the goods back to Jamaica Inn and sold them later.”

  “Not a very Christian thing to do,” said Lizzy with a little shudder.

  “Oh, it didn’t end there, Lizzy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They realised that the wreck had been a terrible accident. But one that was unlikely to be repeated. So, they hit upon the idea of luring ships to their doom. They would light beacons on the beach. Believing the lights to show safe harbour, the seamen would steer their ships to shore, only to be broken on the rocks. And if any seaman managed to swim to shore he would be brutally cut down. Yes, the gang became very rich from their little enterprise.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They were discovered. They were taken in chains to be tried at Truro. And there they were hanged. All of them. Jamaica inn was closed down. Some years later it was bought and opened again as a roadside inn. Perhaps by Mr Wiggins’ or Mrs Wiggins’ grandparents.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” said Darcy.

  “It’s Mrs Wiggins. I’ve brought your supper up, sir.”

  Darcy opened the door. Mrs Wiggins came in with a large tray from which the delicious aroma of well roasted meat rose and filled the room.

  “It’s roast lamb, sir, with some vegetables and sauce.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wiggins,” said Lizzy, “it looks very good.”

  “I trust you are both hungry?”

  Lizzy and Darcy looked at each other and grinned. After such a long journey, they were very hungry indeed.

  Mrs Wiggins set down the tray on a small dining table and left the room. Lizzy and Darcy sat at the table and fell to with relish. After they had finished they sat content in the easy chairs. Darcy looked out of the window. It was dark now.

  “What would you like to do tomorrow, Lizzy? We can stay here as long as we like.”

  “I think I’d like to see the ‘Five Sisters’,” she said.

  “The Five Sisters? Who are they?”

  “Not ‘who’, Fitzwilliam. They aren’t people at all.”

  “Then what are they?” said Darcy, intrigued.

  “They are a group of standing stones, an ancient monument of some kind.”

  “Like Stonehenge, you mean?”

  “Yes, something like that, only not so grand I think.”

  “Are they far?”

  “I don’t think so, no. I read about them in a book and they’re somewhere on the moors. Quite close I think, a short coach ride, nothing more.”

  “You read about them?” said Darcy.

  “Yes,” said Lizzy with a grin, “you’re not the only one who reads about interesting things you know.”

  “Obviously not, Lizzy, obviously not. We’ll speak to Mrs Wiggins at breakfast, she may know the location of…what did you call them again? The Five crones?”

  “No,” she smiled, “the Five Sisters.”

  “That’s what I meant to say. Now, shall we retire, my love?” said Darcy.

  “Yes, it’s been a busy day.”

  They awoke next morning. They decided to eat breakfast downstairs instead of being served in their room. That way, they would be able to speak to Mr and Mrs Wiggins about the Five Sisters.

  Mrs Wiggins brought them coffee and took their order for breakfast. A few minutes later she brought the food.

  “Mrs Wiggins?” said Darcy.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Have you heard of an ancient monument somewhere on the moor? It’s called the Five Sisters.”

  “The Five Sisters? Yes, I know it.”

  “Is it far from here?”

  “Not at all, sir. Around half a mile. If you take the little lane opposite the inn and go up the hill for about a quarter of a mile you’ll come to a track on your right. Go down there and you’ll see a stile. Go over the stile you should be able to see it a couple of hundred yards away. It’s half a mile’s walk at most.”

  “And you know about the Five Sisters?” said Lizzy.

  “Oh yes. There are actually six stones but the biggest is a little way from the others. The five form a little circle. There’s an old story hereabouts that the big one was a witch who had five young maidens in her thrall. But the five of them fell in love and wished to marry. In her fury the witch turned them to stone. However, such was the force of their love that the witch was turned to stone herself. And there they’ve stood ever since.”

  “What a delightful story, Mrs Wiggins,” said Lizzy.

  “If you wish to see them, Mr and Mrs Darcy, I would put on something warm. The moors are on high ground here and can get cold, even at this time of year.”

  They finished breakfast and went upstairs to prepare themselves. Darcy put on stout boots and a heavy jacket of bottle green. Lizzy wore riding boots and put on a thick shawl. They left the inn and took the little lane opposite. The hill was steep and it took some time to reach the track. They crossed the stile and the moor opened out in front of them. In the distance they saw the six stones, sta
rk against the morning sky, like sentinels in the bleak expanse of the moor. They carefully made their way over the uneven ground and stood before the stones. Each as around five feet tall and had been hewn from dark rock.

  “Here they are, then, my love,” said Lizzy. “The Five Sisters. Mysterious and enigmatic.”

  “Like another five sisters I know,” grinned Darcy.

  “My sisters and I, you mean?” said Lizzy.

  “Well there are five of them.”

  “In that case, which is which? Look at them, they are all a little different one way or the other.”

  “Let me see,” said Darcy, looking at the stones.

  “Well?” said Lizzy.

  “This one,” he said, placing his hand on one of them, “seems a little smoother than the others. In which case I would say it is like Jane in that regard. She is very kind and sweet natured.”

  “And the others?” said Lizzy, amused.

  “This one is at an angle. Slightly out of kilter with the others. In which case I consider her a little like Lydia.”

  “Very good. And the next?”

  “Well these two here seem to form a pair. And see how the others cast a little shadow over them. Therefore, I have no hesitation in saying that the pair of them must be Mary and Kitty.”

  “That leaves one stone.”

  He ran his hand over the last stone.

  “This one is quite unique,” he said. “From a distance it seems a little rough, spiky even. But get closer and the angles have been carved in a most interesting manner. A little flinty here and there but delightfully so. Furthermore, due to the position of that tree, it receives more of the morning sun than the others. As a result, the stone is a little warmer. Therefore, I would say it most resembles Lizzy.”

  Lizzy threw her arms around his neck. They embraced and kissed warmly. Darcy then pointed at the sixth stone, set a few yards away and a little further up the slope than the others.

  “And what of that one yonder?”

  “You mean the witch in the story?”

  “Yes, the one which looks down on the five sisters in a glowering sort of way.”

  “Well who does she remind you of?” said Lizzy with an impish grin.

  “I’d rather not say,” said Darcy. “However, if a piece of carved stone could suffer from nerves then that one most assuredly would.”

  Darcy spread a blanket on the grass and they both sat. They both confessed that they were truly happy. Happy to be together, happy to be in Cornwall and happy to be Mr and Mrs Darcy. The sun rose and warmed them as they stretched out on the blanket. They lay for an hour, untroubled by worldly affairs, alone in their own little piece of paradise, their only companions six great figures, hewn from stone.

  At length they returned to Jamaica Inn.

  “Ah, Mr and Mrs Darcy,” said Mrs Wiggins, greeting them at the front door, “you’re just in time for a little luncheon. Shall I have it sent up to your room?”

  “Actually, Mrs Wiggins,” said Darcy, “my wife and I were hoping you and your husband would join us for luncheon, if you’re not too busy. You see we are somewhat ignorant of Cornish manners and customs.”

  “You want to eat with us?” said Mrs Wiggins, bemused.

  “We would consider it a great favour,” said Lizzy graciously.

  “That would be very agreeable. If you would like to be seated in the dining room I will bring lunch for us all. And some ale and wine too. I am glad to say we are not particularly busy this afternoon. No new guests, you see, except for you.”

  Lizzy and Darcy sat at a table beside the window. From the kitchen they could hear Mrs Wiggins preparing the meal. They also smelt the freshly baked bread which sharpened their appetites yet further.

  Mrs Wiggins brought in plates of cold meat, cheeses, pickles and bread. She called to her husband, busy chopping wood for the stove.

  “Herbert, fetch some ale and wine for our guests. And then join us for lunch.”

  “Gladly, my dear,” he called cheerfully.

  He set down his axe and brought a foaming tankard of ale, a bottle of red wine and a glass. He set the ale before Darcy and the glass before Lizzy. He filled Lizzy’s glass with the wine and wished them both good health.

  “Will you take wine, my dear?” he asked his wife.

  She shook her head.

  “Cider. Hard.”

  He fetched a tankard of cloudy cider for his wife and ale for himself. They all sat at the table and drank and then commenced to eat lunch.

  “So, what brings you to these parts?” said Mr Wiggins amiably.

  “Well, it sounds a little foolish,” said Lizzy, “but we’ve been married for six months. It’s a kind of anniversary so we thought we’d take a holiday in Cornwall.”

  “I can tell you are a fine lady and a fine gentleman,” said Mrs Wiggins. “Why then did you want to take lunch with us? We are simple folk, just a landlord and landlady of a roadside inn.”

  “We left all that behind us,” said Darcy, “when we left Pemberley - that’s our house in Derbyshire. For the next few days we are simply Mr and Mrs Darcy, a couple on holiday.”

  “To ensure we are not known to anybody,” said Lizzy, “we have not booked any accommodation in advance. We will stay where we choose and will be taken as we are found.”

  “Like some picaresque couple? How very romantic,” said Mrs Wiggins with a chuckle.

  “And where are you planning to go in Cornwall?” said Mr Wiggins.

  “We intend to make our way to Land’s End,” said Darcy. “Then we will make our way back up the north coast.”

  “My sister Agnes lives on the north coast,” said Mrs Wiggins. “If you are near the village of Perranporth she would be happy to accommodate you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wiggins,” said Lizzy, “that’s very kind of you.”

  The rest of the lunch was spent in enjoyable conversation, aided by ale, wine and hard cider. Mr and Mrs Wiggins told them of many interesting places to visit as well as Cornish customs, new and ancient. They told them about local delicacies, the best hostelries, which roads to take and which taverns to avoid. Darcy and Lizzy were interested and attentive and took in much detail which they felt sure would increase their enjoyment of their holiday.

  After a couple of hours of excellent conversation and excellent food and drink, Darcy and Lizzy said it was time to take their leave. Their bags were packed, farewells were made as firm friends to Mr and Mrs Wiggins, the coach and horses were summoned and loaded with their things. With a last wave to their hosts Darcy and Lizzy went on their way, leaving Jamaica Inn behind and progressing deeper into Cornwall.

  “I thought Mr and Mrs Wiggins were delightful, didn’t you Lizzy?”

  “I most certainly did,” said Lizzy. “And so helpful. So where shall we stop this evening?”

  “According to the map which Mr Wiggins showed me, this road takes us directly to St Austell. It’s quite a large town and we are sure to find a good bed for the night. And there are many interesting coves and beaches nearby.”

  “Then let us proceed to St Austell,” said Lizzy.

  Late in the evening as the last rays of the late summer sun dipped over the horizon, their coach reached St Austell. They directed the coachman to drive to a certain coaching inn recommended by Mr and Mrs Wiggins. Yes, said the landlady they had a double room vacant, yes, they had a fine selection of ales and liqueurs, no, it was not too late to order supper. They rested a while and then ate an excellent meal of roasted fowl. They drank a little and looked forward to wandering around the town in the morning and perhaps going down to the sea.

  What they didn’t know and couldn’t know, however, was that a coach was passing through Devon and was approaching the bridge over the Tamar. A coach containing four people: A man, his wife and their two daughters. As they approached the bridge the wife put her head out of the window.

  “Driver, where on earth are we?”

  “About to enter the county of Cornwall, ma
dam.”

  “Good. Well, press on.”

  A little later she put her head out of the window again.

  “Driver, I am tired and hungry. Why didn’t we stop earlier?”

  “You told me to press on earlier.”

  “Never mind that. How far until the next tavern?”

  “It’s still some miles way. We need to cross the moors.”

  She put her head back in and looked reproachfully at her husband.