Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure

by Lindsay Beaudine

  She took a sip of ale.

  “Well?” said Darcy.

  “It’s rather bitter, isn’t it? No, I don’t think I like it.”

  “Well, at least you tried it.”

  “And I doubt I’ll try it again.”

  The roast fowl were served. Lizzy put her tankard of ale to one side and ordered some wine. They ate slowly, talking with animated delight about all the things they had seen so far in Cornwall. They agreed it had been a most enjoyable few days so far. After dinner they went for a walk along the beach. They looked out to sea and, to their left, saw a magnificent, fiery sunset which seemed to fill the sky with flame.

  “Yes, Lizzy,” said Darcy as they walked back to the inn, “it has been a marvellous holiday so far.”

  “It has, my love,” she agreed, giving his hand a little squeeze. “And the best thing is that it has just been the two of us. Just you and I. No tenants, no business matters, no family. Nobody to spoil our pleasure.”

  Some miles away, Mr and Mrs Bennet walked along the cliffs at Land’s End while Kitty and Mary followed behind. Mr Bennet was in a relaxed mood and walked with something of a saunter.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, my dear?” he said.

  “What’s wonderful about it, Mr Bennet?” said Mrs Bennet. “It’s just some cliffs and rocks and some rather loud sea birds.”

  “But it’s like the end of the earth.”

  “Yes, and I fear I may fall off at any moment. Then where would you and your remaining unmarried daughters be?”

  “But look,” he said, pointing out to sea, “there is nothing westward but ocean. Just deep blue sea until you get to the Americas.”

  “I don’t care a fig about the Americas. Anyway, I think they’re vulgar. Fighting their wretched war and taking their wretched country from King George, as if they owned the place.”

  “They do,” he said quietly.

  “Well they can keep it. Good riddance to bad…whatever the word is.”

  “In any event, my dear,” he persisted, “don’t you think the sunset is beautiful.”

  “It’s pleasant enough,” she said with a little sniff and walked on.

  He caught her up and took her hand and they walked together.

  “Oh, Mr Bennet, I don’t know if we shall ever find them. Mr Darcy most definitely said they were going to Land’s End. Well he’s not here is he? Let’s go back to the inn and have something to eat and drink.”

  “Very well, my dear,” said a resigned Mr Bennet.

  “Come along, girls,” she called, looking back. “Mary what are you doing?”

  “I’m making a sketch of the sea and the sunset before I lose the light.”

  “Well do hurry. Your mother is tired. Oh, Mr Bennet, my poor nerves.”

  They went back to the inn and after dinner retired to bed. They got up the next morning and after a hurried breakfast took a coach headed north.

  “I simply don’t understand it, Mr Bennet,” said Mrs Bennet. “One would have thought they would stay in one place for a while.”

  “But we don’t know what they’ve been doing, my dear. For all we know they’ve remained in one place all along and we just haven’t been there. Or they may have gone from village to village. We’ve no way of knowing.”

  “But we’ve asked after them in every place we’ve stayed. It’s most frustrating, Mr Bennet. After all we’re not doing this for our benefit, are we? We merely want them to enjoy their holiday. And what better way than to spend time with their family.”

  “It’s just possible, my dear, that they would prefer to spend their holiday alone, you know. After all Mr Darcy spends an awful lot of time taking care of his estate and trying to help his tenants. I’m sure he would welcome a little time away from all that.”

  “Nonsense,” she said shortly. “I would think they would be glad of some company. And another thing, Mr Bennet, our daughters have been no help whatsoever. All Mary does is make sketches of moors and cliffs and sea birds and coal mines.”

  “They’re tin mines, my dear.”

  “Well it doesn’t matter. And Kitty spends all her time with her nose in that book about picturesque rogues or some such nonsense.”

  “It’s picaresque, mother,” said Kitty

  “What?”

  “Mr Fielding write picaresque romances, not picturesque.”

  “I don’t care what he writes, Catherine Bennet. All I know is that you have your nose in one of those books all day when you could and should be helping your poor mother.”

  The coach bumped along a rough, narrow road.

  “Where are we going now, Mr Bennet?” said Mrs Bennet.

  “We are travelling up the north coast, my dear. Darcy said that was the way they were going once they left Land’s End.”

  “Very well. I am going to take a nap to try to soothe my poor nerves. Please do not wake me.”

  “I won’t, my dear,” he said with some relief as the coach rumbled down the uneven road and Mrs Bennet’s snoring rumbled through the coach. He enjoyed a precious hour of peace while Mary went through her sketch book and Kitty read Mr Fielding’s novel with great concentration.

  Chapter 4

  The next day Lizzy and Darcy went down to the beach again and swam in the sea, making full use of the bathing machines lined up on the sand. They went back to the inn for lunch and then walked up to the top of a shallow hill. Seated on the grass they looked down at the narrow and uneven streets with little fishermen’s cottages packed tight together as if huddling close to keep warm from the western winds.

  “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it, my love?” said Lizzy.

  “Everything is beautiful, Lizzy,” he said, “especially you.”

  She smiled warmly and held his hand in hers.

  “Where shall we go tomorrow?” she said.

  “That’s entirely up to us. We can proceed north up the coast or we can spend another day in St Ives if you wish. I am sure there will be room for us at the inn.”

  “Another day here might be pleasant,” she said. “We can swim in the morning and perhaps explore a little in the afternoon.

  “Good, that’s settled. We’ll go and speak to the landlord directly.”

  They returned to the inn. The landlord and his wife said they would be delighted to accommodate them for another night. Dinner, said the landlady, would not be ready for another hour or two so Darcy and Lizzy decided to take a glass or two of sherry in the quaint little bar.

  They seated themselves in comfortable chairs beside a large bay window. The landlady brought a ship’s decanter of dark, nutty sherry and poured a glass for each of them. They sipped their sherry and looked out at the calm, blue sea.

  “It’s a lovely town, isn’t it?” said Lizzy.

  “Yes, I’m glad we’re staying another day. I wonder what we’ll do.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday so we should begin with a visit to church.”

  “Yes, we shall. We should ask where the nearest church is.”

  A mild looking man stood at the bar drinking a glass of porter. He looked over at Darcy and Lizzy.

  “Please excuse me for interrupting,” he said, “but I could not help hearing your conversation. If you wish to visit church tomorrow there is a seafarer’s chapel a little way up the coast.”

  “Thank you,” said Lizzy.

  “What time will the service be, Mr…?”

  “It’s Parry. Reverend Parry. The service will be at nine thirty. The reason I know it will be at nine thirty is because I am conducting the service myself.”

  “Well we’ll be there,” said Lizzy.

  After dinner and a short walk along the beach Darcy and Lizzy retired to bed.

  They awoke early on Sunday morning and after breakfast got themselves ready for church.

  The seafarer’s chapel was only a short walk beside the beach. It was a small building of golden coloured stone. Atop the chapel a little bell swung back and forth calling worshippers to church. Inside, the chap
el was like a simple cube of white plaster. There were a dozen rows of hard wooden benches with little cushions on which to kneel. The pulpit was of ancient oak and had been designed to look like the bow of a fishing vessel, with carvings of mermaids and fisherman holding nets in the sea while a man in white robes walked towards them on the water. It was an odd mixture of the sacred and the profane.

  From this pulpit the Reverend Parry delivered a short and moving sermon. The basis for his sermon was the parable of the prodigal son and each of the actors in the story, younger son, father and older son, were presented with warmth, humanity and understanding, laced with a little vigorous humour.

  As Lizzy and Darcy left the chapel after the service, they shook hands with Reverend Parry and chatted to him for a minute, congratulating him on his sermon. As they went through the simple wooden doors they were bathed in sunlight, warm and radiant as it climbed ever higher in the blue sky and it was as though their union was being blessed a second time as they were in some strange, new land.

  “Shall we take some coffee, Lizzy?” said Darcy.

  “That would be pleasant.”

  They saw a tiny inn opposite the chapel and ordered coffee.

  “What did you think of the sermon?” said Lizzy.

  “I thought it was very good.”

  “It’s a fine parable.”

  “The prodigal son?” said Darcy, “I’ve known one or two of those in my time. Our old friend Mr Wickham for example. I’m just glad he’s not my son or younger brother.”

  “You’ve helped him out in the past though, haven’t you? Before the sordid business with Georgiana I mean.”

  “Yes, I’ve paid off his creditors in the past. Nothing more than that though. Perhaps it did more harm than good, encouraged him to gamble and get further into debt. I often wonder, if I’d been a harder with him or made him earn it he may have become less feckless.”

  Lizzy reached out and took his hand.

  “You’re a good man, Fitzwilliam. Anything Wickham did was of his own volition.”

  They were silent for a few minutes.

  “In any event,” said Darcy, “I rather think the Reverend Parry’s sermon was rather better than that given by Mr Collins. Do you remember, when we were at your father’s house, he came in and was about to preach to us? And he was going to deliver the very same sermon; the Prodigal Son.”

  “Yes, we were going to stay the whole afternoon but left early. Poor mother and father,” laughed Lizzy, “not to mention Mary and Kitty. He had a captive audience, didn’t he, and knowing Mr Collins the sermon would have lasted one or two hours. And neither son would have come out with much credit either I should think. Probably not the father either.”

  “Poor Kitty and Mary,” said Darcy with an exaggerated shake of his head.

  “And poor Charlotte too,” said Lizzy. Her face fell a little as she thought about her friend, now Mrs Collins.

  “Lucky me though,” said Darcy, looking into her eyes with a warm smile.

  “Lucky us,” she said.

  The landlady came with their coffee.

  “You’re not from these parts are you?” she said.

  “No, we’re not,” said Darcy.

  “But you’re a lady and a gentleman, I can tell that,” she said.

  “We are taking a short holiday and are touring around Cornwall. We have been going from town to town.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At The Ship, up the beach a little.”

  “Very fine tavern. You should try their star gazy pie.”

  Lizzy and Darcy smiled.

  “The pie was off we were told, until after the pilchards are brought in.”

  “Yes, it won’t be long now. All along the coast they’ll come in. I hope the weather holds though,” she said looking out of the window.

  “Why?” said Lizzy, “it’s a beautiful day.”

  “Today it is,” said the landlady, “but I’ve lived here for years. And mark my words there’s going to be some stormy weather sometime in the next few days. Where are you headed next?”

  “We are just making our way eastward,” said Darcy, “along the north coast.”

  “Well there’s a fine little village called Perranporth, a few miles from here where you’ll always get a warm welcome. It’s a fishing village too and it’s always busy when the pilchards come in.”

  “Thank you,” said Darcy, “we’ll keep it in mind.”

  They finished their coffee and took a leisurely walk around the town before going back to The Ship for lunch and packing their things, for they were to leave St Ives later in the afternoon. Before they climbed into the coach to leave they said farewell to the landlord and landlady of The Ship and thanked them for the excellent hospitality. Darcy promised he would try star gazy pie as soon as he was able.

  “Where to, sir?” called the coachman as they settled in their seats.

  “Perranporth,” called Darcy and the horses trotted down the narrow road, heading east.

  The coach made its way along the coast road. Lizzy and Darcy looked out of the window. The wind had dropped completely and the thin, wispy clouds had turned a lurid yellow. They looked back and behind them the setting sun had turned the sea into the colour of burgundy wine. The finger post in front of them pointed to a little lane on the left. The sign read ‘Perranporth 1 mile’.

  The coach turned left and, with the sunlight beginning to fade, reached Perranporth.

  “We have arrived at the village, sir,” cried the coachman.

  “Proceed to the nearest coaching inn would you,” called Darcy.

  “At once, sir.”

  The coach made its way down the main road. The coachman jumped down and went into a gloomy looking inn. He returned after a minute.

  “No room at that one, sir.”

  “No matter,” said Darcy. “I didn’t like the look of it anyway. Try the next one.”

  The coachman went into another inn and returned quickly.

  “No room there either, sir.”

  “Oh. Well, try another.”

  The coachman looked up and down the road.

  “Only one or two more as far as I can see, sir.”

  “Well, try them both.”

  It was no use. He tried them and came back shaking his head. There were no rooms to be had. Not one.

  “Did they say why?” said Lizzy.

  “It’s on account of the pilchards the man said. Everybody has come here to catch the pilchards. Or if they haven’t come to catch they’ve come to buy. A number of fish merchants have come to the village in the last few days to buy the pilchards. It’s said they are the best in Cornwall.”

  “Well there must be somewhere.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Well keep looking.”

  “Perhaps we should get out and look for ourselves, my love,” said Lizzy.

  “I believe you’re right, Lizzy, come on.”

  They got out of the coach and looked down the narrow street. They saw a small tavern, set a little back from the others. It was small and dimly lit but Lizzy and Darcy did not care. They told the coachman to see if there were any inns at the bottom of the street while they tried the small, set back tavern.

  They went in and asked to speak to the landlord. They were told there was no landlord and the tavern was run by a lady. A handsome woman in her forties came and greeted them.

  “Can I help you?” she said with a welcoming smile.

  “Yes, we wondered if you had a vacancy. For one night perhaps?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I just rented my last room. A fish merchant from London arrived twenty minutes ago. I take it you didn’t book ahead?”

  “No, we didn’t. It’s the first time we haven’t been able to find anywhere. We’ve travelled all over Cornwall, from Jamaica Inn to The Ship at St Ives.”

  “Jamaica Inn did you say? Near Bodmin?” said the woman. “Then you met Mrs Wiggins?”

  “Mrs Wiggins and her husband,”
said Lizzy. “They were fine people.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Darcy, “it was Mrs Wiggins who suggested we visit Perranporth. Do you know her then?”

  “She is my sister.”

  “Then your name is…Agnes?” said Lizzy.