Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure

by Lindsay Beaudine

  “Thank you,” said Mr Bennet. “Come along my dear, fetch the girls and we’ll try Perranporth.”

  “But I haven’t had lunch. I’ve had nothing since breakfast.”

  “Never mind that now, we need to get to Perranporth at once. If they are there they may leave at any time. In any case it was quite a large breakfast.”

  Darcy and Lizzy were preparing to leave Perranporth. They were in their bed chamber and their cases had been packed. Darcy stood before the open window and looked out to sea. He turned to Lizzy.

  “Impossible to think,” he said, “that the weather has changed so abruptly and so completely. The sun is out and all is calm.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “Perhaps it’s the location.”

  “Perhaps. All we need to do now then is have the coach brought around and say our farewells to John and Agnes. And your sister and Wickham.”

  “They’ve been very generous, haven’t they? John and Agnes, I mean.”

  “They have. Impossible to think, too, how different John is from his brother. So completely different.”

  “Yes, it beggar’s belief.”

  Darcy took one last look out of the window. He heard a distant voice cry out.

  “Hevva, hevva,” it called. Then another voice, “hevva, hevva.”

  “Hevva?” said Darcy. “Doesn’t that mean ‘here they come’?”

  “Yes,” said Lizzy. “It means the pilchards are here.”

  “Agnes,” called John from outside, “the pilchards have come. I heard the huers. Quickly, we need to tell the others to join us down by the sea. The pilchards must be netted without delay.”

  Darcy and Lizzy hurried downstairs and joined him outside.

  “Was that the huers we heard?” said Darcy. “Are the pilchards here?”

  “Yes, look at the sea.” John pointed to an area of the sea, a little way out. It was a deeper colour than the water around it and boiled with life, as the fish rushed hither and thither just below the surface.

  “Can we help?” said Lizzy.

  “You can tell the others while I get the boats ready. With everything that has happened this last day they may be asleep or making little repairs in their cottages. They may not have heard the huers. That would be a great service. And please ask Martha if Tom has returned.”

  Darcy and Lizzy went from door to door and cried that the fish were here and must be netted at once. They returned to John.

  “All have been roused,” said Darcy, “but Tom has not returned.”

  “Is it important?” said Lizzy.

  “It’s vital. You see, Tom is the best boatman in the village. We rely on him to quickly row out and get behind the shoal. Then he drives them to shore and the others net them in the shallows.”

  “Can nobody else do it?”

  “Not as well as Tom. Nor so quick either.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Darcy.

  “What?” said John and looked at him as if he were jesting.

  “I’ll do it,” repeated Darcy firmly. “I’m a good oarsman. I rowed sculls at Oxford.”

  “But this is the Atlantic Ocean not a river in Oxford.”

  “A boat is a boat after all,” said Darcy,” and water is water.”

  “But I can’t expect you to do that. You’re our guests, you’ve only been here a day.”

  “After all the kindness you and your wife have shown us, I insist, Mr Wickham. In any event it gladdened my soul to hear that your brother George has been set to work in the tin mine. It’s as though you’ve repaid some kind of debt of honour.”

  “And perhaps,” said Lizzy, “Mr Wickham can assist in netting the fish. I’m certain he can do that.”

  “I’ll put him in the shallowest water,” said John.

  “Now, find me a boat,” said Darcy.

  He and John went down to the sea. They pulled a small rowing boat across the sand and into the shallows. Darcy jumped in and John handed him the oars. He rowed out smoothly with quick, confident strokes.

  “Just keep going the way you are,” called John. “You’ll need some kind of beacon, somebody to move along the beach as the fish move along.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Lizzy without hesitation.

  “Good,” said John. “Just keep your eye on the dark bit of water and stand in front, Mrs Darcy.”

  “At once,” said Lizzy, pleased that she was able to help.

  John called out to Darcy, rowing quickly with power and skill.

  “When you get in behind them, Mr Darcy, row back to shore and make as much commotion as you can with your oars so that you drive them in. We’ll do the rest with our nets.”

  “Very well.”

  “And, Mr Darcy,” called John, “keep your eyes on your wife. Keep her dead in front of you and you’ll be heading the right way.”

  Lizzy watched the patch of dark water and as it moved suddenly to the left or right, she moved along the beach with it. Darcy saw her and expertly changed direction without breaking his stroke.

  He rowed with great, powerful pulls of his strong rower’s arms. Before long he had got behind the great shoal of slippery, darting fish. He wheeled the boat around and made his way back to shore, pulling with force on the oars. He lifted them a little so that they disturbed the surface with each stroke and splashed the water around the fish, driving them to shore.

  On the shore and in the shallows John Wickham directed all the villagers to ensure they were ready with boats and nets. Ready to catch the fish as they swam into the shallows. As Darcy drove them in other, weaker and slower, boatmen rowed out and got behind them. As one the boats forced the pilchards forward until they were caught among the nets. Some held nets in their hands. Others, in pairs, let the nets hang between two boats. John ran around and helped anyone in difficulties. He helped them to pour the catch into empty boats from the nets, full of writhing fish.

  Now that the fish had been driven in to the shallows, Darcy and the other boatmen rowed back and forth to ensure they would not escape into deeper waters.

  Everybody from the village helped with the catch. Even Lydia pulled hr dress up above her ankles and ran into the shallow water to hold a net with another woman to be filled with pilchards. George Wickham, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  Within a matter of hours, all the pilchards had been caught. The boats filled with fish were pushed onto the beach and Darcy and the other boatmen were called in to shore. The nets were spread out to dry and large wooden barrels were brought down to the beach. The women fetched buckets of salt and the pilchards were salted down and packed tight into the barrels. The barrels of fish were placed in cool cellars, ready to be eaten over winter or taken by cart to the market in Truro or further afield, such was the reputation of Perranporth pilchards.

  The work complete, John Wickham held up his hand.

  “The pilchards have been brought ashore, netted and salted. Our work is done and so let us feast.”

  There was a great cheer and the villagers rushed into their cottages and brought out tables and chairs. Enormous jugs of ale and cider were placed on the tables together with bottles of wine. The kitchens were opened up to prepare food for the feast. In a very short time the delicious aroma of food, cooked and cooking, wafted over each cottage like a blessing. Fresh bread, roasted meats dressed with herbs and spices were brought out on huge trays. And, of course, there were pilchards cooked in every way imaginable: fried, grilled, broiled, baked and stewed. Plates of uncooked fish were their too, for those who liked to eat their pilchards raw.

  A little man of around sixty with a great black beard emerged from his cottage with a fiddle. He played a lively little reel and the villagers danced, in pairs or in circles large and small.

  John Wickham shook Darcy’s hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, “you have saved the day. It’s been a very successful catch. You might say, you are founder of the feast.”

  “I did nothing,” said Darcy modestly. “Any man could have rowed
out there.”

  “But we had to get a man out behind the fish quickly or they would have swum out to sea and many would have been lost. Speed was of the essence and you were fast. As fast as Tom I’d say.”

  “It’s a good thing they came when they did, for we were about to take our leave of your fine village and head eastward.”

  “Take your leave? But you will stay for the feasting at least.”

  “Of course,” said Darcy.

  “Is the any news of Tom?” said Lizzy.

  John frowned and shook his head. Without a word, Lizzy found Martha, sadly cooking fish over a griddle, and gave her comfort. Cheered a little, Martha joined the others outside. She looked westward and saw a figure, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun come over the hill. She could not make out the face but knew by his gait that it was her husband, safe and sound.

  “Tom, Tom,” she cried, joy mingled with relief. She ran to the figure and they embraced happily.

  “Oh, thank God, thank God,” said John.

  Tom explained that he had been out at sea to check for signs of the shoal coming in when the filthy clouds developed, so he had rowed quickly ahead of the storm and put to shore further up the coast. There was general laughter among the villagers, the good-natured laughter of good will, gratitude and humility and they feasted in earnest, eating, drinking, dancing, talking and laughing.

  Darcy, Lizzy, John, Tom and Martha stood in a little group drinking ale, cider and wine. Lydia joined them. John thanked her for her help in netting the pilchards.

  “Where is your husband, Lydia?” said Lizzy, looking around for Wickham.

  “George?”

  “Yes George. You remember him? He’s the man you eloped with and married at Gretna Green?”

  “Well, George said he felt a little tired earlier. So, he went to bed.”

  “You mean he slept through the whole thing? He didn’t hear the huers? He didn’t hear all the shouting and commotion by the sea.”

  “Well he’s a very deep sleeper.”

  “It’s the only thing he does do deeply then,” muttered Darcy.

  “Once he goes for a nap nothing will wake him. Well, perhaps one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” said Darcy with withering sarcasm.

  “The smell of food.”

  At that moment a figure emerged from John’s house. Wickham, a little blearily, sauntered over to join them.

  “I haven’t missed dinner, have I?” he said.

  “No, George,” said John, “we are feasting for the pilchard catch.”

  “Oh, the fish came in then did they?” said Wickham blandly.

  “Yes, Wickham,” said Darcy. “They came in. Everybody helped to net them including your wife. Everybody except you, it seems.”

  “Oh dear,” said Wickham with a short laugh, “I must have slept through the whole thing.”

  Darcy felt his fists clench and deliberately held his arm straight down.

  “Yes, you must,” said Lizzy.

  “Well at least I woke in time for the feast. Can I smell fish?”

  “Come on, George,” said Lydia, to her credit somewhat embarrassed, “let’s go and get some food and drink.”

  The others watched them go and eat.

  “I trust, Mr Wickham,” said Darcy, his eyes on Wickham and Lydia, “that your brother will return to the tin mine tomorrow? If the weather is fine of course.”

  “He’ll be there,” said John, “I’ll make sure of that.”

  “And is it likely,” Darcy continued, “that there will be any particularly onerous or dirty tasks for somebody in the mine tomorrow? I imagine there is a good deal of mud down there after the storm?”

  “Oh, I think there may be,” said John with relish.

  “Then perhaps you can think of somebody who might be asked to clear up the mud and perform any other onerous tasks?”

  “I think I have the very man. And I think it would be an act of brotherly devotion to give those tasks to a certain man who is so clearly racked with guilt over sleeping through the catch.”

  “Good,” said Darcy quietly with a little smile.

  “Now, Mr Darcy,” said John, “we have a little surprise for you.”

  “Really?” said Darcy. “What is it?”

  “Agnes,” cried John, “are they ready?”

  “Yes,” she called from the house. “I’ll bring them out now.”

  She emerged from the house with a tray on which were several round pies, fresh from the oven. Each was around five inches across and from each rose the delightful aroma of cooked pastry. The most unusual thing about the pies though, was that from each there emerged the heads of several fish, all gazing upwards at the heavens.

  “Star gazy pie?” said Darcy with a grin.

  “Yes, Mr Darcy,” said John, “that is star gazy pie. Your wife told us how you tried to order it at the tavern. Well, I think we have plenty of pilchards now, so Agnes went and cooked a few.”

  “Come,” said Agnes, “let me cut you a piece, sir”

  She cut one of the pies into four equal pieces and put them on a plate. She handed a plate to Darcy and Lizzy. Lizzy nodded to her husband to indicate that he should try it first. He lifted the pie to his lips and took a bite. He chewed, slightly embarrassed that the others were watching to gauge his reaction. He broke into a broad smile.

  “It’s delicious,” he said simply.

  “I’m glad you like it, sir,” said Agnes.

  “Try it, Lizzy, “said Darcy. “It’s very good.”

  Lizzy took a bite of her piece of pie and chewed thoughtfully.

  “You’re right,” she said. “it’s very good indeed.”

  There was a little friendly laughter from the little group. Agnes happily cut another pie into quarters and all of them took a piece and ate.

  “And there’s plenty more in the oven,” said Agnes.

  “Excellent,” said Darcy. “And you must let me have the recipe, Agnes. I shall ask cook to prepare some of these when we return to Pemberley.”

  “And when will you return to Pemberley?” said John, a little sad that their new friends would soon be taking their leave of Perranporth.

  “Soon, I fear,” said Darcy. “However, you and your charming wife are most welcome to visit us at Pemberley, you know.”

  “You mean that, Mr Darcy?” said John.

  “I do. It would be nice to have one of the Wickham brothers welcome at Pemberley at least.”

  John nodded. He had heard tales and rumours of his brother and the way he had treated Darcy and his sister Georgiana to understand that George would never be welcome at Darcy’s home.

  “We plan to leave this evening, Mr Wickham,” said Lizzy. “We will make our way up the coast and spend a few more days in Cornwall before we take our leave and head back to Derbyshire.”

  “There are plenty more fine places to see,” said Agnes.

  “We think we have seen the best of Cornwall here this last day,” said Lizzy graciously.

  “You’re very kind,” said Agnes with a little curtsy. She went back to the kitchen and brought out another tray of star gazy pies. She put them on the table and told everybody to help themselves to a pie and did not bother to cut them up.

  Darcy and Lizzy ate and drank and talked and enjoyed themselves immensely. Their enjoyment was shattered by a voice. A voice they knew well.

  “Good Lord, Mr Bennet,” said the voice, “there’s a man eating a pie with fish’s heads poking out.”

  They all turned. It was Mrs Bennet followed closely by Mr Bennet, Mary and Kitty.

  “And there’s Mr Darcy. And he’s eating a pie with the heads poking out.”

  “Mother, father,” said Lizzy, “what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you that’s what we’re doing. We’ve been all over this funny little county looking for you. And what do we see when we do find you? We find your husband eating a pie with fish’s heads poking out.”

  “Yo
u’ve been looking for us?” said Darcy putting down his plate. “Why? Is something the matter.”

  “No, no,” said Mrs Bennet. “nothing’s the matter. We merely wished to enhance your enjoyment of your little holiday by coming down and spending some it with you.”

  Neither Darcy nor Lizzy were able to speak for a moment. Lizzy looked at her father who gave her a queasy sort of smile and a helpless shrug of apology. Behind him Mary and Kitty put their hands to their mouths to stop themselves from tittering.