by Kara Louise
Elizabeth looked at each successive day after that as a challenge to discover a subject that interested him and get him involved in a healthy discourse. She loved to question his opinions and disagree with him. She thought it odd that he seemed to enjoy it when she expressed an opposing view.
When they first began discussing books, Darcy assumed Elizabeth’s knowledge would be limited. He was pleasantly surprised to discover otherwise, but what intrigued him most was the fact that she did not pander to his opinions. She expressed her views without hesitation, albeit politely, and did not try to align them with his solely because he was a man of wealth and connections.
A few days later, Elizabeth began to feel the effects of not sleeping well for several successive nights, but she still eagerly looked forward to her walk. As she readied herself to go aloft, she determined that on this day they would discuss poetry. She wondered whether he enjoyed that literary genre. She imagined he would not.
Later, after they had walked the perimeter of the ship a couple of times, she finally inquired, “What do you think of poetry, Mr. Darcy? Is it the food or foolishness of love?”
“I believe it is said that poetry is the food of love,” answered Darcy, fairly suspicious that she was ready to challenge his statement.
“So they say. But how often has poetry actually driven away love? If it is a good, strong, healthy love, then anything will nurture it and cause it to grow. But a weak love… I am afraid that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
“But would it not also have to do with the sonnet itself? A good, strong, healthy sonnet should have a positive effect on even the weakest love, whereas a weak sonnet, in even the most fervent and ardent love, might it not even be injurious to it?”
Elizabeth smiled. “But would not the recipient’s knowledge and appreciation of sonnets be essential? What is pleasing to one person may not be to another.”
A fleeting thought crossed his mind that she was much like a young lady he had met years before. The memory was merely a faded blur, having spent only a couple of hours with her in a carriage, but she stirred him in the same way. He could not remember her name or where she had been travelling.
They continued to banter back and forth, but this morning Elizabeth had to excuse herself early. She had grown more weary and even the fresh air was not obliging her as it normally did in reviving her spirits.
Elizabeth retreated back down to steerage and did a little to help out Mrs. Rawlings and her daughters, as she normally did, in addition to a few others who were struggling with illness. She soon found herself growing more and more weary, and finally was compelled to curl up and take a short nap, even though she felt she needed to help out those who were suffering from more severe illnesses. She ended up sleeping for most of the day; something that she rarely did.
***
With the rising of the sun the following day, Elizabeth struggled to open her eyes. Her head ached, as well as her body, and she was only vaguely aware of the sun sending its light and warmth down into the depths of the ship in a futile attempt to awaken her. She shifted her position on the floor but could not get comfortable. The voices she began to hear were only murmurs, and she could not make out any particular words. Her one thought was that perhaps she was becoming ill as well, as she dug herself deeper into the coverlet, covering her eyes from the light that was beginning to filter through the room.
Darcy had eagerly pulled himself out of bed, looking with anticipation toward his morning walk. That he found himself looking forward to being with Miss Bennet altogether surprised him. He rarely had, in all his adult years, been so captivated by a woman. Although he knew it was an injudicious partiality on his part, as she was not at all suitable for him, he was helpless to put her out of his mind.
She had become the one thing on this ship he found tolerable; a refreshing, lively distraction from both the unpleasant obligation this journey had become and the intolerable array of women seeking his attention. She enjoyed doing things he enjoyed doing. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing more to it than the simple fact that they enjoyed their morning walks together talking about books they had both read.
She does not seem particularly to seek out my attention as so many women do. What a pleasant change! That last thought surprised him. He shook his head, contemplating the oddity that he considered a woman not interested in him a pleasant change.
He vigorously splashed himself with the water from the pitcher and managed a frugal attempt at bathing using the hand basin in his room that was the only provision for bathing on this ship. He looked at himself in the small mirror, frustrated with his unruly, curly hair that was becoming more unmanageable with each passing day. He wished he had his valet along, who could work wonders with very little. He wished he could don a hat and cover what he considered his least favourable attribute, but the wind up on deck would only whip it away, so he resigned himself to just walk up and face her with his hair looking the way it was. And it was certain only to get worse.
He readily walked up and out on deck, pleased to find another fine day, and he began his walk. Each time around, when he approached the door that led to the stairway, he paused, hoping to see Elizabeth appear. Several times during his walk he glanced behind him, thinking that possibly he would find her there, but each time he was disappointed.
He scolded himself, arguing that he had no business dwelling on this lady whom he would most likely never see again and one whom he would probably never have given a second glance in Town. She was simply a young lady from a small, inconsequential country village somewhere in England.
His strides became more determined as he contended with himself regarding the disparity between the two of them. Resolving to cease his musings of her, however, and the actual realization of it are two different things. He continued on with the hope of seeing her. After a disappointing walk, he finally returned to his room and wondered at her absence.
Later that morning, he went to the eating area for the prepared meal that was becoming less and less desirable as there was nothing remaining that was fresh. He overheard passengers talking about the sickness taking hold in steerage.
“With all those people confined together, what do you expect?” one man asked in frustration.
Another spoke up. “I have heard o’ ship’s fever that takes hold and runs rampant. Sometimes it can be fatal. I heard o’ ships coming to port having lost a whole one fourth of their passengers.”
“Excuse me,” Darcy spoke and a look of silent surprise passed each face as they looked toward this man who usually extended only the minimal courtesy of conversation that civility required. “What was that you were saying about disease spreading through the ship?”
“Not the whole ship, sir. Just down in steerage.”
“Do you know what it is?” he asked.
“No. It’s mainly in the women’s and children’s area and a fever seems to be part of it.” After a pause the man added, “I just hope it’s not the typhoid.”
Darcy tensed and his jaw firmly tightened as he thought of Miss Bennet. He knew she had been caring for the Rawlingses, as well as a few others, and wondered if she had grown ill herself. His mind went back to his walks with her, and he recalled that she appeared increasingly tired and worn each morning. “Has anyone inquired of the captain for some medical assistance for them?”
“I believe so, but he can do nothing. At this point he does not think it is anything serious and it will run its course. Till then we must wait and hope.”
“And pray!” added another.
Darcy stood there silent, as all the eyes in the group were upon this man who, for most of the past week, had been distant, aloof, and exhibited a very austere persona. That he was suddenly conversing with them was surprise enough, but that he appeared concerned astonished them even more.
Darcy felt a presence behind him, and he turned to see Miss Brewster standing behind him.
“Mr. Darcy, what a pleasure t
o encounter you this morning.”
The last thing Darcy wanted was to endure this woman’s wearisome presence. Each day it seemed she had sought him out at exactly the time he least wanted it. There were two or three other women who seemed to take pleasure in finding him unattached and wanting for company. Yet now she was displaying the audacity to approach him while in the midst of a conversation with a group of men. Would it never cease?
He turned politely to her, yet inwardly felt very much otherwise, and nodded. “Miss Brewster.”
“It is such a lovely day, and I particularly recall you enjoy a pleasant walk on deck. Would you mind accompanying me?”
“Thank you, no, Miss Brewster. I have already had an early morning walk, and it is imperative that I speak to the captain directly.”
He excused himself from Miss Brewster and the others, intent on finding Captain Wendell, and leaving Miss Brewster to wonder what she could do to get this man to notice her.
Darcy was pleased to find the captain on deck and free from any imminent responsibilities.
“Good morning, Darcy,” the captain greeted him when he saw him approach.
“Good morning, Captain.”
Wendell eyed him with a suspicion that Darcy was again approaching him with some concern about the ship.
“What is it, Darcy?”
“I understand that there is sickness, a fever spreading through steerage.”
“It is a normal part of the voyage that a few of the weaker passengers come down with something. Unfortunately it does spread more readily in steerage because of the closeness of quarters, the lack of fresh air, and the number of people down there. There is nothing that can be done about it, other than to let it run its course.”
Darcy let out a frustrated sigh, guarding his motivation for asking and seeking a way to bring up Miss Bennet without raising the captain’s suspicions.
“Do you suspect it to be typhoid?”
“At this point we cannot tell. There is one young lady who has taken ill quite unexpectedly and suddenly. It may be a simple case of influenza, but she has been weakened quite dramatically by it, more so than the others.”
Darcy could not hide the alarm on his face. “Who is this woman, Captain?”
“Her name is Mrs. Trimble. She is travelling to America to join her husband who is already there.”
The captain saw a wave of relief pass across his old friend’s face.
“Captain, is there anything that can be done to alleviate the potential for an epidemic breaking out down there among the passengers?”
“Apart from moving everyone out of steerage? No, I am afraid not.”
The captain watched as Darcy nervously rubbed his hands together and wondered whether it was truly a concern for all the steerage passengers or one in particular, having noticed his walks each morning with Miss Bennet.
Darcy was frustrated that he still did not know anything about Miss Bennet and decided to be frank with the captain.
“What do you know of Miss Bennet? I have not seen her yet today, and I know she has been aiding several down there who are unwell. Do you know if she has taken ill herself?”
Captain Wendell looked intently at Darcy, seeing something in his countenance he had never witnessed before. “I understand she has taken ill, as well. Whether it is as severe as Mrs. Trimble’s case, I do not know.”
“Is there any doctor onboard?”
“Not as such. The head cook serves as our doctor. He has training in preparing medicinal remedies. He is aware of the illness and has been doing all he can for those passengers. If I hear anything more, I will let you know.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Darcy…”
Darcy looked up at the captain. “Yes?”
The captain slowly shook his head. “Never mind,” he sighed and turned to leave. He wondered with grave concern whether he would have to come down hard on the man who owned this ship and who had ultimate authority. Darcy had been spending a vast amount of time with a woman who had been put under his very own protection. He wondered how he would do it. He wondered if he would be able to do it.
Chapter 6
Darcy stood still for a few moments, feeling frustrated and helpless. If diseases like typhoid did come upon this ship, those who were in steerage were the most susceptible because of the living conditions. Elizabeth, who was helping those very people, was at an even greater risk, in view of the fact that she was getting very little sleep. He knew disease was a possibility on every ship, but he felt acutely responsible himself, being the owner of Pemberley’s Promise .
Darcy was pondering the situation when he looked up to see another of his adoring women, Miss Evans, strolling toward him. At the moment, he was feeling anything but civil, giving her only an infinitesimal nod of his head, then turned and quickly returned to his room before she was able to utter a word.
He remained there for some time, trying to read a book but making little progress. They had been just over one week at sea, and had about three more to go. He suddenly slammed his book closed and set it down abruptly on the table.
He felt a restlessness suffuse through his body. He did not know what he wanted to do, but he felt he needed to be out of the confines of this room. He refused to be a prisoner on his own ship.
Perhaps if he went to the dining area he would find out something more. He battled with the thought that it would likely throw him again into the presence of one of those annoying, persistent ladies, and he was in no humour for it. But he did not wish to remain in his room. Hang those blasted women!
After contemplating his options, he finally stood up, opened the door to his room, and walked down the hall, his concern for Elizabeth stronger than his wish to shield himself from unwanted advances.
As he passed by the stairs, he was suddenly put off balance by an unexpected swell that rocked the ship, but he steadied himself easily. Hearing a soft cry for help and the sound of tumbling, he hurried to the stairway and looked down. He was stunned to see that a young lady had lost her footing and tumbled upon the steps. Darcy immediately rushed down the few steps to reach her and bent down. When she looked up in his direction, he saw a very tired and pale-looking Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet, are you hurt?”
She let out a meagre smile. “I had to come up and get some fresh air. Perhaps I should not have.”
She reached down and grabbed her ankle. “I believe my ankle turned when the boat listed.”
“Let me help you. You may have broken it or sprained it.”
“No, I will be all right, truly.”
Before she could protest, Darcy reached down and agilely picked her up. “My room is right here. Let me take you there and see what can be done.”
“Please, Mr. Darcy, you do not have to do this.” Her words did not come effortlessly, as being unexpectedly lifted by his strong arms added confusion to her already feverish and foggy mind; more than she wished to acknowledge.
“No, I insist.”
He carried her with ease to his room, calling out to a woman who was passing by. “Could you help us? Please come with me and see to Miss Bennet. She seems to have injured her ankle.”
“I would be glad to,” the woman replied.
They walked into Darcy’s room as Elizabeth struggled to keep her head upright, although the pleasant scent that seemed to emanate from him strongly tempted her to lean her head against him and turn her face into him. He gently placed her on the small bench next to the table. He stood up while the woman, a Mrs. Mullins, as she introduced herself, stooped down to look at the ankle.
“Not to worry, Miss Bennet. I have raised five children, and I have seen many sprains and broken bones in my life.”
Elizabeth reached down to rub her ankle and felt quite foolish that all this attention was being paid to her when it was her fault and she was quite certain there was nothing seriously wrong. She was fighting against the effects of lack of sleep and illness, but was able to glance aroun
d the room and notice the relative splendour of Mr. Darcy’s accommodations.
Mrs. Mullins stooped down and addressed Elizabeth as she gently began unlacing her boot. “Where does it hurt, Miss Bennet?”
“The inside of my ankle, Mrs. Mullins. I twisted it two years ago and it goes out on me occasionally. It shall be back to normal in no time.” Elizabeth took some deep breaths, as this was all extremely arduous for her in her ailing state.
Darcy, trying to avert his eyes from the most desirable sight of her now bootless slender ankle, casually asked, “You said you sprained it?”
Elizabeth lifted her head slowly, looking up at him, and Darcy immediately noticed her pale and worn appearance. “Yes. Two years ago I fell out…” She abruptly stopped, then, as if she changed her mind, simply said, “I fell.”
Her fevered mind seemed to make an attempt to recall something, but it evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. Whatever it had been was gone, but she had a clear enough mind to know that she did not want Mr. Darcy aware that only two years ago she made it a practice to climb trees.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mrs. Mullins and therefore did not see the startled look upon Darcy’s face. From out of the past, a voice finished her sentence… out of a tree . He looked upon her and realized that it had to be her! Elizabeth had to be the one he shared the carriage ride with two years ago! His mind raced. What did he remember about her and that ride? She told me how she had fallen out of a tree and sprained her ankle. We had a lively discussion about books. She challenged my every thought. I was not able to get her out of my thoughts for months after. I chided myself for never asking her name!
Mrs. Mullins advised that they wrap it tightly and that she avoid walking on it. Darcy stepped out and called a member of the ship’s crew who was passing by to obtain something with which to wrap her foot. Darcy was grateful for the chance to step out of the room. His mind now reeled with the almost complete conviction that Miss Bennet was the very woman who ended up haunting him two years earlier.