His vow was not an easy one to keep. Weakened from poor food and illness, and disoriented by the piercing light revealing the space that had been his home for untold weeks, he was scarcely able to shift to his knees. Shakily he placed his right foot forward, but as he tried to push his weight into it and rock back to his other foot, his knee gave way and he dropped painfully to his backside. The change in posture had caused the blood to rush from his head, and all his vision was rocking, sickening field of blackness.
Grimacing, he made the attempt again, but the men had seen enough. The man who had looked him over turned to the other with angry words and gestures, pointing to his soiled clothing, his failing stature, and clearly demanding that something be done.
Darcy had spared little attention for the second man. In truth, his eyes had only just cleared somewhat, but now he could see that the second man wore some manner of seaman’s uniform. Perhaps, then, this had been the man responsible for his well-being during the voyage, and had been found wanting in his duties. The seaman scurried out of the chamber, and Darcy heard him calling to his mates.
He shifted his attention back to the other man. “Who are you?” he asked again. “What do you want of me?”
The man reached to roughly pinch the flesh of Darcy’s shoulder, testing the tone of his muscles. Darcy swept angrily away. “Tell me who you are!” he thundered, earning himself a short coughing fit from his swollen throat.
The man stepped back and made eye contact at last. He smiled tightly and crossed his arms, then spoke in thickly affected tones. “My name is Pereira. You are Senhor Darcy, yes?”
Darcy rubbed his offended arm, staring suspiciously. “Where am I, and why am I here?”
“That is for my master to tell. Now, rise. You must come with me.”
“I certainly shall not.” Darcy rocked back and assumed the most disinterested pose a man in his position could possibly summon. “I am in no humour to be made to wait upon a man unknown to me, whose men slight me with such offences. Let him come to me, if he dares show his face.”
The man offered a faint chuckle of condescension. “I think, Senhor Darcy, you do not understand of whom you speak.” He turned his head sharply at the reentry of the other man. Returning to his native tongue, he gave quick instructions to the seaman. Before Darcy could react, a cold bucket of salt water doused over him.
He sputtered a moment, in equal parts insulted by the lack of courtesy to his person and refreshed by the shower. A second bucket was then placed at his side with a greasy rag floating upon the surface, and Darcy understood this would be his only hygienic provision. Glowering, he slowly took up the rag and meticulously cleaned his bristled face, his arms and torso, and then submerged his head to scrub his hair. When he turned his attention to his fingernails, his “host” finally lost patience. “Come now!” he insisted.
Darcy sighed and carefully eased himself to his feet. Wherever the man so eagerly desired to take him, ithadto be better than the hold of this ship. He might be in a strange land and without resources or assistance, but beyond that door was light—the craving for which had nearly driven him mad and suffocated him in the darkness. Where there was light, there were people, and where there were people, he might find a friendly face to aid his plight. He grunted and bent his trembling knees to accommodate the faint rolling of the floor beneath his feet, then risked a step.
He was not permitted to take another on his own. The seaman produced a flour sack, and the man in charge clasped Darcy’s arms behind him. “You must not struggle so, Senhor Darcy,” he admonished as the darkness descended once more. “I do not know when my master will choose to see you, but it will be much better for us both if you can still walk when he does.”
Longbourn
“Lizzy,thereissomethingimportant I wish to ask you.”
Jane Bennet had to compete for time with her sister of late. Elizabeth had flung herself into the management of the house, as their mother had been more occupied with wedding plans. Her free time was often spent instructing the unhappy Kitty in the household accounts and in music, for Elizabeth seemed to have determined that one, at least, of her younger sisters should have some claim to recommend her.
When she was not so employed, she had discovered an intensified passion for walking out, and she would be away for hours together. Upon her return, she was nearly always secreted in a corner with a book, her head dipped behind it as a shield, and her hearing closed off to anyone else in the room. At night, she retired late and slept so poorly that Jane hated disturbing her, even in the privacy of their own bedchamber.
At last, Jane had found her out by the drawing room window. Their mother had taken the carriage, along with Kitty and Mary, to call on Mrs Philips. Lydia remained, as always, in her room, and their father had locked the door to his library some while earlier. Elizabeth gazed in solitary reflection out the window, but only because her book lay finished beside her and a cold northern wind blew in the bitter months of winter, rendering a long walk impossible. She appeared deaf for a moment, but when Jane repeated her request for an audience, she gave a little start, and turned.
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane breathed. Elizabeth’s eyes still shimmered strangely, their soft glow only enhanced by the dark circles beneath them. “You look so weary! Dearest, I wish there were something I could do. Will you not allow me to send for Mr Jones?”
Elizabeth swallowed forcibly, turning her face back to the window. “There is nothing anyone can do, Jane,” she whispered.
“But you are not yourself! I know it has been hard for you, with my wedding to plan and Lydia’s… marriage. Most of the usual household affairs have been yours, with Mama occupied. I know what a burden it has been!”
Elizabeth shook her head vaguely, her eyes still focused on some unseen point out the window. “The additional duties do not trouble me.”
Jane only chewed her lip in agonised silence. Elizabeth had ever been her soul mate, her confidante, but now, she had better luck conversing with a wall than her own sister. “I wish you might say a kind word to Lydia,” she advised gently. “I know you are angry with her, Lizzy, but perhaps when you see how broken-hearted she is, you might come to feel some pity for her. I think it might ease your own cares just now.”
Elizabeth made no response, but Jane could see her fine jaw clenching, her nostrils distending, and her eyes hardening. Jane gave up the point as hopeless.
“Well, anyway,” she sighed, “it is not that of which I wished to speak with you. Lizzy, Charles and I have talked it all over. We would like you to come live at Netherfield with us, once we are settled.”
Elizabeth turned silent, astounded eyes toward her sister, and Jane rushed to justify the offer. “Charles thinks very highly of you—he credits speaking to you in Derbyshire last August with lending him the courage to propose to me at last. It would really be a very great favour to us, Lizzy, for I do not know how I shall manage such a large house! Caroline shall not remain at Netherfield, for he has determined to provide her with an establishment of her own in London. So, you see, it will be very lonely with just the two of us there, and it would gladden our hearts to have you.”
“I never heard of newlyweds as violently in love as you feeling lonely. I would be an uncomfortable addition to your home, Jane.”
“You could never! Lizzy, I cannot marry tomorrow and go away, leaving you as miserable as you have been. I could not dream of it! And Charles… well, to tell the truth….”
“He cannot wish for his sister-in-law to live with him!” Elizabeth objected. “Your Mr Bingley is kindness itself, but I will not impose upon his generosity.”
“No, Lizzy, it is not that. He likes having you near, as a friend, do you see. He likes hearing your opinions and enjoys the clever way you speak. He says he finds your presence comforting, for you remind him of Mr Darcy.”
