Page 14 of Elizabeth’s Refuge (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #16)
“Damnations, man. Yes I have the pilot. Had to promise him a bottle of my best whiskey and an extra six guineas to show up on such notice. A different ship is being held an extra hour so that we can be guided out, and the stores are not prepared. Damnations and tarnations, man.”
“I would ask,” Darcy said coldly to the naval officer, “that you might keep your language under some regulation whilst there is a lady present.”
The seaman looked Darcy up and down. Darcy smiled pleasantly back at him, standing tall and firm, and unwilling to be challenged on this matter.
“Damnations, man, I am watching my language for her sake. Damnations isn’t a curse. It’s nothing like…” He blushed, which rather surprised Darcy. “None of that nonsense in a lady’s presence. Quite outside of what should be said to her.”
Elizabeth’s merry laugh rang out. “Captain, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have a quite particular and personal desire to be out of England soon as might be possible. Are we able to leave?”
“Set sail, set sail.” The captain busied himself for half a minute giving orders that Darcy was not quite convinced were in English, but the crew of the ship moved with alacrity, and the sails were unfurled, and movement of the ship started.
A prim man of about thirty and five with overly greased blond hair and what seemed like a perpetual sneer stood at the rudder, occasionally calling out his own instructions to the crew.
Darcy presumed him to be the harbor pilot.
“Damn — dash it, man.” The ship’s captain turned back to General Fitzwilliam, since he would have no further business managing the ship till they were out of the shifting and low waters of the Thames.
“Ordering a ship hired for a regiment of the king to depart before time to help a tart leave England with her lover?”
“Sir, I will not hear Miss Bennet insulted,” Darcy said in a quiet voice.
“I did not insult her. What are you talking ’bout? Besides, why else would a tart and a gent like you flee so quickly?”
“Elizabeth is not a—”
“Cousin,” General Fitzwilliam placed his hand on Darcy’s shoulder, “I dare say that our friend here thinks that tart is the name you give the most respectable sort of woman.”
“Well… not the most respectable sort.” The sea captain winked broadly and in what seemed like a grotesque attempt at salted charm at Elizabeth, who blushed and winked back at him.
General Fitzwilliam pointed at Elizabeth and then said in a mighty whisper, “She bashed the head of a different cousin of mine in, and beat him near to death. This cousin is an earl, who wants to bring the law against her.”
“Oh!” The captain brightened at this. He now smiled at Elizabeth broadly, showing that two of his teeth were gold, and the rest tobacco stained. “You bashed in a true milord? What was he doing? A little handsy?”
“More than a little. I also broke his nose with my forehead.” Elizabeth tapped the fading bruise on her forehead. “A real milord too.”
The captain peered at Elizabeth’s forehead, and then he laughed gaily. “Damnations. Damnations and tarnations. Suppose that really be reason to get out of England fast and quickly. You hit him hard?”
“Hard as I could. I did break his nose.”
“I’ve seen him,” General Fitzwilliam confirmed. “Warms the cockles of my soul, it does.”
“Damnations and tarnations. Well, well, well. Was the stupid of a milord that gave me this scar.” He took off his hat to show them the thick line of the scar that went all the way back to the surviving fringe of hair in the back of his head.
“By the sea, worthy reason. But still.” He turned to General Fitzwilliam.
“Cost me a good deal to get the pilot here. Cost me a good deal.”
General Fitzwilliam had a blazing smile.
He poked his finger towards Darcy. “Our good fortune is to have a patron present. He has been quite willing to tell me to hand him bills, and he’ll pay without asking.
So he’ll give you a much better bottle of whiskey, and that bottle will have a dozen fine partners to keep it from being lonely, than what you gave to the pilot, and whatever else you need.
Mr. Darcy here is your friend in that respect… ”
Darcy rolled his eyes and sighed. He owed Richard a great deal, and in a way he owed this sea captain as well. “Yes, whichever Epicurean pleasures a reasonable sum of money can provide are yours for the picking.”
“Don’t be put off by that caveat!” General Fitzwilliam cried out. “He’ll consider in gratitude a quite unreasonable sum reasonable for at least a fortnight more.”
“Tarnations.” The sea captain bowed his head. “At your service, Mr. Darcy. At your service.”
By now they were exiting the controlled water of the dredged dock for the main line of the Thames River.
The Bow Street Runners in their caped coats and red uniforms at last ran up to the dock where the ship had been and they incoherently yelled for them to stop. Of course the ship did not, and they knew themselves the entire matter was much too late.
Mr. Blight joined them, and he looked straight at Elizabeth with a vicious snarl that made Darcy protectively put his arms around Elizabeth. There was something of a brutish borderer’s violence in the man’s face.
“I am quite all right,” Elizabeth said, unperturbed. “I have already downed him once. And he is there , not here.”
Mr. Blight glared across the water at them. He raised his fingers in an obscene gesture and spit into the rushing water of the Thames. He shouted something across, but it was too faint to be heard across the distance.
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, and she laughed exultantly. “Zounds, I hate that man!”