Page 20 of To India with Mr. Darcy

I t seemed inconceivable to the passengers aboard the Belmont , but the coast of England lay just days ahead of them now, after nearly a year away.

Elizabeth stood at the railing, the sea breeze lifting the ribbons of her bonnet and brushing her cheeks with its briny fingers. After months upon the water, she had grown accustomed to the scent of salt and tar, to the creaking of the ship’s rigging, to the low groan of timber shifting underfoot. It was strange to think how swiftly it would all come to an end. Soon, the sails would be lowered for the last time, the anchor dropped, and she would once again tread upon English soil.

Would it be different, she wondered. Perhaps it was Elizabeth herself who would be different, and England would remain as she had always been. But looking out at the endless sea, it still all felt so far away.

She should have been overjoyed. And she was, in part. She longed to see Longbourn again, to feel the familiar scratch of gravel under her shoes, to hear Lydia’s shrill laughter echo through the house and Mrs Bennet’s voice floating in from the drawing room. And then there was her dear father. She couldn’t wait to see him and tell him of every detail of their adventure.

And yet, a part of her grieved. Part of her longed for this trip to never end.

Their time aboard the Belmont had been long, and during that time, the ship had become something of a world unto itself. A floating city of personalities, habits, rituals, and unspoken rules. She would miss her morning walks on the deck, the way the sun broke over the water into a million shimmering diamonds, and the gentle lull of the ocean as she fell asleep at night. She would miss watching Jane embroider by lamplight, and even the rickety card tables in the common room.

And, though she hated herself for it, she would miss him . The endlessly infuriating Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth exhaled sharply, casting her eyes out across the glinting sea. She still thought him insufferable. He was, by nature, arrogant and awkward, and maddeningly superior. His shocking proposal had been a dreadful disaster, an insult dressed up as affection, and she still hadn’t quite got over it.

And yet, the truth was, they had spoken since. Not at length, nor with any warmth, but with civility. A quiet truce of sorts. He had taken to bowing when they passed on deck, and she found herself nodding in return, a simple gesture of distant friendship. She had caught him watching her once or twice, just quickly, before he looked away, but the tension between them had cooled into something more tolerable.

And now, the voyage was nearly over. Soon, they would dock, and she would step back into her world, and he into his, and it was entirely possible—likely, even—that they would never see each other again. The thought brought a strange tightness to her chest, one that she didn’t understand.

“Miss Bennet!” a familiar voice barked nearby. “Tell me truthfully. Do I look as though I have aged a decade aboard this wretched tub?”

Elizabeth turned to find Mrs Harcourt standing only a few feet away, wrapped in three clashing shawls and clutching her tiny, yapping dog in one gloved hand. The animal barked wildly at the wind, at a passing gull, and perhaps at the general indignity of sea travel. Mrs Harcourt’s expression was, as ever, one of theatrical indignation, and though the air had cooled significantly since their leaving India, it was hardly cold enough to be so wrapped up.

Elizabeth curtsied, affecting polite amusement. “Not at all, Mrs Harcourt. If anything, you look younger. The sea air must suit you remarkably well.”

Mrs Harcourt gave a sharp sniff. “You are too kind, and quite possibly blind. My ankles are twice their usual size, and this beast has refused to eat anything but biscuits for three days.” She cast a baleful look at her terrier, who sneezed in response. “I daresay I shall never forgive my husband for insisting we come along. ‘It will be an adventure’, he said. ‘We shall see the world’. Well, I have seen it, and I am ready to stop seeing it immediately. Who needs the world when one has the beauties of England?”

Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “I believe England is only a few days away now.”

“So they keep telling me. But I shall not believe it until I see the cliffs of Dover with my own eyes. And even then, I shall mistrust them.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “Mark my words, this voyage has aged me. I shouldn’t wonder if my friends in England no longer recognise me at all. I shall return a shadow of my former self.”

“Well then,” Elizabeth said, glancing out at the horizon, “I hope the shadow of Mrs Harcourt is as formidable as the full person. England shall be no match for you.”

Mrs Harcourt gave her a piercing look, then barked a laugh. “You, my dear, are dangerously charming. Take care you don’t wind up married to someone frightfully dull. That would be a dreadful waste.”

With a final nod, she shuffled off towards the stern, her dog still yapping at nothing in particular. Elizabeth turned back to the railing, smiling to herself. She’d even miss Mrs Harcourt and her little dog. Somewhere below deck, someone was singing—a sailor, perhaps, or a steward going about his work. The ship rolled gently beneath her feet, and for a moment, she let her eyes drift closed. Soon, it would be over, and she wasn’t quite ready for that.

With a deep inhale of the salty air, Elizabeth resumed her walk, letting her feet carry her along the deck in slow, meandering strides. It was as she rounded the bend near the bow, she saw him.

Mr Darcy.

He was walking along the opposite side of the deck, hands clasped behind his back, his head bent as though in thought. He always seemed deep in thought. His coat was buttoned neatly, his stride measured and composed. He looked, as always, utterly self-contained.

She stared at him for a moment, lost in a world of what could have been, and as if sensing her presence, he jolted his head up. Their eyes met and it felt to Elizabeth as if the world had stopped for a moment. A brief second of respite.

She felt herself falter, not in step, but in breath. He gave her a short nod, polite and reserved as always, and she returned it with the same careful civility. No words passed between them, not even any smiles. Just a simple acknowledgement. Then they continued on, moving in opposite directions, like ships passing in a far calmer sea.

She told herself it meant nothing, that look. And yet, she was still thinking of him when the cry rang out.

There was a sharp and sudden shout, followed by the unmistakable thud of something heavy striking the deck. Elizabeth whipped around just in time to see a figure falling from the rigging above, his arm flailing as he tried to catch hold of a rope. A moment later, the man hit the lower deck with a sickening sound.

Chaos erupted. Two crewmen ran forward, shouting for help, while a handful of passengers rushed to the railing, peering down in horror. Elizabeth did not stop to think. She was already moving, hurrying towards the stairs that led to the lower level. Her weakened ankle protested with each step, but she paid it no mind. Her attendance to the injured man was far more important.

“Someone fetch the surgeon!” a sailor called. “Quickly!”

“I’ll go,” another crewman said, bolting through the door and down the corridor.

Elizabeth reached the fallen man moments later. He was young, no more than twenty, with a shock of reddish-brown hair and a broad build that now lay twisted at an unnatural angle. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly in pain.

She dropped to her knees beside him without hesitation. “Sir, can you hear me?”

The man groaned, eyes fluttering open. His breathing was laboured and uneven. One of his legs was clearly broken, laying at the wrong angle with his boot twisted. Elizabeth winced but pushed her own thoughts aside.

“Don’t move,” she said firmly. “Help is coming.”

“We need to wait for the surgeon, Miss,” the crewman opposite her said, throwing her a concerned look. “We don’t want to injure him further.”

“It’s all right,” Elizabeth said, glancing up at him. “I know what I’m doing. We need to make him comfortable.”

Footsteps pounded behind her, and a voice she knew far too well cut through the noise.

“Step back. Let me see him.”

She gritted her teeth, suddenly irritated anew. How happy she would be never to see this man again.

Mr Darcy.

He dropped beside her before she could object, his coat already shed and tossed aside. His eyes swept over the injured man with quick precision, assessing the damage and making decisions.

“His leg’s gone under,” he said.

“Perhaps we need to wait for—”

Mr Darcy interrupted the concerned crewman. “There’s no time. It’s all right, you can trust us.”

Us?

Elizabeth didn’t have time to think about his use of the word for the injured man groaned in pain.

“We’ll need to brace it until the surgeon arrives,” Mr Darcy said.

Elizabeth nodded curtly, refusing to be distracted by his nearness, nor the scent of him which now enveloped her. “I’ll find something for a splint.”

“I’ve got it.” Mr Darcy reached for a fallen spar, long and narrow enough to serve. “Help me hold him still.”

Without thinking, Elizabeth braced the man’s shoulders, steadying him as Mr Darcy worked. The sailor let out a ragged cry, but Elizabeth kept her tone calm, even as blood pounded in her ears. “You’re all right,” she said gently. “You’ll be all right. Just hold on. We’ve got hold of you.”

Someone handed Mr Darcy a strip of linen—Elizabeth didn’t see who—and together, they secured the makeshift splint. She admired the way his hands moved deftly and efficiently. He spoke little, but when he did, it was low and reassuring. And to Elizabeth’s surprise, they worked in unspoken tandem. There was no hesitation or conflict, just instinct and urgency.

When it was done, they sat back, breathless. The crewman was still groaning softly, but the colour had begun to return to his cheeks, and Elizabeth knew that he’d be all right once the surgeon arrived. They’d done good work.

She glanced at Mr Darcy, noting the smear of dust along his sleeve and the sheen of sweat at his temple. He met her eyes briefly, and there was something of relief in his expression. She wondered if there was something more, too, but she looked away.

She didn’t want to admire him in this moment, but she did, and that infuriated her most of all.