“Darcy, what the hell are you doing here?”
“It is good to see you too, Richard,” Darcy said with a weak smile .
Astounded, Richard could not avoid noticing each detail of his younger cousin standing in front of him — face still disfigured by a swelling above his left eye, bluish marks all around, cuts on both sides of his mouth, his left arm still wrapped around his torso — and could think of nothing else but his own failure.
He was not expecting to confront Darcy so soon; guilt and shame filled his heart. Twice he had failed Darcy, neglecting in his care of Miss Elizabeth. Firstly, allowing Wickham to put his hands on her again, and now, for not being able to locate them. He just lowered his eyes.
Darcy approached his cousin and with his good arm pulled him into an embrace.
“I am sorry, Darcy,” Richard whispered, hugging him back. “I can only guess how it was to wake up and not finding—”
“It was not your fault, Richard. I do not blame you.”
And Darcy truly did not. But waking up and finding out Elizabeth had been taken again was the most bitter and painful thing he had ever experienced. But he knew better than to blame his cousin. Knowing him as Darcy did, he knew Richard was doing everything he could to find Elizabeth.
“Let us find her together, Richard. Let us find Wickham and put an end to all this sordid business, once and for all.”
Richard let go of Darcy and looking into his eyes, he saw not only determination — but also the stubbornness by which his cousin was known. He nodded. “Yes. Let us find them together.”
Darcy returned to his companions, who were silently observing the interaction, and proceeded with the introductions. A report of the day’s activity and achievements was presented.
“I am glad. Indeed, very good news. I can only hope now that Mr Lynch, who is familiar with the town and the port, along with Mr Duncan’s help, can be able to reach places and people that you could not, and find out where that bloody pirate ship is,” said Darcy flaring his nostrils.
Mr Lynch and Mr Duncan left the house to make their way to the port and the local jail, as some of those arrested might have some information to share.
After their departure, Darcy excused himself to change and be attended to by Dr Alden. Once properly dressed, he sat to have something to eat, and Richard took the opportunity to talk to his cousin again. He was curious to learn how Darcy had managed to bear the journey from London to Portsmouth in his present condition.
Darcy’s countenance darkened at his cousin’s enquiries. “You above everybody else should know I could never stay back when so much is at stake; when Elizabeth’s life is in such danger. They say that love and hate are the two most powerful forces to move a man. I guarantee you I have plenty of both.”
“And how are you faring?”
Now Darcy smiled. “Not very well, I am afraid.”
“I do not need to ask about your heart,” Richard said, full of remorse. “I have already guessed what happened between you and Miss Elizabeth, but I would be more assured if, at least, you were not in much pain.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot oblige. Every part of my body hurts like hell. I cannot see very well with my left eye, and with these cuts to both sides of my mouth I am afraid to open it, fearing that the top of my head would be detached and fall.”
Richard, who was mortified by his cousin’s first words, frowned, finally realising Darcy’s teasing. “May the devil carry you, Darcy, you big buffoon!” he said, half angry, half relieved, smiling back at his cousin. They were in need of a good laugh.
Too soon the levity of their exchange was replaced by stern glances.
“Richard, I have left my new will with your father. If for any reason I am not able to come back, I have left Pemberley and half of everything I have to Georgiana. The other half I divided between you and Mr Bennet, hoping that Elizabeth does not share my fate. It is the least I can do for her and her family after she saved my life.”
“I am sure it will not come to that. We will find her, Darcy, and we all will return home. You will see.” Richard’s lips quivered. “So, did you manage to solve your problems with Miss Elizabeth? ”
Darcy gave him another weak smile and was about to relate his story, when the door was opened and Mr Duncan and Mr Lynch entered, their clothes soaked through. What a time for such strong storm. They were quickly conducted closer to the fire to dry themselves and have a hot drink.
“So, gentlemen, did you have any success?” Darcy asked.
Mr Duncan gave him a satisfied smile. “Indeed we ’ave, sir. Questioning some of the men arrested today in exchange for deportation instead of ’anging was enough to find out that the real pirate ship has never moored in England. Instead, they sailed from the tiny Saint Anne Island, off the northwest coast of France. As we know, English smugglers and mercenaries started to add young ladies to their cargo of contraband recently. Considering that piracy practically ended in the Atlantic for some time now, those pirates are in fact supplying buyers from the east part of Europe at a market in Istanbul. They receive supply of goods and ladies from other countries as well. They plan to sail from the island on the 14 th , or 15 th at the latest if the weather wasn’t favourable — which surely was the case today. It seems Providence is smiling at us, Mr Darcy. We ’ave a chance to reach them at last.”
“Richard,” Darcy said, standing up. “We will need a ship.”
“I am sure there must be a ship belonging to the navy in Portsmouth,” Richard said. “My father said he had contacted the Prime Minister and he has authorised us to seek help from the army or navy.”
“You are right, Colonel,” Mr Dayton intervened. “There are a couple of ships from the Royal Navy moored here. I confirmed it from the manifests we gathered this morning. One of them, I believe, would be perfect for the task ahead. I will send a man to ask the captain to receive us.”
Around eleven o’clock that night, they received an invitation to meet the captain at their convenience. As for their request for help, the captain would just need to wait for an authorisation. Word would probably reach them by next morning.
After some further conversation, it was decided that Darcy, Richard, Dr Alden and Mr Lynch would go on board. Once the expected confirmation arrived, Captain Owen would take a message to Lord Matlock, informing him of their success in rescuing several young ladies, and all the remaining details of their possible sea journey. Mr Duncan would accompany Owen, as his services would be more useful in London investigating the network around the kidnappings.
Soon enough, Darcy’s carriage was ready and loaded, and the four gentlemen were on their way to the ship.
The Ulysses was a magnificent warship with an experienced crew. Its captain, Mr Benjamin Walker, was a serious man in his late forties, with enough scars on his body to testify to his tough life at sea in times of war.
Despite his stern demeanour, Captain Walker gave the group a warm welcome. “Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to receive you all on board the Ulysses . I am just sorry that the circumstances are so dreadful.” He gave Mr Darcy a sympathetic look. The message had informed him about Mr Darcy’s ordeal and the abduction of his betrothed.
Turning to the colonel, he continued. “I have heard many admirable stories about Lord Matlock and his family, serving king and country, not just in Parliament, but also in the battlefield. It is an honour, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Now, please, tell me all.”
Once all the facts were finally presented, Captain Walker said, “Yes, I have heard stories about these new pirates, but was never asked to check on them. It seems that the war against France was regarded as a higher priority. But with this information, it would be a great mistake not to finish this bloody business as soon as possible. The fact that your betrothed is directly involved in this sad affair and further help was granted by the Prime Minister, I am sure Commodore Norton will not hold his approval.”
“May I dare to believe the Ulysses would be ready to sail as soon as this authorisation arrives?” Richard asked. “As we mentioned before, our information is that the pirates would be leaving the day after tomorrow. If we cannot arrive at Saint Anne in time, it will mean a much longer pursuit down to the Mediterranean.”
There was silence in the cabin. Darcy’s heart was beating so loudly that he could almost believe his companions could hear it. He had not thought of such a possibility. He knew he would search for Elizabeth until the end of the world if necessary, but the more they delayed, the colder the clues leading to the pirates’ location would turn — and only God knew what she was going through already.
Captain Walker’s expression was one of confidence. “Gentlemen, the Ulysses is a very fast ship. We have an experienced crew, which I trust completely. I would say without doubt that when we receive a positive reply by morning, we will be ready to sail, at the latest, at sunset tomorrow, perhaps even earlier. If we have good winds and favourable weather, we should reach the island by the following morning.”
The loud noise of sighs filled the room. Darcy felt hope growing in his chest again.
As nothing else could be done until morning, Captain Walker encouraged them to stay on board and rest, which was gladly accepted. Darcy, Richard and Dr Alden would share the guest cabin, while Mr Lynch would share one with the rest of the crew.
Dr Alden checked on Darcy’s bandages again and helped him to change into his night clothes before going to rest.
Lying in his berth, Darcy looked beside him and saw his tired cousin already snoring. He could only imagine how exhausted Richard must be after such a busy and stressful day.
But Darcy could not rest. Elizabeth was out there, a hostage of evil and unscrupulous men. His concerns for her had been so intense that he did not even remember feeling any pain since arriving in Portsmouth.
He forced his thoughts to the captain’s reassuring words and hoped that morning would bring the news he was hoping for. He also prayed for her safety and begged the Lord to give him the strength to hope and believe they still could find her.
~ ? ~
Elizabeth was feeling sick. The movements of the boat were like a hammer hitting her head and stomach; the rope around her wrist scraping deep into her flesh. And if those things were not enough, she was fuming with anger and indignation. She had heard the conversation between Mr Fisher and Mr Wickham.
“So, he is taking me back to my family,” she muttered bitterly.
She sat on the berth and tried to calm herself. Losing control would not help.
Looking around, she noticed her cabin for the first time. It was very simple. There was a small table with a washing bowl, a dirty chamber pot, and the small berth where she was now lying. She grimaced at the smelly hay mattress and blankets. The thought of being forced to live under these conditions, enslaved, submitting herself to every whim of cruel men, brought back those persistent tears. At that moment, alone in the world, she could not hold them back anymore.
A loud thunder startled her. In a matter of minutes, the boat started rocking violently. A strong storm had reached them, throwing the moored boats against each other. The mixture of sounds was deafening.
Elizabeth could only pray now.
When the day finally broke, the news was the worst possible. Mr Fisher informed Mr Wickham they would not be able to sail until he could repair some of the damage, and if the storm did not abate, not even after that. “It seems today is not your lucky day.”
Wickham shut the small door after Mr Fisher left. “Damn!” he shouted, cursing and cursing again, until his throat grew sore. “If only I had not been so greedy.”
Digory, the pirate Brown had instructed him to contact in London, had given him enough money to hire a good boat. But Wickham had the brilliant idea of hiring a smaller vessel, saving the difference. After all, it was not as if he was swimming in gold.
Well, now he was paying a much higher price.
As the hours passed, his idleness only added to his distress. He decided to go and pay Miss Elizabeth a visit. He knew she would not welcome him, but the worst she could do was to ignore or attack him. In both cases, he could easily cope with her, considering she was tied to her berth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, unlocking the door to her cabin and entering, putting his handkerchief over his mouth and nose. The smell there was repulsive, much worse than in his own cabin.
Elizabeth sat up on the berth narrowing her murderous eyes. She was about to send him to hell, when she thought better of it. There were many questions to which she still had no answers.
“Well, well, if it is not my favourite travel companion. Make yourself comfortable, Mr Wickham. Perhaps you can find a place to sit on, well… the dirty chamber pot or this smelly, decayed mattress.”
He had the decency to blush, then smiled, trying his old charming tricks. “I thought about keeping you company. It has been a long day.”
“I would rather enjoy being stricken by scarlet fever than having you as company, Mr Wickham,” said Elizabeth calmly. “But considering my situation, I do not think I have a choice, do I? I am tied to this berth and nowhere to go. Why do you not untie me and then we can talk?”
“Ah. But this is your own fault, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Are you afraid of me, Mr Wickham? I am not even armed,” she said, looking at his boot where the sheath of his small knife could be seen.
Wickham laughed nervously, following her eyes. “Let me just say that I do not gamble anymore.”
“About that,” Elizabeth started. “I was wondering. The house where we were imprisoned. Did it belong to a friend of yours? Seeing the other men, simpletons as they were, they could not boast such good connections, could they?”
Wickham smiled, missing the hidden sarcasm. Suddenly, he seemed too eager to talk and forget their circumstances, grabbing the opportunity as a dog would grab a meaty bone.
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. You are very perceptive. That house belonged to a very rich widow. Lady Margaret Wilson. Despite being… well, much older than me, she and I were… close.” He swallowed hard and his expression darkened. “Unfortunately, she passed away at the beginning of t his year. That was when my luck turned sour.” He moved closer to the small porthole, admiring it as if it was a very fine piece of art.
Elizabeth could easily guess how Wickham had gained the widow’s favour. She could well envision it: an old and solitary widow, and a man eager to comfort.
Mr Wickham knew how to be charming.
Liar .
A bitter taste came to her mouth at the memory of how she too had been so gullible.
“That was when I returned to gambling,” Wickham explained. “While she was alive, she had this amusing inclination to indulge every one of my whims.” He frowned. “But she fell ill after the terrible winter. Her lungs became weak, the doctor said.” Wickham lowered his eyes and, for some seconds, was silent. “She did not last three weeks. The house was closed, of course, but I kept my keys.”
His expression turned to one of sadness again. For a long time, he did not say a word, looking at the deserted port and wild sea through the small porthole.
“The doctor who attended her was the same one who attended your beloved Darcy, Miss Elizabeth. I sent him a message, asking him for his assistance again, to go in aid of an acquaintance. I told him that Brown and his friend, Smith, were having fun, trying a hunting party before the season, and that one of his stupid men had accidentally shot Smith. I told him I had offered them the use of the house due to the seriousness of the event. Dr Hayford was not aware I had left the militia, so I told him Mr Brown would be there looking after his wounded friend without me.”
Wickham proceeded to tell her all about his debts to his fellow companion in the militia, how this was connected with Brown and, finally, his current situation with the pirates.
Elizabeth felt her rage emerge like lava of a volcano. “Enough! If you expect any commiseration from my part, Mr Wickham, you can go to hell and wait it to get cold before I comply. You reap what you sow. It is a pity, though, that an intelligent man was wasted in such low designs. If you had used your talents for a good cause, I have no doubt you would be under very different circumstances. Instead…” She stopped and looked straight into his eyes. If he was to outlive her, then he would live with the memory of her scorn. “Instead, you wasted years of your father’s hard work, just because that was not good enough for you. You did not want to work hard for anything. You wanted what was not yours. You envied position and status. For goodness’ sake! You seduced Mr Darcy’s sister and I am not sure if marrying her was ever your plan!”
“I did what I needed to survive! I am not the monster you think I am.”
“Does it matter now? Look at us. My present situation is proof enough. You are a miscreant, Mr Wickham; a scoundrel as Mr Darcy said once, and I hated him for it. You disgust me. Leave me. Now! I cannot bear to look at you anymore.”
Wickham flinched at her words, turning his back to her. He had made a mistake. She could hurt him. Deeply. She could remind him the reality of what he had been trying to forget about himself. He swallowed hard. For the first time in his life, he regretted some of his actions.
Wickham made for the door, but then turned back and fetching his knife, cut the rope around Elizabeth’s wrist, then he left, closing the door after him.
Sometime after Wickham had left her cabin, Elizabeth heard Mr Fisher talking to him. The damage to the boat had been mended, but they would not be able to set sail yet, as the sea was still too rough for their small boat. She looked through the porthole. The wind was lifting waves like walls of water, battering against their small boat.
Some hours later, she heard the clanging of keys again. This time it was Mr Fisher. He entered her cabin carrying a tray. “I suggest you eat something. That is the only meal for today. I was not expecting this storm to last this long. It’ll be dark soon, but I can’t give you a candle. I’ll come back tomorrow. There is a small pot under the berth if you need it. You can empty it through the porthole.”
He left the tray on the small table and looked at her with some guilt in his eyes, shaking his head. Whatever the man was thinking of her, it was probably the worst due to Wickham’s lies.
“Thank you, Mr Fisher, but—”
“I’m sorry, miss,” Mr Fisher interrupted her, raising his hand. “I can’t talk to you. It’s part of my agreement with Mr Wickham. He warned me that you would try to insinuate yourself on me to obtain my favour. I might be poor, but I’m an honourable married man,” he said as he left.
Before she could recover from the shock of such slander, the door was closed. She ran and bumped her fists against it, shaking the door handle. “Mr Fisher, please. Please!”
She spent some time holding her breath until the stinging tears abated. Walking back to the small table, she looked at the meal: something similar to a stew, two pieces of stale bread and a small jar of water — which she would lose very soon, if the up and down of the boat were any indication.
She fetched the spoon and ate, hoping the food would poison her or make her sick and die — by its appearance, that did not seem impossible.
Both thoughts perversely pleased her. It would save her from a much worse fate.
Once finished, she put the tray away and laid down, trying to find a reason to keep living.
There she stayed for minutes, hours — who could tell? Anxiety and boredom pushed her to the limit of reason.
“Why not finish it before it gets worse?” she burst out, standing up again. Her mind was now wandering, giving up as the darkness of the stormy day invaded her cold cabin — and soul. “At least, if I die, Mr Wickham would find himself with a much greater problem.” She laughed, and then she stopped.
She was losing her mind.
Her eyes darted around the cabin, imagining how to end her life in a fast and painless way. Among the many objects at her reach, the spoon caught her attention. She allowed her imagination to fly, conjuring up all the possible ways using such an object for the morbid task.
How would Mr Wickham react on seeing her lifeless body on the floor ?
She allowed herself some more minutes of madness, then she sighed. She could not take her own life, and she could not simply kill Wickham in cold blood, despite all the hatred she felt towards him. She had killed Brown, granted, but the circumstances were far different.
Shivering, she shut her eyes. The feeling of utter hopelessness was breaking her spirit, slowly choking it; even the tears had dried, there was just an empty lethargy to which she finally surrendered.
God help her; she wanted to die.
But Mr Darcy’s face slowly appeared before her, his dark eyes on her, his warm, soft lips on her sore ones, kissing her with such passion that took her breath away. He had risked his life to save her. “ If I live and you live…” she had said.
She shook her head, bringing both hands to her eyes as if the movement could bring back her hope, or escape the dark hole engulfing her soul.
She could not die. She could not give up.
A thunder interrupted her sombre thoughts. They had spent almost the whole day docked because of that storm.
A sparkle of hope rekindled.
She stood and went to the porthole, seeing the wild waves and darkening sky with different eyes. Every minute they had spent waiting to set sail, was another minute Mr Darcy could use to find her.
She grabbed this small hope as a drowning person would grab a piece of floating wreck in that sea.
She would believe. And trust. And wait. And with the help of God, Mr Darcy would find his way to her.
Outside, Mr Fisher’s voice shouting orders startled her.
She closed her eyes in prayer.
They were departing.