Chapter Seventeen
A fter a rueful glance at the shore, Darcy turned and gave a curt nod of his head to the pilot. Mr Jack pulled the chain of the release valve, and the scream of the whistle made him wince. A cheer broke out from most of the crowd of curious onlookers onshore.
The lines were cast off, and the New Orleans began to part ways from the dock of the shipyard and move out into the steady flow of the Monongahela River. The wheels in the centre of the boat, one on the port side and one on the starboard, shuddered slowly to life, churning up the waters to a froth. Another cheer broke out, louder than the first. Men, women, and children lined the dock, waving their hands in the air, laughing at each scream of steam escaping the release valve.
But Darcy could also spot those among the gathered who muttered to each other, nudged angry elbows into ribs, turned their heads and spat on the ground. He frowned, thinking that those strapping fellows in their red shirts must find this the dawning of a bitter day. These were the men who poled, pushed, and—occasionally with the ropes in their teeth—pulled flatboats up the Mississippi and Ohio. It must be a sore blow to their pride to watch the very moment when their livelihood was beginning to be replaced by a mechanism.
"Well, Mr Darcy, it will be a trip that few will be able to boast of!"
Darcy turned to see Elizabeth step up to his side and wave to those who had gathered to bid them bon voyage. Her cheeks were glowing with excitement; her eyes danced with the fire of this new adventure. His blood warmed in the most pleasant way as he recalled the evening before, spent in lively debate with Elizabeth as she counselled him on the wisdom of their presence on the New Orleans for this trip. Whenever she attempted to convey a particularly important point, her hand had unconsciously rested on his arm, her head leaning in close to him, her scent making his resolve sway and weaken.
"I wish you had stayed with Mrs Roosevelt," he grumbled, attempting to disguise the true current of gratitude that caused his heart to race. He had been prepared to make this trip alone and had tried earnestly to talk Elizabeth into staying under the roof of the Roosevelts. He was once again defeated by her spirit, her intelligence, and—to his private dismay—his own heart. As long as he could keep Elizabeth by his side, he would not surrender his hope of one day having her return his passionate regard. If he had left her, would he have returned to find her gone? A governess to a wealthy family in a large city? Wooed into marriage by a colonial rake?
It had tormented him so much that, against every impulse of better judgement, he had conceded and allowed her to accompany him on the trip down the Mississippi. Once it was apparent that Mrs Roosevelt could not make the trip without endangering her life and the life of her unborn child, both she and Mr Roosevelt had decided to stay behind. With the urgent warnings of the doctor, the couple had made the decision with heavy hearts. A little more entreaty from Elizabeth had convinced Darcy that they must make this voyage to ensure the success of the New Orleans .
The engine had been completed. Yesterday, Darcy and Elizabeth had spent many hours closeted with Mr Roosevelt as they had pored over the navigational maps that Nicholas had so carefully drawn out during his previous voyage on the flatboat. Crosses on the maps showed the exact locations of coal caches that he had prepared in anticipation of the steam engine. The engine could run on either wood or coal, but these caches ensured that, even if the weather had drenched all usable wood, coal could be obtained by a trip onshore.
Darcy doubted that things would proceed as smoothly as Nicholas had proclaimed. Any number of misfortunes—ranging from grounding on a newly submerged tree to river pirates—could cause them ruin and failure. Then, he would be no better off than when he had begun this foolish venture.
Darcy sighed loudly. "Few could boast of it, and I am certain that—if we survive—we will not be able to recall it without some tales of trouble and misadventure."
"How can you be so dour at a moment like this?" Elizabeth asked as she squeezed his arm with her own. She gazed out over the gathered crowd as she leaned against the railing of the boat. "Why, all the city has turned out to wish us well."
"Unless I am very much mistaken, not all of them wish us well."
Elizabeth glanced over at the red-shirted river men, still visibly brooding over this smoky calamity of a boat that spat glowing, red cinders and black smoke into the air from its smokestack and ruined the quiet of the Monongahela.
Elizabeth nodded, her mood sobering. "They have just cause to be wary. But with boats such as this one running up and down the rivers, there will be even more industry to give better jobs to men. For theirs must be a miserably difficult life, full of toil, pain, and mud."
"I imagine it is."
"Here now, I am forgetting my most solemn vow to Mr Roosevelt." She laid her other hand on his and leaned in close so that the urgency of her statement could be understood by Darcy alone. His breath hitched as her rosy face smiled up at him.
How could I have even considered leaving her here? No matter the future, I will have her by my side as long as I am able so that I may save up as many of her smiles, laughs, and innocent touches for the dark days after we have separated.
"And that vow was?" he muttered through clenched teeth.
"Not only to show the boat to the people along the river, but to persuade them that this is the future. We must give them a show. For, in the future success of this boat, the future of Pemberley is irrevocably entwined, is it not?"
Darcy blinked back hard against a sudden wave of strong feeling in his breast.
Such a lady is before me as I may never encounter again.
"Do as you see fit, Elizabeth."
She beamed at him before she whipped around to Mr Jack, the pilot. Darcy watched her lengthening curls—shining, and growing back so rapidly—shift slightly against the creamy white of her long neck.
"Mr Jack, if you could swing the boat around and sail into the wind—I mean against the current—for about half of a mile, that would give them a show, indeed!"
Mr Jack glanced at Darcy who gave him a curt nod of approval. He spun the wheel as the boat slowly shifted to point into the current. Mr Baker, the engineer, was called to and told to add more coal to the firebox.
Once it became clear what the New Orleans intended, the crowd on the dock gave a mighty cheer. Elizabeth took Darcy's hand in hers and dragged him to the bow of the boat. Still holding his hand, she hissed out of the side of her mouth, "Wave and smile, Fitzwilliam! The more manufacturers and their wives who see how well the Boulton and Watt engine slices through the pull of the current as if it is nothing, the sooner orders for more will fly to London!"
Reluctant to break the spell she had him under, her small warm hand clasping his, Darcy raised his free hand and waved to those onshore as the two of them stood tall in the bow of the boat, forcing their way up against all the strength of the river, the flow of history, and the expectations of all of their acquaintance.
Elizabeth turned towards Darcy, her eyes alight with humour. "There now, that was not too awful, was it? How fast do you think we are travelling?"
Believing that there could be nothing more satisfying in all of existence than to have her inquisitive gaze peering up at him in expectation, Darcy cleared his throat and suppressed a smile with his sternest face of serious contemplation. "I expect that we travel at least three miles per hour. A galloping horse can run at about twenty-five miles to the hour, so it is not so terribly impressive."
Elizabeth looked up to the sky and laughed. "You shall not dampen my enthusiasm, sir. We travel upstream with no poles pushing us, no sails catching the wind, and no horses onshore pulling us along! A horse has not such impediments as this ship. Perhaps an occasional strong gale to fight against."
"Valid point."
"Mrs Darcy!"
Elizabeth pulled away from Darcy and turned to greet Clara May as she bustled her slight frame towards them.
"Where should I place your luggage? It was never decided upon. Least ways, if it was, I was not informed."
"Oh, well, I…" Elizabeth shot Darcy an embarrassed glance before walking towards Clara May. The two ladies talked in hushed tones for a moment. Clara May nodded, cast a look towards Darcy, then went back in the direction of the cabin doors that lined the deck.
"What was that about?" Darcy asked, though he knew the answer well. However, the chance to witness Elizabeth's reddening cheeks was not a pleasure that he wished to forgo.
Her voice strained, and with a rapid shake of her head, Elizabeth answered, "It was nothing. Clara May is accustomed to Mr and Mrs Roosevelt spending their nights together—what I mean to say is that there is a pleasant room just for the lady passengers in the aft of the boat that will do well for me. You will have a berth for the gentlemen. Clara May is accustomed to a–a very different arrangement. There was a misunderstanding, that is all."
"I see. It is time this demonstration is concluded." Darcy turned to approach the pilot. "Mr Jack, set us on our course downriver."
"Yes, sir."
The boat turned again and began the much more rapid descent downriver towards the mighty Ohio.
"That was a small challenge compared to what awaits us," Darcy said under his breath as they passed the dock again and the people gathered let out another cheer of encouragement.
Elizabeth, letting none of the worry that he knew must also be fretting at her own mind show upon her radiant countenance, gave a small nod in acknowledgement. "I suppose you refer to the Falls of the Ohio. We will succeed."
"Are you always so certain of yourself, Elizabeth?" he asked, truly baffled by her spirit and vivacity.
"Do I shock you, Fitzwilliam?"
"You are a peculiar sort of lady, I will grant you that."
"Oh." Her eyes clouded for a moment in confusion.
"But that does not necessarily count as a fault. It was merely an observation."
"I see," she said, brightening. "It makes me happy to know that I am not always at fault, by your reckoning. This is perhaps the beginning of a new chapter for us."
She gave one last wave to those onshore as they began to retreat from view. Mr Roosevelt was one of those farthest out on the dock. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "A kiss for luck! Give us a kiss!"
"What an exhibition that fellow makes of himself," Darcy muttered as his spine stiffened.
"It is not an uncommon occurrence between a married man and his wife. They do not realise that we only pretend to be members of that noble institution."
"Still, it is disgusting. As if we are a pair of trained show dogs, ready to perform for the masses. I would never dare to suggest such a highly inappropriate display for some Americans who live out in this wilderness—"
His words died on the sudden strong breeze as his cheek encountered the delicate brush of Elizabeth's lips. His world melted as all the cares and worries sank under the power of that moment of tenderness. It may have just been for good fortune, for show, or for entertainment, but Darcy did not care. "For luck," Elizabeth whispered, just inches from his ear.
A cry of approval rose from the crowd. It was by no means louder than the thundering of Darcy's approving heart as it thudded in his ears, drowning out all other sound.
Darcy turned just in time to see Elizabeth retreat to the aft cabins. She paused and looked over her shoulder. "Now we are certain to have nothing but the very best of fortune, would you not agree?"
Darcy was unable to pull himself together in time to give a sensible response, for Elizabeth had already turned and was stepping towards her cabin.
The one moment of uncertain excitement that attended them the rest of that day was after they entered the larger Ohio River and they shot through the Dead Man's Riffle. The thin section of the Ohio had a rough and uneven rush of rapid currents that could prove fatal to a pilot who did not steer with caution.
Darcy had stood next to Elizabeth near the bow of the ship as it skimmed smoothly over the danger. Elizabeth looked up at him and laughed as the boat rocked and bucked over the rapids. Once they were safely through, Darcy removed his hand, which had unconsciously shot forward and held tightly around her upper arm. The mere thought of losing Elizabeth to the river made him mad with anxiety. The high waters were their friend at that moment.
Frequently, Darcy checked in with the pilot, making sure all of the sharp islands hidden by the same high waters were being given a wide berth. Once the danger of the riffle and the submerged islands were past, Darcy had felt some of his anxiety begin to retreat.
Both he and Elizabeth had inspected the engine later in the day. Everything was running perfectly. Darcy marvelled. Of all the misunderstandings with Elizabeth, disastrous revelations concerning the Darcy finances, Georgiana's ill-fated elopement attempt, and various other gnawing concerns that had plagued him these past few months, before him was the one thing that had been relatively flawless in execution and performance.
Elizabeth had informed them all that they were easily exceeding speeds of fourteen miles an hour, an astonishing rate. Darcy did not doubt the truth of her calculations.
This engine of the future that he had supervised the packing and dismantling of back in England was filled with strength and power. A contrivance of heat and might that he had built with his Elizabeth.
"Sir."
Darcy startled back to the present as he turned his head to observe the engineer watching him curiously. With mounting chagrin, he realised he had been staring at the back of Elizabeth's neck while she wrote down some quick notes and had not noticed the approach of the engineer.
"Yes, what is it?"
"I will begin to allow the firebox to cool, seeing as how we are likely to tie up for the evening."
"I see. Very well, Mr Baker."
"And, if I may inquire, are we to be eating all together? Or will you and your lady be dining in your quarters?"
Darcy almost sneered at the impertinence of such a query. That he—Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley—would be taking a seat at the head of a table filled with such ruffians as some of the crew were, it was insupportable.
He opened his mouth to give Mr Baker a dressing-down as Elizabeth stepped up beside him and looped her arm through his.
"My husband and I thought it best if we all dine together, as a crew. Would that be acceptable to you?"
The permanent grim set of Mr Baker's face brightened as his green eyes widened with approval. A smile, white and broad, cracked through his face. Darcy had to admit that when he was not so dour and distracted by worry over the engine, Mr Baker was a creditable-looking fellow.
"Aye, ma'am. That would be most acceptable. Thank you. Thank you."
Elizabeth turned Darcy and began to steer him to the steps that went above deck.
"Elizabeth, I really do not see why we must dine in such a public fashion." His imaginings of private meals with Elizabeth, no longer at inns or in the company of the Roosevelts, were rapidly disappearing. "It is quite unbecoming."
"For the owner of Pemberley, perhaps that is correct. But for the captain of the New Orleans , it is imperative that you make an appearance to keep up spirits and let grievances be aired. Besides, if we dined privately, then Clara May would have to serve us. And I believe there are the beginnings of an understanding between our gloomy Mr Baker and Clara May."
"What? When did you perceive that? How could that be when we have been underway for so very short a time?"
"It has been known to occur in the blink of an eye when two hearts are suited to each other. And then the converse is true as well; for others, it can take years to form a warmth of regard."
Darcy's arm tightened around hers as they reached the deck, his body unwilling to let the thread of this conversation vanish.
"And you can see that Mr Baker is enamoured with her? Is it truly that plain to you?"
"Well"—she gently disengaged her arm and turned to face him—"I think enamoured may be too strong a word, but yes, it is clear to me that both of them have glanced many times in the direction of the other. Clara May has attempted several casual questions about Mr Baker, but she did not have so many questions about the other crew."
"I hope she does not become distracted and neglect her duties to you, Elizabeth. And it would be a disaster if Mr Baker became slovenly in his responsibilities."
Elizabeth laughed as she leaned on the rail to watch the passing shoreline. "I think they are both of a supremely serious nature and will not let a romantic entanglement distract them too severely. I think we need not worry on that account quite yet."
Darcy stood beside her with his hands clasped behind his back. He puzzled over the odd incongruity of Elizabeth's mind, that she was able to discern a brewing romance between two people who were practically strangers and yet she seemed to still be completely unaware of his true feelings. How could she not have sensed some indication of his devotion?
The darkening shoreline of the Ohio River had swallowed up any signs of the city of Pittsburg. Occasionally, an open spot of land could be seen and the lonely chimney of a far-off home trailed smoke up into the sky. Several times, there had been a few people on the river shore that had pointed at their smokestack and screamed out as they ran up and away to carry news of the odd vessel.
"Goodness," Elizabeth exclaimed, "a breath of fresh air has done me a world of good. I think even that one flurry of snowflakes had a distinctly grey cast, the smoke was so thick in Pittsburg. As to your concern over how essential a maid is for me, let me assure you, I did not even need a lady's maid for this trip. I have become so accustomed to managing by myself. But Mrs Roosevelt was quite insistent that Clara May accompany me. She has another maid and so many friends in the city ready to give her any assistance needed for her confinement."
Darcy rested his forearms on the rail, his elbow grazing the fabric of Elizabeth's shawl.
"I hope—if Clara May and Mr Baker are suited to each other and have a real regard—that their courtship is unencumbered by obstacles and objections," Elizabeth continued. "It is always so sad when a union of true affection is thrown off course by misunderstanding, interference, or—or one having stronger feelings than the other. Then all that is left is one with a broken heart and the other who may regret their previous encouragement."
Darcy turned to her in an attempt to understand her meaning. Elizabeth glanced at him with a forlorn draw to her brows.
Is she mourning some past disappointment? Did Wickham really bruise her heart so terribly? Curses on his head! I had thought it was a hollow flirtation on both their sides.
A loud cry sliced through the closing twilight. Elizabeth jumped and clung to Darcy's arm. Her eyes darted along the passing bare-branched trees.
"What was that? Did a woman scream? Should we stop? She sounded like a spectre!"
"Do not alarm yourself. It was a panther, I believe. Large cats roam these woods freely, and I have heard that their cry is mistaken for a woman in distress."
"Oh." She pulled away from him, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. "How foolish you must think me. A cat giving me such a start."
"If we were not upon this boat, you would be wise to be frightened. Panthers can be twice your size and with long claws. A man—indeed, several men—without a gun for protection could be gravely wounded or killed by a single panther."
Elizabeth gazed in wonder back at the shoreline as it drifted past, looking like a harmless tangle of bare branches and lazy creek inlets. She swallowed hard. Darcy smiled to himself, witnessing one of the very few instances when Elizabeth Bennet was without an intelligent remark or a humorous observation. "I think we should go to the dining room and have our first official meal aboard the New Orleans ."
"Yes, of course. But stay a moment." She rested one hand on his arm to forestall him. His body instantly obeyed her, though his mind was puzzling over what else she could wish to speak to him about. "This is such an indelicate subject, but I do not wish to add to any suspicion that others aboard may have. I believe we have performed admirably in our charade of being a married couple. But… I—I do not know how to broach the topic. For, you see, Clara May has mentioned it…and I think she was puzzled by my confusion… And, well…"
Never had he witnessed such a tumble of mortification and blushes on Elizabeth's face, her chest rising rapidly with quick, uncertain breaths. It was so becoming that Darcy's fingers itched to reach up, caress her cheek, and replace a wild curl of hair behind her ear. Elizabeth twisted the ends of her shawl together tightly as she looked anywhere but at him, her knuckles turning white as the fabric became taut to its limit in her hands. Her bottom lip was teased by her teeth as anxiety caused her to bite down.
"Yes? You know you can speak to me about anything, Elizabeth. We are friends."
"We are, it is true. You see, Clara May was confused when I said that I would sleep in a room for ladies, and that you would sleep in a room for gentlemen. For the Roosevelts do not ever wish to be separated, even during slumber. And she asked if there would be times… Times when she should be mindful to not be present…"
Overcome, her voice faded to a whisper. Darcy began to have some inkling of the subject she was attempting to broach. At that moment, the safety valve was released and a cry of steam shot up into the sky. Elizabeth, already nervous, let out a gasp and leapt into his arms, then pulled away just as rapidly, as if her flesh had been scalded by red, heated metal. She wrapped her arms firmly in front of her chest and turned to look out over the rail again.
Darcy stepped closer and murmured, "I think I begin to grasp some of what you mean. We are supposedly married. We should behave accordingly. Just as you did, convincingly I may add, when you gave me a token of good luck as we left the shipyard."
Elizabeth only nodded and did not look at him. Darcy glanced around to make certain they would not be overheard. Feeling as if a vise were around his throat, he managed to speak to her in a low tone as his head tilted towards her ear.
"Perhaps every evening, when you have retired to your chamber, I could come and visit for half an hour. And you could tell Clara May that we do not wish to be disturbed."
" Every evening?" Elizabeth cried out in surprise, turning to look up into his eyes. She grew even more startled when she appeared to realise how close they were to each other.
Darcy could not decide which was the stronger impulse—his desire to kiss her or his desire to laugh aloud at the conversation. He decided on neither as he could not imagine a scenario in which either would be welcome.
"Or every other evening?" he suggested.
"Oh, whatever you believe to be best. I imagine you are more knowledgeable— What I mean to say is that, your judgement should direct us in this matter, exclusively. Of course. But what will we… What will we…"
"Do?" Darcy could not help but allow the word to linger between them for one, charged moment. He smiled and asked, "Do you play piquet?"
"Piquet?" she whispered back to him, blinking helplessly. "Yes! I do. It is the only card game my father would play. Rather complex. I was the only one who was inclined to learn. What an excellent suggestion."
"And we should review the maps that Nicholas drew out so well for us. To note what we have passed during the day and any treacherous waters we may encounter in the future."
"How clever you are, Fitzwilliam. Maps. And piquet."
He held out his elbow for her to take. "Come. It would not do to keep all of our hard-working shipmates waiting for their meal for too long."
As they entered the snug dining room at the centre of the ship, already full and cosy with laughs and jests of the crew and Clara May, Darcy felt his spirits lift to a height he dared not to have imagined just an hour before.
With some resentment, he observed the glances that occurred between the fair, slight Clara May and the red-headed engineer. That they had a keen interest in each other was obvious. It was difficult to observe something that was so easeful for another man and to compare it with what he had botched so awfully. But, given what had passed on deck just a short while ago—the feel of Elizabeth on his arm when the panther's violent cry was heard, their painfully awkward conversation about cards and maps—Darcy was not without the thought that his prospects were beginning to brighten. His was a more problematic path, though. Elizabeth was completely in his power and under his protection. Both as his supposed wife and as one in his employ. To press his suit at such a moment could easily become a shamefully dishonourable act from which her opinion of him would never recover. No, he must be even more cautious if his fondest wish of Elizabeth becoming his wife were to begin to crystalise. It was such a fragile construct at the moment, precarious and wispy, like the first layer of a tower of cards, leaning upon each other, relying on perseverance and the careful restraint of the builder.
That small ember of hope that he had allowed himself to keep was beginning to catch and grow. The heat of it was reaching out and pulling any small straw or bit of chaff into itself. Each word or look of Elizabeth's was so clear in his recollection. He thought there might be more to her previous conversation than just the need to keep up appearances for the sake of the crew. A hint of something deeper than the concern of one friend for another. But was she even aware of how she was beginning to gaze at him? Perhaps not. He would allow that ember of hope some small bit of sustenance. However, he would not allow that flame to flourish and rage forth, for he recalled how terribly mistaken he had been before and was unwilling to risk his limping, scorched heart to be so imperilled once more.
Later, after the ship had been tied to a sturdy oak hanging out from a small island in the river, Darcy stood alone on deck, observing the twin-tailed comet, wondering what amusing insight Elizabeth would declare if she had been by his side. Missing her when she was not present was just as torturous as the surge of passions that he felt when she was by his side.