Chapter Eighteen

E lizabeth lay awake for a long time that night, alone in her cabin. She was spent and weary after a day of so much excitement and new experiences. Yet, her body refused to listen to reason and settle into a deep slumber.

Recently, Darcy had always been either an arm's reach away or they had been separated by a wall. Now, on this small boat floating on a wide river, his presence was almost at the other end of the vessel. It made her legs twitch with frustration that she could hardly begin to explain. Restless and annoyed, she arose and drew the curtain aside to glimpse out at the wild shore that was illuminated by the eerie light of the comet. After the smoke and bustle of Pittsburg, where everything was coated with the residue of industry and toil, the quiet trees bathed in comet light was like a fairy land.

Elizabeth went to her side table and rested her hand on the deck of cards that Darcy had handed her before she had retired for the evening. "In preparation for tomorrow night," he had solemnly said. Though there had been nothing but firm respect on his face when he had said that, Elizabeth thought there had been a twinkle in his eye, of a smile that was almost about to burst onto his lips.

Was he mocking me? What an unknowable fellow he can be, it is too frustrating!

Unaccountably bothered by that minor exchange, angry at herself or Darcy—for she could not settle on which—Elizabeth turned her back on the stack of cards and returned to her berth.

The next morning was warm and clear. The New Orleans cast off from the island it had been anchored to overnight and made excellent time down the river, staying steady at ten miles per hour. More than once, they would pass a small boat with straining men pushing their poles into the river bed from the bow and walking aft to the stern only to pull the pole up and walk back to the bow to start again. The men would pause in the hard work of forcing a boat upstream to stare in awe, fear, or anger at the New Orleans .

Darcy paused next to Elizabeth to observe the passing boats. "I wonder what they think!" she ventured. "The rivermen in Pittsburg had time to accustom themselves to the idea of our boat. These fellows must be shocked to the core. It does not help that sparks fly from the smokestack. I am afraid it gives us the air of brimstone."

Darcy nodded. "They will have to adjust themselves to this new idea. It will not be easy, for changes—particularly ones that are wholly new and unexpected—are never an easy thing, especially if the old ways are strengthened by tradition and repetition."

"Do I hear the wisdom of experience in your voice?" Elizabeth teased. "For, unless I am very much mistaken, I believe that such a trip as this, spending time in circumstances with people of this class, would have been insupportable to a certain Derbyshire gentleman of my acquaintance until very recently."

Darcy looked away, thoughtful. "Your observation has the ring of truth. I was wholly unprepared for any of this. However, now that I am on a course from which there is no turning back, I find that I would change nothing."

With a small laugh, Elizabeth asked, "Even your choice of assistant?"

"You were the only one who answered the advertisement. I was denied that choice of variety from potential candidates."

Elizabeth looked into his eyes, momentarily nonplussed and slightly injured. But then it dawned on her that this was one of those novel moments with Darcy when he was teasing her. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a small push before turning away in amused annoyance at the modest laugh that escaped his lips.

"You are fortunate to have hired me, sir. I am capable, educated, and, most importantly perhaps, well-versed in estimating your moods. Besides, I would hate to think that desperation was the principal reason that I found employment with you."

"Well, I will be the first to admit that I have been fortunate in my choice of assistants. You have proven yourself to be more than capable in moments when an unforeseen dilemma with the engine has presented itself. And, although I believe that this goes without saying, you are more able to catch the tone of conversations, the meanings of words, and the looks that escape my comprehension. I have never developed that talent for estimating what a person wishes to hear, or for raising myself in their opinion through conversation."

"You are unduly harsh on yourself, sir. I would have to agree with you that—upon first acquaintance—you are not skilled in the arts of quickly endearing yourself to others. Not as well as someone like—" Elizabeth paused and bit her lip before the name of Wickham was formed by her mouth. A flash of painful recollection crossed Darcy's face before he covered it with a clench of his jaw and darkening of his eyes. "—like Mr Collins!" Elizabeth concluded with a laugh.

The effect was immediate and filled her heart with a glow of strong, warm satisfaction. He laughed loudly. Elizabeth realised with a bolt of curious surprise that his laugh was rapidly becoming one of her favourite sounds.

"I can only aspire—hopelessly, it would seem—to match that man one day," Darcy said with a nod. "His enthusiasm for ingratiation is admirable."

Elizabeth stuck her hand out expectantly. "Come, let me look at your notes."

"Notes?" Darcy asked, bewildered.

"Yes, yes. If you are earnest in your desire to imitate Mr Collins, you must be well aware of the notes that must be on your person at all times. Mr Collins told us that he likes to write down little compliments that the ladies find pleasing so that he may always be well-prepared to endear himself through praise of the fairer sex."

Darcy, smiling with realisation, patted at each of his pockets. "I seem to have left my blandishments in my other jacket. You will have to tolerate what I am able to create without previous design."

Elizabeth held up her palms in mock horror. "I beg you, do not attempt to flatter me with compliments that have not been previously studied!"

"Very well, Elizabeth. I promise I will not subject you to such torture. It seems that my aunt has been fortunate in her choice of a parson. It is uncommon to witness two such people so well-suited finding each other. I—"

Darcy broke off, looking down into the passing waters and then out to the shoreline of trees. A blast from the safety valve caused a flock of birds to scream up from the branches of a large tree close to where they were passing. The birds, hearing for the first time in their lives the sound of steam and industry, complained loudly as they blackened the sky momentarily.

"Goodness," Elizabeth exclaimed, holding her hand over her chest, "I had no idea those birds were in the tree! Why, there must be hundreds—thousands of them. To imagine, those black branches were so full of life and emotion, and I had no idea till they all burst forth at once."

"Yes," Darcy said as he straightened up from his lean on the railing, "much can be hidden in plain sight for all to see. Sometimes a quiet image can disguise turmoil just underneath. We approach a town and some hidden dangers. I must check with Mr Jack and Mr Baker."

So rapidly did their amusing exchange end that Elizabeth blinked, regretting the change. "Of course. Do you plan on stopping at Beaver?"

"No. We are pressing on till Wheeling. There we shall drop the necessary correspondences to Mr Roosevelt to inform him of our progress."

He sighed and ran his hand over his head in an attempt to smooth away what was evidently an unpleasant thought. "Mr Roosevelt insisted we make a spectacle of it. We will pass the town of Wheeling, then come about and steam against the current before we land. I would wish to forgo that bit of ridiculousness, as it seems unnecessarily demonstrative."

"No, we must not forgo it. Imagine word spreading downriver before us by the roads. It will ensure that we are welcomed with triumph in every town, and by every newspaperman, and mayor."

Darcy groaned in frustration. "I would rather we make all haste to Louisville without the theatrics. If the weather continues this dry, we may barely have enough clearance over the Falls of the Ohio. If we arrive too late, we will need to wait there for an unknown amount of time before the river rises and we have safe passage. And if this winter turns cold, ice could keep us there till spring."

"I know, you are correct. But it is equally important that we have time to demonstrate the potential of this boat in the towns we pass. It is more than just another large vessel that will need to be pushed by poles all the way back from whence it came."

"Of course. It is frustrating, nevertheless."

"Besides, Mr Roosevelt spoke to me privately about—"

Darcy tensed. "Yes? What did that grasping fellow say to you?"

"He thought it would be a capital idea if we took some of the people aboard—"

"No."

"And let them tour the New Orleans for themselves—"

"Absolutely not."

"Be reasonable!"

"What? To be expected to sport around the common rabble! To open our boat to the prying eyes of curiosity-seekers? The gall of the man. And he spoke to you about this?"

Darcy was now pacing back and forth along the deck, his hands behind his back, the very image of a mildly inconvenienced gentleman. Now that she was so comfortable in his presence, Elizabeth understood that it was the idea that he had to familiarise himself with before his angry declarations could be taken for law. Her temper was in check, not offended by the initial reception of the idea as she would have been a few weeks before. She proceeded with calm deliberateness.

"I think Mr Roosevelt believed that it was I who could more easily manage the event. Fitzwilliam, stop your clomping and listen for just a moment. How is this any different than when you open your house—Pemberley and the grounds—to visitors? I understand it is a very grand estate and you probably have a housekeeper, a gentle lady who enjoys some educated conversation when you are not at home, who speaks with the visitors, or gives them a brief history and tour. Would it be so terribly different?"

Darcy did finally pause in his agitated walking and stood, gazing out at a small farmhouse surrounded by fields that was just visible through a passing break in the trees. "Mrs Reynolds."

"Pardon?" Elizabeth said, confused by the sudden mention of an unfamiliar name.

"Mrs Reynolds is the housekeeper at Pemberley. She has held that post since I was a young child."

At an expression that was novel to see on Darcy's countenance, Elizabeth felt her heart fill with sympathy as he continued to look out with warm, almost loving, wistfulness. The distant farmhouse tucked itself away back behind the thick screen of massive tree branches, like a curtain being drawn at the end of a performance.

"You would like her. And she you, I believe."

Elizabeth stared at him, unsettled by the image Darcy conjured of her meeting the housekeeper of his vast estate. Why should he care if Mrs Reynolds found me pleasing or not?

Subdued, Darcy turned and spoke without lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. "Whatever you wish, Elizabeth. Do as you see fit. I do not like it, but, as you so enjoy pointing out, the success of this venture must be measured by more than making good time to the city of New Orleans. I am at your command in this instance."

He actually gave a little, formal bow and turned on his heel, rapidly making his way below deck to the engine room. Elizabeth stood, baffled and uncertain, wondering what had occurred in the last few moments to have caused such a transformation in his treatment of her.

A squeaking flutter of discord caught her attention, and Elizabeth turned her gaze back to the shore. Massive birds, large and clumsy, scattered up from the riverbank and away from the approaching boat. Such a calamity was made as they took flight that Elizabeth marvelled that they could leave the ground at all. The snapping of branches could be heard as the birds hefted their way up and through the trees. One large one had a great, floppy neck and moustache of flesh that reminded Elizabeth of Sir William Lucas.

"Turkeys! I have never seen such a bird in all my life. Jolly and as big as a calf. Why, Fitzwilliam, you should take some home to Pemberley to…" Her voice faded as she turned and, with a plunge of disappointment, recalled that Darcy was no longer at her side.