Chapter Twenty-Two

T he ship had paused briefly at the town downriver from Louisville to pick up Clara May. The young lady unreservedly embraced Elizabeth around the neck, hugging her in relief when she came aboard.

"I was that worried about you," Clara May declared. "All I could hear about from every living body around me was how they would be picking up planks and boards and waiting for the dead to rise up out of the river."

"Ah, well, I hope they are not too terribly disappointed with our state of well-being."

Clara May laughed. "You always have the most peculiar way of speaking. And did… Was Mr Baker worried?"

"As I could see, Mr Baker was not nearly as worried about the New Orleans or his own skin as he was about you."

"Oh, go on with you. Was he really?" she asked as she shifted from foot to foot and glanced over Elizabeth's shoulder towards the engine room.

Elizabeth sighed. "Go to him, greet him. He will not be easy until he has laid eyes upon you for himself."

Elizabeth watched as Clara May tripped lightly towards the stairs, lifting her skirts to quicken her pace. In this moment of triumph, a restless unease fluttered through her heart. There was a distracting echo of sentiment that remained just beyond her vision. It was an unsettling sensation, for Elizabeth prided herself in her ability to observe the facts before her and form a relatively well-considered opinion.

The remainder of the day was spent making rapid progress downriver. There was a spring in every step of the crew as all took pride in knowing they were instrumental in making the success of the boat over the Falls occur with little more than a scraping of the hull on some of the rocky outcroppings. Their next milestone that all eyes turned towards was approaching the joining of the mighty Ohio to the even mightier Mississippi River. Estimates flew back and forth among the crew as to when was the earliest time that they could reach their destination. Elizabeth suspected that there were even several wagers being placed and thought about raising this concern with Darcy later during their evening game of piquet. She did not wish anyone to risk their earnings through gaming.

With a lowness that shocked her, Elizabeth realised that this evening was one of the nights when he would not be visiting. Her heart sank with a disappointed ache.

Elizabeth returned to her cabin to take up some mending. She and Clara May were the only competent seamstresses on the boat and as such had the task of tending to minor repairs of clothing and bedding. Taking up a white linen shirt, a familiar scent reached her nose. Without thought, Elizabeth held the fabric close to her cheek and inhaled fully.

Fitzwilliam…

Startled by her own actions and the resulting surge of pressure in her chest, Elizabeth dropped the shirt from her face and rose, pacing back and forth with her hands clenched together tightly in front of her. It was as if she stood before a surging wall of water, like the cresting Falls they had just overcome. She could not foresee what was approaching and dreaded the revelation.

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. Clara May entered.

"I almost wish I had been on the boat with all of you. It sounds as if it was the ride of a lifetime. Goodness, Mrs Darcy, you look a bit pale. Are you well?"

"Of course. Perhaps the ride over the Falls was more rocky than I anticipated. I am well, I assure you. Just an uneasiness in my stomach, nothing to be alarmed about."

"That is understandable. Do you think you may be in the family way?" Clara May asked with a sly look down at Elizabeth's middle.

"Gracious, whatever gave you that impression?"

"There is no shame in the inquiry. Why, I was the first to bring up the possibility with Mrs Roosevelt with this child. I knew before she. If it isn't that, there is something that is troubling you. Shall I bring you a glass of wine? A light meal?"

Elizabeth sat heavily in the chair and rubbed her forehead, still plagued by the force of a crisis that was approaching. It was of a nature that she instinctively knew would cause her misery and turmoil. The thought of leaving her cabin created a burst of panic in her throat. But, the idea of staying within these walls made her vexed and anxious. She did not know what to do.

"I think that would be for the best. I do not wish to leave my cabin again for the evening. I would be very appreciative if you would bring me a light meal. Please let Mr Darcy know that I will not be joining them for supper."

"Yes, madam. Shall I finish this bit of mending for you?" Clara May asked as her hand reached for the shirt on the table.

"No," Elizabeth exclaimed more forcefully than she had intended. Her hand reached out with a will of its own and took up the shirt, bringing it protectively onto her lap.

"All right, all right. There is no need to flaunt your fancy skill with a needle and thread. My work is not so terrible as all that."

"I meant no offence, Clara May. Forgive me. My head is strained from the day, and I have not slept soundly for several nights."

"I understand completely. You go and have a nice lie-down, and I will bring you some victuals. If you are having a sound rest, do not bother opening the door for me, I will sneak the tray in and set it on the little table."

Elizabeth could only nod, looking down at the shirt as Clara May stepped out with a soft tread. Once again, she lifted the shirt and inhaled the scent of Darcy, letting it fill her mind with every pleasant recollection of him that she could summon.

Once more, the unease of earlier began to grow. She soon recognised it as the same disquiet that had made her sleep light for the last several nights.

Elizabeth went to her bed. Still holding the shirt, she lay on her side with her back to the room. Curling into a ball, the shirt held tight against her chest and stomach, she squeezed her eyes shut. The sensation of being swept up and twirled around in the arms of Darcy—both in a spinning eddy of joy springing from the accomplishment of being the first steam-powered boat to ride over the Falls—revisited her skin and sank deep into her blood and bones. Dizzy and warm, the force that she had kept at bay for many days strengthened into a maelstrom. At first, it had been mild and whimsical. Now it was so powerful, Elizabeth did not know if she could survive the impact once she acknowledged it. She felt an expansion in her entire being, like she was on the crest of a plunge into tumultuous waters. There was no turning back. She was helpless and beyond rescue from the crash that was coming.

"I love him," Elizabeth whispered to the wall of rough wood inches from her face. "He is the only man I can ever love. I love…Fitzwilliam Darcy. Utterly and irrevocably. My heart is his, for all times to come."

Tears spilled down from Elizabeth's eyes. She turned her head into her pillow, and she began to cry the hopeless sobs of one who assumes her love will never be returned. The anguish did not originate from the acknowledgement of her love; it sprang from the revelation that she may never know a reciprocation of her sentiments. The current flowed in one direction alone, pouring from her heart to Darcy. How was she to possibly compete with some unknown, horrid lady in England who was so mad with stupidity as to toss aside the regard of such a man as Darcy? For Elizabeth now knew him well enough not to doubt that once someone lay claim to his heart, Darcy was of a disposition to remain firm in his adoration for years, possibly for the rest of his life.

He is one of such worth and steadiness. Devoted and true. Oh! Why could we not have met before he had fallen in love with such a fool? Can it be Caroline Bingley? Does he pretend to scorn her interest? Some other woman of London society? How did I misjudge him so completely? One instance of a neglectful, harsh comment should not have condemned him so irretrievably in my mind.

A bleary image of a fine lady in an expensive gown and jewels twinkling from her neck and ears rose up in her mind's eye. Elizabeth imagined her hair would be long, her laugh properly trained and modulated, and her opinions never shocking or humorous. This ghost of a woman swayed before her—just out of focus—adding insult to her already injured heart.

Stifled cries of discovery and despair tore at Elizabeth until sleep, deep and unforgiving, overtook her.