Chapter Twenty-Six

T hat evening, the boat would be tethered to an island midstream that Mr Jack was very familiar with from past voyages. A large oak leaned out over the water, more than sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the New Orleans .

"We should tie up on the lee side of the island," Mr Jack suggested in a weary voice. It had been a brutally long day for everyone, but most especially the pilot. As predicted, the maps were almost useless, for the terrain and path of the river had altered so dramatically during the course of the quake. Banks and ridges that had been set and unchanged for decades, perhaps centuries, were completely gone. Entire mid-river islands had disappeared or were submerged. It was only through instinct and close observation of how the debris of trees and earth moved along the river that Mr Jack had chosen the safest path for the boat to travel.

Darcy nodded, once again incredibly grateful to have such a man advising them. "I see your concern. The island will act as a buffer for any large trees that may attempt to ram the hull in the middle of the night."

Mr Jack turned and slowly made his way to distribute the orders. Darcy gazed down at Elizabeth who stood quietly by his side. More than once, he had wondered if he would have been able to withstand all of the challenges that he had been confronted with if not for the steady presence and sound advice of his Elizabeth. He frowned at the thought, wishing he could clearly read the map of her heart. But it remained murky and hidden, a river that had to be navigated through feel and instinct, not according to the prescripts of propriety. The comparison made him uncomfortable, for Darcy was well aware that he was a man who preferred to have the trusted map of experience and know the terrain ahead.

Elizabeth placed a light hand on his forearm, her weary eyes looking up into his. The furrows of concern on her brow touched his heart. Rather than reducing her charms, the sight of her exhaustion almost compelled him to cover her in an embrace and protect her from any further disaster. Only by standing with his spine stiff was he able to resist the impulse.

"We have done well, I think," she said with a wan smile. Removing her hand, she glanced towards the oak whose mighty branches almost grazed them. "I cannot imagine a better guardian for the dark hours than this fellow here."

"I agree. However, we have other dangers to consider than the passing hazards in the river. We must post a lookout."

"But, surely we are safe at the centre of the river!" Elizabeth stated after a glance towards the darkening shorelines. "No one would risk crossing in a boat at night in these conditions."

"People will be desperate after all that has occurred. Desperation can lead to violence. Both the settlers and the natives will be looking for someone to blame for all that has occurred, and who better than a noisy boat that screams, churns up the waters, and shoots sparks into the air?"

"They are desperate and fearful. If we speak to them and offer what little we can spare, I am certain they will understand."

"Perhaps," Darcy muttered, not entirely convinced. "I should post a watch, but even if I did, the unlucky fellow would most likely fall asleep, we have all been pushed so close to the limit of our endurance."

Darcy placed a hand lightly on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Including you. I am forever in your debt, Elizabeth. I can imagine no other woman bearing so much with such calm."

She smiled and shook her head dismissively. "You credit me too much, I fear. This has been the adventure of a lifetime. I am certain I did no more than any friend of yours would do."

Darcy raised one eyebrow and laughed lightly. "You mean to tell me that you believe Miss Bingley would have been racing around the boat, bringing a cup of water to the men, relieving them of their duties occasionally, relaying messages back and forth between the engine room and the pilot?"

With a mischievous spark in her gaze that whipped Darcy's pulse to a racing pace, Elizabeth replied, "Miss Bingley may not have done as much on deck, I agree. But I am certain that all of our pens would have been remarkably well-mended."

Darcy laughed loudly.

"And if you ever lost your place in a book, she would have recalled the page immediately, saving you from frustration. And a better steward of your penmanship could not be found for all the wealth of King Midas himself. Now if that is not a lady whom you would have benefitted from on this voyage, then I am much mistaken."

Darcy had to wave his hand to beg Elizabeth to stop, he was laughing that hard. Tears came to his eyes as she joined in, their mutual weariness increasing their merriment. When they finally ceased, he held out his elbow for her to take.

"Come. If the rest of the crew is as famished as I, then supper will be gone in an instant."

As they walked, Elizabeth looked up and asked, "Will you be joining me for…for cards this evening?"

"If that is agreeable to you, I should like nothing better. Though I feel as if I could slumber whilst standing, I look forward to it. Thank you."

Cards after dinner in Elizabeth's cabin was a pleasant, comforting time. Gone was the unease and brittleness that had crept into their conversations recently. Elizabeth was grateful that things had returned to their former ease, for she greatly missed these moments of humour and intelligent conversation with him. She had been attempting to content herself with the idea of being his friend and nothing more. Her resentment towards the unknown lady who had abused his heart did not abate. From his open laughter at her pert remarks regarding Miss Bingley, she was now absolutely certain that he was not enamoured of that particular lady. A measure of comfort came with this thought, for to witness Darcy infatuated with a lady such as Miss Bingley—who, in Elizabeth's opinion, was entirely unworthy of his regard—would have been vexing in the extreme. Upon reflection, she could not even begin to formulate in her mind who would be the ideal partner for Darcy—aside from herself. That last thought made her heart heavy as they stood from their game of piquet.

"You are not terribly worried about tonight, are you?" Darcy asked, obviously noting her shift in mood.

"Of course not," Elizabeth replied with surprise, her thoughts having been unhappily engaged elsewhere. "I am tired, that is all. Perhaps tonight will be free of small quakes. I am so exhausted, I am uncertain if even a large shake of the earth will be able to rouse me."

Darcy laughed as he nodded in agreement. "I do wish you would allow Clara May to be in here with you at night."

"I am perfectly able to remain alone at night, I assure you. I prefer it, in fact."

"I see," Darcy said. They were both on the deck, just outside of Elizabeth's door. "For if you wish for company…I could… I could—"

"Yes?" Elizabeth asked more breathlessly than she intended.

"I could ask her for you."

"Oh." She did not wish to speculate what her answer might have been if Darcy had offered himself as her companion for the night. With a wave of her hand, she responded, "That is kind, but entirely unnecessary. Clara May must be equally weary as the both of us."

"If you are ever truly worried about your safety, do not hesitate for a moment to knock on my door. I can be a heavy sleeper, so enter and call my name loudly if I do not respond to your knock."

Elizabeth blushed deeply at the mere thought and was grateful for the dim light of the night, the comet being completely obscured by heavy clouds. For the first time in her recent remembrance, the night was inky and thick, making it impossible to view the expression on anyone's face. With a sudden, raging curiosity, Elizabeth wished nothing more than to be able to clearly read Darcy's countenance.

"Well, good evening," he said, his voice heavy and deep.

"Good evening," she whispered back as she shut her door on his dark, tall silhouette. Elizabeth leaned upon the door—weary, uncertain, and confused.

Elizabeth awoke with a start. She had been sleeping heavily, utterly unmindful of the world, for several hours. What had disturbed her slumber?

In answer to her bleary question, a heavy scraping ran along the side of the boat, close to her cabin wall. A moan and shudder of the boat caused her to clasp both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream of terror. River pirates? Debris striking at the boat? The sounds were different somehow. Almost… beastly . Low moans, ancient and insistent. Bears? Panthers? The possibilities were too numerous to imagine and too terrifying to entertain.

Silence settled over the boat again, and Elizabeth began to wonder if her imagination and weariness had conspired to make a fool of her. She rested her head back on her pillow before another moaning jolt roused her. Again, it sounded as if a monstrous creature were just beyond the hull of the boat.

Without even pausing to cover herself in her wrap or tie back her hair, Elizabeth slid out of bed and approached her door. Cracking it open, she peered out. Thick clouds meant no light from the comet. The night was keeping its secrets close, wrapping everything in complete darkness. She could not even see beyond the railing.

Stepping out, she looked up and down the deck. Nothing appeared to be moving in the blackness of the night. Taking a few further steps was enough for Elizabeth to ascertain that all was still and silent.

"Foolish girl," she muttered to herself as a shiver danced up her spine and her hands ran along her arms. "Where is your clever mind and sound reason now? Even silly Lydia would have a good laugh at my expense, make no mistake. And Mama would be crowing over me that now I knew what it was to have a nervous disposition."

Just as Elizabeth had fully convinced herself that the real villain was her overwrought nerves, something hard and grasping ruffled the bottom edge of her night rail. Her ankle was scraped as if by the nails of a beast as the fabric lifted slightly, was pulled taut, and then tore before resettling.

Too terrified to scream, Elizabeth rushed away from her cabin, for the grasping arm had been between her body and the door. She did not pause until half a dozen steps of her bare feet had her before Darcy's door. Without bothering to knock, she flung herself in and slammed it shut behind her. Gasping for breath, she clutched the top of her gown tight around her throat, shaking from terror.

Waiting, she listened at the door. Nothing could be heard outside except for a slight breeze. Now, despite Elizabeth's earlier talk to herself to be more sensible, all thought of rational explanations fled from her. Not only were the common enough explanations of the noises on the list, there were now monsters from fairy tales and Greek mythology to join behind bears and pirates.

"Fitzwilliam… Fitzwilliam… If I may be so bold as to interrupt your sleep…" Her strained whisper sounded unimaginably loud to her ears, for now the night was silent and calm. What if she were calling attention to herself from whatever was outside?

As the silence extended, so did her doubts of her own experience. What if it had been the breeze? A passing river rat brushing her gown? Another rumble under the earth that made some new sounds? What if she had imagined the entire incident and she roused Darcy and the crew for nothing?

After standing with her back to the door for a long time, Elizabeth could discern a sound that comforted her and stirred the flesh above her heart in a new and wonderful way. She could hear Darcy breathing. Regular. Steady. Soothing.

Elizabeth pressed herself from the door and crept closer. A shirt hung from the back of his one wooden chair. It was the same one that she had mended and then clung onto whilst she slept.

Her hand, through a will of its own, lifted it and brought it to her nose to inhale. The aromas were strong, but not unpleasant. The sweat from the warm winter day mingled with his exertions to aid in steering the boat straight gave the impression of every manly charm that came to her mind when she thought of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

For a moment, Elizabeth considered taking the shirt and risking the walk back to her cabin, for she was beginning to feel foolish. To stand there, irresolute, in the cabin of a man she was supposedly married to, though not truly, with his shirt clutched in her fist, made the entire episode seem ridiculous. With a sigh, Elizabeth turned and made her way to the door.

As if in a dream, the boat silently rolled upwards, tilting her away from the door until she stumbled back and sat on Darcy's bed. A moan from deep underneath the boat's hull caused Elizabeth to lift the light blanket and dive under. The rumble increased and she covered both ears with her hands, one still fisted, clutching his shirt. Elizabeth curled herself around Darcy's back and burrowed her forehead into the space between his shoulder blades. Her knees pressed up against the back of his legs, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Another roll of the boat pressed her even more firmly against his body.

"Elizabeth…" Darcy murmured in a low whisper. "You have come to me at last."

Without turning onto his back, he reached his hand out and rested it on her hip, pulling her more closely to him.

"I was so frightened," Elizabeth whispered into the broad space of his upper back, naked of any fabric. "The noises. It is most likely merely the passing of debris. What you must think of me… But I feared for my life. I sound completely ridiculous saying it out loud. So foolish. I apologise. I can leave."

"No, no," he murmured again in a slurred, sleepy manner. Elizabeth began to wonder if he was truly awake. "Never leave. Do not leave."

Another odd scraping, slow and steady, along the hull just beyond the railing outside made Elizabeth remain firmly in place. The image of rasping claws scoring the wood of the boat made her press her cheek to his flesh to calm her racing heart. The thought of leaving his cabin was terrifying. The idea of ever leaving Fitzwilliam Darcy at any point in the future was even more upsetting.

With a weary sigh, Elizabeth began to slowly drift off to slumber, warm, comforted, and blissfully content.

Darcy slid his hand along Elizabeth's arm as he bent his face to her hair and inhaled the scent of her. He smiled with the knowledge that he was happier than any mortal had a right to expect.

Elizabeth. In my arms. She hugs my chest. Her breath heats my skin. She holds some fabric. Wait a moment, is that my shirt? Is Elizabeth here? In my berth? I am awake. Good God, I am very awake.

The weight of Elizabeth was almost entirely upon him as he lay on his back, and his body was well aware of that fact. His own form was wedged at an odd angle against the wall beside his berth. She draped over him, smothering him as his most private imaginings had conjured of their being together as a true man and wife.

He cleared his throat and shifted so he could bring one knee up. Elizabeth murmured incoherently, almost sounding vexed at having been so disturbed, and clung to him more firmly.

Her form suddenly tensed. Elizabeth lifted her head, looking into his eyes, their faces just inches apart.

"I…I heard the most terrible sounds last night," she whispered in stunned amazement. "I was frightened. I did not wish to awaken the entire boat because I thought I heard something… I apologise for intruding on your privacy."

Darcy lifted his free hand and brushed curls out of her face. Once they were gone, he did not withdraw it as the tips of his fingers ran back along her cheek to pass lightly over her lips. The rosy hue there only added to the urge to keep her here in his arms forever. She bit her lower lip as her eyes dropped down to his own mouth.

"I would hope that you would always feel that you can come to me. If you are frightened or for any other reasons. Elizabeth, I—"

A cry erupted on deck. Darcy glanced up as he withdrew his hand. "Elizabeth, I am…not currently clothed."

With a weak smile, she lifted her hand. "Here is a shirt you may wear."

She dropped the garment on his chest and began to press away from him, only to be thrust back into his arms.

"You must rise first, Elizabeth. I need a moment of privacy to dress."

"I am trying," she replied with an embarrassed, vexed tone to her voice."Watch your knee, if you please!"

Soon the blanket, Elizabeth, and Darcy wrestled themselves away from each other. Mortified, Darcy stood as Elizabeth turned away from him. They both grabbed onto anything they could to steady themselves.

"The floor has risen and tilted," she cried.

"Elizabeth! Your gown is torn and your ankle is scratched with dried blood!"

In two long strides, he rushed up the inclined floor to place his hands on her shoulders. With anxiety propelling his racing heartbeat, he asked, "Are you unhurt? What happened last night? By Heaven, if anything has happened that caused you harm…"

"I am unhurt, I can assure you." Pressing herself away from him with apparent reluctance, she took his hand in hers and pulled him upwards towards the door of the cabin. They opened it in time to see several of the crew rush past, no one even turning to stare at the unusual occurrence of Mrs Darcy leaving the cabin of Mr Darcy.

With unsteady steps and still hand in hand, they stumbled a dozen steps to the aft of the boat.

"Is it possible?" Elizabeth cried in astonishment. "Where is the island from last night? Where is the oak?"

Nothing remained of the long, heavily wooded strip of land they had been attached to when the sun had set the previous evening. That mighty tree that had survived untold catastrophes for many centuries on the Mississippi was gone. All were far under the water.

The boat was tilting up and back. The fore line was gone entirely, snapped in the middle of the night. The aft line that had been attached to the large oak was pulled taut, just a few feet of it visible as the rest disappeared into the river, still connected to the now vanished tree on the river bottom. A deep gurgle and several whale-sized bubbles emerged from the river as the boat was pulled a few inches farther towards the surface of the water.

Elizabeth clutched Darcy's arm. "We must cut ourselves free at once. Otherwise, we risk joining the oak at the bottom of the river!"

Mr Jack and Mr Baker joined them, both looking with incredulity at the newest dilemma they faced.

"The entire island sank! Never, in all my years on this river, have I encountered half of what I have seen on this trip," Mr Jack said as he ran a hand through his wild, grizzled hair.

"Never mind that," Darcy snapped. "Get the two axes. We cut this rope as soon as may be. It is thick, so ask our two strongest fellows to do the deed."

No one moved for a moment, so stunned and bewildered was the entire crew. Darcy said, "Now!" startling everyone from their forlorn wonder.

The axes were brought, and two of the men with the broadest shoulders stepped up. One was a dark-skinned freeman named Bailey, and the other was a slim, but strong young man, barely out of his youth, named Smith.

Each stepped forward and took a whack at the rope. The boat seemed to shudder with each blow.

"The boat dropping into the water once the rope is cut! What if the hull buckles from the impact?" Baker asked.

"We have no choice," Darcy said as he stepped in front of Elizabeth, reaching around and pressing her close to his body. "Everyone move far back, for the rope will recoil dangerously."

The boat shuddered and sank closer to the water. The young man, Smith, dropped his axe and ran far from the railing, leaving only Bailey there. "It tries to drag us under!" Smith cried. "We are angering the river! It is a judgement upon us all!"

Without a word, Darcy strode to the aft, picked up the axe, and raised it over his head. He and Bailey struck alternating blows till, at last, the rope snapped with a loud crack and flung back. The fore of the New Orleans heaved downwards and sent out towering waves to port and starboard. Even the most seasoned rivermen stumbled to their hands and knees. For one moment, Elizabeth feared that the boat would be swamped from the sudden plunge.

Like one who refuses to be overcome by adversity, the boat sprang back up, happy to be among the living for one more day. Elizabeth, along with much of the crew, had fallen to the deck during the violent drop and subsequent upheaval. Horrified further, her gaze found Darcy, prone and motionless on the deck. Without pausing to think, she sprang to her feet and raced to Darcy, who lay senseless as the boat seemed to attempt to roll him into the churning waters by rocking back and forth.

With inches to spare, Elizabeth pressed her body on top of his, holding him firmly to the wood of the deck with all of her weight, preventing him from sliding farther to the edge and disappearing forever into the merciless river.

If I lose him, I shall certainly die! she thought as the last few bounces of the ship settled out to nothing.

Darcy rolled over, blinking up at her as a red welt formed on his forehead from where the rope had whipped back and struck him senseless. His arms wrapped around her, pressing her into his chest.

"You saved me from the water," he murmured.

She laughed in relief, seeing him returning to his senses, as tears of happiness formed at the corners of her eyes.

"It seemed the most sensible course of action."

"How reasonable of you," he teased.

Suddenly aware of the group of men who were running to and fro around them, Elizabeth pushed herself upwards with the dawning awareness that she was still wearing just her night rail. Tucking her hair behind one ear, she stood. Darcy stood as well, wincing. It was then that she spotted the blood colouring his shirt.

Bailey stepped up beside them and observed, "That rope could have taken your head off, sir. Lucky you got no more than a knot on the head and what's likely to be a scar on your arm."

Darcy clapped one hand over his wound and nodded. "Thank you for standing your ground, Mr Bailey. I was fortunate to have a gentleman such as yourself at my side."

"Here, lean upon me, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, anxious to tend to his injury.

With a grin towards Bailey, Darcy nodded again as the pair of them hobbled back to his cabin.

After several awkward moments of Elizabeth wiping the blood off the arm of a shirtless Darcy, she said, "You will indeed have a scar! This wound is deep."

"Yes, but not dire," Darcy responded. "I suppose we are fortunate that I still have an arm to mend. Some of the stories from the crew indicate that it could have been much worse."

Clara May arrived and offered to assist. "I can manage this," Elizabeth said with a nod towards the wound.

"I see that, madam. You have done a neat job of it. Cleaning it out is the most important thing."

"Yes, I had a great many tumbles as a child and became proficient at taking care of minor injuries for myself. To do otherwise would cause my mother no small amount of vexation, and the entire house was certain to hear about it."

Elizabeth blushed as she momentarily recalled the many instances of her family acting in a manner that called into question their propriety. But even as her mind recollected the unpleasant, a pang of longing to see them again struck her.

"Sounds like my mother," Clara May said with a shake of her head. "The whippings I would get for the smallest mistake. Well, if you wish, I will go to the galley and assist with the meal preparation. Your cabin is made. If you need assistance with your gown…" She dropped her gaze to what Elizabeth still wore from the night.

Suddenly conscious of her lack of gown and her still loose hair, Elizabeth stammered out, "I see! I had forgotten…in all of the excitement of the morning. I should dress for the day." Turning towards Darcy, she said, "Would you mind terribly if Clara May finished? I believe I should be more formally attired."

He smiled up at her. "Of course."

Before she could even step away, Darcy's hand shot out and took hers in both of his. "Thank you. I hardly deserve a wife such as yourself. You saved my life."

Taken aback by this open, warm declaration in such a public manner, Elizabeth was silent for a moment. Uncertainty and her own feelings overpowered her.

Clara May took up the basin of water that Elizabeth had used to clean the wound and said, "I will freshen this with new water. A clean wound heals much more rapidly."

As she passed out the door, Clara May looked at Elizabeth with raised brows and a minor smile playing across her lips.

Once alone again, Darcy wasted no time to speak. "Elizabeth, I beg that you do not make yourself uneasy about last night. You were correct in coming to my cabin. Your fears were beyond what we could imagine. I would wish that you are always comfortable in approaching me, speaking to me, and…"

He seemed to struggle as his words drifted away. His pressure on her hand increased as his eyes locked with hers.

What is he attempting to say?

"I just wish that I had attempted to wake you more forcefully last night. You slept so soundly, and I was so frightened. But I should not have taken such liberties—it was wrong of me to do so. Forgive me."

His hands were so warm, almost hot to the touch. Elizabeth felt her breath come in shallow, quick bursts that did nothing to relieve the ache in her chest.

"There is nothing to forgive, for you committed no mistake in judgement. Just as I have come to rely on your counsel and presence every day as I make decisions that will influence many, I hope that you will trust me and turn to me if there is anything I can do to be of aid. Your honour, dignity, and reputation will always be safe with me. Your…your friendship …" The word was emphasised by Darcy with such an undercurrent of emotion that Elizabeth's brows gathered in confusion. "Your friendship has been the greatest blessing of my life. Greater than any wealth imaginable."

"My…my friendship will always be in your care. These past few months, there was never a moment when you were inappropriate or cruel. You were terribly surprised at my being on the Jolly Sparrow , and perhaps not pleased."

With a small laugh and shake of his head, Darcy said, "I beg of you, do not speak of that time. I was stunned and, as a consequence, unforgivably rude. Now, I could not envisage anyone else here by my side but you."

Darcy stood, Elizabeth's hand still clasped in both of his.

The engine roared into life, the whistle bellowed, and the two paddle wheels fumbled as they churned into the waters of the Mississippi.

"I should change my attire," Elizabeth said quietly.

Darcy released her hands when Clara May knocked and then entered. "Here is the fresh water. We shall have that all wrapped up in no time, sir."

"Of course. I am eager to consult with Mr Jack and Mr Baker. I assume the engine did not suffer from the mishap of last night since it started with ease."

Elizabeth stepped away from Darcy and tried to gather her thoughts as she went towards the door. To cheer herself from the tumult of confusion that coursed through her, she took up his torn garment, turned, and said with a mischievous glance back at him, "Sir, will you please be more mindful of your wardrobe in the future? I cannot always be busy repairing your shirts."

"To please you," Darcy replied with a smile as he sat back down with a wince of pain, "I will endeavour to avoid such carelessness."

Back in her cabin, Elizabeth prepared herself for the day by changing into her gown. The many travels of the recent past had made her proficient at clothing herself without aid and dressing her hair simply. Before she stepped back out into the chaos of the day ahead, she took several tight turns around her cabin, clutching her hands before her stomach in an effort to quell the flutters of anxiety.

As she reflected, Elizabeth could almost convince herself that Darcy felt more deeply towards her than as a friend. However, if he really wished to declare himself, why was he always so careful in his words? She could dismiss many of the glances that he bestowed on her as having little to do with disapproval as she once might have guessed. And this morning, when she woke and found herself clinging to him…

Elizabeth moaned, covering her face with her hands. "What must he think of me?"

Darcy had been all politeness and had made no effort to behave in a way that would compromise her further. Elizabeth could not forget the urge she had felt, persistent and unyielding, to touch her lips to his. Would he have protested and pressed her away? She assumed that he would wish his true wife to have a fortune to help the Darcy estate recover more rapidly from the recent losses. What had she to offer other than a quick mind and the ability to release a laugh of amusement from his handsome, often solemn countenance?

And, if any of the past few weeks were discovered and spoken of by their acquaintance at home, would any man be willing to brave such a risk of scandalised gossip? Especially one in such a position as Fitzwilliam Darcy?

It had been an easy thing to forget the heavy weight of their differences in rank whilst travelling together. Easy and perhaps even dangerous. For Elizabeth felt her heart was irretrievably in Darcy's possession, and she could not begin to guess how many years it would be before she could overcome her deep, unwavering love for him.