Chapter Twenty-Seven

A nother arduous day followed the night of the sinking island. All on board were tired and their nerves were thin from the constant threat of further disaster. Elizabeth and Clara May did their utmost to help those who had to man the posts along the port and starboard. More than once, a quick change in their course prevented disaster. Frequently, Elizabeth had to dash back and forth between the engine room and the helm so that instructions and new information could be passed along. Even when they had moments of leisure, the uncertainty caused both ladies to pace back and forth, wondering if another stronger quake would occur or if the rest of the voyage would be smooth and without incident.

When they stopped in the afternoon, a rowboat went ashore to gather firewood. The wood was green and damp, but the men had been prevented by the tangled shoreline of downed trees from pressing farther inland to find dry wood better suited for the firebox and the woodstove. Whilst they were stopped, another boat came from the shore with several men aboard. Bedraggled and uncertain, they were as bewildered and searching for information as the crew of the New Orleans . Everyone spoke in muted tones, as if a loud voice would cause another rumble under the river bottom.

Darcy shook his head in wonder as one of the men claimed the Mississippi River had risen up like a mountain and ran backwards for several minutes at the height of the first, most powerful tremor.

"I do not doubt what you say, sir," Darcy said solemnly. "It is just so incredible. Anything could have occurred and we, all of us, are fortunate to be able to stand here and recount our tales."

Mixed in the refuse of fallen trees, bodies of wildlife and livestock, in the river were many planks of wood from flatboats and houses that had been built too close to the banks. Elizabeth felt a shiver of dread run up her spine. Could such a thing ever happen in England? In the heart of Hertfordshire? Until the sphere of natural science had fixed the cause of sudden shifts of the earth, there was no way to know who or where was in danger.

Not for the first time since they began the trip, Elizabeth felt a pang for loved ones whom she had no way of knowing if she would ever see again.

They wearily resumed their battle downriver. About an hour before sunset, a long canoe of natives emerged from the shore and matched their speed, the men paddling with determined strength. Elizabeth glanced around for Darcy. Most of the men were lined along the railings, watching the slim boat with concern. Smith, the young man who had abandoned the dangerous work of cutting the rope, emerged with a rifle from the interior of the boat. Shocked at the idea of violence, Elizabeth stepped up and clasped Darcy by the arm.

"The native people are frightened! Just as many of the townspeople and farmers have been, some of them running away with yells of terror when they saw our boat passing them. They think the boat has caused the earthquake. We must not resort to violence!"

Darcy nodded. "It will be a last resort, I assure you. I will permit no harm to befall you." He muttered to Smith to put the gun well out of sight.

The canoe kept pace with the New Orleans , even as they must have exceeded speeds of fourteen miles an hour. Eventually, the canoe fell back and retreated into the fallen brush along the shore.

The boat pressed forward for as long as possible to leave as many dangers behind them as they could manage. Finally, after a winter of warm weather, a distinct chill settled into the air as night fully fell. The clouds cleared and the stars and Great Comet were bright in the sky.

At the last meal of the day, Elizabeth was mortified to discover she was in the middle of an enormous yawn before she even realised it. Blinking in confused, bleary embarrassment, she glanced at Darcy who was smiling at her. Smudges of fatigue were under his eyes, and a faint beard darkened his face; the result of two days without the benefit of a straight razor covered his cheeks and chin. The roughness enhanced his handsome features instead of diminishing them. With a start, Elizabeth broke her gaze from him, wondering how long she had been openly staring at him with warmth and attraction plainly exposed on her countenance. Her exhaustion was causing her to forget all that propriety demanded.

"I hope your slumber is not disturbed this evening, Elizabeth," he said as they rose from the table. "You are far too weary for a game of piquet, I fear. I am posting a watch of sorts. Someone must keep the stove in the dining area going through the night for warmth. And, we must be alert for intruders."

She could only nod and murmur her agreement at the sensible precautions.

Exhausted and weary in spirit, almost everyone retired once the meal had been eaten in relative silence. Elizabeth, her feet dragging, made her way back to her cabin, barely able to keep her eyes open. She had slept even more fitfully the previous night than anyone else aboard, having been awoken by the trees and island scraping their way into the river.

After changing into her night rail, Elizabeth collapsed on her bunk, senseless to the world. As her eyes drifted shut, she did not believe that even one of the monsters she imagined from last night could cause her to wake. One of the oak's branches that had scratched her and ripped her night rail was the worst monster that she had faced last night. Whilst she was still barely aware, her mind returned to the warm sensation of Darcy's body under her own as the odd angle of the ship had forced them into an intimacy that she remembered with intense happiness.

"What would Miss Bingley say if she knew that it was I who forced myself upon Mr Darcy? I compromised his reputation?"

A silly laugh of weariness escaped her lips as she drifted from all knowledge of the world.

It was night, and Elizabeth looked down from her bedroom window. Commotion had woken her and—ever curious about what was occurring—she had slid out of bed and opened the window to peek outside. She knew that Mama would be furious if she was discovered out of bed in the middle of the night, but she had to know what was happening.

To her great amusement, she saw her father in his nightcap, racing across the lawn, his slippers flapping against his heels. Mrs Hill followed him with her big, long braid of hair swinging back and forth on her back. They were running to a shed that stood near the stables. There was a bright light, no, a flame! That was it! Many flames now. Elizabeth laughed, thinking it pretty. Everyone formed a tidy line and were handing a cup back and forth. It was a big cup. A bucket! Water rained down on the flames. The lights dimmed. The horses, who had been making quite a commotion in their stalls, quieted. Elizabeth yawned and climbed back up into her bed. She closed her eyes, returning to sleep, wishing the smell of smoke would go away, for it tickled her nose.

"Smoke…" Elizabeth muttered. Sitting up, she looked around, confused. She was not a young child at Longbourn, watching a small but dangerous fire being quenched from her bedroom window.

Gasping, Elizabeth leapt out of her berth and ran out of her cabin, searching up and down the deck. The dining area with the great woodstove was glowing, red and angry, through the windows. With a gasp, Elizabeth ran to the door of the dining room. Flames were licking and racing along the floor. The green, wet wood had made the coals so hot that they were burning the fresh load too fast. Sparks had escaped from the woodstove and were igniting the floor, the curtains, and the pile of unburnt wood that was stacked far too close to the stove.

Elizabeth grabbed the fire bucket full of sand and grunted loudly as she threw the contents on the flames. This activity woke the young man on duty who had fallen asleep after loading the stove with far too much wood for safety.

"Wha—? Ma'am?" he grumbled whilst rubbing his heavy lids.

"Go! Ring the bell, rouse Mr Darcy!" Elizabeth cried before coughing and waving her hand to scatter the smoke.

The fellow scrambled up, panicking as he ran out. Elizabeth heard the bell shatter the still of the night. Shouts of men were approaching. Ripping the blanket she had draped over her shoulders in her haste, Elizabeth dropped to her hands and knees and began beating the edges of the fire down, slowing it only slightly. Her breath was ragged and jerking, her eyes were smarting terribly, as the room filled with haze and soot. But the flames were devilish in their desire to make trouble, continuing to spread and shift despite Elizabeth's efforts. Strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her backwards as she began to cough violently. Unable to catch her breath until she was outside, it was then that she realised that she had been swept up into the arms of Darcy.

He set her on her feet next to the railing. "Get Clara May and then stay out here. We may need to abandon the boat."

Elizabeth shot her hand out, momentarily preventing him from returning into the blaze. "You must form a line. Hand buckets of water down the line after they are filled from the river. A boy should bring the empty ones back to be filled. It is far faster."

Darcy merely nodded and began to shove the panicking men into a line. Before long, an orderly, sloshing line of water buckets were feeding into the dining room. Elizabeth joined the line to make it move even faster.

How much time passed, Elizabeth dared not guess. Her arms were numb, her hands hurt badly, and her back ached from twisting one way then another. The front of her night rail was soaked through as precious river water splashed over the rim of the hastily passed buckets. She almost buckled at the knees when Clara May pulled her out and took her place.

"Take a breath, madam."

Elizabeth could only nod and hang her head over the side of the railing till her breath slowed and her head stopped spinning. After at least ten more minutes, the activity slowed. She shoved her loose hair, tangled and damp with sweat and water, off of her face and stumbled into the dining room.

The elegant furnishings were scorched and blackened. Smoke hovered lazily in the air, a choking mist the only legacy of flames that had almost consumed the New Orleans and her crew.

Elizabeth swayed in wonder and weariness as she glanced at the few men still dousing areas of tenacious embers. Anxiety gave her heart a jolt. Where is Fitzwilliam?

He turned and they gazed at each other. The shirt that Elizabeth had so carefully mended yet again, hung loose over Darcy's breeches, torn in several new places and smudged all over with soot. His feet were bare, and smears blackened his forehead. His wild eyes glowed in the weak light, his chest heaving.

Darcy seemed an underworld beast of myth, fresh from a battle. The worry in her chest flamed up into a surge of love that Elizabeth made no attempt to dissemble as she covered her mouth, letting loose a small sob of relief. Darcy rushed to her and clasped her to his chest, his arms giving her a fresh wave of strength.

Gently, Darcy guided her out onto the deck. "The air in here is still foul. Come out into the night for a clean breath."

He pulled her farther from the activity of the crew till they were completely hidden by the darkness of the night.

Darcy turned Elizabeth to face him, their bodies pressed tightly together.

"Elizabeth, you could have been killed! You should have come to my cabin first. You…you saved us all."

His hand reached up, gently caressing her hair back. "I owe you my life, yet again. I am forever in your debt."

"You have no debt to me, sir. Any person of honour would have done the same. This voyage is so important to you. I cannot stand idly by whilst you fail. I am certain the woman of quality to whom you have pledged your heart will be able to see the worth of the gentleman who stands before her once you return to England."

Darcy gave a small cry of surprised wonder and shook his head. "We… I… Let us build a right understanding between us before this bewilderment goes any further. Elizabeth! Can you doubt the reason for my voyage here to America? This trip down the dangerous rivers? Are we doomed to wilfully misunderstand each other forever?"

"To rebuild your finances. To make this investment a success so that you may approach the lady with better prospects," Elizabeth said as her unsteadiness increased. Why was he so hurt and confused? She loved him and must inure her heart to the truth that he would always be at the command of another. A wave of giddiness came over her as she wished to end this unpleasant conversation. "You stated as much on the Jolly Sparrow ."

Her heavy arm reached out and took up the torn fabric of his shirt sleeve, her recent stitches of repair in ruin. "Though I would advise you to purchase a new shirt so that you will appear your best. I fear this is beyond my meagre skills."

She forced a smile onto her lips. It was instantly dimmed by the tears that ran down her cheeks. Tears of depressed acceptance and heartache.

Strong arms enveloped her more snugly as Darcy pressed her firmly to his chest. Her breath left her body as the heat from under his flimsy shirt reached easily through the fine, damp fabric of her night rail.

"Let me dispel any confusion, my one true love. You are the reason I came round the world. Can you doubt it?"

A thunderous roar filled her ears as Elizabeth's heart pounded so loudly that all other sound vanished. He clasped one of her hands in his. She cried out, pain shooting up her arm from her palm. Darcy turned her hand over and exclaimed, "Your hands! Both of them hurt! Burnt and torn. Did you carry buckets of water as well? My dearest…"

The rest was lost, for darkness clouded out his countenance as Elizabeth fainted dead away into the unyielding embrace of Fitzwilliam Darcy.