Chapter 19
Elizabeth stood at the stern of the Mary Catherine as final preparations commenced around her, her heart beating with an irregular rhythm that had nothing to do with the gentle motion of the ship.
For the first time, Elizabeth would be sharing close quarters with the Darcy party, and more significantly, with the man who openly confessed his love for her.
A flutter of anticipation rippled through her. She noticed with some amusement that her eagerness paled beside Mr. Darcy’s scarcely contained energy. He stood nearby, ostensibly supervising the loading of their luggage, but his full attention was fixed solidly upon her.
“Miss Bennet!” Lieutenant King called up to her. “I have a gift for you.”
Mr. Darcy stepped forward to stop the blatant lapse in decorum. Personal gifts between unattached males and females were not permitted, no matter how kindly meant. At the last minute, he eased his stance.
Before the officer could approach, Elizabeth stepped closer and wrapped her fingers around Mr. Darcy’s arm, murmuring, “A telling moment at the start of our courtship, sir. I would say that this is a good beginning.”
“I must beg your leniency, my lady. I am new at this. I have never offered courtship before. Nor have I been in love with a female other than my mother, sister, and Richard’s mother.
I assure you, what I feel for you is far beyond familial affection.
You will forever be special to me, Elizabeth, no matter how this courtship progresses. ”
This was a surprising side to Mr. Darcy that she had not anticipated. Having the freedom to speak privately was already revealing new facets of his character.
Lieutenant King held up a portfolio tied with ribbon, and Elizabeth discerned that he bid farewell with more of his drawings. But the gangway had already been removed, and she could not reach them.
Mr. Darcy called to the ship’s boy, who secured lines nearby. Tommy immediately responded by dropping a rope ladder over the side and scrambling to the dock below. Within a moment, he hauled the precious portfolio aboard.
Elizabeth opened it with reverent care and gasped with delight as Mr. Darcy looked over her shoulder.
There were portraits of her in various poses, sketches of her father selling his books and feigning reading when his eyes were closed, the colonel and Prudence, and many showing her and Mr. Darcy together.
Along with drawings of various views of Gibraltar, he included one of himself standing alongside the colonel, Prudence, Mr. Darcy, and the Bennets.
“Oh!” Elizabeth’s fingers traced the air above the paper and called out, “You have outdone yourself, Lieutenant. I will cherish these forever.”
Below on the dock, the officer cupped his hands around his mouth. “Please share everything about your adventure when you return.”
She smiled and waved, and then she turned to Mr. Darcy. “It is good to have friends, is it not?”
“That it is.”
“All hands! Prepare to cast off!” Captain Morrison’s voice boomed across the deck. Elizabeth felt the subtle movement as the ship departed Gibraltar’s protected harbor.
The colonel and Prudence joined them at the stern. Both men systematically scanned the dock, searching among the crowd. Their posture grew increasingly tense as the Mary Catherine began to slip her moorings.
“There,” the colonel said. “At the far end of the dock, near the fish merchant’s stall.”
Elizabeth followed his gaze and her stomach dropped.
George Wickham stood beside stacked barrels, his position affording him a clear view of their departure.
As if sensing their attention, he stepped into full view, a gesture of unmistakable defiance.
His mocking smile was visible even at this distance.
“He wants us to see him.” Elizabeth leaned closer to Mr. Darcy.
“Indeed.” His muscles tensed. “The question is whether he has been able to secure passage on another vessel.”
As Gibraltar’s familiar silhouette began to recede into the haze, Elizabeth deliberately turned her back on Mr. Wickham’s threatening presence.
“Well then, Mr. Darcy,” she said with determined cheerfulness.
“Since we can do nothing about him for the moment, would you be willing to tell me what you are most looking forward to in Rome?”
The change in topic immediately had its desired effect.
Tension lines around his eyes eased, and enthusiasm replaced the worry that had marked his features.
“The next clue, primarily. But I also confess myself eager to walk the same streets where Caesar and Cicero once debated the fate of the empire.”
Elizabeth agreed. “How exciting to think we shall see the actual Forum Romanum, the Palatine Hill, the Colosseum.”
Her father approached their small group, his own excitement evident in his quickened step and bright eyes. “We will be in the very heart of the Holy Roman Empire! I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm.”
“The colonel has shared the purpose of this expedition with me,” Prudence said. “I am hoping I may help to locate the library. What sort of clues do you think they are?”
Elizabeth settled more comfortably against the rail as the conversation turned to their scholarly mission. “I have been wondering the same. Are we seeking actual scrolls from the library or merely references to their location?”
“Most likely the latter,” her father replied.
“Moving the contents of so extensive a library to other cities would have required time―something the librarians would not have had. Thus, I believe that the lost scrolls themselves are somewhere in Egypt. They would have left coded messages elsewhere, hidden references that only other scholars would recognize.”
“Like a treasure map written in academic Latin,” Elizabeth said. “How perfectly suited to your interests, Papa.”
“Yes, my dear. Though I suspect reality will prove to be more challenging than romantic adventure stories would have us believe.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been listening with half his attention while keeping a watchful eye on Mr. Wickham, now joined their discussion. “Perhaps we should consult Mrs. Bell about what Rome has to offer.”
The lady responded cheerfully, “The city is magnificent, though one must be prepared for the chaos of it all. The markets are extraordinary, the food divine, and the ancient ruins? Well, they simply take one’s breath away.”
“Have you observed any particular tensions there?” Richard asked with interest. “Political undercurrents we should be aware of?”
Prudence considered this carefully. “I was last there almost a year ago, so my information will not be current. The French influence is strong in northern Italy, naturally, given the political situation with Napoleon. But in my experience, the Romans themselves are more concerned with commerce than politics. As long as one conducts oneself respectfully and pays fair prices, they have welcomed English visitors readily enough.”
“What about accommodations?” Mr. Darcy asked practically. “Will we be able to find suitable lodgings?”
“Of course. Several excellent inns cater to English travelers. The proprietors are accustomed to scholarly quests. You will find the Romans wonderfully knowledgeable about their own history. They can direct you to sites that never appear in guidebooks.”
Excitement fairly bubbled inside Elizabeth, so eager was she to experience Italy.
She noticed Tommy approaching with his characteristic combination of boldness and bashfulness. His hair was noticeably cleaner than usual, and his clothing, while still rough, appeared to have been recently washed.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, tugging at his forelock. “But I wanted to tell ye. I took a proper bath, B-A-T-H, while we were in port jes’ like you’ve been teachin’ me about bein’ clean an’ such.”
“How wonderful, Tommy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You look very sharp. I hope you found it refreshing.”
Tommy grew puzzled. “Well, miss, that’s jes’ the thing. I did as Mrs. Bell said, used soap an’ scrubbed proper-like, but I don’t see the benefits much. I mean, I’m already gettin’ smelly again from workin’, so what’s the point of all that washin’?”
Elizabeth bit back a smile at his practical assessment. “The point is not to remain clean forever, but to start each day fresh and comfortable. Think of it like…like making your bunk each morning, even though you will unmake it again that night.”
“Hmm,” he mused, working through the logic. “I s’pose that makes some sense, miss. Though I still say it’s a lot of work for somethin’ that don’t last.”
“Many of the best things in life require regular attention,” Elizabeth replied. “Cleanliness, learning to read, kindness to others…all are things we must practice daily, not only once.”
The ship’s boy nodded slowly and then brightened. “Speakin’ of readin’, miss, I been practicin’ them letters yer father showed me. Want to see?” He displayed his improving penmanship on his slate.
A warm sense of satisfaction overcame her. Here she was, sailing toward Rome with a man who wished to court her, surrounded by friends, helping a young boy expand his horizons through education. The morning's worry over Mr. Wickham seemed very far away now.
Whatever challenges awaited them, Elizabeth looked forward to meeting them with these wonderful people by her side.
The salt-stained mirror in the tavern’s washroom reflected a stranger.
Wickham ran his fingers along the stubble that shadowed his jaw, wincing at the sharp stench of his own unwashed skin.
His once-pristine shirt clung to his chest, reeking of sweat, stale wine, and defeat.
The gold buttons on his waistcoat, the last remnants of his former prosperity, caught the dim lamplight like accusations.
He pressed his palms against the cracked porcelain basin, water dripping between his fingers.
Three days since his fortune changed. Three days since Darcy had taken a public stance against him.
Three days since Captain Gilmartin’s innocent smile had lured Wickham into that back room where cards had danced between nimble fingers like trained serpents.
The memories burned: his confident laugh as the first few hands fell his way, the whiskey tasting of victory, and the gradual shift as his purse grew lighter and lighter until nothing remained but lint and shame.
“Darcy.” The name escaped his lips like a curse, fogging the mirror’s surface.
Every misfortune and humiliation that had brought him to this squalid port traced back to that man.
If Darcy had not stopped him from eloping with Georgiana, Wickham would have been set up in style.
If Darcy had not possessed that blasted clue, Wickham would never have been compelled to follow him on this blasted treasure hunt.
If Darcy had not existed at all, Captain Gilmartin would be fleecing some other fool’s gold instead of counting Wickham’s last coins.
The irony of his situation twisted in his gut like spoiled meat. He had come to Gibraltar to hunt down his nemesis, to take one step closer to the treasure. Instead, he had become the prey.
Wickham straightened his shoulders and smoothed his filthy hair.
He knew from the clue and his quick inquiry of the Gibraltar Port Authority that Rome was the Mary Catherine’s next destination, and with it, whatever gold that clue promised.
His adversary might hold the advantage now, but fortunes could change as quickly as cards could turn.
All Wickham needed was passage, a plan, and the patience to wait for his moment.
The reflection in the mirror smiled back at him, and he made himself believe that his vision of attaining both fortune and revenge would succeed.