Chapter 6 HMS Manilla
“Welcome aboard, sir. I understand I am not to use your name publicly.”
“Thank you, Captain Seymour. I suspect that restriction is a bit silly, but I would prefer to remain anonymous as long as I can.”
“That will cause no issue, Mr ah… Mason?”
At that point, the French did not have much of a navy floating, and they left most of what passed for fighting to privateers, of which there were a goodly supply. The British Navy kept an effective blockade against France, at least in the Channel, and that seemed unlikely to change.
All was not well, though. The British Navy was in what the newspapers liked to call the ‘gunboat war’ between Denmark–Norway and the British Navy. It was all a part of the larger Napoleonic wars, of which his cousin was an unfortunate participant—as lately was Darcy.
His head had improved with a bit of sleep, but he was still feverish and not as sharp as usual.
His head felt as if it were now only a blacksmith’s apprentice, rather than the previous day’s blacksmith from Hades.
He looked forward to the time when it did not hurt at all, but that seemed unlikely any time soon.
He had laudanum and willow-bark tea, just in case of need.
The trip was his first real foray without a valet.
He sometimes doubted he was doing the right thing.
On the surface, it seemed a great deal of risk for a meagre reward; but Richard Fitzwilliam was his closest friend and confidant, and he had even saved Darcy’s life one day when they were teens.
Darcy felt he owed him the effort. It was true he was going into a war zone, but it was not as if he would be fighting battles personally as his cousin did, or even coming within a hundred miles of the fight.
At that point, most of the fighting was in Spain and Napoleon was busy looking east for enemies.
Paris should be no more dangerous than usual so long as he did not get on the bad side of the French Army.
One could even argue Paris was safer than Meryton.
At least he had a good chance of escaping the continent unwed.
Darcy was not looking forward to the journey, as he had a long, sad history with seasickness.
He spent every miserable day of every sea voyage alternating between a bucket and the railing.
With the addition of whatever trifling cold he brought with him, this trip might be unbearable, but it had to be done.
“How long should I expect the journey to take, Captain?”
Captain Seymour said, “Excuse me,” and then stepped aside and yelled some instructions up to a few sailors in the rigging, then watched them for a minute to ensure the task was completed correctly.
“It is hard to say. We are at the mercy of the winds and tides. The Channel itself can take from three hours to eighteen, and sometimes we sit in Dover for a week or more waiting for the right winds. For ourselves, we have other duties to perform as we go, so we are also accountable to the war effort—and, of course, we need to find the target ship. I wager a fortnight to hand you over to the French, then another week or two to land. After that, it is anybody’s guess to wherever you are going, which I do not need to know. ”
“I thank you. It helps to know as much as possible about any journey.”
“It is my pleasure, sir. We do not get many passengers, as you might expect. ‘Tis nice to have someone other than these lunkheads for company.”
One of the sailors walking by laughed uproariously and yelled up to the men in the rigging. “Hear that, laddies? It’s lunkheads you are. Lunkheads!”
Darcy laughed along with the men, feeling a bit of camaraderie, even though they were the type and class of men he almost never had dealings with.
At one moment, he felt there was some kind of inherent honesty in the sailors and their lives serving the crown, and the next minute he assumed he was simply romanticising a life he would never know—one that had never been open to him since before he was born the heir.
Sailing down the Thames turned out to be surprisingly free of turbulence.
Darcy took a bit more laudanum for his head and stood leaning on the rail thinking about his wife.
His revelations of the evening before still bothered him, especially the phrase: ‘did all I could to escape it.’ What could that possibly mean, and what did she mean by escape?
Since she appeared at the wedding and spoke her vows willingly, she clearly had not tried all that hard.
Their one chance to speak right after the engagement might have been the only opportunity to discuss it, but her father made him so angry he had stomped off in high dudgeon.
Had he missed his one chance to stop the wagon from running him over?
Several hours of staring at the land, houses, mills, and farms passing by did not bring any more clarity, but it did eventually bring his first of what would no doubt be many forays over the rail to leave behind whatever was left of his breakfast. And so, it begins!
The next several days were neither better nor worse.
His headaches, fever, and seasickness did not recede, nor did they appreciably worsen.
His condition seemed endurable, and he could well imagine his cousin standing behind him, chastising him for weakness, since nobody ever dies from a trifling cold.
A few days later, they crossed into the open ocean, and he needed a distraction, so he asked the captain for writing supplies.
Captain Seymour, feeling sorry for the man, offered his cabin and suggested tea, laudanum, brandy, or food, if it would help. Darcy chose the tea and laudanum and sat down to write.
Not knowing the route the letter would take, he had to be circumspect, but he had to say something to the future mother of his children. Doing otherwise would be pure madness.
1 January 1812
HMS Manilla, near Dover
Mrs Elizabeth Darcy,
Pemberley, Derbyshire
Madam,
I feel a need to apologise for the harsh words we exchanged in our last discussion.
The routing for this letter is uncertain, so I cannot be explicit, but please accept that I have listened to your words and given them my utmost consideration.
From this distance, I cannot say what is true and what is not, but I can say the evidence suggests I am wildly in error, and I owe you more than one apology, along with the appropriate restitution.
I believe your point that I may not have acted like a gentleman may well be correct, but I will show you that I can do better.
I have lately come to believe we were both reluctant participants in that joint endeavour we performed on the 23rd of December; but reluctant or not, we both spoke the words. My word is my bond, and I will not go back on it. We need to find a way to live by the words we spoke.
I hope that you are comfortable in your new home, and that with some time and reflection we may find a way past our present difficulties. Once again, I cannot be explicit, but I have reason to believe things may turn out better than either of us expected during our last meeting.
I shall endeavour to put this letter in your hands within the month, and look forward to seeing you again when my duties are complete.
I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Darcy thought the words should be enough to give his wife some peace, and hopefully lay the groundwork for reconciliation.
To help things along, he wrote a similarly circumspect note to his steward, Knight, and another to his Uncle Matlock asking him to call on Mrs Darcy and see if he could smooth things over just a bit.
He briefly considered doing the same with Bingley but abandoned the idea when he thought about the elder sister.
Darcy thought that since the die was cast, they must make the best of it. He disliked the idea of wooing by proxy, but it was his only choice short of abandoning his cousin to his fate. He had given that idea due consideration, but in the end, he just could not do it.
Darcy tried his best to work out exactly what was driving him, since his actions in going alone and in person to do the negotiations were thoroughly out of character.
In the end, he decided it was a combination of honour, family obligation, affection, and the one thing his wife rightly accused him of more than once.
His pride would not allow him to step aside and do nothing, and neither he nor his uncle could think of a better way to tackle the problem.
He supposed he also might have a less than noble motivation. This might be his only chance to have something like an adventure; to do something outside the fate he had been born to.
With the letters complete, Darcy asked Captain Seymour to post them.
The captain offered to deliver them personally to the next mail packet they met or post them the next time he was in a British port, one of which should happen within the month.
Darcy really believed the letter, as short as it was, might have some effect on softening his wife’s anger at least a little, and it was the best he could do to give them as good a chance at reconciling as he was likely to get.
It was a good plan, and it probably would have worked, had the letters not gone down with Captain Seymour when the Manilla was wrecked off the coast of Texel on the 28th of January, just over a fortnight after they handed off a rather peaked-looking Darcy to a French ship for the last few days of his journey.