Chapter 27
Early the following day, the Roman countryside whisked past their carriage windows as they rushed back toward Civitavecchia, their driver pushing the horses harder than was comfortable to ensure they reached the Mary Catherine well before her scheduled departure.
The morning air was crisp and clear after yesterday’s rain.
Elizabeth wore the coral cameo at her throat like a badge of their evening together.
“Driver, halt!” Bennet called suddenly, his voice carrying unusual urgency. “There! That workshop with the marble statues. We must stop.”
Darcy’s stomach clenched with anxiety about the timing, but the older gentleman was already climbing from the carriage with obvious purpose. Outside a modest stone building, dozens of marble busts and statues stood in various stages of completion, their white surfaces gleaming.
“Papa, we cannot delay,” Elizabeth protested, though she followed her father toward the shop with evident curiosity. “The ship will not wait.”
“Just a moment, my dear.” Bennet’s attention was fixed on a particular marble bust. “Look at this.”
Darcy approached the statue that had captured Bennet’s attention and gaped.
The bust depicted a young woman with classical features and a gentle humor that was remarkably familiar.
Though the carving was idealized in the Roman tradition, the resemblance to Mrs. Bennet as she must have appeared in her youth was unmistakable.
“It is your mother as she was when I first met her.” Bennet’s voice was thick with emotion. “The same tilt of her head when she was thinking. The same smile. I must have it, whatever the cost.”
The workshop’s proprietor, a man with marble dust coating his leather apron, emerged to greet his customers. His English was limited, but his understanding of commerce was universal as he noted Bennet’s attachment to the piece.
“Quanto costa?” Bennet asked, pointing toward the bust.
Negotiation between the two men quickly escalated beyond reasonable prices, and Darcy wandered among the other sculptures.
It was then that he saw her…it. He gasped.
The marble face before him was Elizabeth’s in every detail that mattered.
Not a perfect likeness, but her essence had been completely captured.
The arched brow, the determined chin, the way the carved lips seemed perpetually on the verge of laughter or sharp observation.
Elizabeth herself could have posed for it.
“Signore,” he called to the proprietor. “This one. Is it for sale?”
“Ah, si! Very beautiful, very fine work. For the English gentleman, very special price.”
Darcy’s participation in the negotiations that followed was half-hearted, distracted as he was by the marble Elizabeth gazing serenely at him. This permanent likeness of her beauty was worth any price the man demanded.
“Papa,” he heard Elizabeth call. “We really must hurry if we are to make the ship.”
“Of course,” Bennet replied absently, his attention remained fixed on completing his own purchase. “Just another moment.”
The proprietor and his assistant quickly packed the busts into unwieldy, heavy padded crates. Each required two men to load onto the carriage. Neither Darcy nor Bennet noted either the inconvenience or the delay.
Elizabeth had been with her father and had not seen Darcy’s transaction. He could not bring himself to explain his purchase. How could he tell her that he had bought a marble representation of her because he could not allow the piece to be displayed anywhere other than at Pemberley?
He knew exactly where it would forever reside―in his personal study next to his desk.
They reached the Mary Catherine with an hour to spare before its scheduled departure.
The crates were immediately loaded into the cargo hold, where they would travel alongside Mr. Gardiner’s remaining trade goods and the precious gunpowder destined for British forces in Sicily.
Darcy oversaw the process, as did Bennet, making sure the crew’s haste did not result in damage to either bust.
“Welcome back,” Prudence called cheerfully as they came aboard. “How was your Roman adventure? I am eager to hear everything.”
Darcy noted that Elizabeth glanced at him before responding.
“Without a doubt, they were the best days of my life,” she said simply, and quiet satisfaction settled over him.
“Wonderful!” Prudence clapped in delight.
“The crew has been busy as well. Tommy placed your clean laundry in your quarters, the cook filled the ship’s pantry with fresh provisions, the water barrels were replenished, and I was able to spend considerable time with your cousin helping him interview the port master about conditions ahead. ”
“Your Italian proved adequate for translation?” Darcy asked.
“We muddled through,” she replied with a laugh. “You will need to speak with your cousin to determine if what he learned will aid you in your quest.”
As the Mary Catherine departed Civitavecchia, Darcy stood on the deck beside Elizabeth, the Italian coast slipping away. “Will you miss it?” she asked, following his gaze toward the receding shoreline.
“I will always cherish the hours we spent there together, but I find myself eager for whatever awaits us in Athens. The clue we found here increased my determination to find what Professor Drye suspects might exist.”
She smiled, her fingers moving unconsciously to touch the cameo. Every time she wore his gift, he would remember the moment he first realized that his love was eternal, as permanent as the carved stone.
The journey south along the Italian coast proved more spectacular than any of them had anticipated.
As they sailed past Naples, Darcy and the Bennets took turns with Captain Morrison’s spyglass, exclaiming over the dramatic silhouette of Mount Vesuvius rising behind the bustling coastline.
In Gibraltar, Colonel Fitzwilliam had traded for a spyglass of his own, which he shared with Prudence to view the impressive precipice.
“Is it an active volcano?” Elizabeth asked with fascinated concern.
“Yes, it is,” the captain confirmed. “It last erupted about thirty years ago, though it smolders constantly. The volcanic ash makes the soil around Naples very fertile.”
As they continued south, the island of Capri appeared like a jewel set in azure waters, its dramatic cliffs and hidden grottos creating an almost mythically beautiful landscape.
But it was the Amalfi Coast that took their breath away.
The distant view was a succession of terraced hillsides covered in lemon groves and olive trees, punctuated by small villages that seemed to tumble toward the sea, like scattered pearls.
Prudence breathed deeply of the salt air. “When the wind is just right, you can smell the lemon groves. There is nothing like it in the world.” She was proven correct when the breeze shifted, carrying the most extraordinary fragrance across the water. Bright and clean.
“It smells like sunshine,” Elizabeth said, inhaling deeply.
Her father agreed. “I want to commit the scent to memory alongside all the other sensory treasures of our journey.”
Elizabeth drew lemons along the border of her journal, never wanting to forget the exquisite beauty of the day.
The Mary Catherine reached Messina the following day in the late afternoon.
The Sicilian port bustled with British military activity, underscoring its strategic importance in controlling shipping lanes.
They were directed to a military wharf where gunpowder and ammunition could be unloaded in a secure environment.
“Three hours,” Captain Morrison announced. “Long enough to discharge our cargo and take on fresh water, but no longer. The harbor master warns of increased French naval activity.”
Prudence immediately set about arranging the sale of Elizabeth’s remaining trade goods and Mr. Bennet’s books to the British garrison. Wives of the officers stationed there proved to be as eager for luxury items as their counterparts in Gibraltar.
“The isolation here is more complete than Gibraltar,” one lady explained as she eagerly examined the woven cotton, wool fabric lengths, sewing kits, and odds and ends that Elizabeth was selling. “French patrols make supply ships irregular at best. These beautiful things are like glimpses of home.”
Within an hour, Elizabeth and her father found their purses considerably heavier.
As there was still time, Darcy and her father took advantage of the brief stop to stretch their legs on solid ground, walking the length of the military wharf and observing the impressive fortifications that protected this vital British outpost.
“Mrs. Bell, Miss Elizabeth,” Tommy raced by them, waving for them to follow. “You’ll wanna follow me for sure.”
Entering a shop that smelled of sugar and fruit, Tommy dug into his pocket for a few coins.
“There is nothin’ in the whole world like cannoli and cassata.
I save my pay each time we come to the Sea just hopin’ we tie up here.
” He pointed at an elaborate dessert made with layers of sponge cake, sweetened ricotta, marzipan, candied fruit, and chocolate.
When the woman behind the counter sliced into the creation, Elizabeth caught the rich smell of liqueur.
After placing the thick slice in a box, she included two tube-shaped pastry shells bursting with a creamy filling, garnished with chopped nuts.
Tommy licked his lips. “You ain’t never tasted nothin’ like this, I promise you.” Handing over his money, he carried the box as he rushed back to the ship.