CHAPTER 10
Elizabeth woke suddenly to the violent assault of wind against the cottage walls. The shutters rattled in their frames, the windows trembled beneath the force of the gale; the steady roar of the sea had become something far greater than the distant music of waves upon the shore.
For several moments she remained beneath the warmth of the heavy quilt, uncertain whether she was still dreaming.
The peaceful little cottage she had entered the evening before seemed transformed.
The welcoming glow of the hearth and the promise of an early departure had all been replaced by darkness, rain, and a tempest that appeared determined to tear the island from its foundations.
A sudden crash sounded somewhere outside, and Elizabeth sat upright. Surely no ordinary storm could produce such violence, she thought. Across the communication door, Darcy was already awake. He had just finished fastening his coat when a sudden knock sounded.
The knock had not sounded at his door, but at hers, and he froze for a moment.
Before he could open his door, Darcy heard movement from the adjoining chamber.
Elizabeth, clearly startled from sleep, had awakened at the unexpected sound.
The circumstances of their arrangement made every ordinary occurrence feel strangely significant, and the knowledge that someone stood outside her door sent an immediate awareness through him.
Still half-dazed from sleep, she hurried toward the communicating door, pulling her shawl around her shoulders as she went. She hesitated only briefly before knocking softly against the wood.
"Mr. Darcy?" The storm nearly swallowed her voice. And, she tried again, leaning closer, "Mr. Darcy, someone is knocking!" The urgency in her whisper made him almost smile despite the circumstances.
He opened the connecting door just enough to see her standing there, her hair lovely and disordered from sleep and her expression caught between concern and confusion.
For one moment, Darcy forgot entirely about the storm, as he took in the beautiful woman before him. Then another heavy knock sounded from the passage, and they both turned.
“Miss Bennet, he looked over her nightgown, would you mind returning to bed? I will see our caller.”
Elizabeth appeared bright red, as she looked down at her gown. She nodded, immediately remembering the role they were required to play, "Yes, of course Mr. Darcy."
As she returned to bed, drawing the warm blankets around her against the chill of the morning, Darcy deliberately fixed his attention upon the closed door leading to the passage. He would not permit himself the indulgence of looking back.
The sight of her, softened by sleep, unguarded in the quiet intimacy of the chamber, was one he had no right to seek.
Whatever the circumstances, whatever the strange arrangement that had brought them under the same roof, Elizabeth Bennet remained a lady whose reputation and comfort he was determined to protect above all else.
He had already placed her in an impossible situation, and he would not add to it by allowing his own feelings to overtake his judgment.
Waiting only until he was certain she had settled herself, Darcy opened the chamber door and stepped into the passage. Standing there was Mr. Kewley.
The steward's coat was damp at the shoulders, and droplets of rain clung to his grey hair despite the fact that he had clearly made every effort to remain sheltered. His expression, however, was calm and practical rather than alarmed.
"Forgive the early hour," he said, removing his hat. "But I thought it best you know before you made any plans for the morning."
Darcy immediately understood, "The Packet?"
Mr. Kewley shook his head, "Won't be sailing, sir. The harbor master has ordered every vessel secured. The waves have already begun breaking over the lower docks, and no captain with sense would attempt the crossing today."
Darcy looked toward the windows, where the storm continued to rage, "How long before travel resumes?"
Mr. Kewley hesitated, "That depends entirely upon the sea, Mr, Darcy.
" He paused, his eyes turning briefly toward the unseen harbor. "I’d reckon if the weather eases by tomorrow, the damages might’n be a little more than inconvenience.
But if this wind continues..." He allowed the sentence to trail away before meeting Darcy's gaze once more.
"Well, the sea decides these matters, sir, not the harbor master. "
Darcy had travelled often enough to know that storms delayed ships with unfortunate regularity. A packet postponed until the following day was inconvenient, but hardly remarkable. However, this did not sound like such a storm to Darcy.
"Has much damage been done?" he asked.
Mr. Kewley hesitated, "Not yet."
The answer, strangely, inspired less confidence than if he had admitted the contrary. "Not yet?" Darcy repeated, unclear.
"No, sir. The worst winds haven't reached us. I've lived upon this coast these sixty-three years. My father before me, and his father before him. You learn to read the sea much as a farmer reads the sky."
"And what does it tell you, Mr. Kewley?”
"Tells me she's gathering herself, and she is ready for a battle afore she’s done." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I've only seen a storm like this once before. The harbor wasn't fit for ships for nearly three weeks."
Darcy absorbed the information without any visible alarm, though inwardly his thoughts had already travelled far beyond the steward's words.
If Mr. Kewley's fears proved well-founded; they might remain on the island for three weeks or more.
Three weeks during which every inhabitant would know Elizabeth only as Mrs. Darcy; three weeks before she could be restored to her family; three weeks of sharing the same roof, the same table, and the ordinary habits of domestic life, while carefully maintaining a deception that had seemed, only yesterday, a temporary expedient.
The prospect ought to have inspired nothing but anxiety for her reputation, and indeed that concern remained foremost in his mind.
Yet he could not deny that another feeling had insinuated itself amongst his reflections.
There had been a time, not many months past, when he would have regarded three weeks in Elizabeth's company as a blessing beyond his boldest hopes.
That such intimacy should now be granted only through falsehood, and at the risk of compromising the very woman I most esteem; it struck him as a singular cruelty of fate.
The thought was scarcely formed before he reproached himself for entertaining it.
She had accepted this arrangement from necessity alone, and whatever private gratification he might derive from her presence was both unwelcome and undeserved.
His duty admitted of no ambiguity. He had placed her in an impossible situation; he must now devote every exertion to ensuring that, when at last they returned to England, she did so with her character as unsullied as when she had first set foot upon the island.
So wholly had these reflections occupied him that he scarcely noticed the silence that had settled between them.
Mr. Kewley, mistaking the cause of his reflection, smiled encouragingly, "Now, sir, don't look so troubled. The cottage has stood here longer than I have, and longer than my father besides. She's weathered worse than this."
Darcy's gaze drifted almost unconsciously toward the closed chamber door behind which Elizabeth remained.
Mr. Kewley's weathered features softened with immediate understanding. "Oh, aye." He lowered his voice instinctively. "A husband naturally thinks first of his wife."
"I should not wish the circumstances to distress her."
"She is like to be, at first, but Mrs. Darcy strikes me as a sensible lady." The steward spoke with quiet certainty.
Darcy could not suppress the faint smile that touched his lips. "On that point, we are entirely agreed."
At that very moment, the chamber door opened softly behind them, and Elizabeth stepped into the passage, her shawl gathered closely about her shoulders against the morning chill.
Though she had dressed with her customary care, there remained something unmistakably vulnerable in the traces of interrupted sleep upon her countenance.
Her eyes moved first to Darcy, then to Mr. Kewley. She needed only a single glance to know the news was not favorable. "The Packet?" she asked with uncertainty.
Darcy met her gaze, "It has been cancelled, I’m afraid."
She received the disappointment with admirable composure. "I had feared as much." She turned towards Mr. Kewley. "Do you think it might sail tomorrow, if the weather should improve?"
The old steward shifted uneasily, as though he wished he possessed a more encouraging answer. Finally, Mr. Kewley offered an apologetic bow, "I'm sorry to say, Mrs. Darcy, I don't believe anyone will be leaving the island for quite some time."
Elizabeth turned her head slightly toward the nearest window. Beyond the rain-blurred panes, the sea was invisible beneath a curtain of mist and spray, but its voice filled every corner of the cottage. It no longer sounded merely restless. She finally asked, holding her breath, "Quite some time?"
Mr. Kewley gave a slow nod. "Yes, ma’am, I tried to walk down to the harbor before first light.
The sea had already broken across the lower quay, and the waves were striking the western pier hard enough to carry stones clean over the wall.
If this wind keeps its strength, and I believe it will, we may lose part of the harbor before the day's out. "
"The harbor?" Elizabeth repeated, scarcely able to comprehend such destruction.
"It has weathered many storms," the steward replied, "but this is no common gale.
" Mr. Kewley's weathered features grew thoughtful.
"When I was no more than a lad, a mighty gale came.
My father kept us from the windows, fearing the glass would give way.
The fishing fleet lost half a dozen boats, and the Packet service did not resume for nearly a month. "
Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment, gasping at the incredibility of it all, "A month?"
"Aye, though I pray it does not prove so long this time, ma'am." Kewley looked sorry to deliver the news, assuming the Darcy’s had many fixed engagements.
"So do I," Darcy said quietly.
A tremendous crash echoed from somewhere beyond the cottage, followed by the unmistakable splintering of timber. Suddenly, Mrs. Kewley appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands upon her apron as though nothing extraordinary had occurred.
"That'll be old Jenkins's fence," she said matter-of-factly. "Thomas told him yesterday it would never survive another storm."
Mr. Kewley listened for a moment before nodding, "Aye. Fence, or perhaps one of the sheds."
Elizabeth looked from one to the other in disbelief.
Having not had much experience with the sea, let alone a strong sea gale, she was feeling quite alarmed,"You both seem remarkably calm.
I gather it must have not been kept?" She hoped it was in such poor condition that even a small amount of water might push it over.
Mrs. Kewley smiled kindly, "We've learned not to waste our strength fretting over what the wind has already decided."
This did not do much to settle Elizabeth’s nerves.
"The island teaches patience, as the seas a poor thing to argue with," Mr. Kewley added.
Elizabeth carefully to the nearest window.
Beyond the rain-blurred panes, the world had vanished into a confusion of grey.
The sea itself could scarcely be distinguished from the sky, for both had merged into one vast, shifting curtain of mist and driving rain.
Every few moments, a great wave hurled itself against the unseen cliffs with such force that the sound reverberated through the cottage floor beneath their feet. The sea sounded alive.
And then, another gust struck the cottage, causing the casement to rattle violently in its frame. Without conscious thought, Elizabeth stepped back startled, and Darcy took a single step nearer to her.
"I am certain it is impossible to argue with the sea; though I confess I had imagined our stay would be measured in hours rather than weeks." Elizabeth replied, forcing a small smile.
Mrs. Kewley, wishing to dispel the growing solemnity, clasped her hands together.
"Well then, if the sea has decided to keep you with us, we must see that you are comfortable.
There's porridge on the stove, fresh bread in the oven, and enough work in this cottage to occupy idle hands until the weather remembers its manners. "
Mr. Kewley laughed, "There now! Margaret has settled the matter."
She looked from Elizabeth to Darcy with a cheerful smile entirely innocent of the unease it inspired, "You'll simply have to make yourselves at home."
Elizabeth glanced briefly at Darcy, and he returned the look with the slightest inclination of his head.
Neither protested, as pair began to proceed that, for an uncertain number of days, or perhaps weeks, this modest seaside cottage would be their home, the Kewleys their household, and the names of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, the identities by which every soul upon the Isle of Man would come know them.