Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure

by Lindsay Beaudine

  “You hear that, Mr Bennet? Some miles away still. Oh, my poor nerves.”

  Mr Bennet feigned sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Blissfully ignorant of Mrs Bennet’s presence in the same county, Fitzwilliam and Lizzy Darcy went for a walk after supper. The moon was full and bright and provided the most perfect and romantic illumination for them. They walked to tiny villages of only a few households, each village with its own church and spire. They marvelled at the tin mines scattered about the country, their topless chimneys silhouetted against the sky, pointing straight upwards as if reaching out to the heavens.

  “They look so peaceful at night, don’t they, Fitzwilliam?”

  “They do, Lizzy. But during the day they must be busy, bustling places, filled with throngs of miners hurrying to and fro, rushing in and out, bringing forth the precious produce, the chimneys breathing fire.”

  They made their way back to the inn. They enjoyed a small nightcap and retired to their chamber.

  They had no idea that, some miles to the east of St Austell, a coach pulled up outside a tavern on the moor.

  “Have we arrived, driver?” said Mrs Bennet, putting her head out of the window.

  “This is it,” said the driver, “Jamaica Inn.”

  “Mr Bennet, go and enquire if they have any vacant rooms.”

  Mr Bennet climbed wearily from the coach and knocked on the front door. There was no sound from within and he knocked again.

  “Louder, Mr Bennet, louder,” said his wife joining him at the door.

  She rapped on the door with the handle of her parasol.

  “Is there anybody there?” she called. “We’d like a room for the night. And some supper.”

  At last they saw a faint glow approach the door. The door was opened by Mrs Wiggins holding a candle, flanked by her husband.

  “My sincere apologies for the late hour,” said Mr Bennet. “But could you spare a room for the night? We’ll take anything, just a couple of small box rooms if that’s all you have, or we could sleep downstairs on the chaise if there’s nothing available.”

  “And some supper,” said Mrs Bennet.

  “Please come in,” said Mrs Wiggins.

  “Thank you,” said Mr Bennet. “We really are very sorry to arrive at such an hour.”

  “It’s no trouble, sir” said Mr Wiggins cheerfully. “This is an inn after all. Coaches arrive at all kinds of strange hours.”

  “Thank you. So, can you accommodate us?”

  “Of course, sir,” said Mrs Wiggins. “We have a few rooms available. Is it just you and your good lady?”

  “My wife, you mean? No there are our two daughters as well. They’re asleep in the coach.”

  “So, you will require two rooms? That shouldn’t be any trouble. And a little supper too? Come in. Herbert, go and prepare two rooms.”

  Mr Wiggins went upstairs to prepare the rooms.

  “I’ll go in, Mr Bennet. You go and wake Kitty and Mary.”

  Mrs Wiggins led Mrs Bennet inside.

  “Now about this supper,” said Mrs Bennet. “I’m very fond of roasted meats. Beef if you have any, roasted fowl if you haven’t.”

  “I’ll only be able to provide a cold supper on account of the late hour. There isn’t much I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, no matter,” said Mrs Bennet. “any few scraps will do. Some cold meats perhaps, a little bread and butter, some cheese and pickles, some left over pie if you have it. If it’s not too much trouble of course.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Mr Bennet came in with Kitty and Mary. They were still weary and wanted to go straight to bed. Mrs Bennet told them they couldn’t, as supper was about to be prepared.

  “My name is Bennet, and this is my wife,” said Mr Bennet.

  Mrs Bennet made a little curtsy.

  “We have travelled from Hertfordshire. These are our daughters. Catherine and Mary.”

  “They are our remaining unmarried daughters,” said Mrs Bennet correcting him with emphasis on the word ‘unmarried’.

  “Well you are all welcome,” said Mrs Wiggins graciously. “I am Mrs Wiggins and that was Mr Wiggins who went upstairs to prepare your rooms. We are landlord and landlady of Jamaica Inn.”

  “Well, we are very pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Mr Bennet with a little bow.

  “Now can I get you something to drink?” said Mrs Wiggins. “You must be in need of refreshment after your long journey. We have wine, both red and white, ale, hard cider and various liqueurs and cordials.”

  “I’ll take hard cider,” said Mrs Bennet.

  “A little wine, perhaps,” said Mr Bennet. “And some cordial for our daughters.”

  Mr Wiggins returned from preparing the rooms. He fetched the drinks while his wife prepared supper. Mr Bennet, Kitty and Mary ate a few morsels and Mrs Bennet ate the rest.

  “Your rooms are ready if you wish to retire,” said Mrs Wiggins.

  “Thank you,” said Mr Bennet.

  “We will be down early for breakfast tomorrow,” said Mrs Bennet.

  “As you wish. Come down as early as you like I the morning and I will have it ready for you in no time.”

  “We are on something of a quest, you see,” said Mrs Bennet in a dramatic whisper even though nobody else was around.

  “Perhaps we can tell Mrs Wiggins all about it at breakfast tomorrow, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, taking his wife by the arm and leading her gently to the staircase.

  “Yes, perhaps we can,” said Mrs Bennet reluctantly.

  Mr Wiggins showed them to their rooms.

  “I don’t know how I shall sleep, Mr Bennet,” said Mrs Bennet, as she climbed into the large, soft bed.

  Mr Bennet turned to respond and saw that she had fallen asleep at once and was snoring gently.

  Lizzy and Darcy awoke early the next morning. They breakfasted quickly and asked the landlady if she would kindly prepare a pic-nic for them as they intended to go to the beach for the day. They packed a little bag and took the basket of food from the landlady and enjoyed a short walk to the beach. They found a little cove with a little row of bathing machines. Darcy allowed Lizzy to swim first. She entered the bathing machine and changed into her bathing dress. She told Darcy she was ready and he pushed the machine to the edge of the water. She opened the front door of the machine and climbed down the step-ladder into the bracing sea. She swam, along with one or two other brave ladies, and enjoyed herself immensely. Some of the ladies could not swim and had attached themselves to a bathing machine with a length of rope around their waists. Lizzy was an excellent swimmer though and swam for some time until she climbed back into the bathing machine and dried herself before changing back into her clothes. Darcy pulled the machine back onto the beach and she climbed out of the back door.

  They walked a little way down the beach and found a pleasant little spot where they could put their pic-nic basket. Darcy, as was his wont, removed his boots and stockings, took off his cravat and plunged into the water. When he climbed out his shirt was dripping wet and clinging to his muscular chest and back. He joined Lizzy on the beach a dried himself out in the morning sun.

  For the rest of the morning they spent their time swimming in the sea and taking pleasure in each other’s company on the beach. Around noon they opened the basket and took out the pic-nic. There was cold fowl, bread, some cheese and a few other little delicacies. Wine had been decanted into two stone bottles and they ate and drank with much enjoyment.

  Afterwards they walked back to the coaching inn. Hot baths were quickly drawn and they bathed and dressed, ready for the next part of their journey which would take them to Truro. They got there late in the afternoon. Fortunately, the market was still open and they bought a few trifles. They went into the cathedral and marvelled at the high vaulted ceiling, the stonework and the magnificent stained-glass windows.

  Hungry by now they found an excellent tavern in which they could stay the night. They had an excellent dinner and
agreed it had been a most enjoyable day. They were both filled with anticipation for the next day however. For they planned to visit Land’s End, a place which they had been told was wild and full of mystery. They retired to bed tired but elated.

  Mrs Bennet awoke that morning anything but elated. She had planned to wake early but when she finally aroused herself all the other guests at Jamaica Inn had finished their breakfast and were going about their business and the morning sun was streaming through the window of her bed chamber.

  “Mr Bennet, what time is it?” she said as she sat up in bed.

  “I really don’t know my dear,” he said, “but judging from the sun it is well past nine.”

  “Well past nine? Why on earth didn’t you wake me?”

  “I did, my dear but you insisted on another five minutes. That was an hour ago. Besides we’ve had a very arduous journey from Hertfordshire. And you did insist on not stopping at an inn and driving the horses as late as possible.”

  “Well go and consult your pocket watch, Mr Bennet.”

  He rummaged around on the table and found his silver repeater.

  “It’s ten thirty,” he said.

  “Ten thirty? But I haven’t even had breakfast. Oh, my poor nerves. I’ll get dressed, Mr Bennet and you go and wake Kitty and Mary.”

  “Should we miss breakfast and depart immediately?”

  She gave him a withering look.

  “Perhaps not,” he said.

  They all dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. Mrs Bennet sought out Mrs Wiggins and asked how quickly breakfast could be prepared. Twenty minutes, said Mrs Wiggins. Mrs Bennet groaned.

  While they waited for breakfast they packed their things and settled the account with Mrs Wiggins. After twenty minutes they sat in the dining room for breakfast. Mrs Bennet told her husband to eat only a little to hasten the meal. She herself ate an enormous breakfast.

  “You were about to tell me last night, Mrs Bennet,” said Mrs Wiggins, “about some quest or another.”

  “Ah, well, perhaps I exaggerated a little. It’s like this, my second eldest daughter and her husband have come to Cornwall on a sort of holiday. And we decided, well I decided, that it would be pleasant for them if we came and visited them and spend a little time with them in Cornwall.”

  “I see.”

  “But of course, we don’t know where they are staying.”

  “A young man and woman, you say?” said Mr Wiggins.

  “Why?” said Mrs Bennet. “have you seen them? Did they pass here? Did they stay?”

  Mr Wiggins was about to reply when he saw his wife signalling him to speak no more.

  “Why, no,” said Mr Wiggins. “I was merely enquiring in case we see them over the next few days. We will be sure to look out for a young man and a young woman and tell them that you are seeking them out.”

  “Thank you,” said Mrs Bennet. “Come along, Mr Bennet, come along, girls. It is time we were leaving.”

  As the Bennet family left Jamaica Inn to await the coach, Mrs Wiggins turned to her husband.

  “You nearly gave that nice young couple away, Herbert. I think it was Mr and Mrs Darcy they were looking for and I have a feeling that Mr and Mrs Darcy would prefer to spend their holiday alone and not share it with other people, especially people like Mrs Bennet.”

  The coach pulled up in the courtyard. The Bennet family climbed in and the driver was told to continue in the same direction as before. They didn’t know where they were going, only that they were headed westward and deeper into Cornwall.

  Darcy and Lizzy meanwhile had gone as deep into the county as possible. They had passed through many little villages with romantic names like Mousehole and Porthcurno. At last they passed through the small village of Sennen, the most westward village in England. They went a little further and it was as if they had come to the end of the world. Before them and below them and all around them was nothing but the glittering blue of the mighty Atlantic Ocean. They had reached Land’s End. They looked out and saw in the distance, Longships, a little archipelago of jagged rocks. They walked around the cliffs for some time, marvelling that this was the furthest point of England. They found a huge bench of granite and sat for a while. Humbled by their surroundings, they talked in hushed tones. After a magical few hours they returned to the village and ate a simple lunch. The coach then took them northwards.

  They stopped in little towns and villages on the way. Sometimes they stayed for the night, sometimes they drove through. They had made not a single advance booking but every time they stopped for a night they found a warm and friendly welcome at some inn or another.

  They stayed a night at St Ives and managed to find a warm and comfortable looking inn called The Ship. Before an early dinner they chatted to the landlord and landlady over a tankard of ale and a goblet of wine.

  “You are lucky to find a vacancy, sir,” said the landlord. “It’s usually busy at this time of year on account of the pilchards.”

  “The pilchards?” said Lizzy.

  “Yes, they come into shallow waters at this time of year, great shoals of them. We drive them ashore in boats and then net them. They feed us over winter you see. If the pilchards didn’t come a lot of people would go hungry. What we can’t eat we send to Truro to sell. And St Ives is a prime location for pilchards along with a few little villages in the region. It’s been a fishing village for centuries.”

  “You have quite a history here, then?” said Darcy.

  “We do indeed, sir.”

  “And quite an affinity with the sea I imagine.”

  “We do indeed, sir. There’s a story that two Spanish ships broke away from the Armada and were captured here in St Ives bay by none other than Sir Walter Raleigh himself. That was back in the days of good Queen Bess more than two hundred years ago.”

  “How thrilling,” said Lizzy.

  “Now what would you like for supper?” said the landlady.

  Darcy and Lizzy looked at the makeshift menu, written in chalk on a piece of old slate.

  “What is star gazy pie?” said Darcy.

  “In essence, sir,” said the landlord, “it’s a fish pie. Made with pilchards. It’s a traditional Cornish dish.”

  “And why do you call it star gazy pie?” said Lizzy.

  The landlord smiled.

  “On account of the fish heads which poke through the pastry crust. It looks as though they’re gazing at the stars, you see.”

  “Yes, I see,” said Lizzy. She wrinkled her nose, “I think I’ll have roast fowl. What will you have, Fitzwilliam?”

  “I’ll have the star gazy pie,” he said with a grin at his wife.

  “Sorry, sir,” said the landlady, “star gazy pie is off. Until after the pilchard are netted. Shame you didn’t arrive a few days later.”

  “Yes, what a pity. In that case I’ll have the fowl too. And another tankard of ale, if you please. Would you like more wine or some cordial, Lizzy?”

  “Actually, my love,” she said, “I’ll have ale too. In keeping with our adventurous holiday, you see.”

  “Very well then. Two roasted fowl please, landlord, and two tankards of ale.”

  “Right away, sir,” said the landlady with a little wink and a smile at Lizzy.

  She brought two tankards of ale and then went to the kitchen to prepare the roast fowl.

  “Pilchards in a pie with the heads poking through the crust?” said Lizzy with an arch look at Darcy. “That doesn’t sound like the thing you would normally eat, Fitzwilliam.”

  “It doesn’t, does it?” he said with a smile. “However, when in Rome…”

  “But we’ve been to Rome and you said the food smelled of garlic. Rather too much garlic in your opinion. And you said all the waiters were rude and that the wine had been watered down and was overpriced.”

  “Did I?” he said. “Well, perhaps I was a little proud then.”

  “You don’t seem proud in Cornwall, my love.”

  “Perhaps there’s som
ething about this holiday that’s made me a little more adventurous too.”

  “Yes,” said Lizzy, “perhaps there is.”

  “And what of you, Lizzy,” said Darcy, nodding to the tankard of ale in front of her, “you’ve never drunk ale before.”

  “That’s true. But we’re anonymous all the way down here. We don’t know anybody and nobody knows us, so we can do as we please. And if that includes me drinking ale and you eating fish with the heads poking through the crust then so be it.”