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“No need.” The gentleman retrieved his floating hat, an act that put Darcy in mind of his own hat, which had flown from his head somewhere during his sprint. He would find it later. The stranger then began sloshing toward a set of stone steps that emerged from the water to the quay, doubtless employed more commonly at low tide to load and unload boats.
The splash had drawn the attention of several dockworkers who, seeing that nobody was injured, offered a few comments Darcy could not distinguish, and a few chortles he could, before they headed back to the duty of unloading cargo from a small cutter, the only ship presently anchored in the harbor. Meanwhile, the man to whom the wet gentleman had been speaking before the accident was making his way toward Darcy with as much haste as a person with a bad leg could manage. It was Captain Harville; distance had prevented Darcy from identifying him earlier.
Darcy carried Ben round the walkway and met Captain Harville near Gra
“Mr. Darcy, how can I ever express my gratitude? I had no idea—Ben must have followed me out here when I left the house with Wentworth—” The bewildered child lunged toward his father’s arms. The captain took him from Darcy. “Ben, do you not know better?” Though his words expressed admonishment, they were gently delivered. He glanced back to Darcy. “I saw you ru
“Think nothing of it,” Darcy assured him.
“I ca
The swimmer—Wentworth, he presumed—having reached the steps, Darcy extended his hand to help him up the slippery stones. Wentworth accepted, and soon stood dripping on the quay. Rivulets of water ran into his eyes from his hair, his soaked, tight-fitting coat looked a straitjacket, and he would be very fortunate if his boots were not ruined.
Darcy was a little embarrassed that he himself had emerged from the incident dry save for the effects of Wentworth’s splash. “If you must thank somebody,” he said to Captain Harville, “thank your friend. It is he who met with greater inconvenience.”
Wentworth laughed and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “This old sailor is quite used to getting wet, I assure you.” He now extended his hand to Darcy. “Captain Frederick Wentworth.”
Darcy would hardly describe Captain Wentworth as old. The man before him could not possess many more years than thirty, and, despite Sir Walter’s oration on the detrimental effects of life at sea, looked the model of health and vigor. Even dripping water from his coat sleeves, he bore himself with dignity Sir Walter could not touch. Darcy could easily imagine this man leading a full ship’s complement to victory.
He heartily shook the captain’s hand. “Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Darcy?” Captain Wentworth turned to Captain Harville. “Is this the gentleman of whom you were telling me?”
“The same.”
“Mr. Darcy, my friend Harville is not the only person here in your debt. My family is much obliged to you and Mrs. Darcy for the aid you rendered my wife’s stepmother when she fell on this very pavement. I understand that were it not for you, her child would not have survived.”
“I hope Captain Harville retained some of the credit for himself and his wife.”
“Not nearly enough, I am sure.”
They stepped back against the wall to let a cart pass. The horses plodded slowly, in no hurry to take their cargo from the cutter to the Customs House. The creatures traversed the same road so often that they probably did not at all mind when smugglers managed to bypass this required review process and spare them their labor. Darcy wondered what these barrels held. French brandy? Spanish wine?
Jamaican sugar?
“Lady Elliot was also assisted by another naval officer, Lieutenant Andrew St. Clair.” Darcy hoped Captain Wentworth would be able to tell him more about the dubious lieutenant. “Are you acquainted with him?”
“Regrettably, I am not,” Wentworth replied. “I shall have to find him out and extend my thanks to him, as well.”
Captain Harville shifted a now recovered and impatient Ben to his other arm. “We could stand here for another hour at least, discussing accidents on the Cobb and who among us deserves gratitude. We have not even touched upon last autumn’s incident—eh, Wentworth?” Harville chuckled. “But you must be uncomfortable in those wet clothes, and Mrs. Harville must be frantic, looking for Ben. Come—let us find you some dry things. I ca
Darcy fell into step with them. The two captains bantered easily, as old friends do, but in a ma
“Is that your hat on the pavement ahead, Mr. Darcy? There—near the gin shop.”
“The gin shop?”
“Those wooden doors. There’s an old ammunition storeroom behind them, built into the wall, from the days when there were ca
Darcy strode ahead to rescue his hat, which indeed lay about ten yards from the gin shop doors. He reached it just before the horses did, picked it up, and moved flush against the Cobb wall to get out of their way. When the cart had passed, he turned to rejoin the captains, but the sound of voices gave him pause.
“… does not want to be held in soaking-wet arms, and I ca
“Ben, if Captain Wentworth sets you down, you must stay at my side. Do you promise?”
The voices were clear as if the speakers stood right beside Darcy. But Captain Harville yet leaned against the stone wall, his friend and son close beside him, at least threescore feet back along the curve from where Darcy stood.
“All right, then. If you misbehave, I will not take you to the shipyard with your brothers.” Harville looked from his son back to Wentworth. “They are preparing to launch a new Indiaman any day now—a thirty-two-gun, the Black Cormorant. Have you seen her? I thought I would take the boys over there later today to have a look.…”
Darcy was astonished. Somehow, the curved wall carried Harville’s voice directly to him despite the considerable distance. He had heard of such acoustical phenomena in domed buildings such as St. Paul’s in London, but he had never personally experienced an instance of it.
He moved away from the wall gradually, determining the proximity required for the effect to work. When he lost the sound, he quickly walked back to the captains. The act of eavesdropping, however accidental, on any conversation, however i
Seventeen
Upon looking over his letters and things, she found it was so.
“If only we could purchase sugar for Pemberley direct from the West Indies,” Elizabeth declared as she reached the final leaves of Gerard’s diary. “I had no idea that casks of it came with prizes inside. It is little wonder that sugar barons are so wealthy.”