Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure Read online

  DARCY AND LIZZY’S CORNISH ADVENTURE

  By

  LINDSAY BEAUDINE

  Text copyright © 2017 Lindsay Beaudine

  All Rights Reserved

  Now married, Darcy and Lizzy decide to take a holiday to Cornwall. On a whim they resolve to be adventurous and make no forward reservations. If they see and inn or tavern they like then they will stay there.

  The holiday takes them from Bodmin Moor to Land’s End and back up the north coast to fishing villages and mystical ruins.

  In one of the villages a surprise encounter awaits them. Who meets them there when there is no place at the inn and why does he resent his work in the tin mine?

  Who are the Five Sisters? And who follows them by coach around Cornwall?

  Find out in this funny and affectionate variation on Jane Austen’s classic novel.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

  A PEMBERLEY CHRISTMAS

  For their first Christmas as man and wife, Darcy and Lizzy decide to invite her family to join them at Pemberley for the festive celebrations. Lizzy is delighted that she will spend Christmas with her four sisters and, of course their husbands – except one.

  As Kitty recounts an old Derbyshire tale of chivalry and honour at dinner, there is a loud knock at the door. Who is the spectre at the feast? And how does Darcy react when he sees him?

  And who arrives at midnight somewhat the worse for wear? And why is he unable to deliver his parable concerning the true meaning of Christmas?

  Find out in this affectionate and funny continuation of Jane Austen’s classic novel.

  AND

  HALLOWEEN AT PEMBERLEY

  Following his rejected proposal, Mr Darcy meets Elizabeth Bennet while walking on the heath one day in October. Their conversation is awkward and when they discuss Halloween, Darcy mocks Lizzy’s family for their simple enjoyment of a festival in which he has never indulged.

  She goads him into holding a Halloween celebration at Pemberley. He invites her family as well as Mr Bingley and Mr Wickham.

  The festivities at Pemberley last for two days and involve many traditional activities and even Darcy ends up enjoying the celebrations.

  On the last evening there is an intimate ball during which Darcy attempts to humiliate Mr Wickham.

  And even though his attempt backfires, why does it lead to him making revelations to Lizzy about Wickham and himself?

  And why does Mr Collins run from the Pemberley chapel when he is delivering his sermon to his wife?

  Find out in this affectionate variation on Jane Austen’s classic novel.

  AND

  A PEMBERLEY HAUNTING

  When Mr Darcy invites the entire Bennet family to Pemberley, nobody is more surprised than Elizabeth. And with good reason considering their recent conversations.

  However, it is Georgiana’s birthday soon and she wants very much for Lizzy and her sisters to celebrate with her. She is very persuasive and Darcy relents, even to the point of inviting Mr and Mrs Collins

  But why does he invite Charles Bingley even though Georgiana did not mention him?

  At Pemberley, Darcy reveals an ancient legend and tells them the tragic story of the White Lady of Pemberley.

  The following evening, Mr Collins is sure he has seen the phantom. Two other guests also claim they have seen the ghost.

  Why does Lizzy not believe them?

  And the night after the splendid birthday celebrations what does she see outside the library? Is it the White Lady of Pemberley? And why does the figure beckon to her? Is she trying to give Lizzy some kind of warning?

  Find out in this affectionate variation on Jane Austen’s classic novel.

  DARCY AND LIZZY’S CORNISH ADVENTURE

  Chapter 1

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man taking a holiday with his wife of six months will NOT be in want of the company of his wife’s family, especially his mother in law.

  “That daughter of yours is always reading some book or other,” said Mrs Bennet one evening in the sitting room at Longbourn.

  “What’s wrong with that, my dear?” said Mr Bennet.

  “Nothing, I suppose, but she could follow the example of her sisters.”

  “Which ones?” said Mr Bennet innocently.

  “You know very well which ones, Mr Bennet. I mean Jane, Lizzy and Lydia; the married ones.”

  “Follow their example in getting married you mean?”

  “That’s precisely what I mean. Look at her, her nose in that book when there are important matters to be resolved. Like easing her mother’s poor nerves.”

  “Oh come, my dear, it’s harmless enough.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t get her anywhere. It’s just like Mary with her drawing; the time could be better spent doing something else. Like looking for a husband. Preferably a rich one.”

  She made several little noises to indicate her frustration to Kitty. Kitty did not hear her, or chose to ignore her.

  “What are you reading now, Kitty?” said Mrs Bennet, irritated.

  Kitty, engrossed in the book, did not respond.

  “Catherine Bennet,” said her mother, “do not ignore your mother. Kindly speak to me when I ask you a question.”

  Kitty looked up.

  “Sorry, mother, did you say something?”

  “Yes. I asked you what you are reading.”

  “It’s a novel by Mr Henry Fielding.”

  “I thought you liked Mrs Radcliffe, Kitty,” said Mr Bennet.

  “Fielding? Never heard of him,” said Mrs Bennet shortly. “Does he write fanciful romances too? With castles and young women being confronted by phantoms when they should know better and be looking for a rich husband and not being a burden on their poor mother and causing great distress to her poor nerves.”

  “No, my dear,” said Mr Bennet. “he writes about young men making their way in the world. Adventurers, rogues, that sort of thing.”

  “How do know about Mr Watsisname?” said his wife.

  “Fielding,” said Mr Bennet.

  “Yes, him. And what do you know about rogues and adventurers?”

  “We talk about such things in the coffee house, my dear,” he said. “I think I’ve heard them called ‘picaresque romances’ by somebody or other. They’re quite popular.”

  “Oh, they’re wonderful, father,” said Kitty. “An uncouth but handsome young man travelling from place to place, getting into trouble with the beadle and meeting a young lady who knows she is far too good for him but finds him appealing anyway.”

  “Well if you ask me,” said Mrs Bennet, “he’ll end up being hanged. And good riddance to unwelcome refuse.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Mary,” said Mrs Bennet, “would you see who’s at the door? I would go of course but my poor nerves are a little fragile today, what with all this talk of rogues and beadles and hangings.”

  Mary put aside the pretty little sketch of the house on which she had been working and went to the door.

  “Hello, Mary,” said Lydia gaily, “how well you look.”

  “Lydia,” said Mary, “what a wonderful surprise. Is your husband not with you?”

  In response Mr Wickham put his head out from behind the wall and gave Mary his customary charming smile.

  “Who is it, Mary?” called Mrs Bennet.

  “It’s Lydia and Mr Wickham, mother.”

  “Well what do they want?”

  “My dear,” said Mr Bennet, “Why don’t we ask them into the house? Then you can ask them what they want.”

  “Very well. Mary, ask them to come in.”

  Mary led them into the sitting room.

&n
bsp; “Lydia, my dear,” said Mr Bennet with delight, “how wonderful to see you.”

  He stood and embraced his youngest daughter warmly. He shook hands with Wickham. As always Wickham’s handshake was a little flabby and limp.

  “So, what brings you here, Lydia?” said Mrs Bennet. “And at such short notice.”

  “Well, er, we thought it would be pleasant to see you. George, dear, why don’t you tell mother and father why we’re here.”

  “Very well, Lydia,” said Wickham.

  He stood up and looked at everybody in turn. He smiled at each in his usual charming manner with perhaps only a little too much dazzle in his teeth.

  “Mr Bennet. Mrs Bennet. Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet,” he said, addressing each in turn with a graceful little bow. “You find me brought low by circumstances over which I had little or no control. You find me a wretched creature despised by his fellow man for the cruel actions of the cruel fates.”

  “The cruel actions of the cruel fates?” said Mr Bennet.

  “Yes. How was I to know the fellow had four aces?”

  “Mr Bennet,” said Mrs Bennet, “can you please explain what has happened. All this talk of wretched creatures and cruel fates, I really do not understand.”

  “I believe, my dear,” said Mr Bennet gravely, “that our son in law has suffered some misfortune at the gaming tables. Perhaps I should say further misfortune.”

  Wickham gave Mr Bennet a curt little nod.

  “I assume therefore,” went on Mr Bennet, “that he has been unable to repay his gambling debts and that perhaps he and Lydia have been forced to vacate their lodgings at rather short notice.”

  He and Wickham looked at each other coolly. Neither spoke for a few moments.

  “There is some truth in what you say, sir,” said Wickham at last.

  “We had to climb out of the window at six o’clock this morning,” said Lydia.

  “Thank you, my love,” said Wickham. “I was going to build up to that a little more slowly.”

  “Can this be true?” said Mrs Bennet. “Mary, fetch me some water for I fear I may swoon. My poor nerves.”

  Despite the genuine concern for her daughter, Mrs Bennet always enjoyed a little melodrama.

  “So,” continued Mr Bennet, “may I ask why you have come here?”

  “Well,” said Wickham, “I just need a little time to rearrange my affairs. Reorganise my finances as it were. To do so I need to stay somewhere quiet where I will not be disturbed.”

  “You mean you need somewhere to hide out?”

  “Yes,” said Wickham, flashing another brilliant smile at Mr Bennet, “you know how persistent these gamblers can be.”

  “And the creditors too,” added Lydia brightly.

  “Thank you, my love,” said Wickham with a dark look at his wife, “I was going to build up to that.”

  “You have other creditors too?” said Mr Bennet.

  “Yes,” conceded Wickham. “But nothing too serious. If I can hold them off for a little then I’m sure I can raise the money.”

  He looked firmly at Mr Bennet. Mr Bennet returned the look just as firmly and stated with his eyes alone and without a single word that there would be no more ‘little loans’ or ‘temporary advances’.

  “Well in any event,” said Wickham, finally taking his eyes from those of Mr Bennet, “if you would allow us to lodge here for a little while, we intend to put a little distance between ourselves and the fates.”

  “You mean your gambling associates and creditors?” said Mr Bennet, scarcely able to disguise his contempt.

  “Yes. We intend to travel to the West Country. I have family down there.”

  Mr Bennet held up a single finger.

  “One night,” he said with a finality that could not be gainsaid.

  “Thank you, father,” said Lydia sheepishly in order to prevent Wickham from pressing further.

  A bed was prepared in a spare room and after some stilted conversation Wickham and Lydia retired to bed. Early the next morning they ate a hurried breakfast and after brief farewells took a carriage and headed west.

  Mr and Mrs Darcy sat on a bench at Pemberley looking out over the narrow lake. They had been married for only a few months. Lizzy felt happier than she had imagined. Darcy felt happier than he thought he deserved.

  “You know, Lizzy, I still don’t know why you agreed to marry me,” he said breezily in comic self-deprecation.

  “Yes, it does beggar belief, doesn’t it?” she said and shook her head with mock gravity. “To marry a man with such pride, such obstinacy.”

  He turned and smiled at her, his eyes glistening with fond amusement. He loved her wit as well as her warmth.

  “Well in any event,” he said, “I feel blessed, my love.”

  “Despite my family?” Lizzy teased.

  “No, because of your family. Why I adore your family. All of them. I always have.”

  “Now you’re mocking me,” said Lizzy.

  “Perhaps a little.”

  He looked at the narrow lake again.

  “Am I still proud and obstinate, Lizzy?” he said quietly.

  “Sometimes,” she said, frankly but not unkindly. “But remember, pride is the sin of the angels.”

  “Perhaps. But I don’t really do very much. Oh, I run the estate and that sort of thing but nothing…”

  “What?”

  He searched for a word.

  “Heroic,” he said at last.

  “Heroic?” said Lizzy with a laugh. Then she looked at him and saw that he was in earnest.

  “Well you’re an excellent landlord. Your treat your tenants well and always help them when you can.”

  “That’s just trying to be decent. Anyway, I don’t mean that, I mean physical action. I don’t really do any kind of athletic activity.”

  “You used to row when you were an Oxford man. Very well too, from what I’m told. And you row on the lake sometimes.”

  He looked at his wife. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  “You’re right, Lizzy. And I’m going to row more often. And I’m going to start directly after lunch.”

  He gently pulled her up from the bench and, hand in hand, they walked through the fine Pemberley gardens into the great house. After a simple lunch Darcy changed into lighter clothes and went to the lake. His single scull was brought out by a couple of servants and he spent a pleasant hour or so rowing up and down the narrow strip of water while Lizzy sat on the bench. From time to time she looked up from her book and waved as her husband passed.

  When he had finished he bathed and changed his clothes. He and Lizzy sat in the library where Darcy wrote some letters concerning the estate while Lizzy read. When Darcy had sealed his last letter with a little blob of red wax he turned to Lizzy.

  “If I have to write any more business letters, I may go mad. We’ve been married for almost six months and I must have spent half of that time writing letters.”

  “I think you exaggerate, my love,” said Lizzy looking up at him fondly.

  “Do you realise, Lizzy, that we haven’t been away from Pemberley since our honeymoon.”

  Lizzy sighed with contentment at the memory. It had been a wonderful honeymoon. Paris, Rome, Florence, Sicily. All the wonderful places she had always dreamed of visiting.

  “Really away, I mean,” went on Darcy, “not just days here and there to Hertfordshire or London.”

  “I hadn’t really thought of it,” said Lizzy. “The time seems to have gone so quickly. Six months since our wedding day? Goodness.”

  “Perhaps we should go away. On a kind of holiday.”

  “A holiday?” said Lizzy. “That sounds marvellous.”

  “Let’s go at once. That way we could celebrate in a few days’ time.”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Six months of marriage. Well it’s an anniversary of sorts, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is. But, darling, how could we? You know how long it takes to book pass
age to the continent. We simply don’t have enough time.”

  “We could holiday in England. Cornwall, perhaps. It’s very pleasant this time of year, they say.”