Carrie Bebris - The Deception At Lyme

Georgiana did not appear convinced. Neither did Elizabeth, who now rested an anxious hand on Darcy’s arm.

They turned around, the skipper working hard to control his boat while the silent, apprehensive ladies clung to their seats against the force of each wave, and the gentlemen assisted with minor tasks as directed. The skipper had seen worse, he assured them, and so had his boat. There was nothing to dread.

Thus they tossed their way toward Lyme, gratefully watching the Cobb rise in the distance. They neared once more the Black Cormorant, the great vessel impervious to the forces that bedeviled the small watercraft. The skipper would have to give the merchant ship a wide berth to avoid being driven into it.

As they skirted round its side, a great breaking wave caught them. It heeled the boat to such extreme that its passengers slid to one side with the force, upsetting the vessel’s balance.

The boat overturned, and all were suddenly, shockingly, plunged into the water.

Darcy surfaced first. He had reached for Elizabeth just as the boat capsized—but had lost hold of her hand. Panic seized him until he spotted her nearby, struggling to reach the surface, weighted down by her skirts. He pulled her up. Struggling to keep both himself and her afloat, he looked round wildly for the others. On the opposite side of the capsized boat, Sir Laurence supported Miss Ashford.

The skipper and Georgiana were missing.

From the Black Cormorant came a shout for ropes as a man dove from one of its gun ports.

He entered the water some yards away. For an agonizing, endless minute, he, too, disappeared from sight.

At last he surfaced. With Georgiana.

He held her securely as she gasped and choked and coughed up water on him. So violent were her convulsions that she could not at first open her eyes to see her rescuer’s face. When at last she could, she was as surprised as the rest of them to recognize him.

Lieutenant St. Clair was relieved to have her expelling seawater on him. It meant she was alive.

But no one, including him, was out of danger.

“Hold on to the capsized boat, if you can,” he shouted to the others above the crash of the waves. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“The skipper is missing,” Darcy replied.

“No—he is here,” called Sir Laurence as he reached the boat with Miss Ashford. “Caught in the rigging. It looks as if he bashed his head when the boat overturned.”

The Black Cormorant ’s crew tossed down ropes, their ends already looped and knotted. St. Clair swam to the one that fell closest to him, never letting go of Georgiana. He slipped the loop over Georgiana’s head and under her arms, instructing the gentlemen to do the same for Mrs. Darcy and Miss Ashford. Holding Georgiana from behind, he wrapped her cold, stiff fingers around the rope.

“Can you hold on while they pull you up?”

She tried to speak but still could not; spasms of coughing yet shook her. But she managed to nod.

“It will not be a smooth ascent. Try to use your legs to keep from banging against the side of the ship.”

She nodded again. A particularly intense cough seized her, and more water came up. When the spasm had passed, he bent his head to her ear. “Do not be afraid, Georgiana. You can do this. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

He signaled to the waiting crewmen. When the rope became taut, he released her. One of her hands flew from the rope to grab his arm. But the panic passed, and she let go.

His gaze did not leave her until he saw her safely pulled onto the deck.

In years to come, Elizabeth would wonder whether the dreamlike haze in which she recalled that day was the result of terror or a bump to her head as the boat capsized. For now, she believed the latter, for she had an extraordinary headache.

Her feet no sooner touched the deck than she went to Georgiana, who was prone and still coughing up seawater, though not as violently as she had before. Georgiana waved her away. “Please—” She twice cleared her throat before she could continue. “Tell me what is happening with the others.”

“They are just pulling Miss Ashford aboard now. I will go see about the men.”

Elizabeth was so flustered, feeling that she ought to check on Miss Ashford but wanting nothing more than to look over the side for Darcy, that she barely noticed a crewman who approached to offer his assistance. “Is there anything we can do for the lady?”

“I do not suppose you have a surgeon on board?”

“No, ma’am, only a skeleton crew.”

“Some blankets, then?”

Sir Laurence appeared next. Elizabeth decided to let him check on his sister, freeing herself and her conscience to go see how her husband fared. She watched the seamen hoist him up, not releasing her breath until he was on deck and in her arms.

Lieutenant St. Clair was the final person hauled aboard, after the dead skipper, whom he had disentangled from the rigging and looped a rope around. Though St. Clair had assisted his own ascent by using the rope to climb up the side, he was clearly exhausted. He panted with exertion, his wet shirt adhered to him, his hair had come loose from its knot.

And he was in better shape than the rest of them.

Sir Laurence and Darcy were equally drenched and bedraggled, though their shorter hair prevented them from appearing quite the ruffian St. Clair did. Sir Laurence’s coat was a sodden mess, but nonetheless lent him a slightly more dignified appearance than that of St. Clair, who had shed his altogether. The ladies’ wet gowns clung to them; fortunately for their modesty, all had worn fabric heavier than muslin. Like St. Clair, their hair hung wet and unbound.

Miss Ashford had swallowed a great deal of seawater, which she was now vomiting into a bucket. Though Sir Laurence attended her, murmuring words of brotherly concern, his divided attention kept straying to Georgiana, who had not yet been able to raise herself from the deck after she had sunk upon it. She had waved away not only Elizabeth but also him and Darcy, insisting that she would be fine in just another minute. She shivered. Elizabeth wondered where the blankets were.

St. Clair went to Georgiana. “Are you all right, Miss Darcy?”

She coughed again and forced herself to stand. “I will be, if everybody would simply—” She raised a hand to her head and started to sway.

St. Clair caught her before she fell. Her knees buckled, and suddenly she was seized by shaking she was powerless to stop. As he brought his arms around her to draw her against him more securely, Elizabeth thought she saw his own hands tremble.

He held her silently while aftershock sobs escaped her with unladylike force. No one dared intervene. But St. Clair’s gaze swept the deck, and he was conscious of all the eyes upon them. Darcy’s were wary. Sir Laurence’s were hostile.

The blankets finally arrived, enough for them all. Darcy draped Elizabeth’s over her shoulders. She then took another for Georgiana.

As Elizabeth approached, St. Clair whispered something to Georgiana. Calmer now, she drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Another whisper. She nodded and opened her eyes. Then she stepped back, avoiding his gaze as he helped put the blanket around her. When she reached up to take the blanket edges into her own grasp, their fingers touched.

She still did not look at him, but at her feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” A blush crept across her cheeks. At least one part of her person had begun to recover its warmth.

His hands lingered a moment more before he dropped them. “I am once more your servant, Miss Darcy.”

Elizabeth put her own arm around Georgiana and led her to where she had been standing with Darcy. As St. Clair accepted a blanket for himself from the seaman, Sir Laurence strode forward.