Belinda Roberts: Mr. Darcy Goes Overboard: A Tale of Tide & Prejudice

“Oh, Lizzy!” came the haughty voice of Lulu. “I must warn you that your beloved Wickham is not all that he seems. Darcy has always been remarkably kind to him—even though he was only a trumped up…”

“That is enough, Louisa!” retorted Lizzy angrily. “Wickham himself told me of his background, which it seems is his only crime, and I will not be prejudiced against him for that reason!”

And with that, Lizzy swam off with as much energy as she could muster, not waiting to hear Lulu’s “Oh, no need to get all moody!” retort.

Swimmers were now starting to reach land on the town side. Faces glowing, hearts pounding, exuberant in their achievement, they climbed the steps out of the sea and into the Cliff House Gardens where they were given a hero’s welcome by waiting friends, a Mars bar, and a prized Harbour Swim Certificate by the organisers. There was no more joyous couple than Jane and Bingley, who had swum together for the whole distance and were now only separated as Bingley, happy to see Jane warm in her towel, went to find his.

“Oh, Lor! Oh, Lor!” Lydia was shrieking. “That was a beast of a swim! I was freezing all the way. My fingers are blue.”

“Not half as cold as I was,” said Kitty. “Look, my fingers are bluer than yours.”

“It was horrible! Horrible!” sobbed Mary. “What a foolish, ill-advised idea. I will never again take to the seas. I nearly died!”

“You will recover, I am sure,” said Jane kindly as she and Lizzy joined the group.

“I say, girls! Girls!”

“Oh no! Mr Collins! Whatever is the matter with him?”

“He looks as if he is going to explode!”

“How did he get across so quickly?”

Mr Collins had been relieved to have been rescued early on in the swim and so avoid the physical exertion so enjoyed by most of the remaining four hundred swimmers. He had been delivered by surfboard back to the safety of Cliff House Gardens and had been able to watch the event, wrapped warmly in his towel, and by eavesdropping on some fellow spectators, had picked up the most extraordinary news, which he was now about to relate to the surprised and shivering Bennet girls.

“I say! I say! I say! News of the most exciting nature! By chance I have discovered that the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Brrr, is here! Here in Salcombe! And there he is! Right now! Coming out of the water! Fitzwilliam Darcy! What a fine figure of a man! I will go and make his acquaintance!” Mr Collins rushed off, pushing his way down the slippery steps as swimmers endeavoured to come up the steps. Darcy, only just recovered from his agony in the water, was unprepared for the onslaught of friendliness from Mr Collins, who grabbed him in a handshake and had only just managed to get out the words:

“Lady Catherine would be…” before he slipped and fell from the steps into the deep water, pulling the astonished Darcy with him.

The waters closed over them. Lizzy, whose embarrassment was overtaken by hilarity, now felt a stab of fear as no sign of either man could be seen. Suddenly Darcy emerged.

“Where is the fool?” he shouted, gasping for breath and looking wildly around. Then Darcy disappeared, yanked from below as if by a deep sea monster, and Mr Collins in turn appeared.

“Oh my! Oh my! Save me! Lady Catherine would…”

Mr Collins never finished his sentence as Darcy rose to the surface again, and despite Mr Collins’s efforts to drown him, managed to get them both safely to the steps. The ordeal of a near drowning for the second time in one day had so shocked Mr Collins that he was unable to stand, so Darcy was forced to carry him, in his arms, up the steps. Physically, Mr Collins succumbed like a baby to this mode of transport. Mentally, however, he was quite alert and was not one to miss an opportunity. Recovering slightly, he could see the closeness of the situation was the perfect moment for a little intimate conversation and proceeded to wrap his arms fondly around Darcy’s neck and to introduce himself.

“Mr Darcy, what a fortunate meeting this is. I have reason to believe you are the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Brrr, who… oh! Oh my! Oh!…”

Darcy, on the verge of exploding, had had enough. He deposited Mr Collins in a blob at the feet of the vicar’s cousins and strode off—not before he had unwillingly overheard Mrs Bennet, who had just arrived on the scene, expressing in the loudest of voices to Mrs Lucas how she was looking forward to a happy event between her eldest daughter and the charming Mr Bingley. The past few moments had been mortifying for Lizzy, but worse was to come. Mary had managed to inveigle herself with the organisers, and to Lizzy’s horror, had volunteered to give a vote of thanks on behalf of the swimmers. Mary had climbed onto a table and was trying to master the megaphone with little success.

“Oh behalf of the…” beep “I would like to…” screech . All the swimmers and their supporters laughed and clasped their hands to their ears in mock horror at the sound.

Mary was encouraged. She had their attention.

“At times like these…” screech “…a song… rousing…”

Mary then proceeded to sing “For those in peril on the sea” down the megaphone. Mary’s voice was weak and tuneless, her choice of song unfortunate; the crowd stood still in amazement at the exhibition. As she was about to launch into the third verse, Mr Bennet stepped forward.

“Jolly good, Mary. Now let us give someone else a go,” and handed the megaphone to one of the organisers. Mary was disconcerted, but cries and hoots of laughter from the crowd diverted her attention. At the far corner of the garden there was a commotion. “They’re coming! They’re coming! Make way! Make way!”

The crowds, wolf whistling and shouting encouragement, were parting and moving into the centre to make a track round the edge of the gardens. And round the track were two girls in full flight, screaming, laughing, waving their hands in the air… and totally naked.

Streakers!

Lizzy stood horrified as the identity of the streakers became apparent. Lydia and Kitty! How could they? As her naked sisters raced past, a whirl of giggling, bouncing femininity, she caught sight of Darcy, who had been transfixed by the spectacle in amazement and disbelief. If her family had planned to expose themselves as much as they could that morning, they could not have played their parts with more spirit.

The following day, Mr Collins awoke feeling oysterous. He had been tortured by amorous dreams all night, his passions fuelled by a generous helping of “oysters au naturel” whilst dining the previous evening, and the effect, even by breakfast time, was still undeniably strong. Putting mind over matter, he considered what Lady Catherine would wish him to do in such a situation and came to the firm belief that she would deem it time for him to make a move in the romantic direction. He was anxious for action but unsure how to proceed. Fortunately the Bennet girls’ plan for the day would prove to give him the opportunity he so urgently desired. It transpired that they were taking part in the Parachuting Teddies competition from the top of Salcombe church. As fortune would have it, Mr Collins had brought his teddy, Malcolm, from whom he had been inseparable from a young age, with him to Salcombe; and so, with some misgivings about throwing the said beloved Malcolm from the top of the church tower, attached only to a spotted handkerchief, he felt this was too good an opportunity to miss and volunteered to take part and accompany the girls.

The weather was bright and breezy. Lasers, toppers, and a host of other gaily coloured sailing dinghies scudded about the choppy estuary waters, one or two capsizing as they were caught by mischievous gusts. The sound of loose rigging clanking against masts echoed across the bay, and seagulls seemed to squawk louder than normal in their frenetic swooping and diving to feast on dropped croissant crumbs and ice cream cones. The Bennet girls, Mrs Bennet, and Mr Collins set off in the opposite direction from the sea, up the steep hill of Church Street, to join the small crowd of people and teddies that were assembling before the church porch of Holy Trinity, Salcombe.