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

Lydia and Kitty failed to heed the final warning of “not excessively” and were on a mission to enjoy themselves a great deal. Barbeque parties in Salcombe were a thing to be treasured, grasped, and revelled in. Some of the more chavvy young guests, who had joined the party only by slipping through a hole in the social net of the Lucas invitation list, feared possible limitations on alcohol from Sir William, so prepared themselves by frontloading before arrival. Fortunately, the facility to vom over the sea wall meant the indiscretions of this minority passed largely unnoticed by the majority.

Lydia and Kitty were by no means of this category, but once at the party, gaily ignored the limit on two drinks and were soon singing, dancing, and laughing outrageously loudly with the clutch of handsome young men who had excessive thatches of blond hair or spiky black hair, wore pink shirts with the collars turned up and tails out, long shorts that fell off their waists and balanced dangerously on skinny hips, looking as if they might slip farther with the slightest provocation, and to Sir William’s disgust, soft shoes with no socks—a smelly result at best, a health hazard at worst. But still, he was in no mood to complain. He was the host, after all, and was all smiles as the young people partied hard around him. He was surprised but delighted that Mr Darcy had deigned to come along.

“Is this not a pleasant evening?” Sir William ventured. “It is always such a joy to see young people enjoying themselves, and,” he continued, observing a young man break dancing, “how well they dance.”

“Any savage can dance,” retorted Darcy.

At that moment, Lizzy happened to step to one side to avoid being kicked in the teeth by the break-dancer and found herself directly before Sir William and Darcy.

“Ah, Elizabeth!” said Sir William. “Mr Darcy and I were just discussing the pleasures of dancing. What a perfect opportunity for you, too, to show your prowess on the dance floor.”

Mr Darcy, though surprised, was not averse to taking Elizabeth as a partner, although break dancing was not his forte.

“Do not suppose I stepped this way hoping for a partner,” said Elizabeth quickly.

Mr Darcy acknowledged this but reiterated Sir William’s suggestion that they might dance. Lizzy was determined in her refusal and moved away. Darcy’s eyes followed her lithe figure as she threaded her way through the gyrating bodies.

“Hmmm.” A voice at his shoulder failed to avert his gaze.

“I can guess the subject of your reverie.”

It was Cazza Bingley.

“I should imagine not.”

“I think you are wishing to escape such a grotesque party?”

“You are quite wrong. I was meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

“And who is the owner of these "fine eyes?"”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Why, I am all astonishment. When are we to wish you joy?”

Mr Darcy allowed Cazza to continue in such a vein. He meanwhile spent the rest of the evening in pleasant observation.

The following day, great excitement was felt as it was rumoured a pack of lifeguards were descending on the seaside town, where they would be staying to attend training exercises. The girls—and especially Kitty and Lydia—could think of nothing but rippling torsos encased in yellow T-shirts and muscular thighs locked in red shorts. Tales of bravery and rescue were the most enchanting of conversations. After listening to their prattling on this subject, Mr Bennet put down the Daily Telegraph and coolly observed, “From your conversation, you must be the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it for some time, but I am now convinced.”

“How could you say such a thing about your own daughters?” retorted Mrs Bennet. “They are not foolish! Indeed, they are clever. Why they are all “A” class students and will all go to excellent universities, I’ll be bound.”

“Universities? My dear, I thought you were only concerned with husbands,” said Mr Bennet, feigning surprise. “But now you mention it,” he continued, turning his attention to Lizzy, “with Jane considering History of Art as a suitable course for a young lady, have you made your decision yet? Do you have a subject? A place of learning? Your room seems piled high in prospectus… or should that be prospectii?”

“Durham is a possibility, Father,” replied Lizzy.

“Durham! Why Durham? It is a cold, far-flung place that will enable you to escape your sisters, but is that a good enough reason?”

“That is not my reason, Father. It is one of the best universities, with a fine department, and to top it all, with its medieval castle and cathedral, they say it is very pretty.”

“Hmmm. Well visit it first, my dear. You don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Oh!” A screech from Jane who was sitting before her Apple laptop made all heads turn.

“What is it, my dear?” asked Mrs Bennet.

“An email, Mother. From Cazza Bingley.”

“What does it say? Read it out!”

“Hey, Jane. Lulu, Hattie, and I are so bored right now. Chas has gone off surfboarding. We are marooned here in Netherpollock. Come to munch at lunch with us b4 we go bonkers! Muchos love, Cazza :)”

“You must go directly,” said Mrs Bennet, excited.

“Shall I take Angelica ?”

“No,” retorted her mother. “It looks like a storm might be brewing. Sail across in the topper, and then you will get marooned at East Portlemouth and will have to stay the night.”

Within half an hour, Jane was ready to go. She had on a flimsy dress on top of which she wore a bright orange, bulky life jacket, which slightly spoilt the delicate effect of the dress, but even Mrs Bennet did not want her daughter to actually drown. As she sat in the topper and was pushed off from the pontoon, the sun was still ominously shining, but Mrs Bennet was reassured to see thunderous black clouds thickening on the horizon. By the time Jane was sailing across the centre of the estuary, a massive storm had blown up. Later, Lizzy was not surprised to receive a message on her phone.

“Lizzy. Got soaked. Whacked on head by boom. Knocked unconscious but picked up by passing fisherman while floating facedown in sea. Been to Plymouth hospital. Twenty head stitches for large gash, broken jaw, and arm in plaster. Back at Bingley’s. Staying night. nbd. Hugs. Jane xx”

Lizzy related this news to the rest of the family, and Mr Bennet was able to comfort his wife.

“At least if Jane were to die, you could feel it was all in pursuit of Mr Bingley.”

“Jane will not die!” said Mrs Bennet indignantly. “She just has a little scratch. Lizzy, what are you doing?”

“I am going to visit Jane.”

“But why are you putting on your wetsuit?”

“I am going to swim across. The freezing water will do me good.”

“Swim! You will not be fit to be seen.”

“I will be fit to be seen by Jane, and that is all that matters.”

“I admire the active form of your benevolence,” observed Mary, looking up from Advanced Physics III , “but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.”

Lizzy could hear nothing, as she had now added a rubber head protector, and along with flippers, mask, and snorkel was making her way out of the front door, down Island Street, and descending into the water. It was icy in the sea, but Lizzy relished the challenge, striking out and cutting her way through waves with impatient activity, and finding herself at last within view of the shore. With weary limbs, she crawled up Small’s Cove. She was pleased to see all the Bingley party, apart from Jane, assembled before a windshield. Her appearance as an unidentified swimmer emerging from the water caused great surprise and confusion as she tried, possibly in error, to explain her errand before removing her mask and snorkel and making her identity clear. That she should have swum alone across such waters seemed incredible to Cazza, Lulu, and Hattie, and Lizzy was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. But she was greeted with politeness by them all and by more than politeness by Bingley, who went into spasms of “Splendid! Delightful! Splendid!” to her every remark. Mr Darcy said very little, and Mr Hurst, Hattie’s overweight boyfriend, said nothing at all. The former was full of admiration for the dripping wet form before him, watching the rivulets of water stream from her hair and down the rubber-clad body. The latter was thinking only of his prelunch snifter.