Pride and pyramids : Mr. Darcy in Egypt

Chapter 5

The first few weeks at sea were a new experience for the whole party. To begin with, they all suffered from the perils of the ocean to a greater or lesser degree. William, Laurence, Jane, and Margaret were laid low, and even John looked decidedly pale, while Sophie could walk nowhere without falling over. Elizabeth spent most of her time at the front of the ship, where no one could see how green she was looking, and Darcy spent a great deal of time with the captain, trying to take his mind off his ills by learning about their voyage. Edward remained in his cabin, from where groans emerged periodically, and Paul found himself a few choice spots from which to observe, sketch, and paint. Since neither he nor Beth suffered any great ill effects from the motion of the ship, they were often together, with Paul taking a kindly interest in her talented drawings and Beth regarding him with adoration.

By and by they all adjusted to the motion of the ship. Even Mrs Bennet, whose early elation at being one of the party had disappeared when she had felt the first wave of nausea, began to like the voyage.

And indeed, there was much to enjoy: the sound of the sails flapping in the breeze; the creaking of the ropes; the variety of the blues and greens of the ocean; the ever changing waves; the clean tang of salt; the sightings of unusual sea birds; the joy of seeing great schools of fish; the exciting and colourful ports at which they called to pick up fresh supplies; and the pleasure of finding letters from friends and relatives waiting for them in every port.

For Darcy there was also the joy of seeing his family adjusting so well to shipboard life. He felt a swell of pride as he walked onto deck one morning and saw John swarming up the rigging, finally climbing into the crow’s nest; for while the rest of the party had been content to continue their normal pursuits on board, John had availed himself of every opportunity for activity and new experiences. Whenever his studies had allowed—and the children were often occupied with their tutors—he learned how to set sails, tie knots, and even take the wheel. Darcy stood for a moment, delighted to see his eager and energetic son enjoying himself.

“That is quite a boy you have there,” said the captain, as John helped to unfurl a sail which had become caught in the rigging. “He tells me he intends to go into the army, but it is a loss for the navy. I would have been glad of him on my naval ship before I left to pursue civilian life, and any captain would feel the same. The boy is bold and adventurous, but he does not take any unnecessary risks, and he tempers his adventurous spirit with intelligence.”

Darcy’s heart swelled even further with paternal pride at this. But then, all of a sudden, the realisation hit him that John was growing up. He had always known it, but he had envisaged John merely a year or two in the future. Now he saw that soon John would become a man—a fine man, but one who would no longer need him. He was suddenly aware of a feeling of emptiness and loss and he understood how Elizabeth felt when she did not want her youngest son to be sent away to school. He had a wish to seize the moment and hold on to it, to stretch it out so that it would never end. It was captured in all its detail, with the sound of the gulls and the crack of the sails and the concentration on his son’s face. And then John swarmed down the rigging and ran up to show him a new knot he had just learned to tie, and Darcy saw him as a ten-year-old boy once more and let the moment move on.

Laurence, meanwhile, was playing around his grandmama’s skirts. He had at first wanted to join in his older brother’s activities, but he lacked John’s nimbleness and unfailing courage and so was content at last to run around the deck and bedevil his indulgent grandmama.

William, always immaculately dressed and walking with the unconscious arrogance of a Darcy as he moved about the ship, pursued his studies. His one concession to his location was that he pursued them on the deck, not below, and was presently looking through a telescope out to sea.

The girls, too, were enjoying their new venture, and while Beth sketched and painted, Jane was often to be found running round her grandmama, while it was common to see Margaret with Sophie.

The two were together now and as John ran off to help fold a sail, Darcy smiled to see them. His youngest daughter was often overlooked, especially by her grandmama, who preferred the more boisterous older children, but Sophie had taken the little girl under her wing and Darcy felt very glad they had brought Miss Lucas with them. She was looking very pretty in a summer dress with a light spencer jacket, the sun playing on her fair hair and the breeze catching at the feather in her bonnet.

He went over to her and complimented her on her embroidery, then praised Margaret’s sampler, which was covered in shapes that resembled hieroglyphs.

“That is an unusual pattern,” he said.

“It’s Egyptian writing,” said Margaret seriously.

“Margaret designed her sampler herself,” said Sophie, looking fondly at the little girl.

“And what does it say?” Darcy asked his daughter teasingly, for not even Edward could unlock the secrets of the strange pictorial writing, though he spent the greater part of every day trying.

“It says, ‘Aahotep nefer,’ which means ‘Aahotep the beautiful,’” said Margaret gravely.

Darcy was surprised at her imagination, which had never been in evidence before. But ever since she had discovered the doll it had been developing, and he found himself wondering if his youngest daughter might follow in the footsteps of Fanny Burney and become a novelist; although, if the things he had overheard her saying to her doll were anything to go by, she would be more likely to write Gothic horrors and become a second Mrs Radcliffe.

John a soldier, Meg a novelist, William the heir of Pemberley, Beth an artist… and what would Laurence and Jane become when they grew up? he wondered.

His thoughts were brought back to the present by the sight of Elizabeth standing at the prow of the ship. Her face was turned into the fresh breeze and her hair was blowing loose of its pins, dancing across her neck in a tantalising manner. He went to join her. He put his arms around her waist, and she turned at the feel of him, smiling up into his eyes. He thought how lucky he was, knowing himself to be as much in love with her as he had been on the day they married.

“Is it not exhilarating?” she said, her eyes sparkling.

He kissed her cheek lovingly. “It is. Ah, you mean the voyage!”

She laughed and put her arms over his.

“I was on the point of regretting the voyage when we were all afflicted with seasickness, but now I find myself wishing it would never end,” she said. “There is something invigorating about a life on the water.”

“This is just the start of things,” said Darcy. “Only a few more weeks, and we will be in Egypt.”

“Today it is all water, then it will be all sand!”

“And I have something to show you when we arrive.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

He took evident satisfaction in her curiosity.

“Let us just say it is a surprise.”

***

While the others amused themselves on deck, Edward was in his cabin, poring over a print of the Rosetta Stone. He had been obsessed with its translation when it had first been discovered at the start of the century, but his interest had waned, only to be reawakened when he had found the map.

He became thoughtful as he relived the memory.

His father’s tales of Egypt had inspired him as a boy, and the thought of a map marking the spot of an undiscovered—and unplundered—tomb had fired his imagination. But his father had refused to let him examine the map, saying it was worthless and telling him not to waste his life on daydreams. So Edward had stopped talking to his father about Egypt, but he had not stopped visiting museums, reading about the latest findings, and collecting pottery.

And then, on a particularly rainy afternoon the previous winter, he had gone into the attic in search of a brace of pistols which had been taken there by mistake, and on a table in a wooden box he had found the map—or at least part of it, for it was incomplete. Nevertheless, there was enough to show that the tomb lay near a city and between two oases. His initial excitement had been dampened by the knowledge that Egypt was full of cities and oases and that his father had been unable to find the tomb despite a diligent search. He reminded himself that it would not be any different for him… until he saw that, along the top of the map, there were several rows of hieroglyphs. In his father’s time, there had been no hope of translating them. But now, with the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, it seemed that such a translation might be possible; and then the fabled tomb, with its fabled treasure, would be within his grasp.

And so he had written to some of the learned men who were working on translating the hieroglyphs and discovered enough to know that the city on the map was Cairo and not Luxor. Knowing that Sir Matthew Rosen was engaged on a dig in that area, he had arranged the meeting in London, hoping that he might be able to persuade Sir Matthew to allow him to join the dig. To his great excitement, Sir Matthew had agreed to his proposal. And what had excited him more had been the discovery that Sir Matthew had in his possession a frieze showing the likeness of Aahotep. The frieze, the doll, and the tomb were all linked, for his father had believed that the tomb was that of the young bridal couple Aahotep had supposedly poisoned.

He thought of the story again. Aahotep had murdered a pair of lovers in a jealous rage and they had been buried in a hidden tomb, protected by magical spells to ensure they would rest undisturbed. Strip away the fantastic story of magicians and spells, so beloved by the ancient Egyptians, and what was left was a down-to-earth tale of two wealthy people buried together in an undiscovered tomb. And he had a map to the whereabouts of the tomb.

But most exciting of all was the knowledge that Sir Matthew had discovered the frieze in a souk near Cairo, confirming that Cairo was indeed the city on the map, and not Luxor, as his father had thought. No wonder his father’s efforts to find it had been in vain!

For the first time, Edward felt he had a real chance of succeeding where his father had failed.

Visions of gold and jewels swam before his eyes… and then visions of himself bestowing them on Sophie Lucas. He had never met anyone like her. She was fragile and delicate and ethereal, and he thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. When she spoke, he bent his head to listen, as if it was drawn to her by a string. Her deep sadness brought out all his chivalrous instincts and he found himself wanting to bring a smile to her beautiful face. And what better way to do it than to shower her with jewels and lay all his earthly possessions at her feet?

Pushing aside his books, he decided to take a turn on deck in the hope that Sophie might happen to be there as well.

***

Sophie was enjoying the open air and the Mediterranean sunshine. After a long, dark time, she was beginning to come to life again. The new sights and scents stimulated her, and the uncomplicated love of the Darcy children soothed her battered spirit, for although her own family had tried to help her, their constant attentions had depressed her spirits rather than otherwise. They had exhorted her to count her blessings, but this had only made her feel worse, because she then felt guilty for being ungrateful as well as feeling unhappy; they had told her to forget Mr Rotherham, which she had been unable to do; and they had reminded her that she must not leave it too long to return to the land of the living, for at the age of twenty-two she was in danger of becoming an old maid and could not delay her search for a husband. They had talked incessantly of her married sisters: Charlotte, with her comfortable rectory and three children, and Maria, with her handsome husband and her new baby. They had said that she must find the same—never realising that it was those very exhortations which had made her so vulnerable to the attentions of the handsome but fickle nephew of her father’s old business partner, Mr Rotherham, in the first place.

A fresh breeze sprang up and a sudden gust caught her bonnet, diverting her thoughts to the immediate task of keeping it on her head. She put her hand on it, catching it before it was ripped away, but her feather was not so lucky. It was torn loose by the wind and danced along the deck, whirling and pirouetting as it was blown toward the rail.

Laughing at the comical sight, she sprang up to chase after it, but Paul Inkworthy was quicker. Putting aside his sketch, he leapt up and caught it, handing it to her with a laugh and a bow.

Sophie blushed as she took it, feeling suddenly awkward. Mr Inkworthy was not handsome, but his eyes were kind and intelligent and there was no denying the fact that his evident admiration had done much to restore her confidence in recent weeks. But still she did not have the courage to speak.

“Miss Lucas…” said Paul, and then he stopped.

She willed him to continue but was not surprised when he did not. What could a young man such as Mr Inkworthy—for he was a year younger than she—have to say to a woman of her age? His kindness and gentleness were indisputable, but his admiration, she told herself, was of an artistic kind. But still she could not bring herself to walk back across the deck to her embroidery. And so she looked at him, willing him to continue, for she wanted to talk to him, but she had grown tongue-tied.

He lapsed into silence again and she felt a certain empathy with him. He, too, was shy and, she suspected, uncomfortably aware of his situation. His position was a difficult one. He was not a friend of the family nor yet quite a servant, and so he was an outsider to both parties. As, in a way, was she. For although the Darcys had invited her as their guest, she was considerably younger than Elizabeth, who had been a friend of her older sister Charlotte rather than a particular friend of hers, and she did not have the wealth or the position of the Darcys. Then, too, it was not always easy for her to talk to older people. True, there was another young man on board, for Edward was more of an age with her, but she did not encourage her feelings for him, as she knew too well how vulnerable a woman made herself when she entertained feelings for a rich and handsome man.

The silence was becoming awkward and so she turned to go but, emboldened by her step toward departure, Paul said, “I have no right…”

She stopped and waited for him to continue.

“I have no right,” he said again and then went on in a rush, “but I cannot bear to see you so sad. I know I should not talk of it, but I can think of nothing else to talk to you about, except commonplaces, and I do not want to bore you with my feeble attempts to talk about the weather. Something has happened to you, I can tell that, something which has robbed you of your happiness. I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do for you. If I might be of service to you in any way—even if it is only to listen—well, then, I would gladly do anything in my power to lighten your burden.”

He spoke with such obvious sincerity that Sophie found herself wanting to confide in him. She had tried to speak to her siblings at the time, but they had been busy with their own affairs and inclined to dismiss the feelings of the youngest member of the family. Her parents had had time and interest aplenty but no way of understanding her.

“There was an unhappy love affair, I think,” he said, not looking at her but instead looking over the sea.

It made it easier for her.

“There was someone…” she said, not knowing how to begin but nevertheless wanting to speak.

“In Hertfordshire?” he asked, looking back toward her. “That is where you are from, I think?”

She nodded. “Yes.” And then she stopped, for she did not know how to go on.

“I have never been to Hertfordshire, but I hear it is very pretty.”

He had said the right thing. Given something so harmless to discuss, Sophie began to speak at length. She told him of her town and spoke of her neighbours with affection, but what was left unsaid was as revealing as what was said. As the youngest daughter of a large family, it was soon clear that she had been made to understand, though not unkindly, that marriage was the only honourable means of keeping herself from want once her parents died and that her choices of husband would be limited, as her parents could not provide her with much in the way of a dowry. She had accepted her situation but had still hoped that she would be luckier than her oldest sister, Charlotte, whose marriage to Mr Collins, it soon became clear, she could never view as anything other than a sham.

“Your choices are not so limited, I am sure,” he said, looking at her with unconcealed admiration.

But it became clear from her halting sentences that her fragile beauty had been largely unremarked upon in the environs of her parents’ house and that even the kindest neighbours had tended to see it as a waste in a child whose prospects depended more on fortune than merit.

“And that is when I met Mr Rotherham,” she said softly.

Paul waited, saying nothing, giving her the opportunity to order her thoughts and express them in a way she had not been able to before.

“He was very good to me,” she said, speaking of Francis Rotherham with a mixture of wistfulness and pain, telling him of the way Mr Rotherham had made much of her during the summer balls and assemblies. “He laughed with me and danced with me and made me feel that I was special.”

“And so you are,” said Paul sincerely.

She shook her head. “No. For not long after such hopeful scenes, Mr Rotherham abandoned me at a lakeside picnic in order to pursue…”

“A wealthy young woman?” he hazarded.

She dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze as she remembered the rich young lady who had arrived from London—remembered, too, how Mr Rotherham had transferred his allegiances publicly, with no thought for her feelings or the hurt and shame she must feel. At his callous treatment, her heart had shrivelled, and when she had recovered a little, she vowed never to give her heart to a man she did not fully know, and fully trust, again.

She felt Paul’s silent sympathy, even as her eyes came to rest on his hands. Paul Inkworthy had none of the artifices of Mr Rotherham. She had only to look at his paint-stained fingers and then lift her eyes a little to his rather worn shirt to see he cared little for society manners. The only time she had seen him animated was when he had discussed chiaroscuro one afternoon with Beth. It was art which stirred his passions, not fortunes. Even so, she knew very little about him, and although his admiration was gratifying, it was not enough to make her seek a romantic attachment again.

She made an effort to shake away the gloomy memories which were threatening to engulf her and reminded herself that she was lucky to have such good friends and to have been invited on such an interesting trip. She pushed her thoughts deliberately outward and, turning the feather in her hands, she said, “The wind is very strong.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, with a fervour which reflected his willingness to allow her to return to the safety of commonplaces, rather than the brilliance of her comment.

She smiled at his evident goodwill and, looking up, said, “It catches the sails as forcefully as it caught my feather.”

“Yes, it does,” he said, returning her smile.

“I do not know how the sailors can climb the masts in such a wind, but they know no fear.”

“No.”

Her eyes fell to the deck, where she caught sight of one of his sketches. It had caught the sailors’ activity admirably. She picked it up to study it further and remarked that he had caught their vitality with brilliance; and he explained, with no false modesty, how he had done it. Before long, they were deep in a conversation about art, and all the awkwardness of their former conversation was lost. It was one subject on which he knew no hesitancy or reticence, and she found his enthusiasm contagious.

“I wish I could catch the feel of the wind in the sails, but I am afraid I am no artist,” she said.

“It is easy when you know how,” he said. “Here.” He put a pencil into her hand. Then, putting his arm around her so that he could guide her, he took hold of her hand and sketched a few vital lines.

“Do you feel the flow of it?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Sophie.

She felt something else as well, a warmth and tingling at his nearness. She could feel the sweetness of his breath on the back of her neck, and the strength of his hand was exhilarating. She was just about to make another line on the paper when a cheery voice called out behind her, “Miss Lucas, how do you like the journey so far?” and she turned, startled, to see Mr Darcy’s cousin Edward coming toward them.

Unlike Paul, his wardrobe was immaculate, and his cuffs pristine white and innocent of a seamstress’s darns. But his face—she sprang away from Paul at once, but not before she had registered the surprise and disapproval in Edward’s eyes at her closeness to Mr Inkworthy.

Oh, why do men have to be so difficult, she thought, with a sudden flare of irritation with Edward and with men in general, for in one way or another they seemed to be forever disturbing her calm.

Edward simply bowed stiffly and moved on to speak to the captain, while Paul returned to his sketches.

Sophie returned to her seat to find that Meg had been joined by Elizabeth and that mercifully there were no men anywhere near. The little girl was regaling her mother with stories of Aahotep.

“My goodness, Aahotep had a very eventful life,” Elizabeth was saying, while Meg nodded before carrying on with her embroidery.

Sophie sat down and Elizabeth, turning to welcome her, said in surprise, “You are angry. What about?”

“You are mistaken,” said Sophie. “I am not angry.”

“Yes, you are. And I am glad,” said Elizabeth with satisfaction. “It is far better than seeing you looking so listless all the time. It is good to know that your spirit is returning; a little anger is a healthy thing. Was it something Edward said?”

Sophie shook her head. “No, not really. It is just that… oh, why are men so difficult?” she burst out. “You are lucky; you found Mr Darcy, but other men…”

“Believe me, my husband is just as difficult as the rest,” said Elizabeth, laughing.

“But you are happily married, whereas I…”

“Have that joy yet to come,” said Elizabeth firmly.

“I wish it might be so,” said Sophie, sitting beside her. “But after last year…”

“I understand. After your unfortunate experiences with Mr Rotherham, you feel that you do not want anything to do with men ever again. Believe me, I know how you feel. Did you really love him?” asked Elizabeth sympathetically.

Sophie said with a sigh, “I do not know. I thought I did, but now I am not so sure. I am not sure I know what love is.”

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “Would you like to find him in Meryton when you get home? Would it make you happy if he came back for you?”

“No,” said Sophie without hesitation. And, after a minute’s thought, she added, “And in any case he would not do so.”

“Mr Bingley came back for Jane,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“But that was not the same.”

“How so?”

“Because Mr Bingley loved Jane. And she loved him.”

“And in your case it is different?” Elizabeth asked.

“It is a strange thing, but now that you put it like that, I can see that it is. I have spent so long regretting him that I did not think to ask myself if I really loved him. I was flattered by his attentions and I was excited at the thought of him proposing, and I was relieved that my family would not have the burden of an unwanted female on their hands. And so I thought I was in love with him. And then when he humiliated me by withdrawing his attentions, and in such a public way, I was too hurt to know what I really felt. But now that it is all over, and I am many miles away, I can see things more clearly. Perhaps I never loved him after all.”

“Affairs of the heart are never easy,” said Elizabeth. “I made a lot of mistakes when I was about your age. I judged my husband on an overheard conversation, and from that moment on I set out to tease and plague him because he had slighted my charms. I was so pleased with my own cleverness that I was blind to his good points and exaggerated his bad points, never stopping to ask myself if I was being fair or just. I am ashamed when I remember it. And not only was I wrong about my husband, I was wrong about George Wickham. He seemed handsome and charming, and he seemed to be suffering. I believed everything he told me without once seeking confirmation elsewhere, and all the time he was deceiving me. It was a bitter time for me when I discovered my mistake. I was devastated. I truly thought I would never be happy again. But love is so complicated that mistakes are inevitable, and you should not be afraid of making them. They are a necessary part of falling in love.”

“Thank you,” said Sophie. “It is comforting to know I am not the only person who has been foolish.”

“You must not let it worry you,” said Elizabeth kindly. She paused and then said, “Tell me, what do you think of the two young men on board? They are both decent men, I think, and they both seem very taken with you.”

“I am flattered, I cannot deny,” she said honestly. “But this morning I felt that I was nothing but a bone for them to fight over. Although…”

“Yes?” prompted Elizabeth.

“I do not think that P… Mr Inkworthy regards me in that light.”

“Our holiday is only just beginning. We have not yet reached Malta, and from there it is another month to Egypt. You will have plenty of time to get to know them both better by the time we arrive.”