Part 1: Ramsgate

Posted on Tuesday, 1 August 2006

Darcy stood at the seawall in Ramsgate, braving the spring gale as he sought to calm the agitation of the spirit through the mortification of the flesh.

It had been two days since Elizabeth Bennet had rejected his proposal at Hunsford. Darcy had decided against returning to London with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and had instead gone to Ramsgate, the scene the previous summer of the near-catastrophe involving his sister Georgiana and that scoundrel Wickham. From where he stood, he could see the spot on the beach where they had stood when he came upon them; could almost see them there, though the gale drove towering waves to crash against the rocks.

Darcy smiled to himself. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Nothing could live on that beach in this storm. Indeed, it was none too pleasant where he stood. He had sent his coachman to take the horses to a livery stable and given the man permission to shelter in a near-by tavern while his master worked out his inner demons in the storm. Old Hackett was a decent fellow; Darcy saw no need to make him suffer. The coach had been left, brake engaged and wheels chocked, in case Darcy himself felt the need of shelter.

For the present, he did not. Though he was soaked to the skin, and the gale drove the rain at him such that the droplets seemed like so many tiny punches delivered to his body, he felt he had to stand his ground. It seemed the gods had ordered an unusually violent storm for the time of year specifically to assist his introspection and Darcy was not about to spurn their gift.

For two days, Darcy had thought of little other than Elizabeth Bennet’s criticisms. His initial anger had faded, as he came to recognize that her points were well-taken. What troubled him was the conviction that the Darcy she had so accurately summed-up was not his true self. The Wickham incident had not altered only Georgiana’s behaviour; it had also changed his own manners for the worse. That was why he had returned to Ramsgate. He felt he had to come to terms with what had happened last summer and return to society, not as the shocked and embittered young man who had gone into Hertfordshire, but as the kind and considerate gentleman, the loving brother and friend that he had always been.

Darcy’s mind was deeply engaged in such disagreeable but necessary reveries, when he heard a cry from the beach. Someone was down there! He looked around for help and saw, not surprisingly given the weather, that he was alone. He searched the beach and saw a body hurled by the breakers onto the rocks. He heard another cry, fainter this time.

Darcy was no coward. He ran to the nearest stairs giving access to the beach and he did not hesitate. At whatever personal risk, he would attempt to save the poor soul caught in the fury of the waves. He descended to the beach.

Timing his dash across the beach to coincide with the interval between two of the largest waves, he reached the victim … and stopped. It was an hesitation that nearly cost him his life, but he could not help himself. At his feet was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Her hair was loose and cascaded in luxuriant curls to her waist; surely so much hair could not be pinned up into the small mass that crowned her head only two days ago? That thought was quickly supplanted by the realization that those curls were all that maintained her modesty; Miss Bennet had not a stitch of clothing upon her. Darcy nearly averted his eyes, and would have done so but for any consideration of Miss Bennet’s state of undress being driven away by the still more awful realization that, it seemed, some sea creature was in the process of devouring her legs.

Darcy’s thoughts at this point were not perfectly rational. He grabbed the sea creature by its tail fins and tried to pull it off of Miss Bennet. He succeeded only in adopting an inelegant posture, and dragging Miss Bennet a short distance across the beach, which was how the next major wave found them.

Darcy and Miss Bennet were lifted by the wave and hurled against the rocks; the breath was driven from Darcy’s body and he felt himself being dragged back out to sea. He scrambled for handholds in the rocks and gasped for air. Darcy realized that he could not survive another such blow; he had to reach the sea wall before the next wave. Struggling to his feet, he threw Miss Bennet over his shoulder, sea creature and all, and staggered for his life.

Darcy reached the stairs up to the sea wall in time and, at the limit of his strength, reached safety at the top. Concerned for Miss Bennet’s modesty, Darcy got her to his carriage and deposited her inside. He retrieved a sharp cutlass, kept under the driver’s seat as a defense against highwaymen; he could use it to cut away the sea creature.

Entering the carriage, Darcy was arrested by Miss Bennet’s astonishing beauty. He had dreamed of her like this … apart from the sea creature problem … and with a lot less hair … but the reality far exceeded his imagination. It was entirely improper, of course, but there was no time to be lost in disengaging her from the sea creature.

Fortunately for Miss Bennet, Darcy did not simply slash at the sea creature with the cutlass. Instead, he spent some minutes trying to find a point where he could insert the blade into the creature’s mouth and open it up with a cutting motion away from where he thought Miss Bennet’s legs must be. He found that the scaly tail blended seamlessly with Miss Bennet’s very soft and very mammalian waist.

Darcy had read Greek at Cambridge. He was familiar with the Odyssey. Though his rational mind rejected the possibility, he knew what he had found. Miss Bennet was a siren; what the English sailors called a mermaid.

Darcy also realized that Miss Bennet was unconscious and must have taken in considerable water. He rolled her onto her stomach … err … ventral surface … and proceeded to pump her diaphragm in the approved manner. He was rewarded when Miss Bennet began to cough and sputter, expelling some water but, more importantly, gasping for air.

In due course, Miss Bennet was breathing normally, although she had not as yet recovered consciousness. Darcy sat quietly, admiring her beauty. Although it was wet through, he covered her with his cloak; as it happened, keeping her tail wet was the best thing he could do for it, although he was not to know that until later.

Darcy also considered his options. None of them appealed to him. He could release Miss Bennet into the sea; but having caught her, he was extremely reluctant to do that. What if she were not sufficiently recovered to return to her natural state? And who would believe his story, if he had not the physical evidence? He could go to London, and turn her over to some learned fellow at the Royal Society; he was even more reluctant to do that. He needed time to think undisturbed and there was only one place he could be sure of having that. He must take Miss Bennet to Pemberley.

Darcy ran to the tavern and found Old Hackett seated at a trestle table, with a plate of stew and a pot of ale before him. Darcy sat down with him and spoke, urgently but under his breath. “Hackett,” he said, “we must leave for Pemberley immediately. We must stop only to change the horses and we must not allow anybody to look into the coach.”

“Of course not, sir,” replied the imperturbable Hackett.

“You see,” continued Darcy, after looking around to ensure nobody was paying any attention to them and lowering his voice to a whisper, “I have a mermaid in the coach.”

Old Hackett, formerly Corporal Hackett, had not served two seven-year enlistments in the Army without learning to accept insane orders with a straight face. The officer class were just gentry in red coats and, while Mr. Darcy had always seemed so reasonable, blood will out in the end. Like many good servants, Hackett was a terrible snob.

“Indeed, sir,” Hackett replied conspiratorially, “in that case we must make every effort to ensure that nobody looks into the coach. Will the mermaid be requiring anything in the way of food or other provisions?” Hackett was being thorough. Mr. Darcy was an upright sort of gentleman, and Hackett had never known him to engage in a dalliance of any kind, so the mermaid was likely only a figment; but there was always the chance he was spiriting away some fisherman’s daughter, who might want something to eat or a change of clothes.

“Thank you, Hackett. That’s very good thinking,” Darcy replied. “We’ll need some women’s clothing; something suitable for the upper body. Some food; yes. Perhaps some bread, cheese, a cold ham, a bottle of wine or two. Better also get some raw fish, and maybe some kelp.” Darcy wasn’t at all sure what mermaids ate.

Part 2: The Journey to Pemberley

The coach had been several hours on the road to Pemberley when Miss Bennet awoke. She appeared disoriented and was particularly disturbed by the shift which Darcy had slipped over her head and pulled down to conceal the mammalian portion of her anatomy. Now that he knew what Miss Bennet was, he understood that she might not be used to the necessity for clothing. Darcy had prepared himself to explain the conventions of terrestrial England, although he had some concern about how he was to communicate these conventions to a mermaid.

Hackett, for his part, had prepared for the journey as agreed in the tavern. He was deeply disappointed in the young master. It seemed, after all, that there was a young woman in the carriage. From the glimpse Hackett had of her when passing in to Darcy the bundle of clothing and the baskets of food (the raw fish and kelp requiring a basket of their own), she seemed to have dark skin and black hair; the very image of the Hindu girl Hackett had known while serving under Wellington in India. Hackett resented Darcy taking advantage of the girl, but knew there was nothing he could say or do about it. He drove on.

Miss Bennet recovered herself. The wild look left her eyes and she regarded Darcy speculatively. At length, she spoke. “Would you be so kind, sir, as to tell me who you are, where you are taking me and,” here she blushed, “how I came to be wearing this clothing?”

Darcy was all astonishment; he could have been knocked over with a feather. He did not know what he had expected the mermaid to say or do, but he certainly did not expect her to address him in the manner of an English gentlewoman. Indeed, not only was the mermaid’s face the very image of Elizabeth Bennet (and, without knowing, Darcy suspected that, above the waist, the remainder of her anatomy was the image of Elizabeth Bennet), she rather sounded like Elizabeth Bennet.

Recovering his own composure with difficulty, Darcy blurted out, “You speak English!”

“Indeed, sir, I do.” replied Miss Bennet, “Is it that you do not? Should we converse in French?”

“No,” said Darcy, “English will serve admirably. It is just that I did not expect a creature like you to speak English so well or, indeed, at all.”

“It is enough,” Miss Bennet remarked, rather confusingly, “that you understand English so well or, indeed, at all. I might also wonder whether your conversations with all new acquaintances are conducted with so little an effort at civility.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Darcy, stung by the implication to be drawn from Miss Bennet’s last remark, “I have not the pleasure of understanding you. What has civility to do with the present conversation and why would you consider anything I have said to be uncivil?”

Miss Bennet did not hesitate to respond. “Place yourself in my position, sir. You are being taken, without your consent, by a stranger to an unknown destination. That stranger has apparently taken some liberties with your person and little consideration is presently being given to your requirements for health. You ask the stranger a very few not unreasonable questions in an effort to assuage your anxiety and, for response, the stranger makes no answer, but instead expresses surprise at your language skills and gratuitously employs demeaning language. ‘Creature’, indeed! Would that not be some excuse for considering the stranger to be uncivil? Would not gentlemanly behaviour include setting even a prisoner at his or her ease, to the extent possible?”

Darcy fought the urge to make a quick retort and instead considered his position carefully. He had in his coach a mythological beast, a mermaid who sounded and, in part, looked like Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Worse, it was apparent that the mermaid could quickly come to hold an opinion of him as low as that held by Miss Bennet herself. He had to do better.

“Forgive me,” Darcy said, “my behaviour has been inconsiderate. This is all so new to me, but that is an explanation, not an excuse. Will you permit me to begin again?”

Miss Bennet smiled a smile that, as it always had, melted Darcy’s heart. “I would be delighted, sir, if you would.”

“My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy. I am an English landowner and I believe I saved you from drowning, or perhaps from being dashed to pieces on the rocks, at a place called Ramsgate, on the south coast of England. You are presently in my carriage, being transported to my estate, a place called Pemberley. You are not a prisoner, but I am taking you to Pemberley because there we will have time to consider what is best to be done, without interference from any third party. Might I ask your name?”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate the concise answers to my questions and, once I know more, I may approve of your course of action. My name is Elizabeth Bennet, known as Lizzy to my most intimate acquaintance.”

This was a day for surprises. While Darcy was framing a response to this astonishing disclosure, a truly incredible coincidence in nomenclature, the carriage jerked to a halt. Before Darcy’s puzzlement could turn to annoyance, the door to the coach was flung open and Old Hackett leveled his blunderbuss at Darcy’s chest. “This has gone on long enough, Mr. Darcy.”

Old Hackett could not help overhearing Darcy’s conversation. It was a peculiar conversation because Mr. Darcy was speaking in English and Miss Kapur was responding in Hindi. Hackett had never known more than a few words of Hindi and had not heard the language at all in nearly 20 years. But he understood well enough when she identified herself. The same woman, after all these years! Perhaps she had come to England to look for him, only to be carried off by Mr. Darcy, no doubt as some kind of plaything. He couldn’t allow it.

“I have no desire to shoot you, Mr. Darcy, sir, but I will if I must. I know not how you have imposed yourself on Miss Kapur. I daresay you are wealthy enough to have blinded her with gifts and promises. But I well know you could never marry an Indian woman and I won’t have you ruining her. You will release her into my protection and I will leave your service this instant, or I pull the trigger. Sir.”

“Steady on, Hackett; let’s not do anything in haste that we may regret later.” There was something here that Darcy did not quite understand, but he was beginning to suspect that mermaids were remarkable in ways that went beyond a fishy tail.

He was soon to be enlightened, as Miss Bennet entered the conversation. Her looks and her smiles were for Old Hackett, but her words were addressed to Darcy. “Mr. Hackett cannot understand me,” she said, “so you will have to translate for him. Please ask Mr. Hackett to enter the coach and be seated. Tell him Miss Kapur will explain everything.”

“Look, Hackett,” said Darcy, “why don’t you step into the carriage and sit down. Apparently, Miss … err … Kapur has something she wants to tell us. I understand I will have to translate.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Hindi, sir,” Hackett said, somewhat suspiciously.

‘Neither did I,’ thought Darcy, but aloud he said only “Oh, do sit down and let’s find out what’s going on.”

Hackett complied, while Miss Bennet considered how best to tell her tale.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “are you familiar with the legend of the sirens, luring sailors to their deaths with songs so sweet they cannot be resisted?”

“Yes,” said Darcy, “that legend is in the Odyssey and has been known to sailors who have never heard of Odysseus for two thousand years or more.”

“How, sir, do you think a siren is able to do such a thing?,” Miss Bennet asked with an arch little smile and a raised eye-brow. Darcy loved that look.

Darcy honestly admitted that “I have no idea whether the legend is true, nor how the result could be achieved if it were true.”

Miss Bennet continued, “When a human being sees a siren, he or she sees the woman best-loved of all. You see me and hear me as someone named Elizabeth Bennet. I know very little about you or her, but I do know that she speaks two languages and the language she would use with you is formal; you are not intimate with her.”

‘No,’ thought Darcy, ‘I certainly am not.’

“Hackett,” said Miss Bennet, “sees and hears me as someone named Kapur. Unfortunately, it seems he does not speak her language and the few words of English she knows would not be helpful in present circumstances. This perception humans have of us is the reason a siren’s song is so dangerous to a sailor; after months at sea without female companionship, for a sailor to see and hear the best-loved woman he knows is often overwhelming. We certainly do not desire their deaths, but I must confess we have caused many.”

Darcy paused to consider the implications of this information. “So, when you speak, I hear English because that is the language Miss Bennet would speak and Hackett hears Hindi because that is the language Miss Kapur would speak?”

“Exactly.”

“And you are neither Miss Bennet nor Miss Kapur?”

“You begin to understand,” said Miss Bennet. (Darcy could not think of any other name for her, although he was resolved to address her correctly if he could.)

“If it does not require the breach of any confidence,” Darcy was determined to continue to address Miss Bennet with all the politeness at his command, “could you tell us what your own name may be? How ought I to address you?”

Miss Bennet laughed. “I did tell you my name, Mr. Darcy. But you will never hear it as anything other than ‘Elizabeth Bennet’ until some other woman takes her place in your heart. So, to you, I must be ‘Miss Bennet’.”

Darcy asked her, almost wistfully, “I couldn’t address you as ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Lizzy’?”

Miss Bennet replied, “You might think, Mr. Darcy, that it may make little difference to me what you call me, and you would not be entirely wrong in that, but there is more to it. You know that we are not close relations, nor have we reached an understanding of any kind. It would be highly improper for you to address me as anything other than ‘Miss Bennet’, or perhaps ‘Miss Elizabeth’ if we were in the presence of an older unmarried sister of mine. As a gentleman, you ought to know that and to govern yourself accordingly. I understand full well that you may not previously have met anybody quite like me, but that cannot be justification for disrespectful behaviour towards me.”

“Indeed, not,” said Darcy, as he contemplated yet another speech that might have been delivered to him by that other Miss Bennet.

Hackett, who could understand only Darcy’s half of this conversation, had displayed admirable patience thus far, but now demanded an explanation. Darcy explained it all, so far as he understood it himself.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Hackett, “I am not an educated man, but I hope I am not a fool. We are sitting in your carriage in the presence of a young woman who is the very image of a woman I knew in India.” Hackett reached across and touched Miss Kapur’s hand to confirm her solidity; she was no figment. “I admit my Miss Kapur would not be so young today as is this woman. Yet you tell me that only I see her and you see someone else? Shall I drive us directly to Bedlam?”

Miss Bennet spoke again. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Hackett might have an easier time believing all you have told him, if he were to see my tail.”

Darcy’s cloak still covered the lower half of Miss Bennet’s body. Feeling foolishly like a conjurer at a carnival side-show, Darcy removed the cloak to reveal the tail of a large fish.

Hackett’s surprise was now complete. “You meant it, then, when you told me you had a mermaid in the carriage?” was all he could say.

“Of course I meant it,” replied Darcy with some irritation. “Whom did you think I had in the carriage? … Oh … oh … I see. Never mind; I think I understand.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Hackett. “I am only a coachman. Ours is not to reason why.”

‘That’s catchy,’ thought Darcy, ‘that last bit is almost poetic. Hackett has unsuspected depths.’ Aloud, he said, “Quite. Now, if you could be so good as to get us under way again …”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Hackett, “But is Miss Kapur’s tail quite right? It looks like day-old fish, not the morning’s catch, if you see what I mean. Is there anything we ought to be doing for her?”

Darcy did not see exactly what Hackett meant; he had never been to a fish market in his life. But the tail did look different than it had when he first rescued Miss Bennet the previous evening.

Miss Bennet spoke up. “Mr. Darcy, please thank Mr. Hackett for his concern for my well-being. Please also tell him that, in my opinion, he is a true gentleman.”

Darcy felt that, once again, he had failed a test of some sort. After relaying the message to Hackett, he addressed Miss Bennet. “I am so sorry, Miss Bennet. You indicated that little consideration was being given to the requirements for your health and I fear the reproach was merited. I have done nothing for your present relief. Please forgive me, and tell me what you require. I assure you, I will do everything in my power to accommodate your needs.”

Miss Bennet thanked Darcy for his belated concern and explained that it was vital to her health that her tail be kept wet. As it dried out, she was beginning to experience some discomfort. In due course, the pain would become excruciating and death would follow.

Darcy instructed Hackett to drive on only so far as the next farm house. He was to stop on the pretext of requiring water for the horses, and bring a bucket or two of water to the carriage. A better solution would have to wait until the next post house.

When Hackett had obtained some water, Darcy splashed it liberally over Miss Bennet’s tail, heedless of the damage to the upholstery, and soaked his cloak in water before again wrapping it around the tail. He felt amply rewarded by Miss Bennet’s smile of pleasure as the water poured over her. To earn another such smile, Darcy would gladly have driven the whole carriage into the sea.

As they drove through the countryside towards London, en route for Pemberley, Darcy wrestled with the question of what to do about Miss Bennet’s tail, and came ultimately to the conclusion that a damp wrapping and periodic lashings of water was the best that could be done. His carriage was not so robust as to support the installation of a rain barrel or a water trough, and although such things could be mounted on a sturdy wagon, the work to do so and the appearance of the modified wagon would attract unwanted attention from passers-by, even if the presence of Miss Bennet on the wagon could somehow be concealed.

Miss Bennet had been watching Darcy as he worked through the possibilities. When his features finally seemed in repose, she resumed the conversation.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “there remains one of my initial questions to which you have not responded.”

“I am at your service, Miss Bennet.”

“It is the matter of this shift I am wearing. It is not uncomfortable, as human clothing goes, but I wonder how it came to be upon my body. Can you shed any light on who did this?”

Darcy blushed at the direction the conversation was headed, but candidly admitted that, as she had been unconscious, he had personally dressed her.

“And was that entirely proper, sir? Had you not better have obtained the services of some reliable woman to attend to such a task?”

Darcy acknowledged that propriety would certainly indicate that he ought to have obtained the assistance of a woman, hired a lady’s maid if necessary, but in his defense he argued that he had not wanted the world to know that a mermaid had landed at Ramsgate and that he could think of no better way to keep the secret than to attend to everything himself.

Miss Bennet admitted that secrecy was a desirable object, but pressed Darcy further. “Can you confirm, sir, that you took no unnecessary liberties and indulged no prurient interest?”

Darcy blushed again. He wished to reply courteously, but honestly. He spoke hesitantly and chose his words with care. “I assure you, madam, that I took no unnecessary liberties, but … I could not with honesty tell you that I was disinterested in what I … saw. I was … surprised … at the … pleasure … I had in pulling your hair through the neck of the shift so that it might lie comfortably on the outside of the garment. The slight scent of lavender was quite … charming … and you were … altogether … lovely.” Darcy paused as he realized that Miss Bennet had once again forced him to reflect upon his actions with something less than complete satisfaction. “As a gentleman,” he continued, “I ought not to have handled you so intimately; I ought to have brought some woman into the secret.”

“You will appreciate,” Miss Bennet said with a hint of a smile, “that I was unconscious. Ought my father to force us to marry?”

Darcy realized that this was a very difficult question. No doubt there were men in society who, had an eligible match like Fitzwilliam Darcy seen so much of a daughter as Darcy had seen of Miss Bennet (the mermaid), would have insisted on marriage and would likely have insisted on a special license with as little delay as possible. On the other hand … If George Wickham had done as much with Georgiana as Darcy had done with the mermaid, but no more, Darcy would certainly not insist they marry. Quite the reverse; Darcy would insist on secrecy and forbid a marriage.

These reflections were most unsatisfactory to Darcy. His morality was essentially conservative. How could one know the correct answer, if that answer depended not only on the act but on the identity of the actors? Did it matter that the young lady in question was not of his … what? … species? In Darcy’s view, rules for conduct should be clear-cut; absolute, if possible. And Miss Bennet deserved an answer to her question.

Darcy quickly came to his conclusion. He held himself to a higher standard than that of a debauched rake. “Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “I cannot be sure what your father would demand of me; I have not irretrievably compromised you and only Hackett is aware of any impropriety; Hackett’s discretion may be relied upon. Much depends on your father’s views on such matters, including perhaps his hopes and plans for your future. If he had planned an advantageous match for you with some male siren, there is no need for anything that has passed between us to interfere with those plans. But, if your father were to insist I marry you, I would agree that I am honour-bound to do so and I would comply.”

Miss Bennet sighed affectionately and smiled. This conversation was proving as amusing as she had hoped it might, and she was not about to let Darcy off the hook. “But Mr. Darcy, you do not love me and I do not love you. Has that circumstance nothing to do with the matter?”

“Indeed,” said Darcy, “in the society to which I belong, the affection between the parties, or lack thereof, very often has little to do with matrimony. Affection between the parties has even less to do with the case when a parent or guardian insists upon a marriage. But allow me to say, Miss Bennet, that my feelings and wishes are unchanged from those I expressed at Hunsford. It would be no punishment for me to marry you.”

“You forget, Mr. Darcy, that I have never been to a place called Hunsford. And you love Miss Elizabeth Bennet, not me.”

“You were not the Miss Bennet I fell in love with,” replied Darcy, “but you are so very like her, I have little doubt …”

“Mr. Darcy,” teased Miss Bennet, “do be sensible. How shall we dance at our engagement ball?; how shall I shop for my wedding clothes?; and have you given any thought to how I shall provide you with an heir to Pemberley?”

Mr. Darcy had not given any thought to the practical difficulties of marriage to a mermaid. He had already offended Miss Bennet once by referring to her as a “creature”; he had no desire to repeat that incivility. He responded, “You are quite correct, Miss Bennet. I have not given any thought to the practical difficulties. My answer was based on the view that you are as worthy of protection as any English gentlewoman. And, whatever the difficulties, I do believe I would come to love you.”

Miss Bennet was not at all displeased with Darcy’s response, although she realized he persisted in failing to draw a sufficient distinction between herself and the human Miss Bennet. So, she replied, “Mr. Darcy, it has happened that a gentleman has fallen in love with a mermaid; that is to say, with the mermaid herself and not with the image of some other woman. You see and hear Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but I have my own soul. If you were to fall in love with that soul, with me, you would no longer see Miss Bennet. You would see me as I am; you would hear my true name.”

Darcy shivered at the thought. What was Miss Bennet truly like? He was not unhappy with the illusion of Miss Bennet; far from it. How many men fell in love with an illusion? To be sure, he knew very little actual good of the human Miss Bennet when he fell in love with her, but when had that mattered? With a blush, Darcy temporized, “Forgive me for asking, but could you provide me with an heir to Pemberley?”

Miss Bennet laughed. “Teasing man. We are discussing whether you are obliged to marry me. But, provided a female could inherit Pemberley, yes. I can provide you with a daughter; she would be a mermaid. To be candid, the method of reproduction is not very appealing to most human males …”

To Darcy, this conversation was a little bit like watching a run-away carriage; he doubted it would end well, but he could not turn away. “If you can tell me without any … indelicacy …”

“Can you swim well, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy nodded.

“When I am heavy with roe, which occurs in the spring each year, you must find a stretch of coast with a gravel bottom about a fathom deep when the tide is out; you then scoop out a shallow depression. I deposit my eggs in this nest, and you simply swim over the nest and fertilize the eggs. You ought then to guard the nest, ideally for the 30 days it will take for the eggs to hatch.”

To Darcy’s ear, this did not sound very romantic. “What do you do while I am … err … fertilizing the eggs?”

Miss Bennet smiled. “The wise mermaid departs the area just as soon as she lays her eggs; it really isn’t safe to linger. But, most of us would withdraw to a discrete distance and watch; it is the only way to be sure who the father of our daughters might be.”

Darcy had little doubt that Miss Bennet was correct in her observation that there was little to appeal to the human male in this process. It did not appeal to him, much as he enjoyed a good swim.

“There are no male sirens, Mr. Darcy,” she continued, “my father was a human, as will be the father of any daughters I might have. It is, perhaps, not so very surprising that there are so few mermaids in the world.”

To Darcy’s mind, this information was decisive. If the husband to a mermaid were a human male, there could be little doubt in his mind that Miss Bennet’s father would have the right to insist that Fitzwilliam Darcy be that human male. “This has been very educational, Miss Bennet,” he said, not without some perplexity. “To return to our topic of conversation, notwithstanding the apparent difficulties inherent in the match, I remain convinced it would be my duty as an English gentleman to follow your father’s wishes in the matter of a marriage.”

Miss Bennet decided Mr. Darcy had suffered enough for the impropriety attendant on his having dressed her unconscious form. “I may not have mentioned,” she said, “that, barring accident, we mermaids can live to ages which to a human are of biblical proportions. Eight hundred years is not unheard of. As it happens, my father was a Breton fisherman who has been dead these two hundred years at least. So, it is most unlikely that he will call you out over your handling of my person. Nor do I insist on marriage; I am content to rely on Mr. Hackett’s discretion and to keep the entire affair between ourselves. A mermaid, you will understand, prefers to avoid the public eye.”

Darcy was relieved to know that he would not be compelled to enter an extraordinary marriage, but his relief was not unalloyed. Given that it was unlikely he would ever again see his Miss Bennet, much less win her heart, a traitorous corner of his own heart was not indisposed to seek solace when it appeared in the congenial form of this Miss Bennet. It wouldn’t work out; it couldn’t last. On balance, he was relieved.

And so, with many a water-break for the sake of Miss Bennet’s tail, Darcy’s carriage continued northward, towards Pemberley. The journey took two days, during which Mr. Darcy and the mermaid talked of many things, not least of that other Miss Bennet who had captured Darcy’s heart. At times, they rode in companionable silence.

It was, for the most part, a very agreeable journey for Darcy. To be sure, there were disagreeable moments. For example, of the foods on offer, the raw fish were indeed Miss Bennet’s favourite repast, but her method of filleting the fish, using only her teeth and a finger-nail, does not bear description; it tested Darcy’s intestinal fortitude and forced him to the realization that even appalling dinner companions such as Mrs Bennet were positively genteel by comparison.

No, this Miss Bennet was not a gentleman’s daughter and was most certainly not of his social circle. But he could find her nothing but amiable, reflecting as she did the very image of that other Miss Bennet. He began to regret having despised the family and the connections of his Miss Bennet. When the distinctions were merely of degree and not of kind, his pride in such distinctions began to seem a shallow, pathetic thing, properly the object of ridicule.

The time came when Darcy rapped on the ceiling of the coach with his cane, and called on Hackett to halt the carriage. Pemberley was in view, and he wished Miss Bennet to appreciate the prospect.

Darcy drew back the curtain from a coach window. “Pemberley,” he proudly announced. Miss Bennet gave a gasp of almost sensual pleasure. “I have never seen,” she said, “a pond more happily situated.”

“Pond?,” queried Darcy.

“To be sure,” said Miss Bennet, “I have never before seen a pond situated anywhere. But this one seems very charming and I would be very grateful if you could remove me from this carriage and place me in the pond.”

‘Well,’ thought Darcy, ‘so much for the beauties of the house and grounds.’ Darcy had Hackett bring the carriage as close to the shore of the pond as might be. Eschewing the ‘fireman’s carry’ that he had used to inelegantly deposit Miss Bennet in the carriage three days earlier, Darcy carried her in his arms as gently and as respectfully as he could manage towards the shore. As he approached the pond, Miss Bennet nearly knocked him over when, with a flick of her powerful tail, she propelled herself from his arms into the water.

Miss Bennet let escape a cry of pleasure, upon hitting the water, that brought a smile to Darcy’s face. “Mr. Darcy,” she gaily called out, “you must turn your back to me.”

Puzzled, Darcy did as she asked. In a moment, she called out that he might turn again. When Darcy did so, he saw the shift Miss Bennet had been wearing hanging on a bush and Miss Bennet herself swimming away from him at an amazing speed. On reaching the far end of the pond, she turned on a tanner* and hurtled back towards Darcy and an open-mouthed Hackett. She leapt in the air and twisted as she returned to the water so as to slap the surface with her tailfins, drenching her two spectators with the splash.

Miss Bennet had reached her new home.

* The phrase “turning on a dime” means, of course, a tight turn, often executed at high speed. “Dime” as slang for a U.S. 10 cent coin dates from 1786. “Tanner” as slang for a U.K. sixpence coin dates from 1811. The tanner was about the same size as the dime and both were silver coins. The phrase “turning on a dime” likely dates from a period after the Regency, and it is unlikely that anyone ever “turned on a tanner”.

Part 3: At Pemberley

Posted on Thursday, 10 August 2006

The spring passed idyllically for Darcy. His only concern was for his sister Georgiana, but she had resisted his suggestion that she come to Pemberley. She preferred to remain in London with Mrs. Annesley, her companion, although they saw nobody. Georgiana did agree to return to Pemberley to serve as hostess for the anticipated visit in the summer of her brother’s friend, Charles Bingley, and his sisters. Georgiana dreaded having to act as hostess, but wished to spare her brother the embarrassment of being unable to host a party of visitors which included women.

Darcy had given his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, instructions that he was to be considered ‘not at home’. He wanted a large picnic lunch each day, for which he displayed a hitherto unknown preference for fish, and other meals would be taken on a tray in his room or in the study.

Each morning, he met with his steward and attended to estate business. The steward, Mrs. Reynolds and Hackett were the only servants who were to know that he was at home. The pond and environs were declared off-limits to all staff and to all visitors. Only Hackett was to be free to approach the pond.

Each afternoon, Hackett and Darcy worked on the construction of a small boat-house on the shore of the pond. A single-storey building of wood-frame construction, the interior was furnished to resemble nothing so much as a small parlour, with two chairs, a book-case, a very small desk, a small wood-stove, a couple of lamps and a boat-slip extending from the pond into the centre of the room. It housed no boat.

Hackett visited with Miss Kapur in the morning. Communication was difficult, but Hackett recovered the few words of Hindi he had once commanded, and slowly began to broaden his knowledge of that language.

When Darcy arrived at the pond, after his morning estate work, he invariably found Hackett grinning like a school-boy. It seemed Hackett was recapturing his youth in more ways than one.

One day, as Hackett and Darcy were working together to erect the framework for the boat-house, Darcy raised the topic of Hackett’s intervention in the coach, during the trip from Ramsgate. “Hackett,” Darcy said by way of introduction, “when you were in the Army, your courtship of young ladies must have been rough and ready at times. That’s the usual way of it, isn’t it?”

Hackett laughed at Darcy’s euphemistic way of describing the usual conduct of soldiers on campaign. “Begging your pardon, sir. Yes, many of the lads were ‘rough and ready’ with the women. And I confess, for the first few years of my service, I joined them often enough.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” said Darcy. “Please tell me to mind my own business if this is disagreeable for you, but I’m trying to understand things better; I want to know better how people conduct themselves with each other, and how I should conduct myself.”

“It’s not too difficult to conduct yourself well, sir.” Hackett was old enough to be Darcy’s father and, as Darcy had begun the conversation, he took the liberty sometimes accorded to an elder. “It’s as the Good Book says: ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ With respect, sir, you don’t do too badly most of the time.”

“On the journey from Ramsgate, you had first thought that I had a woman in the coach, but you said nothing. It was only when you thought I had Miss Kapur that you reacted. What was different about her?”

“The first time I saw her, sir, a couple of the lads were about to have their way with her. She seemed so young and helpless … I discouraged them … with a bayonet.”

“That was very good of you, Hackett.”

“Only time I’ve ever done anything like that, sir. I’m no hero. And when the company was two short at roll-call … well, it’s not so easy getting replacements in India. I could have been shot if I’d been found out.”

Darcy said, softly, “Yet you would have done it again, for her.”

“She was my wife, sir. Her family was grateful for what I’d done. I was welcome in their home … I’d not had a home in … too long. Eventually, we were married … good and proper … her temple and Church of England, both.”

Darcy was surprised. “But you left her in India?”

“I did, sir,” answered Hackett. “When my regiment was ordered to Portugal, I didn’t like my choices. I could try to stay in India, and be shot for a deserter. Or, I could bring her along as a camp follower; as a corporal’s woman, she would have been safe enough while I lived, but I didn’t care to think of her fate, far from home, if I died. And a lot of us would die, when we met the French.”

“You’ve never thought about going back?”

“I have, sir. I thought about signing on with John Company, but I’ve done with soldiering. It’s not so easy for a man like me to go to India any other way.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Darcy.

After work on the boat-house was done for the day, Darcy would spend the remainder of his afternoon and evening with Miss Bennet. Over a picnic lunch, Darcy taught Miss Bennet the table-manners of the English gentry, while she taught him to appreciate raw fish.

In the late afternoon, they would swim together. At first, their swims would last no more than 30 minutes, but as Darcy’s stamina grew, they extended to over an hour. They would race around the pond, or play tag, or bat an air-filled ball in a game that, a century later, might have been called water-polo. Darcy also felt that he was recapturing some of the youth he had lost.

The swims Darcy and Miss Bennet had together were innocent fun, in the purest sense. They laughed and shouted, hooted and hollered, like a pair of ten year-olds. There was no sexual tension between them and, surprisingly quickly, Darcy ceased even to notice that Miss Bennet had refused to resume wearing her shift, or indeed any other garment.

Once the little boat-house was completed, Darcy and Miss Bennet spent their evenings as they might have done at the main house. Darcy read to Miss Bennet. She sang to him. Sometimes they played cards. Occasionally, he would write a personal note to Georgiana or another relative; the contents were invariably discussed with Miss Bennet.

Indeed, the discussions between Darcy and Miss Bennet were varied and endless. They discussed all of Darcy’s hopes and fears. Miss Bennet was soon familiar with every significant player in the cast of characters populating Darcy’s life. Throughout their conversations, Miss Bennet challenged Darcy to be the best he could be. Darcy was teased on every ungenerous remark, every vain or conceited assumption, and every logical fallacy.

Nonetheless, it was during these conversations that Darcy first began to see a difference between the mermaid and the other Miss Bennet. While the aquatic Miss Bennet teased him as mercilessly as ever the other might have done, it seemed to Darcy that she did not so readily jump to conclusions about his motives or character. Darcy felt that he could make a mistake and be forgiven. The mermaid, he thought, set high standards but had a generous spirit.

Once Darcy began thinking in this way, he noticed other differences. In literature, it seemed the mermaid’s tastes were lower than his or Miss Bennet’s. She seemed to actually prefer Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels to the poetry of Wordsworth. And while he had greatly enjoyed the playing and singing of the terrestrial Miss Bennet, the singing of the siren, though heard in the voice of Miss Bennet, was elemental in its power. The siren sang ancient songs that resonated with the depth and mystery of the sea. Darcy could well imagine the ancient mariners driving their ships onto the rocks in order to approach more nearly and hear more clearly the beauty of such music.

One evening in early July, Darcy and Miss Bennet were in the little house. He sat in an armchair, with his eyes closed, listening to Miss Bennet sing. She was sitting on the floor, with only her tailfins in the water, combing out her hair as she sang. As Darcy listened, Miss Bennet’s voice seemed to change; he opened his eyes in surprise and found his vision blurred. The appearance of Miss Bennet’s hair flickered back and forth between its usual black and a vivid red; when her hair was red, her skin seemed pale and freckled, and her eyes seemed green. In mere seconds, the flickering image gave Darcy a splitting headache. The siren stopped singing and looked at him with astonishment, as he grimaced and closed his eyes with his hand.

When Darcy opened his eyes again, his headache was gone and Miss Bennet sat before him, as before.

“I think,” she said, “that we must find a way to bring Miss Bennet and yourself together before too much time passes. It has taken some coaching to effect the transformation, but you are now very nearly proof against accusations of ungentlemanly behaviour. If you would only attend to the matter of your interference in Mr. Bingley’s affairs, all of Miss Bennet’s reproaches will have been answered.”

Darcy had no objection to meeting Miss Bennet again, but he had no idea how such a circumstance could be brought about. As for Bingley, Darcy was quite willing to shoulder the blame for his interference, but was reluctant to do anything at all until he had had one more opportunity to observe Miss Jane Bennet; if Jane Bennet’s regard for Bingley had withered under Bingley’s apparent indifference, Darcy did not wish to compound his earlier error by sending Bingley on a fool’s errand.

The next day, a small party of tourists arrived to view Pemberley. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner arrived with their niece, Elizabeth Bennet.

After the tour of the house, the party proceeded to walk the grounds. Miss Bennet separated from her aunt and uncle and, not seeing the sign that read ‘No Visitors Beyond This Point’, she walked towards the pond, only to encounter Mr. Darcy as he emerged from his afternoon swim.

As they had not parted on the best of terms, both Mr Darcy and Miss Bennet were awkward and apologetic; he due to his disheveled appearance; she due to her temerity in entering his estate. Darcy soon excused himself and walked briskly to the house, where he intended to change.

Elizabeth wished to leave Pemberley and was about to search for her aunt and uncle when she noticed another figure in Mr. Darcy’s pond. Incredibly, her sister Jane appeared to be there swimming, without a bathing costume of any kind. ‘No’, thought Elizabeth, ‘she must be some maid from the estate who happens to resemble Jane. Dear, sweet Jane would never consent …’

Elizabeth turned and ran in panic. Nevertheless, by the time she located the Gardiners and the carriage had been summoned, nearly 40 minutes had passed. Just as they were about to leave, Mr. Darcy arrived and greeted them with a warmth that went beyond mere affability. He insisted on being introduced to the Gardiners and on personally showing Mr. Gardiner some fishing spots.

Elizabeth acquiesced in these civilities. She had brought herself under control and was prepared to talk further with Darcy. There could be, she thought, some perfectly innocent explanation for Darcy having someone who looked just like Jane swimming in his pond and she would dearly love to hear it. Elizabeth felt that she had too often assumed the worst of Darcy and, thus far, there had always been an explanation which placed him in a far better light than had her first impressions. This time, she would give him a chance to explain himself.

Darcy soon had an opportunity to say that his sister Georgiana would be arriving at Pemberley the next day, along with the Bingley party, and asked if he might introduce her to Georgiana.

Elizabeth was not insensitive to this honour, but was more than astonished when Darcy and Miss Darcy called upon her at the inn the very day of her arrival. An invitation was extended to the Gardiners and Elizabeth to visit at Pemberley for supper the next day. Elizabeth was pleased to accept, but was more than pleased to hear Darcy say, “And, if you could arrive in the mid-afternoon, there is someone else I would like you to meet. We shall have to go down to the pond, so please do bring some footwear you can wear for walking.”

Elizabeth felt sure this portended an explanation of the woman in the pond; a woman she could not help thinking of as ‘Jane’, although Jane must be at Longbourn with the Gardiner children.

Later that evening, Caroline Bingley crept stealthily through the dusk towards the light that shone from the window in the hovel that Darcy had constructed at the pond. Caroline’s maid had passed along some gossip, in the form of speculation from the kitchen maids that the master was up to something very odd, what with fishy picnic lunches and spending so much time at the pond, even while there were guests at the house.

Caroline could think of only one explanation for such behaviour. Darcy was keeping a mistress who had a fondness for fish. This thought rather pleased Caroline. The shack by the pond was a discrete place to keep a mistress, although Caroline could not imagine a woman agreeing to such a degrading habitation. Caroline had no objection to Darcy keeping a mistress, provided he was discrete.

Indeed, she knew Darcy well enough to know that public knowledge of his keeping a mistress would be anathema to him. So all Caroline had to do, she imagined, was to catch Darcy in flagrante delicto and he would be hers. He would marry her in order to purchase her silence. He could keep the mistress in the shack. Caroline shivered with excitement as she approached the tiny building.

The scene Caroline saw within could almost be described as one of rustic domesticity. Darcy was sitting comfortably in an arm-chair, reading aloud. A woman, immersed in water to the waist, with her head in her hands and her elbows resting on the wooden floor that framed the small pool, was listening with rapt attention to Darcy reading. At least at that moment, there did not appear to be any indecent activity afoot, but the woman appeared not to be wearing any clothing, which perhaps was good enough.

Caroline snuck around the building, to obtain a better view of the woman from the window on the other side of the room. Caroline received the shock of her life when she recognized the woman: she saw … herself. There could be no question of some joke, of some impersonation; Caroline recognized even the mole on the side of her left breast … nobody could know of that.

Caroline took deep breaths and forced herself to think calmly, rationally. This scene could not be real. She was being afforded a vision of her future with Darcy. The cad intended to marry her and keep her a prisoner in this shack! Caroline had heard of wealthy husbands who did such things, although she understood an attic or a tower were the usual choices for a prison. There would be no London society for her, no fine carriages, no furs, and no jewels. The gods had sent her this vision as a warning; it made no sense otherwise.

But, thought Caroline, with whom could she share this information? Two hundred years earlier, a woman who saw visions would either be canonized as a saint or burned at the stake for a witch; sometimes both. Today, canonization smacked of Popery, but people who saw visions could still be found: in Bedlam! Caroline realized she must tell no one.

Caroline ran back to the house, stumbling once or twice in the gathering darkness, and made her way directly to her brother’s room. Pounding on the door, she demanded to see him. Bingley’s valet turned to pass the message, but Caroline followed him into the room.

“Charles,” she shouted, “we must return to London tomorrow. We can no longer stay in this house.”

“Caroline,” said Bingley, “whatever is the matter?”

“Charles, Charles,” she panted, “I have just discovered that …” What could she say? “I have just discovered that I do not love Mr. Darcy. In view of the flirtations between us … of the expectations that have arisen on each side … I cannot … it would be too awkward … I must leave immediately.”

Bingley doubted that there had been any flirtations by Darcy, or expectations raised on his side, but he supposed also that Darcy would be glad to accommodate Caroline’s early departure. “Must we all go? We have only just arrived,” Bingley said. “What of Louisa and Hurst?”

“I cannot travel alone; we shall all leave first thing in the morning.”

And so they did.

When Elizabeth and the Gardiners arrived for their visit to Pemberley, they were surprised to discover the party would consist only of themselves and the Darcys. The Gardiners were introduced to Miss Darcy, and a flurry of polite small talk occupied a quarter of an hour.

Elizabeth wondered whether Mr. Bingley’s sudden departure had anything to do with Jane being in residence. Surely even the even-tempered Bingley could not condone Darcy taking the love of Bingley’s life for a mistress. Oh … but it could not really be Jane, could it? This business of giving Darcy the benefit of the doubt was very vexing. Elizabeth hoped that the mysterious introduction she had been promised would shed some light on the matter.

As Darcy did not wish to lose the afternoon, he soon raised the subject of walking down to the pond. Mrs. Gardiner was not a great walker and chose to remain at the house with Miss Darcy, but Mr. Gardiner gladly offered to accompany Darcy and Elizabeth; if they were going to a pond, perhaps there would be some talk of fishing.

For his part, Darcy was keen to have Elizabeth meet the aquatic Miss Bennet because each of the two women had been instrumental in bringing about what he sincerely felt to be both a return to his former good nature and an improvement in his civility; Elizabeth in forcing him to face his defects, Miss Bennet in helping him to practice his improvements. He felt sure the two would like each other and, with confidence in Miss Bennet’s regard for him and some doubt of Elizabeth’s, he rather hoped Miss Bennet might assist Elizabeth in seeing his better nature.

As they walked towards the pond, Darcy tried to prepare them for meeting Miss Bennet by explaining that he had a guest who was perhaps the most remarkable lady he had ever met, as beautiful as she was kind and in many respects quite an unusual individual.

Elizabeth thought that Jane could certainly be described as beautiful and kind, although “unusual” was perhaps going too far. But her thoughts were interrupted by the gasp that escaped from Mr. Gardiner as they approached the pond.

Elizabeth looked up and again saw Jane swimming in the pond, but Mr. Gardiner said, “Mr. Darcy, I demand an explanation; what witchcraft is this? We have only just now left Mrs. Gardiner at the house and you present me with the very image of her swimming, most indecently, in your pond! Explain yourself, sir!”

Elizabeth spoke up, “But, Uncle Gardiner, surely the woman in the pond more nearly resembles my sister Jane than she does Aunt Gardiner?”

“Nothing of the sort,” replied Mr. Gardiner, but he was quickly recovering control of himself. “Witchcraft, indeed,” he mused. “Mr. Darcy, I must again beg for an explanation …”

Darcy quickly explained the phenomenon of the mermaid’s appearance, to the relief of his guests when Mr. Darcy confirmed that he was not viewing either Mrs. Gardiner or Jane quite as they were. This begged the question of whom Darcy was viewing, but they were not left in doubt for long.

Elizabeth Bennet blushed the brightest red she had ever managed, and Mr. Gardiner cocked his head quizzically, as Darcy called out “Miss Bennet, would you join us? There are a couple of people here I would like you to meet.”

Miss Bennet called back, “Let us meet in the parlour, Mr. Darcy.”

As Darcy led his guests towards the curious little house, Mr. Gardiner asked Elizabeth to walk ahead, then delayed Darcy for a private word. Displaying his ability to quickly grasp the implications of new information (an invaluable skill to a businessman such as himself), he asked Darcy, “I take it, sir, that whereas I see the mermaid in the form of my dear wife, you perceive her in the form of a Miss Bennet?”

“That is so, sir,” replied Darcy uncomfortably.

“Would that Miss Bennet be one of my nieces?, or do you know another family bearing that name?”

“No, sir; I am acquainted with no other Bennets.”

“And we have established that you do not see Miss Jane Bennet?”

“We have, sir.”

“Well,” said Mr. Gardiner, “there is no need for us to pursue the matter just now. We have reached your little boat-house.” Indeed they had.

Darcy led the party into the little parlour, where they were greeted by the sight of the mermaid. She had hauled herself up onto the floor, where she was seated comfortably with only her tail fins trailing in the water. She had dried her upper body with a towel and pulled on her shift, the same one Darcy had dressed her in for the carriage ride, but the shift had by now been hemmed. It covered her mammalian features, but extended only a few inches below the transition from human skin to fishy scales. The garment hung much better now and it did not trail in the water. She was brushing out her hair as they entered. Sitting there, she was a picture of modesty and altogether lovely. All three of her visitors thought so.

Elizabeth’s feelings were all in confusion. She feared that Mr. Darcy had seen her own features when he viewed the mermaid and blushed to find that she also hoped he had not seen some other woman’s features. Her spirits soared at the thought that, notwithstanding her horrid performance at Hunsford, Mr. Darcy could still admire her. Her curiosity was aroused and her interest engaged by the novelty of meeting someone straight out of a work on mythology. Not least, she was gratified that her resolve to give Mr. Darcy the benefit of the doubt had been vindicated. Once again, he had an explanation that placed him in a better light than her first dark thoughts would have done.

The visit to the curious little house was everything charming. Darcy had insisted that Elizabeth and her uncle occupy the two chairs, and he busied himself making tea. The sight of the proud Mr. Darcy warming the pot with a swirl of boiling water before making the tea itself was unexpected but seemed, somehow, right. Elizabeth began to realize the extent to which her first impressions of Darcy had misled her. Mr. Darcy was, after all, perfectly amiable.

Elizabeth took little part in the conversation. As Uncle Gardiner had hoped, it centred largely on fishing, as Darcy and the mermaid conducted an animated disagreement about where the best spots were to be found, with much hilarity when Darcy had to confess that the mermaid was closer to the issue than he was. More laughter ensued when Mr. Gardiner observed that his Madeline had never before shown any great interest in the subject.

Darcy was plainly delighted with everything and everyone. It pleased Elizabeth that, in her Uncle Gardiner, she had a relative for whom she need not blush. The visit was over all too soon, as Mrs. Gardiner could not be left up at the house with only Miss Darcy for company.

As Darcy led Elizabeth and Mr. Gardiner away from the curious little house, Jane (the mermaid) made Elizabeth promise to visit her again. Elizabeth had been so at ease in this charming little circle that she was not at all reluctant to give the requested promise. She did not realize that some time would pass before it could be honoured.

The evening at Pemberley also passed very pleasantly for both the Gardiner party and the Darcys. Elizabeth returned to the inn at Lambton in the hope that Mr. Darcy might soon renew his addresses. She knew that Mr. Darcy did not see Jane Bennet when he looked at the mermaid and she doubted that he could be thinking of one of her younger sisters. Elizabeth thrilled to the realization that, this time, she would welcome Mr. Darcy’s proposal.

The next morning, Darcy set out for Lambton with that very purpose in mind, only to come upon a distraught Elizabeth, who had just received news from her sister Jane that her other sister, Lydia, had run off with George Wickham. There was no time available to deal with their own concerns; everyone rushed off to deal with the crisis as best they could.

Georgiana felt quite lonely. Fitzwilliam had unaccountably rushed off to London, on some business too mysterious to discuss. The Bingley party, poor company though they could be, had also rushed off without any explanation. What was the matter with everybody?

It was not just the present that disturbed Georgiana. The future too looked bleak with loneliness. It was too obvious that Fitzwilliam was smitten with Miss Bennet and that, in the not-too-distant future, he would propose marriage to her and, of course, Miss Bennet would accept. Who could refuse so perfect a man as Fitzwilliam?

Georgiana feared that then she would be utterly alone, save for a hired ‘companion’. Miss Bennet was quite nice, and Georgiana liked her very well for the role of sister-in-law. But what new bride wanted her husband’s little sister forever hanging about? The newly-weds would want time to themselves; a good deal of time to themselves.

What, Georgiana wondered, was wrong with her, that she should have no friends? No girlfriends with whom to trade silly secrets? No boyfriends with whom to flirt? To flirt … oh, d**nation. Why could not George Wickham have meant all he had said? Why could not she have found some happiness? Why must she be so alone?

Georgiana did not wish Mrs. Reynolds to come upon her while she was in such low spirits. She decided to escape the house; to walk somewhere she could be alone with her unhappiness. Fitzwilliam had forbidden the pond to everyone but himself and his coachman. But he was gone to London, and Old Hackett had driven him. There would be nobody to prevent her going to the pond and, such was her brother’s authority, once there she would not be disturbed by anyone.

Georgiana walked to the pond, explored the curious little house Fitzwilliam had built, and began to walk the shoreline. As she walked past some rushes, she came upon someone basking in the sun, half in and half out of the water. It was a woman, scandalously unclothed. Georgiana’s eyes bulged wide open, and her breath became rapid and shallow; but it was not the woman’s undress that provoked this reaction. Rather, it was the fact that Georgiana recognized her. Often enough she had gazed longingly at this woman’s portrait. It hung at the very end of the gallery: Lady Anne Darcy, Georgiana’s mother.

Georgiana knew that her mother had been dead fifteen years. But, could not an omnipotent and merciful God send her back to a daughter who so desperately needed her? Georgiana felt sure that He could, if He chose to do so. Perhaps only for a short while; a sort of celestial loan? This hopeful thought might even explain Lady Anne’s undress; what need of clothing in Heaven?

Georgiana took a hesitant step forward and, in a tiny voice that would not have been out-of-place coming from a girl half her age, asked, “Mother? Is … is it you?”

Lady Anne knew that this must be Georgiana. Darcy had spoken so often of her, and with such concern, that Lady Anne felt that she knew her. She also sensed that this young woman needed comfort and resolved, so far as possible, to provide it. Lady Anne turned to Georgiana with a look of such warmth, such compassion, such welcome as Georgiana could not remember having seen on the face of another woman. “You see your mother,” she said.

This response was misleading and deliberately so. Georgiana needed the comfort only her mother, or someone as caring as a mother, could provide. Lady Anne would provide the comfort now and explain the mythology later.

Georgiana, on hearing Lady Anne’s response, burst into tears and fell to her knees. “Mother,” she sobbed, “I’ve missed you so … I’ve been so lonely …”

Lady Anne opened her arms and said, “Come to me, child.”

Georgiana fell forward into Lady Anne’s arms and buried her head on Lady Anne’s shoulder. She cried and sobbed and repeated “Mother” again and again and covered Lady Anne’s face and shoulders with a hundred childish kisses. For her part, Lady Anne stroked Georgiana’s hair and whispered a hundred little endearments. They carried on in this fashion for a surprisingly long time; Georgiana was catching up on fifteen years’ deprivation.

Eventually, with sniffles, tears and laughter, Georgiana pulled herself away and, sitting back on her heels and taking Lady Anne’s hands in her own, she said, “Come Mother; you must get out of the water before you take a chill and we must somehow get you back to the house for some clothes, before the whole neighbourhood is scandalized.”

Lady Anne smiled sweetly. “Dear girl,” she said, “I cannot come back to the house with you for, as you can see,” she indicated her nether regions, “I am what you might call a mermaid.”

Georgiana sat in stunned silence for a moment. Her adolescent soul briefly entertained the notion that her omnipotent and merciful God was being unnecessarily difficult. But, she thought with the optimism of youth, it could have been worse. Mother might have been sent back to her as a dog or a horse; in which case, how could she even have known for sure?

Suddenly, the purpose behind the design of Fitzwilliam’s curious little house became clear to Georgiana. “Mother,” she said softly, “Did Fitzwilliam plan to keep you all to himself? Was he not to share you with me?”

“Do not think ill of your brother,” said Lady Anne. “He has not seen me at all, nor is he likely to. I am here only for you. He built his little house for another mermaid.”

Georgiana had a loving heart, which leapt from suspicion to generosity in an instant. “But Mother,” she said, “you must visit Fitzwilliam as well. He has missed you quite as much as I have, although he does have the advantage of being able to remember you. I cannot, you know.”

“You were very young when your mother died,” said Lady Anne. “It is small wonder you do not remember. Come, let us use Fitzwilliam’s little house. We shall have tea together.”

And so, for the first but not the last time in her life, Georgiana made a fire in the small wood-stove in the curious little house and had tea with a mermaid.

George Wickham was on his way north to join his new regiment at Newcastle, accompanied by his wife, the former Miss Lydia Bennet, in a carriage paid for by Darcy.

Wickham knew he was not welcome at Pemberley, but he did not think Darcy would be there and he had a couple of reasons for breaking his journey at Lambton to facilitate a quick visit. The lesser of the two was a sentimental desire to see the old place again, if only briefly and from the outside. The other was the thought that a certain scullery maid could likely be prevailed upon to join him out back of the stables for a pleasant hour or two.

Once Mr. and Mrs. Wickham were settled into the Lambton inn for the evening, George made his excuses, something to do with settling an account, and left his bride to her own devices. He hired a horse, on credit, and quickly covered the five miles to Pemberley.

The evening passed even more pleasantly than Wickham had hoped. The chit was not only willing to see him again, she pilfered some cooking sherry so the two of them could make a party of it. Dawn was breaking before a tired but satiated George Wickham began to make his way back towards Lambton.

He had hobbled his horse in a place it was unlikely to be seen from the house, a field a couple of hundred yards past the pond. Wickham was making his way around the edge of the pond when he saw something that made him stop.

Swimming there in the pond, apparently unclothed, was Lady Anne Darcy. Wickham had been quite young when his own mother died. Lady Anne had become something of a mother figure to him and, as he approached adolescence, she had been the object of his first guilty thoughts on the subject of the fair sex. Not long afterwards, she too had died. Wickham had loved her fiercely, with a welter of emotions that could not be sorted-out, and he had come to hate Darcy for the good fortune of being her son quite as much as for his good fortune in being the heir to Pemberley.

In a long-forgotten but familiar voice, this apparition called out “Who is there? Is that you, Fitzwilliam?”

Wickham found himself answering, “No, Lady Anne; it’s George Wickham.”

Lady Anne knew all about Wickham from Darcy, although she would not have expected him to address her as Georgiana had done. Nevertheless, she quickly adjusted to the role. “George,” she said, “I would like to wish you joy on your recent marriage.”

“Oh, you know about that, Lady Anne?,” Wickham replied, without any obvious enthusiasm.

“I know a great many things that would surprise you, George. You must know that I am very disappointed in you. You were such a lovable boy, George, and look at you now. I won’t ask what you’re doing skulking about the property this early in the day. I believe I can guess, and you a newly married man! Could you not try to be just a little respectable, for my sake?”

For her sake, Wickham would have attempted a good deal. He promised faithfully to do better, to make Lydia Bennet a good husband and to make the most of his military career. When he spoke the words, he meant them, and perhaps these promises did contribute to what little happiness Lydia found in the first few years of her marriage. On returning to the Lambton inn, Wickham did his best to be good to Lydia, and for a few months Wickham was as attentive as Lydia’s fond, silly heart could hope for.

Without further ghostly interventions, however, Wickham could not and did not keep to his fine resolutions. One small mermaid could not fix every problem.

Some months later, Georgiana was sitting, comfortably sipping tea, in the curious little house by the pond. Beginning with that mad dash down to London, Fitzwilliam had been away a good deal. In his absence, Georgiana had spent a great deal of time with Gwenhwyfar.

At first, Georgiana sought only the solace of affection from a mother she had never known and she had found Lady Anne the mermaid to be unstinting in the generosity with which she offered comfort. But, however much her development might have been arrested by circumstances, Georgiana was no longer a child. When Lady Anne felt Georgiana was ready, she had shared the secret of the mermaid’s illusion.

Georgiana had felt no disappointment at the news. On the contrary, she recognized the kindness, the concern for the well-being of others that had motivated Lady Anne in her little deception. This mermaid had spent countless hours listening to her and helping her to face and then to resolve her problems. She had never been judgmental, but had always been gentle and nurturing. She had offered counsel, but only when Georgiana was ready to receive it. And she had offered simple friendship: she and Georgiana had talked of many frivolous things; laughed and joked together; read and sang together; sat in silence together. Georgiana loved her, whoever she was.

And with that thought, the image of Lady Anne had blurred for an instant. When Georgiana’s eyes recovered their focus, Lady Anne had been replaced with Gwenhwyfar, a mermaid whose long red hair, green eyes, pale complexion and freckles gave her an appearance quite unlike that of anyone Georgiana had met in the course of her rather sheltered existence. Georgiana loved her all the more.

Who would not love a compassionate heart more than a portrait?

Some weeks later still, at Netherfield, Darcy paced the library with a nervous energy that demanded a release. He was to be married the next day to Elizabeth Bennet, in a double ceremony which was also to see Bingley united to Miss Jane Bennet. All his dreams that had seemed so hopeless when he stood at the seawall at Ramsgate, in the teeth of a gale, a scant eight months earlier, were to be fulfilled.

Darcy thought back to his rescue of Gwenhwyfar on the beach. (Georgiana had informed him of the mermaid’s true name, when she arrived at Netherfield a few days earlier, and Darcy had resolved always to refer to Gwenhwyfar by that name, even if, or perhaps because he would continue to see Elizabeth.) He would soon, he hoped and expected, be privileged to see in reality sights he had previously seen only as an illusion.

Equally, he anticipated with pleasure the return to Pemberley. With Gwenhwyfar and Georgiana so thick, he and Elizabeth would have ample time to themselves. At the same time, he anticipated the four of them would spend many a cozy evening in the boat-house. Already, he was contemplating improvements to that modest structure. He knew he could not be happier, yet he was restless.

As Darcy paced the library, he analyzed the causes of this restlessness and realized what he must do. Gwenhwyfar had come to him, offering comfort and hope, when he most had needed it. But she had also come to Old Hackett, who was no closer to his Miss Kapur than he had been eight months previously. Yet Gwenhwyfar had been coaching Hackett on the Hindu language. Why should she do that?

Hackett could not return to India because he had not the resources of a gentleman. Darcy would send him. Indeed, Darcy resolved, he would send him in style, as a gentleman, albeit one of modest means. Had not, he thought with a smile, Gwenhwyfar observed that, as between the two of them, Hackett was the true gentleman?

Yes, Darcy thought with enthusiasm, that was what he must do. He would give Hackett the price of three voyages; one outbound and two for home. If he could find his Miss Kapur, they could return to England and find employment at Pemberley or, if they preferred to remain in India, they could use the price of the return tickets to get themselves established.

Darcy was very pleased with himself, and rushed off to the stables to inform Hackett of his idea. He rushed into the barn rather too quickly, to be greeted by a warning shout from a stable-hand and a horse bolting past him for the gate. Darcy stepped adroitly out of the horse’s path, but stumbled over a pitch-fork some careless lad had left on the floor of the stable. As he fell, he struck his head on the post anchoring one end of a stall.

Darcy descended into darkness.

Part 4: Epilogue

In the Ramsgate public house, Old Hackett had finished his second ale in a state of contented bliss; or, at least, as close to bliss as an old bachelor, who worked as a coachman for a living, was likely ever to find. The master’s sudden decision to visit Ramsgate was foolishness itself, but the run down from Hunsford was nearly done when the storm hit.

Hackett had enjoyed his supper. There was nothing like a plate of hot, hearty stew, served by a buxom maid in a cozy public house, to banish all thought of the driving rain and cold wind howling outside the door. But he declined a third pot of ale when the wench offered it; he could not be sure he was off-duty for the night until the master told him so, and it would take a steady hand to manage the horses in weather like this.

Speaking of the master, where was Mr. Darcy? It was nearly four hours since Hackett had been ordered to take the horses to shelter; he’d been here in the tavern over two hours. Hackett could understand Mr. Darcy wanting to stand out in the cold and rain for a bit; he’d been young and in love once himself, although that had been in a place far away and the rain had been warm. This had been too long to be out in the storm, even for a love-sick puppy like Mr. Darcy. Hackett decided he had better see that all was well.

When Hackett arrived at the sea wall, the carriage was where he had left it, but there was no sign of Mr. Darcy. With mounting concern, Hackett began a methodical search of the area. When he reached the stairs that led down to the beach, Hackett’s worst fears were realized. Two-thirds of the way down the staircase, Mr. Darcy’s body was sprawled out at full length, motionless.

Hackett quickly descended the stairs. It seemed Darcy had been there some time. He was unconscious and his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. His clothes were wet throughout.

Hackett felt for a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when he found one, however faint. With a muttered, “I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” Hackett hoisted Darcy over his shoulder and very deliberately made his way up the stairs and past the carriage towards the tavern.

Once Hackett reached the shelter of the public house, his worries were at an end. The landlord quickly found a room for the gentleman and sent for an apothecary. While waiting for the medical man, Hackett stripped Darcy of his sodden clothing and slipped him into bedding that had been warmed with a pan of coals from the fire; Hackett was no valet, but his years in the Army had given him some experience of handling men rendered unconscious, though usually they had reached that state through an excess consumption of alcohol.

As Hackett, with surprising gentleness, was tucking Darcy into the bed, the master opened his eyes, grabbed Hackett by the wrist and said, with little strength but some intensity, “Hackett? Is that you? I can do better, Hackett. I know I can; she showed me I can, Hackett. Really, I can do better …”

“Of course, you can, sir,” replied Hackett softly, as he disengaged Darcy’s hand from his wrist and once again tucked him in. “You just get some sleep, now, sir. That’s the best thing you can do for now.”

Darcy was asleep almost before Hackett finished speaking. The last thing Hackett did before leaving the room was to brush off Darcy’s clothes and hang them by the fire so that they might dry. He found, tangled around the buttons on the cuff of the right sleeve to Darcy’s jacket, the longest strand of human hair he had ever seen. It was a very bright red and, Hackett thought, ‘the woman whose head this hair came from must be quite a sight to see.’

THE END

An Alternate Epilogue

Posted on Friday, 11 August 2006

My previous ending was inspired by a movie I saw some years ago; the title escapes me, but it was set in WW II in London. The male romantic lead is knocked down and knocked out by a bomb blast and wakes to find himself in Jane Austen’s world (though not in one of her stories). It then plays as a romantic comedy, as he meets and falls for his “Elizabeth” and she falls for him. Unfortunately, he hits his head again and wakes back in his own world, still in the rubble. Helping to dig him out is a WAC member … same actress as played the 18th century girl-friend … shock of recognition … closing credits.

So, did the 18th century events “really” occur? Obviously, they couldn’t have. No time had passed in WWII London. But the romantic leads recognize each other.

Given the non-existence of mermaids in the “real” world, some explanation is required. In “Mr Peabody and the Mermaid”, the consensus of opinion held by characters other than Mr. Peabody was that he had had a nervous break-down with hallucinations. I wanted a better fate than that for Darcy, so I opted for the ambiguity of the bonk-on-the-head + some physical evidence in the form of the strand of hair.

For those who prefer a straight-forward happy ending, albeit with “real” mermaids, I offer the following.

For the record, this alternate epilogue was part of the original outline, but was written subsequently to the first one posted. The original outline did not have Darcy bonking his head at all, but rather than revise the longest “part” of the story, we’ll let it stand.

Part 4: Alternate Epilogue

A year later, a convivial group was gathered in the parlour at Pemberley’s pond. Elizabeth had just been teasing Darcy about the lengths he had apparently been willing to go to in order to avoid marrying her; knocking himself out the evening before the ceremony was, she said, hardly necessary. In fact, Darcy had insisted on going ahead with the double wedding as scheduled, although dizziness and nausea caused by the concussion continued throughout the day.

Everyone had heard the tale before, but laughter was general as Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, described having to dash into the aisle to steady Darcy when he appeared about to collapse and Elizabeth passed along the village gossip, given to her by Mrs. Bennet, as to the likely cause of such light-headedness.

Darcy had gone ahead with his plan to improve the boat-house. It now was large enough to accommodate half-a-dozen chairs and a small piano-forte. After Elizabeth and Gwenhwyfar sang a duet, accompanied by Georgiana on the piano-forte, Darcy averred that finer entertainment could not be had north of the Italian Alps. As always, Darcy spoke the absolute truth.

This was the first opportunity the Colonel had had to visit Pemberley since Darcy’s wedding and the first opportunity he had to meet Gwenhwyfar (as everyone now called her, regardless of whom they saw). As the evening progressed, the Colonel was at first astonished by her very existence, then puzzled and finally delighted by her wit, her beauty and her obvious intelligence.

Georgiana’s friendship with Gwenhwyfar had continued to grow and the two were as inseparable as any two creatures inhabiting different elements could be. Elizabeth often made a welcome third, whenever she was not pre-occupied with Darcy and her other duties at the house permitted. Georgiana bloomed under the guidance of Elizabeth and Gwenhwyfar, and she was excitedly looking forward to her first season in London. Georgiana’s sole regret was that Gwenhwyfar would not be able to accompany her.

Indeed, there had been times, during the warm days of the summer just past, when Darcy had found himself pointedly excluded from the vicinity of the pond. Georgiana had insisted, not only that Darcy not approach the pond, but she asked that the prohibition on any visitors approaching the pond be enforced with particular vigilance. Darcy concluded that Gwenhwyfar had given Georgiana swimming lessons and he chose not to think about what sort of bathing costume might have been employed.

After the entertainment was concluded, Darcy announced to the group that he had just received a letter from India, written on behalf of Hackett some four months earlier. Hackett had found Miss Kapur, that is to say, Mrs. Hackett. She had been in some distress and was not sorry to have her long-lost husband come calling for her. It seems that after Hackett had been gone for some time, the local community considered he must be dead and Mrs. Hackett had been treated as a widow. After the death of her own parents, she was confined to a “widows’ house” which was described as a fate not dissimilar to, although not so disagreeable as, being confined to a parish work-house. The Hacketts had decided to return to Pemberley and hoped to arrive not long after the present letter.

This news was received with general approbation, and prompted Elizabeth to share news recently received in a letter from Jane. The Bingleys, it seemed, were dissatisfied with Netherfield and were actively seeking a new property. Their first choice was to locate somewhere close to Pemberley, news that was very welcome to both Darcy and Elizabeth.

The news of Caroline Bingley was not so good. She had met and, after a whirl-wind courtship, married a large landowner from East Anglia under a special license. As it happened, Mrs. Bennet’s friend, Mrs. Long, had a nephew whose wife’s brother had known the man at Oxford and, as she told Mrs. Bennet, the man was a brute with vicious propensities. Jane had tried to warn Caroline on the eve of the wedding, Jane’s only opportunity to do so, but her attempt was rebuffed because she could provide no particulars.

Elizabeth was not comfortable with this news; it echoed too closely Caroline’s attempt to warn her about Wickham. Unfortunately, it was too late now to do anything for poor Caroline.

Richard volunteered some news about another gentleman they all knew, George Wickham. Little had been heard of the Wickhams in the past year, but it seemed that, just recently, Wickham had shot a fellow-officer in a duel; apparently an affair of honour having to do with the other man’s wife. The Horse Guards had investigated and some consideration had been given to charging Wickham with murder, before it was decided that posting him to an active theatre might give the Crown better value for money. Though such news was no more than expected, the implications it held for Lydia’s future happiness were distressing to Elizabeth.

It was with relief, then, that Elizabeth turned the conversation to happier thoughts by sharing with the group the news, known to Darcy for several days already, that she was with child and the birth was expected in the spring. Everyone was happy for the prospective parents and congratulations were warmly extended.

The evening drew to a close. Everyone bade Gwenhwyfar a good night and made their way, by torchlight, back to the house. Darcy whispered to Elizabeth that he wanted a word with Richard, and asked her to walk ahead with Georgiana. Elizabeth agreed to do so, her face sporting a grin and Darcy could have sworn she winked at him. Elizabeth was as curious as Darcy to know whom Richard had seen as he gazed upon Gwenhwyfar, but she considered Richard was more likely to be candid with Darcy alone than with a larger group and she was willing to wait a few minutes for the news.

Once he had Richard alone, Darcy broached the subject. “So, Richard,” he said, “what do you think of Gwenhwyfar?”

The Colonel responded with enthusiasm. “Darcy, she is the most enchanting creature I have seen. Did you hear her sing? Lord, she’s beautiful! And never have I met a woman with happier manners. Did you see how she brings Georgie out of herself? I’d never have believed the transformation if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

Darcy smiled at Richard’s response, but felt himself no closer to knowing who it was that inspired such a reaction. “Does she remind you of anyone you know?”

“Odd you should ask that, Darcy. When I first saw her, I thought she looked rather like my mother, but younger, as I remember her from my boyhood. But, after a little bit, I realized that was ridiculous; none of her features were like mother’s.”

“So, she doesn’t remind you of anyone?”

“Not really. She looks sort of Irish, in a way, but I can’t say she reminds me of any particular Irish woman.”

Six months later, Darcy paced the halls of Pemberley, where he’d been excluded by the women attending the birth of his child. Georgiana was among them, having returned to Pemberley from her dazzling debut into London society, so that she might be with her sister at such a special time.

Darcy’s attempt to enter the ad hoc maternity ward had been firmly rebuffed by Mrs. Reynolds, who had contemptuously ignored his threat to sack her if she did not allow him to pass.

Now, he heard through the door, the tramping of what sounded like a company of Foot Guards on the march. Mrs. Reynolds was their sergeant, shouting “Left, now the right, left again …”, interminably, for hours.

Then, silence. Darcy’s anxiety rose to new heights as he heard Elizabeth begin to moan, then scream, as the mid-wife shouted “push, push”. Did Elizabeth just question his legitimacy? Surely not. But her screams were soon replaced by another’s. Pemberley echoed to the lusty wails of its newest Darcy.

Darcy was soon allowed in, to congratulate his wife and to gingerly hold his heir. He was not allowed to remain for long, but all seemed well, so he left with as good a grace as he could muster. With boyish enthusiasm, he went looking for his cousin to share the good news.

Richard had spent most of the winter with the Darcys, but it would have been more accurate to say that he spent most of his time down at the pond, visiting with Georgiana and Gwenhwyfar. So, Darcy directed himself to the pond. He arrived to find Richard emerging from the water.

“Richard,” he exclaimed, “you’re not wearing a shirt!”

“I’ve been swimming,” Richard replied, as though that were an excuse. Just as the sight of Richard shirtless had distracted Darcy from delivering his news, so this response distracted Darcy from lecturing his cousin on the impropriety of appearing in public without a shirt.

“Swimming? Richard, it’s April! The water’s too cold for swimming.”

Richard responded matter-of-factly, “No colder than the North Sea will be. Have you any idea, Darcy, how difficult it is to get any work done, six feet down in water so cold? Or to … err … never mind.”

As April turned to May, Gwenhwyfar asked to be returned to the sea. Darcy could not refuse any request from someone who had done so much for him and his. She asked to take her leave of Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana in the parlour by the pond. Gwenhwyfar said she wanted to remember them there, where they had spent so many pleasant evenings together.

Richard said that, if he could have the loan of a carriage, with older upholstery, and a wagon to carry a water-barrel or two, he would attend to returning Gwenhwyfar to her natural environment. Darcy, at least, had little doubt as to what Richard intended.

Darcy and Elizabeth continued to receive Richard as a guest at Pemberley, from time to time, but two years later Richard approached Darcy with a special request. Upon being assured by Darcy that the rector at Holy Trinity Church, Kympton, could be discrete, arrangements were made for a christening.

Later that month, Georgiana did her best to control her nephew, Richard Bennet Darcy, now an active two-year-old toddler, while Darcy and Elizabeth stood at the font as godparents to Georgiana Gwenhwyfar Fitzwilliam. Her hair was a glorious strawberry blonde and she had her father’s blue eyes. The newest member of the Church of England caused a commotion when she squirmed out of Darcy’s arms into the font and, with a flick of her adorable little tail, splashed her second cousin, who squealed with delight and tore madly about the church. Everyone at the private family ceremony was very, very happy.*

THE END

* I could not think of a concise way to work it into the story, but to fill in the gaps of the life-cycle of a mermaid: After hatching, the new-born mermaids resemble small fish more than anything else (they are tadpoles, if you will). Eighty to one hundred are born, and scatter to avoid predators. Two years later, the survivors return to the nest (rather as a salmon returns to the stream where it was born), where their mother waits for them. There is never more than one or two who make it back; often there are none. Georgiana Gwenhwyfar Fitzwilliam was a lucky one. The small mermaids are by now ready to take on the appearance of a miniature mermaid, a transformation which is effected within a few days of suckling from their mother, rather as a human infant would do. Although hatched two years earlier, our little mermaid would have been recognizable as such for only a couple of weeks.