Another seven weeks passed.
Lizzy and Darcy spent most of this time run off their feet trying to prepare.
They visited tailors to be fitted for winter gear - heavy-duty boots, wool underwear and shirts, a string vest, a wool sweater, down pants and jacket, and a layer of windbreakers. And, at Mallory's suggestion, a bottle of castor oil that they could apply to the leather to help keep the boots flexible and to help keep at least some water out. Afterward, he took them to Netherfield General in the east-end of Longbourn, where he loaded them down with mountaineering gear - snowshoes, ice picks and axes, crampons, rope, sleeping bags, sturdy backpacks. Filling their basket with anything he thought they'd need on the mountain.
It was both more and less than what Darcy had expected.
When questioned Mallory confirmed that this wasn't everything they would need but told them not to worry as everything else would be provided by the expedition donors.
It should have been relieving; to prepare. But as Darcy watched the pile of gear grow - and knowing that this wasn't even all of it- he didn't feel relief.
He felt dismayed.
It was discomforting to realize that they would have to carry all of this up a mountain. And the gear wasn't light. The pack alone must have weighed at least thirty pounds. He can't imagine himself carrying all of this weight while slipping and sliding up a snowy mountain.
An unexplored snowy mountain.
A dangerous unexplored snowy mountain.
Heaven help him.
The things he lets himself get talked into.
Still, despite his apprehensions, time ticked steadily past.
Every day it seemed that more and more tasks needed to be completed as the date of their expected departure drew ever closer. Lizzy was a blur of activity as she settled bills for the foreseeable future, arranged for her sister Jane to come check on the house while they were gone, and a variety of other tasks that he was only vaguely aware were being completed.
Until finally the day of departure came.
Leaving from the Port of London, they spent a long, boring month aboard a ship - not even a storm occurring to offer a break in the dull, monotony of life at sea - before arriving in Darjeeling, India on a foggy spring day. It was slightly colder here than in London but not too terrible. They were greeted enthusiastically by Mallory who had arrived the previous month to help complete the necessary preparations.
"William! Wonderful to see you, old boy! And Mrs. Darcy; you're looking as lovely as ever. How was the trip over?"
They clasped hands.
Darcy smiled wryly, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around Lizzy's waist and pulled her close. "Long. Boring. The most exciting things to happen were seeing a pod of whales and hearing of a rat that got into some food and caused chaos for the crew."
Mallory nodded sagely, eyes bright, lips quirked up. Drawing closer, he gave Lizzy a quick hug, head quirking in wordless question.
"Nonetheless, it was a lovely trip. I'd never seen so much water! It was very exciting," she said, before changing the subject. Darcy stood silently as his wife chatted energetically with his friend about the mountains she could see in the distance. She was radiant. Sunlight gleamed like a halo of fire off her brown hair. She looked completely at ease with herself and her surroundings; never had she looked more in her element than when she was about to venture into the unknown with her unflinching zeal and courage and her head held high. Like she could conquer anything if she put her mind to it. Even mountains, he thought with wry amusement.
Laughter tore him from his thoughts; his companions obviously taking notice of his inattention.
Lizzy put her hand on his arm, rubbing affectionate circles through the fabric of his shirt. They shared a happy, if slightly nervous on Darcy's end, glance.
Mallory clapped him on the back, "Come on. Let me introduce you to everyone."
The bungalow they were staying in was very plain.
Made of rough-hewn wood, the only things in the room were a simple straw pallet for the bed and a bathroom. If it could be called that; it was unlike any lavatory that he'd ever seen. Sounds from the bustling street outside filtered in through the glassless window. A man barked orders in a language Darcy couldn't understand; Donkeys brayed and horses snorted. Once or twice he heard the distinctive creak of wagon wheels and the sound of wood on wood as crates of provisions were loaded onto wagons.
Darcy had briefly watched the hired men work before he'd followed Mallory inside. A peculiar feeling taking root in his stomach.
They were really doing this.
There was no backing out now.
Seeing the caravan had driven that point home with brutal precision; before - even on the boat - it had still seemed like just an idea. Just a harmless thought. But now….
Seeing all the preparations that had occurred and the provisions and the people in one place it was suddenly a frightening reality. It was a humbling experience to be a part of such an impressive, undoubtedly historic, event.
And the caravan was impressive in its magnitude.
A great array of boxes - filled with such goods as sausages, hams, spaghetti, herrings, sardines, bacon, peas, beans, sweets, paraffin, and petrol, an impressive heap of yak dung and the climbing equipment - had overtaken every inch of the courtyard of the bungalow. Its numbers surpassed only by the long train of animals and the hundreds of porter's milling about. A lot of them were small in stature and relatively fair in complexion, with the distinctive facial features associated with peoples of Tibetan origin. Mallory called them Sherpas.
According to George, the Sherpa people are one of the many Tibetan ethnic groups native to the most mountainous regions of Nepal, Tingri County, and the Himalayas. They were a nomadic people who, according to oral history, first settled in the Solukhumbu District of Nepal. Their ancestors were said to be from four families who migrated from Kham in Tibet to Solukhumbu at different times throughout the 13th and 14th centuries by traveling through Ü and Tsang, before crossing the Himalayas. This, he said, made them the perfect guides through the extreme altitudes of the peaks and passes in the region for the expedition. Their hardiness, expertise, and experience at very high altitudes made them some of the most priceless members of the expedition.
He wished he could say the same for the other members of their party.
Inside, away from the hustle and bustle of the warlike preparations taking place outside Darcy found his eyes glazing over halfway through George's introductions to all 160 expedition participants - expedition leader Colonel Fitzwilliam, Dr. Edward Gardiner from London, translator William Lucas, mountaineers Mr. Denny, Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Forster. Who had all served in the same battalion together.
And, of course, their native Sherpa guides.
He had no interest in the pomp and circumstance.
He smiled as he recalled his wife's reaction to meeting the Sherpas. Lizzy had been quite taken with them from the start; charmed by their culture and friendly dispositions.
Their guides had seemed equally enchanted with her. Offering her better coats and gloves to help combat the chill of the mountains. If Darcy hadn't already appreciated them this moment would have sealed the deal. Gifts from the indigenous people were no small thing, in Darcy's mind. These were people who had spent their entire lives adapting and learning how to survive in these conditions. Their advice would be invaluable and the fact that they were willing to share this knowledge with the very people who had colonized their country and tried to decimate their way of life was…awe-inspiring and deeply touching.
The festive mood was only slightly dampened by the fact that the oxygen systems had not arrived in Darjeeling. George assured them not to worry though as Wickham and Denny had volunteered to stay behind a couple more days to organize transportation for the oxygen systems before rejoining the rest of the party later on.
Shortly after, everyone turned in for the night. Darcy lay awake on their pallet, Lizzie snoring quietly next to him, too wound up to think of sleep as thoughts of what tomorrow would bring ran in frantic circles through his head like a hamster on a wheel until finally, he fell into a fitful doze.
It felt like no time at all had passed before he was jerked awake by the sounds of Lizzy moving around.
Sleepily, they readied themselves for the day.
Exiting their room, he stumbled after Lizzy into the weak light, shivering in the freezing morning air, as they took the first step in their journey. Mallory said it would take a little over a month to get there.
Darcy was dreading every second.
Leaving Darjeeling they headed towards Kalimpong some 31 miles away. Here they rested a couple of days. Taking refuge in St. Andrew's Colonial Home, where they had the immense pleasure of meeting the missionary Mr. Collin's whose personality was grating and exhausting after so many days of walking. Fraying their already short tempers even further. Luckily, for the sake of Mr. Collin's continued health, the children within the house served as both a suitable distraction and a shield against his unwanted advances.
Established 20 years earlier, by missionary John Anderson Graham, from the Church of Scotland. Saint Andrew's Colonial Home housed over 600 mixed-race children of Indian and British ancestry who had been forced onto the streets due to prejudice. Referred to as kutcha butcha - a derogatory term meaning half-baked child - children by the locals, St. Andrew's offered them the chance to learn a trade and fend for themselves. It was heartbreaking how badly racism had affected their lives already. It made Darcy's heart pang and he knew by the look on his wife's face that it hurt her just as much as they gazed at their world-weary faces. Looking far too old and tired for their young age.
Lizzy made a point of spending as much time with the children as she could, Darcy trailing after her like a melancholy shadow, as they played simple games like hopscotch and hide and go seek. The children loved it. Loved spending time with Lizzy, who had almost become something like a mother figure to the younger children in the short time they had been there.
When it came time to leave, the kids in the house followed after them. Their small hands waved like flags in the breeze. They waved from the house's windows, from the comfort of their caretaker's arms, from the driveway. Everywhere. It was an overwhelming parade of goodbyes as the children waved and shouted good luck and come back to visit soon and I'll miss you and thank you after them.
It was clearly painful for Lizzy.
Her breath hitched and Darcy pulled her closer, clutching her hand comfortingly, "They'll be alright," he murmured.
"How can you be so sure," she retorted, dry-eyed despite the distress pouring off her in waves.
Darcy didn't reply.
Holding tight to him, she stared towards the house long after it had faded into the distance and the waving kids were lost from view.
After leaving Kalimpong they traveled west into Phari Dzong before traversing the remaining 76 miles to Kampa Dzong. They arrived on 11 April; sixteen days after leaving Darjeeling. Here the group rested for three days so that Messrs Wickham and Denny could catch up to the team with the oxygen bottles.
By this point, they had walked more than 119 miles on foot and they were feeling it. Darcy felt like he was trudging through tar. Each step seemed harder than the last. It was a chilly 37 degrees but sweat beaded on his forehead and other unmentionable places. He had tried taking off layers but it got cold quickly and he just ended up wearing them again. It was too much effort to try and go back and forth. His focus was only on his steps, exactly two steps behind Lizzy.
Lizzy, who was bright-eyed and walked with a skip to her step. Darcy couldn't even muster the strength to feel annoyed. Or at the fact that she would glance at him every few steps.
"Will. Will. I'm feeling tired, maybe we should ride on the wagon for a little bit."
Darcy shook his head. She wasn't even out of breath. He was wheezing like an asthmatic sloth. He'd die before he admitted he needed the help though. He had his pride as a man to think about.
"Come on. I think it will do me a world of good."
"No. I'm fine. It's only 150 more miles."
"There's no shame in needing a break."
"I said I'm fine! Leave it alone, Elizabeth!"
Lizzy frowned, "Fine, then!" Her glare burned into the back of the porter in front of her, who looking back, squeaked in alarm and rushed forward. A smidgeon of guilt bled into Lizzy's expression but the unhappy look remained. Not a good sign.
Darcy watched with trepidation as his wife huffed and sped up. No doubt hurrying to apologize to the poor porter as much as to get away from him.
From there they traveled to Shelkar Dzong in silence, neither of them willing to back down or apologize. By this point, Darcy was ready to collapse from exhaustion. His legs trembled, on the verge of giving out. When Colonel Fitzwilliam finally, finally gave the call to stop, it was all he could do not to collapse right then and there.
Forcing his legs to carry him the last few feet, Darcy gratefully sat down on the first comfortable-looking spot he found. It was little more than a pile of smooth, gray pebbles but in that moment it felt better than the most luxurious of featherbeds. His eyes began to droop as the others went about the mundane routine of setting up camp - pitching tents, establishing fire pits, and cooking their evening meal. He spotted Lizzy once or twice amongst the crowd. He did not call out to her; still kinda angry and petulant that she had been right to offer him the chance to ride in the wagon. It was a tired, stubborn kind of anger, like the dying embers of a fire too stubborn to burn out, but like the fire, it was being buried in the ashes of weariness. It was exhausting to be angry and it was taking strength that Darcy didn't have.
He laid down.
Food was the last thing on his mind.
He was tired and achy and sick to his stomach with fatigue. His lips were dry and cracked from the cold but even the thought of drinking water made him dizzy. He was just so tired. It was miserable. It was cold. But he was too tired to get into the tent Lizzy (and George, who had helped) had set up for them.
He just wanted to sleep.
So he did.
Lizzy would wake him. He was sure of it.
The next day came early. Darcy groaned as the dawn light shone in his eyes. He slung an arm over his eyes in a desperate plea to go back to sleep. But sleep did not come.
He spent another five minutes lying in bed, lamenting his lot in life. It was a special kind of torture to be so tired and yet be too tired to sleep. Still, the rest he'd gotten had done some good. The ache in his muscles wasn't as pronounced - though he was positive that wouldn't last long after he got up and started walking around again - and it was easier to think without the weariness clouding his thoughts.
Grumbling, he pushed himself up. At some point, Lizzy must have come and woken him because he was in their tent. He blinked blearily at his surroundings. Absently noting the cozy sleeping bag he was wrapped in and Lizzy curled up beside him, her back facing him.
His heart clenched to see her. It felt like they were separated by a rift. She was here, so close to him, but she also seemed so far away. She didn't understand what he was going through. Not really. He knew she was trying her best to understand him, to help him. But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted...he wasn't sure what he wanted. Maybe something more? Maybe just the chance to be close to her with no strings attached? Just them without a care in the world - no job, no bills, no mountain to worry about. Just the chance to exist as two halves of a whole; like puzzle pieces connecting at last.
He wanted, he wanted.
But he didn't know how to get what he wanted.
He wasn't ready to apologize. Not about this. Not about something he didn't even fully understand himself.
She rolled over, breaking his train of thought. She blinked lazily at him before her eyes cleared and she got up with a scowl.
Together they silently pulled on their winter clothes; woolen waistcoats and Jaeger pants, their armor of windproof materials, their splendid overcoats, their sturdy boots. Before exiting their tent. Ready to face whatever challenges today's march would bring.
Darcy forwent breakfast.
Despite not having dinner the night before he wasn't hungry.
That was probably a bad sign but he couldn't muster the energy to care.
Instead, he sat next to Lizzy as she ate. Conversing with her in courteous tones about nothing of consequence. It was obvious she was still angry with him.
The memory of the time they'd spent together in their living room teasing and talking and enjoying each other's company seemed so faded.
Like it had happened a million years ago rather than just a few short months ago.
Another wave of sorrow hit him, and he swallowed heavily.
"Lizzy," he started before breaking off as Colonel Fitzwilliam gave the 10-minute warning. Around them, porters rushed to complete the last-minute work needed to disassemble their campsite. Lizzy stared at him.
"What is it," she finally prompted.
"Iー uh, never mind. It's not important."
"Hmm," she hummed disbelievingly. But thankfully not pressing further.
The caravan began to move. Lizzy stood and walked into the thinning crowd, leaving him staring after her like a lovestruck fool who would follow her across the world to climb a mountain and then fight with her over something stupid.
Darcy sighed, before wearily trudging after them.
Headed north to the Rongbuk Monastery and, if everything went according to plan, to the spot where they wanted to erect base camp.
His stomach gurgled uncomfortably; he swallowed down a wave of nausea. Maybe he should have at least tried to eat something. It probably would've helped. Anyway, it was too late now. He'd have to wait until they stopped for lunch; though, maybe he could sneak a little something before then. He wasn't ignorant of the granola bars Lizzy had snuck into her pockets when she thought no one was looking.
It was silly but his heart warmed at the thought that even though she was angry with him, she was still taking care of him. Watching him. Noticing that he hadn't been eating and planning ahead to help him.
Time passed in a haze.
And then on May 1, they reached the lower end of the Rongbuk Glacier, the site of base camp.
"Look," Mallory pointed, pulling up alongside them on his mule. "There's Mount Everest!"
Up close it was even larger than he'd imagined. Almost as wide as it was tall, forbidding, and covered in icy snow, even the rocks looked like ice, jagged and deadly. But he thought that everything was weirdly colored. As though they had entered a frozen dimension.
Its peak rose, and rose, and rose till it was obscured by clouds. Making it impossible to tell how tall it really was.
Darcy's apprehensive gaze met with Lizzy's sparkling eyes.
There it was.
And looking at it Darcy could cry.