The parting of Elizabeth and Eleanor was a tearful one. Darcy refrained from objecting to his wife's invitations for the Romneys to visit them as soon as could be. The carriage took them back to the docks, and by mid-morning, they were back on their way to Portsmouth.
Captain Newbury advised them that the trip would likely take above a week, owing to the winds and current. He then busied himself with his instruments and officers, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth to their own devices.
Elizabeth resettled herself into her cabin, feeling for the first time the lack of many of the conveniences which she had neglected to pack in their haste to quit Hunsford. She wondered if those things might be conveyed to Longbourn without her having to travel there, for indeed she could bear neither the thought of exposing herself to Lady de Bourgh, Mr. Collins or even her dear friend Charlotte, nor of delaying her return to home and the comforts of Jane.
In the morning, when she was taking a turn about the ship, she encountered Darcy and asked him whither they would travel once they returned. He answered tolerably, that as soon as they reached land that certain letters would be dispatched, with her approval, with instructions to remove her possessions back to Hertfordshire, to her family at Longbourn where he hoped they might be received, and arrange for their removing to Pemberley once that visit was complete.
"As to the other arrangements," said Darcy, gazing out to sea, "of which Mrs. Romney spoke so closely, I shall soon have an agreement that will want only your signature for execution."
Elizabeth, so bemused by Darcy's manner, could only murmur her consent to whatever he thought best before excusing herself to go below to her room. His distracted manner was quite at odds with his previous warmth, and she began to wonder if he was thinking the better of their marriage.
If ever he was, she thought, sitting back on her bed, it was too late to do aught about it.
The next day broke gray and stormy. Most of the sails were furled and the sailors went tensely about their chores. Their mood could not help but be communicated to their passengers. Elizabeth, who had been quite equal to a calm sea, felt herself sickened by the continual rocking of the ship. Darcy, himself pale, shadowed her as she strode about the deck, trying to calm her stomach. At last he approached her.
"Is there anything I can do to assist you, anything at all?" he asked nervously, eyeing a flapping rope. She breathed deeply of the salty spray.
"No, thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said, gritting her teeth. As if it wasn't enough to be plagued with queasiness, the necessity of being civil to Darcy was too trying. His solicitude struck her as hypocritical and she was determined to disallow him any courtesy toward her.
Shocked by her tone, Darcy stepped quickly away from her. The flapping rope cracked loudly as the sail it was holding gave way in the stiff wind. As Darcy stepped backward, the end of it caught him a sharp blow and he staggered against a low railing. A look of panic swept his face as he, for a moment, flung his hand toward Elizabeth for aid. She hesitated a moment, and the ship lurched. A loud splash, and he was gone.
Men toiled in the storm, split between keeping the ship afloat and hauling on long lines in the hopes of bringing Mr. Darcy back aboard. Golding had hurried Elizabeth back to her cabin and safety, and there she sat, shivering and wet, wracked by pangs of guilt. She listened, trying to ascertain over the sounds of creaking wood and storm, cries that would speak to Darcy's rescue. She could hear little, and her anxious thoughts soon overcome her.
Was she a murderer? Had, by denying him aid, she consigned Darcy, her husband, to a drowning death?
She bit at her cold fingers, enraged at her own perfidy. She had righteous anger against him, to be sure. Their forced elopement had been arrogant, a nearly unforgivable sin. But did it warrant death?
Some part of herself chimed in that they would not have been on this vessel had he not made these plans and coerced her into them. But a larger part said that, no matter his crime, hers was worse for it sprang from resentment and hard heart.
She wept, miserable in the grasp of damp, incessant rocking and wracking conscience. It seemed hours since Golding had left her alone. If Darcy had not been recovered, then he must be drowned and she a widow. Grief came upon her, unforeseen and powerful, for the loss of whatever small happiness their future together might have held. She stared at the gold ring on left hand, and hot tears poured down her cold face.
When Elizabeth finally roused herself, cold light was streaming into the cabin. She felt chilled though, cold and resigned. She pushed her way into the hallway and above deck, where a few men still kept lookout. The captain approached her, sorrow lining his face.
"Mrs. Darcy, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid we weren't able to find him."
She felt as if she were freezing all the way though her being. The captain was apologizing profusely, saying that they had done everything possible to recover him, but had been thwarted by the dark and tempest.
She nodded slowly, the reality of her widowhood descending gradually into her heart.
"I thank you for your efforts," she said softly.
Newbury gently took her hand. "We shall be in Portsmouth in a few days. I suggest you use this time to go though your husband's things and make any decisions you feel right. I'm afraid that once we land, you will not have much leisure for contemplation. There will be his family to deal with, and I believe you know how demanding certain of his relations can be."
Elizabeth silently balked at the idea of making any decisions regarding affairs of which she knew little or nothing, but knew the advice to be good, and took her leave, letting Golding escort her to Darcy's cabin.