Page 51 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Among the Passengers reported lost is Mr. FITZWILLIAM DARCY, Esquire, of Pemberley in Derbyshire, a Gentleman of considerable Fortune and ancient Family. Mr. Darcy's name appears upon the Ship's Manifest, and his Presence aboard has been confirmed by the Testimony of a Survivor. A Signet Ring bearing the Darcy Family Arms was recovered among Effects cast upon the Shore near Deal.

The Loss of so promising a Gentleman at but Thirty Years of Age must occasion the deepest Sorrow among his wide Circle of Acquaintance. Mr. Darcy was the sole surviving Son of the late George Darcy, Esquire, of Pemberley, and his Death leaves that ancient Estate without an Heir of the Body. He was well-regarded in the first Circles of Society, and his untimely Loss will be universally lamented.

The Goodwin Sands, lying as they do close to the major Shipping Lanes through the Straits of Dover, have long been the Scene of maritime Disasters, and this latest Tragedy serves as grim Reminder of the Perils faced by those who venture upon the Sea.

Several other Persons of Quality were among the Passengers lost, whose Names will be published as Intelligence is received from their Families.

NOTICES

Any Person having Knowledge of the Whereabouts of Mr. FITZWILLIAM DARCY of Pemberley, Derbyshire, or Information concerning the Loss of the Ship BRITANNIA upon the Goodwin Sands on October the 31st is requested to communicate immediately with Messrs. WRAYBURN & ASSOCIATES, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, London.

Mama’s silence could only be credited to her shock. Papa covered his face with his hands, his body trembling. “It cannot be true,” gasped Jane, holding her hand out for the newspaper, which Elizabeth gave to her.

Mary—level-headed, rational Mary—asked, “Why have we not heard about this from Mr. Wrayburn directly and before the newspapers could print anything about it?” An excellent question, and one Elizabeth wondered as well.

Robbie replied, “That is a thoughtful question, and one which makes this printed story open to skepticism.”

Mr. Wickham rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mr. Wrayburn might not have wished to distress your family until the matter was confirmed to his satisfaction.”

Mary looked archly at Mr. Wickham. “If Mr. Wrayburn is not satisfied, then neither am I.”

Nor was Elizabeth. “It is odd that the newspaper would pronounce Mr. Darcy dead and then print a notice asking for more information regarding his whereabouts…”

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed his head at her. Elizabeth had been inclined to favor him once she saw how he teased Robbie, but the devilish spark in his eye earned her immediate friendship. “Precisely,” he said. While she could not explain it, she understood his manner to indicate that he considered her a friend, too.

She frowned, another point in the article adding to her doubt. “Whoever wrote the article did not verify Mr. Darcy’s age. He is… was… is… oh bother, whatever he is or was, it was not thirty years of age.”

The colonel nodded. “My cousin would not have appreciated that oversight. No gentleman wishes to be shelved while he is yet in his prime.”

Robbie shot him a look. “I suppose the writer assumed it was appropriate to round up?”

“Twenty-eight, thirty… Does it really matter?” Mr. Wickham pointed out. The other two men glared at him. As serious as this situation was, the levity they unwittingly introduced tempted Elizabeth to roll her eyes at them.

But now was not the time for laughter. Instead, she pointed out the obvious. “If the newspaper cannot be trusted to get Mr. Darcy’s age correct, how can we trust anything else they print?”

“What of the testimony of the survivor?” asked Robbie. “Was he a reliable source of information?”

“A sailor aboard ship,” answered Mr. Wickham. “It took some doing, but I tracked him down and spoke with him myself. He seemed an honest sort.”

That was not enough to satisfy Elizabeth. “What about the signet ring? What is significant about it?”

Mr. Wickham turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who looked deeply troubled, and Elizabeth felt the arguments upon which she had built her doubt cracking under her feet. “The signet ring is unique in design, the stone inlays particular to Derbyshire and made to the specifications of Darcy’s great-grandfather. It has no equal.” The colonel shook his head. “I saw the ring myself. I had hoped to prove it a counterfeit. To my great dismay, it proved in every way to be genuine. My father even had a jeweler confirm the originality of the stones.”

Mary’s suspicious countenance pinched into one of concern. “So, it is true. Mr. Darcy is dead.”

Mama wailed, “What will become of us now? Who will marry my girls?” Papa slumped in his chair, having no answers. Mama wailed louder. Jane sat frozen in place, the newspaper pages crumpling in her grip. Kitty suggested that Colonel Fitzwilliam share some of his restoring tonic with their mother. Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the newspaper as though her displeasure might change the words on the page.

Elizabeth did not know what to feel. She had longed for freedom her whole life, but not once had she considered that she might gain it through Mr. Darcy’s demise. Now that he was most likely gone and she would never have the opportunity to meet him, she found herself mourning the loss of the dream she had never wanted and had spent her growing years despising.

She did not realize she was sitting or crying until Robbie knelt before her with a handkerchief, drying her cheeks. The tenderness of his gesture inspired more tears, but she sucked them in. Now was not the time. She sat taller and sniffed, wiping her hands over her face. “Until we hear from Mr. Wrayburn, I shall continue to hope that all will end well.” But how could it ever end well? Either her betrothed was dead and her family was ruined, or she would feel obligated to betray her heart and marry a man she could never love. Neither option was desirable.

Mr. Wickham rose. “My apologies for bringing you this distressing news. I thought it best that you hear it from a friend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wickham. That was kind of you,” Jane said.

He bowed deeply, catching Elizabeth’s eye as he stood. “If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask. Anything at all.”

It was an offer a good friend would make, and his manners in giving it recommended his sincerity. He had done them a real kindness in bringing the news himself before her father would have read about it on the morrow in his own copy of The Times. With genuine gratitude, she added her thanks to Jane’s.