Lizzy, meanwhile, scanned the beach, which now resembled a seal colony with its vast numbers of barking, black-clad figures. Any moment she expected David Attenborough to leap out of the tall pines which surrounded the beach, microphone in hand, and explain the extraordinary annual migration—although, it has to be said, among the black were an equal number of brave souls who wore only swimming costumes and stood shrieking and shivering. Yet there was, indeed, no sign of Wickham. Denny appeared, and Lydia was immediately forthright enough to enquire of his handsome friend.
“Wickham has gone for a run over to Bolt Head. This swim would have been a great pleasure to him, but I am afraid he wished to avoid a certain gentleman.”
Lizzy felt her heart harden against Darcy, as her dislike of him was sharpened by the immediate disappointment. But she was not one to sulk, and seeing her friend, Lottie Lucas, she was able to discuss her griefs, having to drop the subject as Bingley, his sisters, and the detestable Darcy himself joined their group.
“Splendid! Delightful. Absolutely splendid!” enthused Bingley. “I say, what a perfectly splendid event. I can’t wait to get in that sea. Are you a strong swimmer, Jane?” And on enquiring, he angled himself closer to the young lady in question. Mr Darcy similarly seemed to be approaching Lizzy, who feeling he was the last person in the world she wished to talk to, moved away and unfortunately found herself shoulder to shoulder with Mr Collins. Mr Collins, uncomfortable and sweating profusely in the ill-fitting wetsuit, took this as a compliment, and to Lizzy’s horror, put out a rubber paw and held her hand. So shocked was she that she gave out a little squeal, which he took to be a squeal of delight and held more firmly, so despite her discreet wriggling, she was unable to escape.
There was a ripple of excitement across the beach. The Harbour Master had transferred all contenders; from his wooden boat, twenty yards out to sea, he was holding an oar aloft; the sea was choppy but not wild; the tide was high; the early morning sun sparkled: the moment had come.
“When I drop my oar, it is the signal to start,” he bellowed. Despite the megaphone, nobody could hear his words, yet despite not hearing his words, everyone got the gist. Almost. The oar had not quite dropped, but everyone knew he was on the verge—the sound of his voice had been enough, excitement overspilled, and the several hundred people who had waited so patiently and with such good humour on the beach now ran at full speed into the water.
The splashing was unprecedented, the battle roar tremendous as bodies large and small, fat and thin, old and young hurled themselves voluntarily into the waves. Lydia and Kitty found themselves at the forefront with Denny and a group of six fit young men. Mary, not wishing to be last, had allowed herself to be swept along with the crowd and was swimming sidestroke in a regular, balanced motion, trying to recite the periodic table to take her mind off the cold. Bingley had made a dash for it with Jane, and they were destined to enjoy a most romantic swim across, with the young man feeling he had fallen in love with a mermaid, so beautifully—in his eyes—did the eldest Miss Bennet glide through the water. Lizzy, meanwhile, was right at the back. Mr Collins had not released his grip of her when the rush began. Being right by the shore as everyone charged in, the pair found themselves near the front, but they were soon overtaken.
“Oh, it’s cold!” shrieked Mr Collins, hopping about, barely toe deep. “Oh my! Oh my!”
“Come on!” insisted Lizzy impatiently.
Mr Collins was forced to let go of Lizzy’s hand, as he could not swim and be noble, being good at neither. Lizzy waded out and struck off, but her kind heart impelled her to turn to see that Mr Collins was now only waist deep and still not swimming but bobbing around on tiptoes, trying not to get wet.
“Oh my! Oh my! I can hardly breathe! Oh my!”
“You can swim, can’t you?” shouted Lizzy.
“Oh my! Of course! Lady Catherine condescended herself to compliment me on hearing that I achieved my Duckling Award at the tender age of six but…”
He tripped and lunged forward into the water. Lizzy was not able to tell if he was swimming or floundering. The buoyancy of his wetsuit seemed to keep him roughly afloat, but they were going at such a slow pace that the other swimmers were moving away.
“Mr Collins, we will never cross the estuary at this rate. Can you not speed up?”
“I…! Oh! I think I have swallowed a fish! I…! Oh my!”
Mr Collins, now progressed to deeper water, was coughing and spluttering and flailing his arms around and indeed looked in danger of drowning. They were out of their depths, and Lizzy had serious cause for concern.
“Oh my! Oh…”
Mr Collins disappeared under the waters.
“Mr Collins! Mr Collins!” She looked around, but there was no sign. She dived under. Nothing could be seen! She dived again. Nothing! It seemed Mr Collins had completely disappeared!
“Help! Help! Over here!” Lizzy waved frantically at the lifeguards who were floating around on surfboards for the very purpose of rescuing anyone in difficulties. But as she waved, she felt a tug on her leg and was pulled underwater. Something black enveloped her, pushing her down, deeper and deeper. As it pushed her deeper, it propelled itself upwards. Lizzy thought her lungs would burst. Almost too late, she escaped the great weight, and freed, swam desperately to the surface. Only moments from death, she managed to gasp in great mouthfuls of air, and even in such desperate straits, she was conscious of the sight of the great black posterior of Mr Collins being heaved onto a surfboard and his plaintive cry of “Oh my! Oh my! I nearly drowned! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Mr Collins safe and thankfully out of the way, Lizzy now filled her lungs with air and struck out with vigour. She was a fine swimmer and was determined, despite this initial setback, not to finish last. She sped through the water, doing a fast crawl, enjoying the physical challenge and soon catching up with a clutch of swimmers. At the same time, she became aware that someone was swimming alongside her. She paused for breath, and on looking round, to her astonishment saw it was Mr Darcy! He, too, was a fine swimmer and seemed able to talk and swim at the same time with ease.
“I do hope you do not mind me accompanying you, Miss Bennet?”
“You are hardly alone in accompanying me, Mr Darcy. There are at least four hundred other swimmers in the vicinity.”
“I mean swim alongside you?”
“If you wish.”
And Lizzy struck out as fast as she could, but to her irritation, found that Darcy managed to keep up with her.
They were soon overtaking Sir William Lucas, who was swimming at a cautious rate.
“Ah, Lizzy! Darcy!” he puffed. “This sea is full of young people swimming with such style and grace. Allow me to say, Mr Darcy, your young partner does not disgrace you, and I am sustained in my efforts by thoughts of a desirable event, my dear Eliza, that may soon take place.” And he glanced across at Jane and Bingley, who were swimming now at a leisurely pace just to starboard. Darcy was halted in his tracks by this thought, which seemed to strike him forcibly. Uncharacteristically he seemed to lose control and swallow an unwise amount of seawater, causing a temporary spluttering and coughing. Lizzy, wishing to escape, took her chance and swam swiftly on. Yet Darcy, recovered, hastened to catch up again, which to Elizabeth’s annoyance, he did and proceeded to encourage conversation whilst swimming on his back.
“What think you of books?”
“Books? I feel we will be all at sea in our varying opinions of books, Mr Darcy.”
“Then let us discuss our opinions.”
“Opinions? I remember you once saying that once you have an opinion of someone you will not change. You must be cautious about forming those opinions.”
“Indeed I am.”
“And you are never blinded by prejudice?”
“I hope not.”
“First impressions must be most important to you. Oh, sorry!”
Lizzy’s apology came from her error in coming into contact with a rather porky man to her port.
“To what are you alluding?”
“Your character, Mr Darcy. I have heard so many conflicting opinions that I am having trouble making you out.”
“I would wish, Miss Bennet, that you would not sketch my character at present, as I have reason to fear that some may not wish to give you the best impression. Ouch!”
