However, Fitzwilliam explained it all to me over breakfast. He is fond of explaining things, and very good at it, too, which I find is not always the case even with professional teachers.
"The tides in this part of the world take themselves seriously, I find," said he. "Like the grand old duke of York, when they are out they are definitely out, and when they are in they are certainly in. The midway stage, the 'neither up nor down' is apparently when they are at their most dangerous, and there are many tales of persons, even of whole parties, who have come to grief by neglecting their tide tables. I tell you this, my sweet, not to alarm you, but so that you may take care if tempted to wander onto the sandbanks which will soon become apparent. In the meantime, should you wish to try one of Mr. Sutton's excellent bathing machines?"
"Bathing?" I replied. "In the sea?"
"In the sea, certainly, at least while it is present, before it takes its leave of us for the rest of the day."
"But is that not something that invalids do?"
"It is that, certainly, but I am led to believe by those who pay heed to such things that to bathe in the sea for pleasure is very much the fashion at the moment. Both the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York are very fond of the pastime, as I hear, and those who have tried it say that the sensation is very pleasurable, as well as having effects upon the health which are greatly to be desired."
He went on about those effects in great detail, using many long words with which I was not, at the time, particularly familiar, and relating many facts both useful and fascinating, I make no doubt, to the correct audience. The ten year old girl who heard them, however, knew not what to make of them, and very soon interrupted with cries of being permitted to enjoy this new amusement.
The mechanics of sea-bathing are by now far too widely known for me to go into them in any depth now. Any depth, in fact, as far as the water was concerned, was something by nature completely lacking at South Port unless one chose to wade far out across the sands. That I was able to disport myself up to the chin I owed entirely to the deliberate dredging work carried out by Mr. Sutton’s order, to create his ‘Famous Bathing Hall’. I was completely unaware of this fact at the time, but the reader may be sure that my brother did not neglect to point it out afterwards.
After the initial shock had worn off (for the waters of the Irish Sea are by no means of the most temperate nature) I found myself perfectly delighted by this novel sensation, in spite of the cumbersome bathing dress provided, a sort of circular sheet of coarse linen, with a hole in the middle to go over one’s head, which converted the wearer into a sort of human bell-tent, with herself serving as the tent pole. The theory of it, as Fitzwilliam afterwards informed me, was that the fabric would float on the surface of the water, forming an opaque circle around the bather, and preserving her modesty by preventing observation of whatever she was doing under the water. In practice, it very soon became waterlogged and clung to my arms and legs, impeding any sort of movement even more than the unpredictable surges of the waved. I had no notion of such a thing as swimming, and took care not to venture out of my depth, or I should very soon have drowned, were it not for the Dipper who accompanied me everywhere. My Dipper was called Mary, and we became quite familiar with each other during the course of the week we spent there. Hannah hated her on principle, and was sure that ‘that foreign girl’ was all set to drown me, or else to rob my things from the bathing machine.
This ‘morning dip’ became a regular feature, although my brother never joined me in spite of all my encouragement. He would watch keenly, however, from the shore, and was always at hand with some treat or other when I emerged from the bathing machine afterwards.
The first morning I cajoled him with the traditional cry of “Come on in, the water’s lovely,” but he demurred.
“Perhaps on a hotter day,” he replied, “and in my own lake at Pemberley, where I may look to be unobserved.”
He would have been pretty near unobserved at Mr. Sutton’s for that matter. Other visitors were very few, and I often had the ‘Grand Bathing Hall’ to myself.
I fear that South Port will never rival East Bourne or Weymouth as a seaside resort, let alone Brighton.
It is, for one thing, too far from the sea, except for a few hours each day, and those hours often at the most inconvenient time.
It is also too far from the capital. Liverpool, from which it is distant much the same number of miles as Brighton from London, may be the second city of the kingdom, and awash with the wealth of the Indies, but its citizens are not accustomed to disport themselves in watering places even of the established sort.
It was the proximity of the great port, in fact, which had brought us to this neighbourhood. My brother explained this to me when we had been five days away from home.
“Among the property our father left,” he said, “were shares in several ships trading out of Liverpool.”
“I am negotiating to dispose of them, and must go to Liverpool to sign some papers. We shall go back to Pemberley via Liverpool, and Hannah shall take you about the sights there, while I attend to business.”
“I should rather like to have a ship of my own.” I said. “Must we really sell them?”
“I do not choose to keep them, my dear. Any connection with trade is deplorable, and the particular trade in which these vessels are engaged is especially reprehensible.”
When once Fitzwilliam gets started on his long words, there is no talking to him, so I merely noted them down, resolving to look them up in Doctor Johnson when we were come back to Pemberley.
We left South Port all too soon. We never did take a trip up the famous ‘River Nile’, which in fact was only navigable by even the smallest skiff at high tide, at other times being no more than a muddy trickle. At high tide I had better things to do, which was, perhaps, just as well.
As Hannah put it, “We wouldn’t want to fall out of the boat and be et by all them cockadrills and hipponoceroses, would we?”
When the sea retreated, I was, fortunately, not yet too old for building sandcastles, and sand was one material of which there was certainly no shortage. I enjoyed myself enormously, but have since wondered what Fitzwilliam did for amusement while I was getting gloriously wet and muddy. He was always pleased to assist me, but at times was called away to what I conclude must have been business to do with the ships he was selling.
It was on one of these ships that we sailed down to Liverpool when our stay in South Port was over. Such an adventure made our canal journey seem quite tame. We had to row, or, rather, be rowed out in a small boat, for the sea in that part of the world extends for miles before it gets deep enough to float an ocean-going vessel, even at high tide. Then I was hoisted up the side of the vessel in a kind of chair dangling from a rope, which I found very grand and very exciting.
The ship had only two masts, and so, strictly speaking, was not a ship at all, but a brig.
The captain was very kind to us, and had set out a meal for us on a table on the deck, near the wheel.
“I thought we might dine al fresco”, he said, “this being such a fine day. That way the little lady will miss none of the views, and I fear she may not like the sights and smells she may meet with below.”
I thought this absolute nonsense, and was longing to go exploring, but I was as yet still so much in awe of my brother that even to dream of disputing his merest suggestion was quite beyond me.
The captain may well have been right, however. I distinctly remember a curious smell, rather pungent and musky, which hung over the vessel. I commented upon it at the time, and was told that it came from the cargo. I never thought to ask what the cargo was, and concluded it must be some sort of aromatic spice from the far Indies, although it did not smell like any spice I should care to try. There were occasional curious noises from below, like indistinct bawling of sheep or cattle, and the chink of chains, so perhaps it was carrying livestock of some sort.
Liverpool itself was something of a disappo
intment. The great docks, crammed with shipping were impressive indeed, but as we walked behind the porters to our hotel the heavens opened, and remained open until we left, so that I saw very little of it but Castle Street, and the town hall, looking, with its dome, I thought, much like Saint Paul’s must in London.
When Fitzwilliam’s visit was done, we took another boat upriver to a place whose name, I fear, escapes me, where we changed onto a canal boat which took us to Macclesfield.
All this time the deluge never stopped, but in the inn at Macclesfield we woke to bright sunshine and a perfect summer’s day.
Too perfect, in fact, for the heat continued to climb quite as much as we did in our journey over the mountains.
By the time we got to Buxton, where our own carriage was to meet us, the heat in the hired chaise was insupportable.
“Someone has been thinking straight,” remarked Fitzwilliam when he saw the group of Pemberley servants waiting by the famous well. “They have brought riding horses and a side saddle for you, too. What do you say? Shall we ride on to Pemberley in the open air, while the servants follow on with our baggage?”
There could only be one answer to such a question, especially as the coach provided privacy for me to change into my riding habit, and Fitzwilliam to don his boots.
Very soon we were galloping through our own woods at Pemberley. The great oaks and walnuts provided shade, and the wind of our passage had some cooling effect, but even so, I remember the day getting hotter and hotter. By the time we swept through the gates we were both gasping with the heat.
We approached the lake, and Fitzwilliam slowed his pace.
“I have just recollected a conversation we had at South Port,” he said, “and a promise I made you which I now intend to take great pleasure in fulfilling.”
While I sat mystified, he leapt from his horse, and, throwing off his coat, stock and boots, plunged into the lake.
For an instant I lost sight of him, but he soon rose from the water, shaking his wet locks.
“Come on in,” he called. “The water’s lovely.”
It was my good fortune to be still young enough in those days to think nothing of any impropriety that bathing with my own brother might involve. I very soon joined in, and we were still disporting ourselves when the servants arrived.
I will not go into detail about what Hannah said as she was towelling me dry in my bedroom, to which she immediately whisked me, but it was well worth it.There was no-one to scold Fitzwilliam, however, and thereafter he made the ceremony of jumping in the lake part of the routine for returning to Pemberley in summer, and has continued it to this day.
I fear I very soon became too old to join in, but I believe my sister Elizabeth occasionally indulges.
Chapter Four :School Inspection
We had but a week at Pemberley after our return from the seaside, barely enough for me to tire of listening to Hannah regaling the other servants with her account of how only her constant vigilance had saved me from being drowned by ‘those terrible Egyptians’.
Then we must needs travel to Surrey to inspect the school that had been recommended to my brother. At that time I had no idea from whom he had obtained that recommendation, and I believe Fitzwilliam found himself in the unusual situation, for him, of being embarrassed by his choice. But more of that hereafter.
We had what I believe was the first of our arguments in the coach.
"Why must I go to school?" I asked. "Cousin Anne does not go to school. Why cannot I stay at Pemberley with you?"
He assumed that expression of effortless superiority of which he is so fond, and with which I was to become more than familiar over the years.
"Your cousin never - or hardly ever - leaves home. She mixes with a very restricted society. Your position will be very different when you come out. Pemberley is not Rosings, and Derbyshire is not Kent. I would have you accustomed to meeting with persons of every station in life, and capable of dealing with them all on the correct footing. You will never do that unless you spend time in a varied society, which I believe this school will afford. Apart from that, Miss Darcy of Pemberley must be the very model of the ideal young lady. She must be mistress of all the accomplishments that such an ideal must have."
"But what are these mysterious 'accomplishments?" I asked, "and could I not learn them at home, from a governess?"
"I do not believe it would be quite the thing for a bachelor of my age to employ a young lady in such a capacity," he replied, "even without the vulgar expectation of matrimony that such an employment invariably gives rise to in the romantic novels of the age. And as for accomplishments, what would be your ideal of an accomplished young lady, my pet?"
I mentioned what Lady Catherine would have us learn at Rosings, and how she boasted of knowing dozens of very accomplished young ladies.
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," he said, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with Lady Catherine in her estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."
"Then," I observed, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."
"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it. No one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved. All this she must possess, and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."
I had been set a task, had I not?
"Surely such young ladies must be very rarely met with?" I observed.
"They are rare birds, to be sure. I doubt I know more than two or three."
"I rather wonder at your knowing any. And will this school in Surrey turn me into such a creature?"
“That is what it is our business to find out. I rather expect that, of itself, it will not. Nothing will succeed in that way unless you wish it to succeed yourself. If you wish to become a truly accomplished person, you will work hard at it for you own sake, no matter where you may find yourself. The advantage of a school over a governess is that you will find yourself among a range of other young ladies against whom you will be able to judge your own progress, rather than rely on the, perhaps biased, opinions of your closest connections”.
“But fear not, my love. We shall see what this place is like, and if you do not like it, you shall not go. I do not doubt but that there are plenty of other establishments that will answer just as well."
After such a lecture, I found myself feeling rather solemn, but the sights of the our journey served to put such notions out of my mind for a while.
When we crossed the Thames at Richmond, however, and finally entered Surrey, they returned, threefold.
This country was so different from Derbyshire! Instead of the rugged hillsides and hanging woods, the stone walled-fields and rock outcrops, everywhere was so green, so rich-looking, so obviously fertile. The lush fields with their flourishing hedges about them, punctuated by ponds and copses were, it bore no denying, spectacularly beautiful, but so unlike every thing I had seen before.
In all my thoughts of the South, I had envisaged the restricted vistas and thick woodland of the Kentish Weald to which I was accustomed, and had expected Surrey to be similar. I had heard it referred to as 'the garden of England', but so many counties are called, or call themselves, by that appellation that the title is almost meaningless. In Derbyshire, the view was of fields and hills. In Kent it was of woods and valleys. Surrey possessed all four, in abundance, with the addition of many streams and rivers, and an overall look of smug prosper
ity. The very labourers in the fields looked fat and contented.
The aspect of the village of Highbury, as we entered it from the north-east, was of a piece with this general air of comfort. The cottages were all well-kept, the streets clean and tidy, the villagers likewise. The one gentleman's residence we passed, just outside the village, was a very tidy, brick-built house of modest proportions but imposing design, enclosed by a very neatly-kept garden.
The school was at the other end of the main village street, just past the church. It, too, was of brick construction with pan tiled roof and tall chimneys. It stood out among the surrounding cottages, with their timber frames and thatched roofs like a swan among ducklings, but possessed no more in the way of a front garden than its neighbours. A board mounted on a post outside its front door proclaimed it to be -
"Mrs. Goddard's academy for the daughters of gentlefolk. All accomplishments catered for and guaranteed."
"An ambitious boast," commented Fitzwilliam, "let us see if they can live up to it."
Descending from the chaise, he promptly busied himself with the door knocker, while I cowered down behind him, overcome with a sudden fit of shyness.
"Tell your mistress," said Fitzwilliam to the maidservant who answered the door, a very decently liveried young person of demeanour neither overly familiar nor too demure, "that Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, and Miss Darcy beg the favour of a few moments of her time. The names should be familiar to her from our correspondence."
The young person showed us very properly into the hall, and asked us to wait while she consulted her employer.
This provided us with the opportunity to look about the place for a few moments.
"The house seems well enough conducted," said Fitzwilliam. "The maidservant was smartly turned out and appeared to be properly trained. The rooms, so far, appear to be in a proper state of repair, as does the building in general. The situation appears healthy enough, standing on gravel, with no river nearby to occasion thoughts of the dangers of flooding. Much will depend, however, on the demeanour and character of the proprietress, on which we must make our own judgment."
Miss Darcy's Diversions Page 3