He moved away from this embarrassing scene with all the haste that dignity would allow, cursing himself for a callow nitwit all the way into the house. Once inside, he turned hurriedly to the nearest window to see what the visitors might do: would they continue their tour, or would Elizabeth insist on their immediate departure, now he was come? But no, they carried on with their walk; his eyes lingered wistfully on Elizabeth’s features for a moment before he turned back towards the stairs to his apartments; as he began to move, though, his steps gained purpose and rapidity until he was bounding up the stairway two at a time; he called out to a footman to locate Perkins and send him up instantly. By the time his man reached him, he had largely divested himself of his soiled traveling clothes, and was opening drawers and wardrobes in search of fresh apparel. “Sir?” Perkins enquired, taken aback at this sudden fit of sartorial zeal in his master. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet: here, in the Park,” was Darcy’s terse reply. Perkins froze for the briefest moment, then snatched the shirt Darcy held out of his hand, dexterously plucking another out of a different drawer and opening it in the air so it settled over Darcy’s head and shoulders almost without assistance; by the time Darcy had got his arms in the sleeves, Perkins was holding a clean pair of breeches for him; in next to no time, Darcy was accoutred as befitted the Master of Pemberley, set for a leisurely walk about his demesnes.
On regaining the lawn in front of the house, he paused to consider: the usual path for visitors made a circuit, crossing the stream a little more than a half-mile from the house, and returning on the opposite side. If he followed after them on this side of the stream, he would certainly be able to catch them up before they reached the house again, but if he went by the reverse path, he would probably reach them sooner, and have longer with them. He accordingly set off across the bridge and took the foot path to the right, back up the stream and into the open woods on that side. After a good ten minutes of brisk walking, long enough to begin to fear that they had decided to cut short their tour and return without coming onto this side of the stream, he saw them some little way ahead. Stepping up his pace, he reached them quite near the little footbridge they had taken across the water.
Coming up to them, he was pleased to see that Elizabeth appeared less unwilling to meet him than previously; before he had time to do more than bow, she began speaking: “Allow me to say, Mr. Darcy, Pemberley is as delightful and charming as any of the grand estates we have seen on our journey hither.”
At this point, however, she seemed to undergo a change of sentiment, and, colouring, she stopped speaking and looked away. At a loss to understand how he could have offended her without having spoken a word, on an anxious thought he glanced down discreetly to make sure that, in his haste, his attire was every thing it should be; relieved to find no flaw there, he looked back up again; Elizabeth was still avoiding his eye, but, perceiving her companions standing off to one side, it occurred to him to deflect her present discomfort, whatever its cause, and show her that his “arrogant disdain for the feelings of others” was no more, by requesting an introduction.
The two were a fashionable looking couple of early middle years: the lady carried an air of elegance and sense about her, and the gentleman had an open, intelligent, and accommodating mien. On making his request there was a slight hesitation on Elizabeth’s part, during which he felt her eyes on him again, before she responded, willingly enough, “Mr. Darcy, may I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner; they are my aunt and uncle from London, Mr. Darcy, and have been so kind as to include me in this, their annual pleasure excursion.”
That they were relations was a surprise, and a pleasant one; he thought he remembered Mr. Bennet being without living brother or sister, making one of them the relation of Elizabeth’s mother—an even greater surprise; in either case, though, it afforded him the perfect opportunity to demonstrate his improved consideration for the comfort of others.
“Delighted, Mrs. Gardiner…Mr. Gardiner,” he said, with as much cordiality as he could convey, aware that Elizabeth was watching him closely. “I, too, have lately been traveling for the pleasure of the season. Where have you been to, if I might enquire?”
Elizabeth’s uncle, stepping slightly forward, answered: “We took a leisurely route up through the Midland counties, and have been chiefly touring the countryside about the Peaks here in Derbyshire.”
“And how did you find it?” Darcy asked with interest.
“Yours is a remarkable country, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner answered with a slight bow. “I know of no other that can surpass its natural beauties; and permit me to say, your own home does not detract from its splendour.” Darcy bowed in his turn, and the two set off back along the path which Darcy had but lately traversed, with the ladies trailing behind.
“How old is the house, if you will indulge my curiosity?” asked Mr. Gardiner. “My wife and I were discussing the point earlier.”
“The foundation was laid in 1522, although it has undergone several expansions,” Darcy informed him, “which may be the source of the confusion as to the date; various portions are from very different periods. The façade is said to be Inigo Jones, but I have serious doubts; it is, certainly, after the classical school, but it was built around 1635, at which time Jones was very much engaged in building most of London, if we may believe his legend.”
Elizabeth’s uncle laughed appreciatively. “If he had built every thing attributed to him, certainly, he would have impoverished every other architect in England for a hundred years, having left nothing for them to do.”
Darcy nodded, chuckling in agreement. “There is a folly by Wren at the crest of the hill, though,” he added. “It cannot be seen from the front of the house, unfortunately.”
They walked on a bit, and Darcy noticed Mr. Gardiner often glancing down into the stream; seeing the surface roil from a rising trout, he made an admiring noise, and Darcy asked: “Are you a fisherman, then, Mr. Gardiner?”
“As a boy it was my delight; in London, I fear, I rarely find the opportunity,” he replied, looking wistfully back at the spot in the stream where the fish had made its appearance.
“Perhaps, if you plan to be about the neighbourhood any length of time, you might like to try your luck on my waters,” Darcy told him. “I beg you will feel free to come as often as you can; I should be happy to supply any tackle you might require, and, between us, this stretch just along here is my favourite; whenever I am home I am constantly chasing William here,” gesturing to the gardener, who traipsed alongside them still, “off these holes. He and I seem to be the only ones who appreciate them.” The gardener chuckled and said, “Aye,” his sole contribution to the conversation since his master’s arrival.
Darcy was highly pleased with this invitation: his brain had finally picked up the reins again, and was providing both the manner of discovering their immediate plans, and the means of securing one or more visits by her relation, which could not but put him in the way of more time with Elizabeth. Mr. Gardiner thanked him with great appreciation, and assured him of his willingness to take him up on the offer, further stating that they would be in Lambton for the remainder of the week. “My wife lived there for some time, and has many old acquaintances to renew,” said he with a good-natured smile. “Doubtless I shall have a morning or an afternoon to myself, while she and her friends are going about the affairs so engaging to their sex, and so unavailing to our own.”
Darcy smiled and nodded as well, and directly began calculating the number of opportunities to be found for visiting in a week’s time; he had just reached a very satisfactory total when his attention was drawn back to Mr. Gardiner, who was looking down towards the stream’s edge. “What manner of plant is that, Mr. Darcy?” he asked, pointing to a small but rather striking stalk of flowers, growing in a rocky ledge just at the water’s edge. “I do not know that I recognise it.”
“You have a discerning eye, Mr. Gardiner. That, though you might not believe it, is an orchid,” Darcy said, “Neoti
nea ustulata.” On hearing this, the ladies expressed an interest in seeing such an oddity as an orchid in Derbyshire. The gardener shook his head and muttered something about “the quality”. Darcy smiled over at him, amused, saying, “William prefers the name ‘burnt tip’.”
“Aye—tells more than tha’ frippery foreign name,” muttered the gardener, shaking his head with heavy and righteous condemnation. “French, by the sound of it.”
“Has it escaped your conservatory and spread?” asked Mrs Gardiner.
“No, it grows wild here, although it is not common,” Darcy replied. Every one made the short trek down to the banks to see this rarity, but once the exclamations and lauds were over, Mrs. Gardiner struggled to regain the foot path. Begging her husband’s arm, she remained with him thereafter, leaving Darcy to escort Elizabeth. Being the more vigorous walkers of the party, they shortly outstripped the others; Darcy, reminded strongly of the walks he had shared with her in Kent, was momentarily confused, overcome by his memories and the reproaches attending them, and therefore said nothing; they had not gone many steps, however, before Elizabeth spoke: “Mr. Darcy, your arrival here must have surprised more than our party, for your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed,” she added, “before we left Bakewell we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country.”
Darcy felt all the humiliation contained in this testament to her unwillingness to encounter him, and said in an apologetic tone: “Yes, that is quite true; it was known only to my steward and myself; a group of us have been travelling, much as you have, and word reached me two days ago that my steward had need of me earlier. I consequently travelled on ahead of my party by some few hours.” In more positive accents, he added, “They will join me early to-morrow, and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you, —Mr. Bingley and his sisters.” The words were out of his mouth before he remembered the association Bingley’s name must have with his interference in her sister’s affairs.
Elizabeth merely replied with a slight bow, and Darcy, embarrassed, and feeling all the more how distressful must be his company, considered again how to soften her disgust to him. The thought of softness brought Georgiana to mind, which brought to mind that she had long wished to meet Elizabeth; knowing Georgiana to be a far better person than himself, and, with no history to cloud their acquaintance, much more likely to please Elizabeth than was he, he therefore said with a most civil diffidence: “There is also one other person in the party who more particularly wishes to be known to you, —Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?”
The lady gave his request her assent, although surprise was evident on her face. This Darcy could not help but notice, but at least she did not appear displeased; indeed, there seemed to be a lessening in her aversion to his company, and, though her thoughts remained unspoken, she appeared to walk beside him in greater comfort than previously. Contented thereby, and assured that by virtue of this meditated introduction he was certain of at least one other opportunity to be with her, he walked on with her in silence as they had so often done; on this occasion, however, his understanding was better informed, and he no longer deluded himself that her silence indicated approval. He patiently waited for her recent impressions to resolve themselves, determining within him to let the lady be the first to speak thereafter, and not to thrust conversation upon her while her thoughts were occupied with, as he hoped, forming a better opinion of him.
They continued thus until they regained the house, his attentions attuned to her every step; during this time, while she was silent, there was nothing in her manner that suggested a return of her distaste to his company, and he was satisfied. They were by now several hundred yards in advance of Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, and Elizabeth and he stopped on the lawn to await their arrival. Here Darcy broke his cautious silence to invite her into the house to rest: the day was sunny, and a dry, rather warming breeze was picking up. This offer she declined, professing herself to be in no need of rest, leaving them with some little while to pass until her aunt’s slowing steps should carry her to them. After having Elizabeth refuse his hospitality, Darcy was loath to thrust his attentions on her, yet to stand there in silence was worse; whilst he could instantly conjure a dozen things he wished to say about their past, and its effects on him, he laboured mightily to think of a topic of neutral character; finally the lady took pity on him and mentioned her travels in the country. Seizing on this, he spoke with a will on the picturesque of the Peaks, and the various fine houses and views Derbyshire had to offer, managing to cover almost the entire period until her relations’ return with a most determinedly detached and well-judging discussion of the district.
On being joined by her aunt and uncle, Darcy again had his offer of hospitality refused; in this case, however, the excuse was a bit more supportable: “Oh, I do thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “and I hope you will forgive us, but I am very eager to reach Lambton, as several old friends live there still, and I have promised myself the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with them this very afternoon.”
“But, of course, Mrs. Gardiner,” said Darcy with a complaisant smile. “One’s old friends must always take precedence over the new.”
“It is kind in you to see it that way,” said the lady, “although it must be allowed that the new hold their own special charm.” Darcy bowed at this, and, handing the ladies into the carriage, he bowed as well to Mr. Gardiner and bid them adieu.
Chapter Nine
Darcy had much to ponder as he paced slowly back into the house. This accidental meeting—and accidental it surely was, as Elizabeth clearly would never willingly have met him again—had opened his heart up again to hope, if only the hope that, even though she would never be to him what he had once dreamt, he might at least comfort himself that she no longer reviled him—that the woman whose good opinion he valued most in the world would no longer wish to avoid him as the worst of men: “the last man I could ever be prevailed on to marry…”. But now, what was he to make of her words, and her manner? It did seem as though there had been a lessening of her disapproval, there at the last—some relinquishing of resentment; his asking to introduce his sister had seemed to make itself felt, and he was sure that they would get on very well.
Darcy only allowed himself to mull these points for as long as it took to walk to Stevenson’s office; he felt how remiss in him it was to have already taken over an hour away from his intended purpose. On reaching his office, Darcy found Stevenson seated behind his desk, with the air of a man waiting with as much grace as he can for an event that is well beyond its time. “I do apologise, Stevenson,” Darcy said, “that was entirely unexpected.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said his man with ill-disguised impatience. “I have taken the liberty of having the horses saddled, as we ought to be in Lambton as soon as may be; I only hope the damage has not been done already.”
Feeling properly chastened, Darcy followed him back out the front door and around to the stables. On the ride into town, Darcy asked Stevenson to acquaint him with the situation. “What exactly happened?” he asked.
“According to Sayers, there were four poachers, although there were only three when we caught them,” said Stevenson. “Sayers was out in the fields; he heard them and went to investigate; there was a struggle and he was knocked down; falling badly, he managed to break his arm, and the men fled.”
“Had they done any other damage?”
“None that we could discover.”
“What has been done with them?”
“The three of them are in the old armoury storehouse, north of town,” he told Darcy. “At night we have men take it in turns to watch, but during the day they are left to themselves. Some few of the townsmen, instigated by Sayers’ friends, gather around the storehouse then, throwing things, shouting threats, and, as you might imagine, passing a bottle or two. Twic
e now they have come close to working themselves up to violence—it is only a matter of time before they succeed.”
“Who are the ringleaders, amongst Sayers’ friends?” Darcy asked.
“The most vocal, and most dangerous, is John Ferguson,” the other replied.
“Ferguson? I have not run across him in years,” Darcy said. “What is he like these days?”
“He thinks he is the town bull,” answered Stevenson. “Not as tall as you, Mr. Darcy, but he goes eighteen or nineteen stone. He has been heard to call himself the ‘best man in Lambton’, the blowhard.”
“I take it you do not care for the man,” Darcy observed.
“He is one of the sort who always imagine themselves ill-used, whether in business or privately, and are ready to take exception to the smallest slight. And,” he added rancorously, “he seems to think he has claims on every unaccompanied lady he meets.” Stevenson was a bachelor, but had been known to keep company with a certain widow in town; Darcy suspected a personal interest there.
“And how does Sayers do?”
“He is well enough,” Stevenson allowed. “The broken arm is mending nicely; it does not help matters, though, that he spends his time in the public house, complaining of the pain and enlarging upon the fight, in hopes of wheedling a drink. But Ferguson is out for blood, and between the two of them, they keep the others stirred up.”
They were riding across the fields to Lambton in order to save time, the roads winding about considerably between Pemberley and the town; Darcy’s attention was drawn off by seeing the Gardiner’s coach, still about a half-mile from their destination. He hoped this trouble would not thrust itself upon Elizabeth’s notice.
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