“Here you are,” I said to Joe, handing over the promised purse. “It may not quite be four o’clock, but it is not yet five, and here is the party we expected. I thank you for a truly memorable ride, but you will, perhaps, forgive me if I decline to repeat it.”
Chapter Eight: The Joys of Pemberley
All this while had been occupied by the inevitable cries of delight and effusive greetings between Elizabeth and her mother and sisters.
Mr. Darcy, I noticed, hung back, with an amused – or was it bemused? - smile upon his face.
Then it was my turn to be swept up into Elizabeth’s embraces.
“Papa,” she said, “you can have no idea how glad - how very glad – I am to see you again.”
“I fear I might,” I replied, attempting surreptitiously to wipe my eye. “You see what a sentimental old man I am become.”
“You will never be an old man, papa. Your wit and wisdom will save you from that fate.”
“I may have thought so, once, my pet. But, however, it has been worth all the trouble and torment, even the terrors of that wild ride from Derby, to see your face again. I should not much like to make a habit of it, but I see that I must fall down insensible more often.”
Darcy now came forward with a firm handshake, and rather more hesitant kisses for the ladies.
“I am truly happy to see you so well, Mr. Bennet, and your excellent ladies, too. My coach is at your immediate disposal, should you wish. But perhaps, after so long suffering the pangs of the infamous Derby Dilly, which, I assure you, are notorious in these parts, you would like to regain the use of your legs for a while?”
“I have no desire to delay any plans you may have made for your return home, sir, but I must confess that a short stroll would be very welcome.”
So we walked about the streets of Buxton for a while, Mr. Darcy pointing out the places of interest, while the ladies chattered about the sort of things my family have always chattered about. I caught Mary expounding upon the majesty of the hills and valleys of the county, Kitty exclaiming at the outré bonnets worn by some of the ladies we passed, and Mrs. Bennet upbraiding Lizzie for not taking better care of herself, and remarking how thin and ill she looked, although I should have said that I had never seen her more blythe and bonny.
Mr. Darcy was evidently held in high regard in the town, judging by the number of persons who raised their hats to him during our short stroll.
For want of anything better to say, I remarked that he seemed to have a large acquaintance in the town.
“That is not precisely how I should have phrased it,” he replied, “but the good burghers of Buxton know better than to neglect to pay their respects to a regular customer. But, tell me, Mr. Bennet, for I rejoice to see you on your feet here, rather than adorning a bath chair, or even a stretcher, such alarming news we have had of you, is your condition so very serious that you cannot spare us the favour of even one week at Pemberley before taking the cure here in Buxton? For, if so, we shall proceed directly to the Pump Room so that you may take the first of what we all hope will prove miraculously healing draughts, and thence to a physician’s, to enroll your for the full course. But I must confess that we all sincerely hope that we will see more of you at Pemberley before we have to part with you again. I say “all” for my sister, Georgiana, would dearly love to make your further acquaintance, although she is at present detained at Lady Catherine’s.”
“Were it not for the judgment of my physician,” I replied, “whom I believe to be reliable, I should say that my illness exists largely in the imagination of my wife and daughters. For myself, I never felt it when I lost my senses that day, and have never felt it since, although perhaps I am attributing more than I should to anno domini. It has, however, sufficed to bring us all together again, when nothing less would have roused us from our accustomed comfort at Longbourn, so we must be grateful.”
“In that case I shall leave you to make your own acquaintance with the healing spring at some later date. It is not to everybody’s taste, although from long experience of the haunts of the fashionable, I can testify that there are worse. Harrogate I remember as particularly unappealing, but Cheltenham, and even Bath are not much better, and Epsom is as bad. Tonbridge calls for less fortitude than the others, but they all embody the old medical adage, ‘if it tastes nasty it must be doing you good’. I confess I have never followed the logic of the argument, but it is an established principle which does not admit dispute.”
“I thank you for the benefit of your connoisseurship, sir, but hope you will forgive me if I fail to emulate you in the acquisition.”
“I not only forgive you, sir, I applaud you. One spa is quite enough for anyone, you are perfectly correct. But perhaps you will not object to take a little refreshment before continuing with your journey? It should all be set out now.”
So saying, he led the way to an open space which seemed to be some sort of public garden, where we found the coach awaiting us, with servants offering freshly brewed tea with a choice of sandwiches.
“I can recommend the ham, sir, it is our own curing, at Pemberley, but then, so is the cheese. The pickle I should hesitate to advise: it is something of an acquired taste, not much seen in the South, but your daughter likes it well enough.”
“You are starting to be in the North, now, papa, and must get used to its ways and its tastes,” confirmed Elizabeth, handing me a heaped plate. How many hours must it be since you had your nasty inn breakfast?”
This led naturally into the tale of our adventure with Old Joe, which prevented us from noticing how time was passing until all the plates were cleared.
“Perhaps,” suggested Darcy, “if you were of a jocular frame of mind, you might allow that in the end your coachman acted for you with due diligence?”
This rocked me back on my feet, rather. Darcy had made a joke! Whatever next? But I recovered myself in time to reply,
“Not at all, sir, for his was an overdue diligence.”
With honours thus evened, we were all quite ready to ascend the steps which the waiting servant was folding down from the carriage. Once inside, and settled into the delightfully soft cushions, such a change from the hard boards of the ‘Derby Dilly’, the comfort and the heat of the sun combined sufficiently with their full stomachs to lull Mrs. Bennet and my girls into a slumber which looked like to last for the rest of our journey today. The slight rocking motion of the excellent springs conspired to make the temptation almost irresistible.
I held out against it myself for long enough to see my Lizzie’s head resting affectionately on Darcy’s shoulder, while she peered at me with an expression of equal affection and concern.
“I want a proper word with you, very soon, without interruptions, about the true state of your health,” she said, “but it will do later. For now, relax and enjoy the rest of your journey. You must be exhausted after such a journey, and all those days before it.”
“Not at all, my dear,” I replied, although I had to struggle to suppress the yawn, which threatened to overwhelm me. “The sight of your face was just the tonic I needed. Indeed, I……”
But at this point I found I could fight no more against my eyelids, which would close themselves, and I remembered no more, for a while.
I awoke with a jolt which must certainly have been self-inflicted, for such a coach, on such a road, could scarcely have been guilty of it.
I was not best pleased by the indulgent smiles on the face of both Lizzy and her husband, but I could not think of anything better to say than –
“When do we reach Pemberley? We seem to have been travelling some while.”
“These are Pemberley woods,” replied Darcy. “We have been travelling through the estate this last half hour, but perhaps I omitted to mention it to you when we passed the lodge. Pray, forgive me for my forgetfulness.”
I could see the struggle on his face, as he did his best to conceal the smile that threatened to overwhelm it. Lizzie has had an effect
upon him.
“Forgive me for my lack of attention,” I replied, not to be outdone in either courtesy or irony.
“Oh, papa, I have missed you,” put in Lizzie. “There is no one quite like you, you know, although Fitzwilliam, as you see, does his best.”
“I am sure he has had the very best of instructresses, my dear, and I must say that I have missed you, too, however banal that may sound.”
“Good! That is settled then,” said Darcy “You have my leave to miss each other as much and as often as you like, but not out loud. And now we are arrived, and must bestir both ourselves and the others.”
It was true, for now we emerged from the trees and the great house of Pemberley lay before us.
I remembered Lizzie once saying that she was obliged to date her falling in love with Darcy to when she first laid eyes upon his house and grounds. She was joking, of course, but the very best jokes often have some truth underlying them, and the meanest understanding could see why she had made the pleasantry.
We had gradually ascended for half a mile or so, and now found ourselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by the House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills, and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. I do not believe I have ever seen a place where nature has done more, or where natural beauty has been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.
We sped smoothly down the slope – no rattling and clattering in this luxury conveyance – and up to the great doorway, where servants stood waiting to greet us.
“Welcome back, sir, ma’am,” said a motherly person whom I took to be the housekeeper, while a tall, imposing looking butler supervised the unloading of our luggage.
“This is our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Lizzie. “We all find her invaluable. Mrs. Reynolds, here are my parents and my sisters, as you see. I will not insult you by asking if everything is ready for them.”
“I am very pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty,” Mrs. Reynolds addressed us, with a nicely calculated bob. “Welcome to Pemberley. I hope everything here will prove as satisfactory to you as Mr. and Mrs. Gardner have always found it. Come, let me show you to your rooms.”
I confess I wondered at first whether this might not be a subtle reproach for not visiting sooner. It is true that the Gardners had been several times to Pemberley, while this was our first visit. Several excuses for this immediately spring to mind, as, the comparative ease of travel from London, Mr. Gardner’s more energetic nature and way of life, their being more accustomed to travel about the country and such, but they all amount to no more than a barely suppressed embarrassment at our not having made the effort sooner. But I fear that I am become unduly sensitive in my old age, for, my suspicions notwithstanding, Mrs. Reynolds, and indeed, all the servants at Pemberley, behaved impeccably throughout our stay.
Impeccable, in fact, was a word which might with justice be applied to almost everything at Pemberley. The house itself, its furnishings, the grounds, the conduct of the servants, the food, were all practically unbearable in their perfection. Mrs. Bennet had no compunction in attributing it all to the hand and eye of her daughter. Personally, I rather suspected that money might have had just as much to do with it, and could not help seeing trouble ahead on our return to Longbourn, of the nature of “Lizzie has such and such, why cannot I?”
It is true that human nature cannot bear too much perfection. I must admit, however, that a little of it from time to time can make a very agreeable change.
This perfection extended even to the weather, every day beautifully sunny, neither too hot nor too cold, the wind moderate, the ideal weather for walks and picnics, and I gradually felt the strength returning to my limbs from all the healthful yet congenial exercise that this involved.
Our paradise was not entirely unsullied, however. I think that the ladies might well have preferred more society, and both Lizzie and Darcy remarked, from time to time, upon its absence.
“I am truly sorry,” said Darcy, on more than one occasion, “that my sister, Georgiana, is not here to entertain you. We are always more gay when she is with us. She prevents us from assuming our roles as an old married couple. But she will be home at the end of the month, and then we shall see.”
“Jane and Bingley are coming next month, too. They are detained at the Duke’s at the moment. Such an invitation is never refused, of course, and for such newcomers it is a great honour.”
I found more than enough entertainment, however, in Darcy’s library, or rather his grandfather’s. That worthy had been something of an antiquary, and had amassed a great collection of works upon the ancient monuments of Derbyshire, and, indeed, the north in general. This I found most useful in my researches, and surely Doctor Morland could not expect me to forego such an opportunity? Indeed, he had said mine was a nervous complaint, and to do so would only upset my nerves more, would it not?
Our first few days were spent entirely en famille, and indeed, we asked for nothing more. After church on the Sunday, however, Darcy invited the parson to take dinner with us.
“I think you will like young Tomkins,” he said to me afterwards, “he is an educated man, and always good company. I was quite glad when Dr Temple decided he was too old to continue officiating every Sunday and installed a curate instead. The old man had become too dour, and too forgetful to continue as rector in anything but name. While he survives, however, he holds the living, and there can be no question of a new presentation. Still, he may serve to amuse Mary and Kitty, who must be tiring of us old married couples.”
The young man, indeed, proved most entertaining and conversable, well-versed in the history of his county, and not short of anecdotes with which to amuse the company. For all that he was but a curate, he made a good show in company, and I resolved to make use of him, if possible, in my researches. The thought crossed my mind, that, if only he were the incumbent, he might do for Mary, but it crossed very quickly, and did not return.
It had, however, lingered a trifle longer in Mrs. Bennet’s intellect, for she mentioned the possibility as we retired that evening.
“What an agreeable gentleman Mr. Tomkins is! Would he not do very nicely for Mary, do you not think?”
“I do not,” was my reply, “ Mr. Tomkins is all very well for an evening’s companionship, but however would he support a wife, let alone a family? His stipend cannot be more than fifty pounds a year, and if he has any income of his own, it cannot be much more than that, or he would never have been reduced to accepting such a post.”
“But surely Mr. Darcy will give him the living of Pemberley quite soon?”
“The present incumbent may live another twenty years. These retired clergymen always live for ever. And surely you would not wish to have one more of your daughters living so far away?”
“With Mary the distance would hardly signify. She has never been what I should call the best of company for her poor mother. But, in that case, could you not grant him the living of Meryton in course of time.”
“We may well have to wait even longer for that to become vacant. And if it does while I still live, I have it in mind to make what money I can from the presentation. You will need it after I am gone.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, why do you always have to be so disobliging? I swear you only do it to vex me.”
“In any case, my dear, it is far too soon to be considering such things. Let us see whether the gentleman’s actions justify such concern before we indulge it.”
So, for the next week I observed closely the conduct of Mr. Tomkins towards my daughters.
It very soon became clear that there was something akin to a ballet going on between them. Mary,
as far as I could see, was quite prepared to agree with her mother’s judgment. To observe the constant attentions she paid to him was an entertainment in itself. He had but to mention a feeling of thirst and tea would straightway be poured. Let him sit down to write the merest note and he would be overwhelmed with offers to mend his pen, to sand his paper, to adjust his lamp so as to have the best possible light, and so on, with compliments on the elegance of his hand, the sublimity of his style, the erudition of his content, were it no more than a laundry list.
These blandishments somehow failed to achieve of their desired effect. They would be either discounted or ignored completely, while their recipient’s eyes scarcely left the face of poor Mary’s sister.
It was amusing enough, in its way, to observe their progress around the room, with Mary constantly moving closer to Mr. Tomkins, who in turn would shift further away from her and nearer to Kitty, who herself seemed not at all disposed to discourage him.
But be it Mary or Kitty, it would not do. The same financial objections applied, and I began to think how best I should deal with this. On Saturday morning I announced my intention of commencing my cure at Buxton on the following Monday, and begged Darcy’s assistance in making the arrangements.
“So soon?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “I dare say Buxton is very fine, but I had counted on another fortnight, at least, before we should have to say goodbye. And Lizzie has promised to take me to see the Well-Dressing on Monday. It is a picturesque custom hereabouts, so she tells me, and well worth the seeing.”
“You need make no alteration to your arrangements, my dear, for I shall not trouble you to nurse an invalid through his treatment in an unknown town. I shall go by myself. I am sure Mr. Darcy will see me settled in suitable lodgings and attended by a reputable physician.”
“But how will you look after yourself? How will you know to see that the bed is aired, and that meals are properly prepared and such?”
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