Pride and Prejudice
made her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which
she would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave off in a
violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going to the
camp; and from her correspondence with her sister there was still less
to be learnt, for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were much
too full of lines under the words to be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health,
good-humour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. Everything
wore a happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter
came back again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs.
Bennet was restored to her usual querulous serenity; and by the middle
of June Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton
without tears,--an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth
hope, that by the following Christmas she might be so tolerably
reasonable as not to mention an officer above once a day, unless, by
some cruel and malicious arrangement at the War Office, another regiment
should be quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now fast
approaching; and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter
arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and
curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from
setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again
within a month; and as that left too short a period for them to go so
far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with
the leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up
the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour; and, according to the
present plan, were to go no farther northward than Derbyshire. In that
county there was enough to be seen to occupy the chief of their three
weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The
town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where
they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of
her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth,
Dovedale, or the Peak.
Elizabeth was excessively disappointed: she had set her heart on seeing
the Lakes; and still thought there might have been time enough. But it
was her business to be satisfied--and certainly her temper to be happy;
and all was soon right again.
With the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas connected. It was
impossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its
owner. “But surely,” said she, “I may enter his county with impunity,
and rob it of a few petrified spars, without his perceiving me.”
The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass away
before her uncle and aunt’s arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr. and
Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at length appear at
Longbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two
younger boys, were to be left under the particular care of their cousin
Jane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense and
sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every
way--teaching them, playing with them, and loving them.
The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off the next
morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One
enjoyment was certain--that of suitableness as companions; a
suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear
inconveniences--cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure--and affection
and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were
disappointments abroad.
It is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire,
nor of any of the remarkable places through which their route thither
lay--Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham, etc., are
sufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present
concern. To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner’s
former residence, and where she had lately learned that some
acquaintance still remained, they bent their steps, after having seen
all the principal wonders of the country; and within five miles of
Lambton, Elizabeth found, from her aunt, that Pemberley was situated. It
was not in their direct road; nor more than a mile or two out of it. In
talking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an
inclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his
willingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.
“My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have heard so
much?” said her aunt. “A place, too, with which so many of your
acquaintance are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you
know.”
Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at
Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She
must own that she was tired of great houses: after going over so many,
she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.
Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. “If it were merely a fine house
richly furnished,” said she, “I should not care about it myself; but the
grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the
country.”
Elizabeth said no more; but her mind could not acquiesce. The
possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly
occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea; and
thought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt, than to run such
a risk. But against this there were objections; and she finally resolved
that it could be the last resource, if her private inquiries as to the
absence of the family were unfavourably answered.
Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid
whether Pemberley were not a very fine place, what was the name of its
proprietor, and, with no little alarm, whether the family were down for
the summer? A most welcome negative followed the last question; and her
alarms being now removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of
curiosity to see the house herself; and when the subject was revived the
next morning, and she was again applied to, could readily answer, and
with a proper air of indifference, that she had not really any dislike
to the scheme.
To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of
Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned
in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.
The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They
entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through
a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.
Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired
every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for
half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable
eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by
Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of the 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. Elizabeth was delighted. She
had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural
beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were
all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that
to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door; and,
while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehension of
meeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been
mistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the
hall; and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to
wonder at her being where she was.
The housekeeper came; a respectable looking elderly woman, much less
fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They
followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned
room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went
to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from
which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the
distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was
good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered
on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace
it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were
taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties
to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture
suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with
admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly
fine,--with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the
furniture of Rosings.
“And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress! With
these rooms I might have now been familiarly acquainted! Instead of
viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and
welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But, no,” recollecting
herself, “that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to
me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.”
This was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something like regret.
She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master were really
absent, but had not courage for it. At length, however, the question was
asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds
replied, that he was; adding, “But we expect him to-morrow, with a large
party of friends.” How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had
not by any circumstance been delayed a day!
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached, and saw
the likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst several other
miniatures, over the mantel-piece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how
she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was the
picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward, who
had been brought up by him at his own expense. “He is now gone into the
army,” she added; “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.”
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not
return it.
“And that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures,
“is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the
other--about eight years ago.”
“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,” said Mrs. Gardiner,
looking at the picture; “it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell
us whether it is like or not.”
Mrs. Reynolds’ respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this
intimation of her knowing her master.
“Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth coloured, and said, “A little.”
“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?”
“Yes, very handsome.”
“I am sure _I_ know none so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs you
will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late
master’s favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to
be then. He was very fond of them.”
This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham’s being among them.
Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn
when she was only eight years old.