Arriving in Derbyshire
The road north from Hertfordshire was damp and rutted after several days of rain.
The hired carriage jolted and swayed, its interior crowded with cloaks and bandboxes, and the subdued rustle of six anxious ladies.
Pudding, exiled to a covered basket on Kitty’s lap, uttered a low, outraged complaint every time a wheel struck a deeper rut.
The hedgerows were beginning to green, faint hints of spring showing among the bare branches. Fields opened on either side, then closed again, so that the world seemed to fold and unfold around them as they moved further from all that was familiar.
Elizabeth sat opposite Jane, one gloved hand resting lightly on the sill beside her. Her heart still ached, but the pain had altered; it was less the sharp wound of parting and more a deep, steady soreness that travel and time might one day soften.
Jane’s eyes were red, yet there was a gentleness in her expression that had not been there on the morning they left Longbourn.
Mary watched the milestones with a thoughtful air, no doubt calculating distances and expenses.
Kitty and Lydia alternated between pressing their faces to the glass to glimpse each new village and falling back into whispers about all they had left behind.
Mrs Bennet sat in the corner, half reclined, her salts in one hand and a crumpled handkerchief in the other. Every now and then she sighed aloud, the sound full of fatigue rather than violence.
Near noon, the carriage turned in at the yard of a busy posting inn. The clang of harness, the calls of ostlers, and the murmur of travellers created a bustle that felt almost startling after the hush of Longbourn’s last days. The carriage drew up near the door, and the driver called for grooms.
Elizabeth pushed open the door and stepped down with care. The air smelled of wet stone, horses, and roasting meat. She had scarcely set her foot upon the cobbles when a familiar voice called her name.
“Lizzy.”
She turned and saw Mrs Gardiner crossing the yard towards her with quick, purposeful steps, her bonnet strings flying loose, her face alight with mingled concern and affection. Mr Gardiner followed at a steadier pace, his expression warm and quietly resolute.
In a moment Elizabeth was in her aunt’s embrace. The solidity of it, the scent of London lavender and starch, and carriage dust, undid her more than tears had done at Longbourn.
“My poor child,” Mrs Gardiner said, holding her close. “You are all quite worn out. Come, let me look at you.”
She drew back to take Elizabeth’s face between her hands, then turned at once to the carriage where Jane was helping Mrs Bennet descend.
“Sister,” she said softly.
Mrs Bennet gave a broken little cry and fell into her arms. This time her weeping sounded different. There was sorrow still, and exhaustion, but also relief.
“We thought it best not to come to Longbourn yesterday,” Mrs Gardiner said, when Mrs Bennet could listen. “You had so much to do, and such farewells to make. It seemed kinder to leave you that last day to yourselves.”
Mrs Bennet could only nod, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes.
Mr Gardiner bowed to them all, his manner calm and brisk.
“The postboys shall see to the horses. I have spoken with the innkeeper; a private parlour is prepared for you, and dinner will be ready directly. You will take some broth and a little meat, sister, before we go on. You must allow me to dictate to your nerves for once.”
There was such good sense in his tone that Mrs Bennet made no protest.
Kitty, still clutching the covered basket, had hung back a little with Lydia at her side. Mrs Gardiner noticed at once and came towards them, her expression brightening.
“And Pudding is with us too, of course,” she said, lifting the edge of the basket cover to peek inside. “I could not have supposed you would leave her behind.”
Pudding regarded her with offended yellow eyes, then turned in a slow circle and settled again, tail tucked in with injured dignity.
“She has complained the whole way,” Kitty confessed. “But she would not be left. She walked into the carriage herself.”
“As is only proper,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “She is one of the family.”
Lydia gave a shaky laugh, and Kitty’s shoulders relaxed a little.
Within a few minutes they were ushered into a small parlour, where a fire burned cheerfully and the smell of hot soup filled the air.
Mrs Bennet was installed in the best chair by the hearth, with Jane beside her and Mrs Gardiner close at hand.
Kitty set Pudding’s basket carefully beneath the table, where the cat could survey the room through the wicker and judge it acceptable or not in her own time.
While the ladies recovered themselves, Mr Gardiner stepped out again to conclude his business with the landlord and the postmaster. When he returned, he drew Elizabeth a little aside.
“I have arranged for a small cart to travel with us for the remainder of the journey,” he told her. “Your trunks and heavier goods will be more comfortably disposed there. The carriage will be less crowded, and you will all breathe more easily.”
“You think of everything, uncle,” Elizabeth said, feeling a sincere, grateful warmth. “We should not have known how to manage half these details without you.”
He smiled. “You are not meant to manage them. That is my office. You have done the heavier part already, in leaving.”
They dined simply but well. Mrs Bennet took more broth than Hill would have credited possible that morning; the younger girls shared a joint between them and even contrived to eat some.
The colour came back slowly to Jane’s cheeks.
Mary listened with close attention as Mr Gardiner spoke of the stages yet ahead, the posting houses, and the likely hour of their arrival in Derbyshire if all went smoothly.
When at last they returned to the yard, the carriage looked less burdened, the trunks securely roped upon the cart that would follow in their wake. Mr and Mrs Gardiner’s own carriage waited just before them.
“You will go first, brother,” Mrs Bennet said faintly. “I feel safer with you leading the way.”
“That is precisely my intention,” he answered. “We shall not be far apart at any time. If the road is bad ahead, I shall send back word.”
They parted only long enough to take their respective places. Pudding, restored to Kitty’s lap, emitted a protesting growl as the carriage door was shut.
Elizabeth glanced through the window as the Gardiners’ carriage moved off before them, Mrs Gardiner’s bonnet visible through its glass. The sense of desolation that had accompanied their departure from Longbourn eased enough to let her draw a fuller breath.
They were no longer travelling alone.
The first day’s journey with the Gardiners passed more easily than any of them had expected. Once the trunks had been shifted to the small luggage cart Mr Gardiner had engaged, and places arranged between the two carriages, the sense of crushing confinement eased.
Mrs Bennet, Jane, Elizabeth and Mary remained in the hired post-chaise, with Pudding’s basket at their feet.
Kitty and Lydia went with the Gardiners in their carriage, who were delighted to have new company and a different view.
At each change of horses, the sisters exchanged places for an hour or two, and the parties mingled with an ease that soothed Mrs Bennet’s spirits more than any dose of hartshorn.
By the second morning, the country through which they travelled began to alter.
The flat, hedged fields of Hertfordshire and the softer lines near London gave way, by slow degrees, to rougher ground.
Hedges yielded to low stone walls; the road climbed almost without their noticing it, until the postilions were urging the horses up long, steady inclines and the air that came in at the half-lowered window felt clearer and cooler upon Elizabeth’s face.
Jane sat close beside her, hands folded in her lap, eyes turned to the changing prospect with quiet delight. “How beautiful it is,” she said once, very low, as the road dipped and revealed a valley patched with fields and small woods, a stream glinting faintly in the distance.
Kitty and Lydia, who had been inclined at first to lament every mile that took them farther from Meryton, now craned to see every flock of sheep upon a hillside, every grey farmhouse tucked into a fold of ground.
Their chatter rose and fell with the motion of the carriage, sometimes wistful, sometimes full of eager speculation about assemblies, officers and new acquaintances in Lambton.
Mary observed that the country was very well adapted to serious reflection, and that such scenes of quiet grandeur naturally disposed the mind to thoughts of Providence and the mutability of earthly possessions.
Lydia pronounced her very dull, but did not argue the point, being too taken up with counting the stone bridges they crossed.
From time to time Mr Gardiner rode back from the head of the small convoy to speak with them at a halt, or to point out some object of interest. He indicated where a side road led towards the manufacturing towns, where a market was held on Thursdays, where trout were to be had in abundance if one knew the right stream and the right keeper to bribe.
“Lambton lies not very far beyond that rise,” he said at one such pause, resting his hand on the carriage door and looking up at Elizabeth with a smile.
“And beyond Lambton, to the west, are the lands of Pemberley. Finest estate in the county, so every man will tell you who knows anything of Derbyshire.”
The name was new to her, and meant nothing, yet something in his tone fixed it in her mind.
Pemberley.
The word seemed to belong to this country of wide distances and clear air, of stone and green and running water.