Arriving in Derbyshire #2
As the day wore on and the road wound higher, Elizabeth felt the pressure upon her chest lessen with every mile.
They were not yet at their journey’s end.
There would be more posting inns, more changes of horses, another night away from any place that could be called home.
But as the sun slipped out from behind a bank of cloud and laid a pale brightness over the stone walls and rising ground, she felt, for the first time, that they were travelling towards something, and not merely away.
Towards the afternoon of the third day, the pace of travel altered. The changes of horses came more frequently, and at one such stop Mr Gardiner rode back to the carriage and rested his hand upon the door.
“We are very near the end of our journey,” he said. “If all goes well, we shall see Lambton before the light fails.”
The words ran through the carriage like a small current.
Kitty sat up straighter. Lydia pushed back the curtain at once, as if she might spy the town around the very next bend.
Jane smiled, though her hands were clasped rather tightly in her lap.
Mrs Bennet drew a long, unsteady breath and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
They went on.
The road dipped between two low hills and then climbed again, the horses leaning into the traces.
When they reached the crest, the view opened and Elizabeth saw a small town lying in the shallow of a valley.
Whitewashed fronts and darker stone houses stood about a modest market square.
A church spire rose above the roofs. Smoke climbed in straight, pale threads into the clearer northern air.
“Lambton,” Mr Gardiner said quietly.
It was no grand prospect. Yet to Elizabeth, weary from the road and from all that had gone before it, the sight of neat windows and orderly roofs, of people moving about their business with no knowledge of the Bennet troubles, had a peculiar sweetness.
The Gardiners’ carriage led the way through the little town.
Children paused in their games to stare as the carriages passed.
A man at a shop door touched his hat to Mr Gardiner.
They crossed the square and then, instead of stopping, continued a little way out upon the opposite side, where the houses grew fewer and the road edged a stretch of hedged pasture.
Presently they turned in at a low stone wall and drew up before a solid, comfortable house.
It was built of the same pale stone as much of the town, with two storeys, a central door, and wide windows that looked both clean and kindly.
There was a strip of lawn before it, neatly kept, and two leafless trees that would give shade in summer.
Smoke rose in an inviting line from one of the chimneys.
A brown dog bounded forward as the carriages approached, but at a sharp whistle from within he checked himself at once and waited, tail beating, for events to unfold.
Mr Gardiner alighted first and handed down Jane and Elizabeth. A moment later the door of the house opened.
A gentleman of middle years came out, broad in the shoulders and ruddy of complexion, with an air of solid prosperity and good humour.
Beside him was a lady somewhat younger, plump and brisk, with lively eyes and a cap that seemed to bob with every movement.
A girl of fifteen or sixteen hovered at her mother’s elbow, her face bright with curiosity and kindness.
“Here we are at last,” Mrs Gardiner said, turning towards them.
“My dear, may I present my uncle and aunt, Mr and Mrs Harding, and their younger daughter, Miss Cassandra Harding. Their elder daughter, Mrs Charlotte Chapman, is settled in Buxton. Their sons, Mr Henry Harding and Mr Samuel Harding, are away at the present.”
Mrs Harding did not wait for ceremony. She came forward at once and took Mrs Bennet’s hands as soon as she had been assisted from the carriage.
“My poor dear Mrs Bennet,” she said in a tone of genuine feeling. “We are very glad to receive you, though we are heartily sorry for the cause that brings you north. You are among friends now. You must remember that.”
Mrs Bennet’s eyes filled at once. “I am sure you are very good,” she managed, pressing Mrs Harding’s hands and looking at her with a mixture of embarrassment and relief.
Mr Harding bowed with unaffected courtesy to Mrs Bennet and then to each of the young ladies in turn.
“You are very welcome to Derbyshire, Mrs Bennet,” he said.
“Any near relation of my niece and her husband must find a home with us. While you are in this part of the world, pray consider us your own family.” He smiled at the girls.
“If you will allow it, we shall claim the privileges of an uncle and aunt, though the connexion is but by affection.”
Miss Harding dropped a graceful curtsy and smiled shyly at Jane and Elizabeth. There was a softness in her manner that put Elizabeth immediately at ease.
Mrs Harding’s attention had already been caught by Kitty, who still clung to Pudding’s basket as if it alone might tether her to all she had left.
“And who is this old friend from Longbourn?” Mrs Harding asked, bending to lift the corner of the cover.
“That is Pudding, ma’am,” Kitty said, a little breathless. “She has always been with us.”
Pudding peered out, blinked solemnly at this new acquaintance, and submitted to a gentle stroke between the ears with grave tolerance.
“Then we are doubly honoured,” Mrs Harding declared. “Any house that can win Pudding’s approval must be counted truly comfortable. Cassandra, see that a little milk is warmed for her presently.”
Miss Harding smiled. “At once, Mama.”
“Well, come in, come in,” Mr Harding said, stepping back to make way. “You must be worn out. The sight of a chair and a fire will do you more good than anything I could say.”
They were led into a parlour that seemed, to Elizabeth’s eyes, the very picture of cheerful comfort.
A bright fire burned in the grate. The furniture was plain but good, its arrangement giving an impression of ease.
A tea tray waited upon the table, together with bread and butter and a plate of small cakes.
The curtains were drawn back to admit what remained of the afternoon light, and the whole room had the agreeable air of a place much lived in and well loved.
Mrs Bennet was placed at once in the largest chair near the hearth.
Mrs Gardiner removed her cloak, Mrs Harding settled a cushion behind her back, Miss Harding fetched a footstool, and in a few minutes the poor lady was so surrounded by quiet attentions that she could only weep softly from sheer exhaustion and gratitude.
Mr Harding spoke for a little time with Mr Gardiner in the window recess, his voice low and sensible, touching on roads and inns and the pace of their travel.
Elizabeth caught, now and then, the words “jointure” and “rent” and “fifty pounds,” but there was nothing in Mr Harding’s tone to suggest curiosity or censure.
He spoke as one who had already resolved his own part and was determined to do it with as little distress to others as might be.
Mrs Harding and Mrs Gardiner poured tea and hot chocolate, scolded Lydia and Kitty kindly into eating more than they believed possible, and contrived, between them, to say everything that ought to be said of Mr Bennet without once provoking the kind of strained silence that had so often fallen at Longbourn when his name was mentioned.
He was described as a man of sense and spirit, a good neighbour, an affectionate father.
There were no awkward enquiries about wills, no comments on the entail.
Miss Harding seated herself beside Jane and Elizabeth and, after a moment’s shy hesitation, began to speak of Lambton and its surroundings. Her manner was modest and animated, and Elizabeth liked her immediately.
“You will find the town small, but not dull,” Miss Harding said.
“There is a circulating library, and very pleasant walks along the brook. We have a little tea society that meets in the winter months, and in summer there are picnics upon the hills. My cousin Mrs Grant lives near the church; she is very good natured and makes it her object to welcome every newcomer. She has been in a flutter since my father first hinted that you might come.”
“I hope we shall not disappoint her expectations,” Elizabeth replied with a smile.
“I am persuaded you will not,” Miss Harding said simply.
“We have had very few young ladies within easy visiting distance. There is Miss Darcy at Pemberley, who is nearly of my own age, but she is much engaged at home and we see her far less often than we should like. I have long wished for companions near enough to walk to.”
The warmth of the room, the kindness of their welcome, and the delicate civility with which every subject was handled worked upon Elizabeth in a way she had not anticipated. The sharpest edge of her fatigue began to ease.
After they had rested and refreshed themselves, Mr Harding proposed that, if Mrs Bennet felt equal to it, they should drive over to the cottage.
“It is but a short distance,” he said. “You would sleep more easily tonight if you had seen the place that is to receive you.”
Mrs Bennet looked alarmed at first, then glanced at Jane and Elizabeth and seemed to gather courage from their steady faces. “I will go,” she said, with an effort. “It will be better to know the worst.”
“It will be better to know the truth,” Mrs Harding corrected gently. “And I promise you, it is not such a very terrible truth.”
It was arranged that Mrs Bennet, Jane, and Mrs Gardiner should ride in a small gig with Mr Harding, while Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty and Lydia walked with Mrs Harding and Miss Harding, the road being dry, and the air mild for the time of year.
The Gardiners’ man-servant followed with the luggage cart as far as the cottage lane.