Chapter Four
The journey stretched for some four days.
But as the afternoon lengthened on their last day of travel, the countryside began gradually to change.
The broad, cultivated fields gave way to steeper pastures divided by dry stone walls instead of hedgerows.
Great outcrops of grey limestone thrust through the earth as though unable to be contained, while ancient ash and oak clung stubbornly to the slopes above swift, sparkling streams. It was a sterner landscape than the one Elizabeth had left behind, yet there was a grandeur to it that caught her attention immediately.
She leaned a little farther towards the carriage window. "It is beautiful."
"It is," agreed Mr Bennet. "I had forgotten how much the country changes once you come north."
"Is Chaffley Hall much farther?" asked Jane.
"An hour at most, I should think. Though Lady Hortensia's drive was nearly as long as Longbourn complete, if memory serves."
Elizabeth settled back, though not for long.
Every few moments something else caught her attention.
The road itself had grown busier than at any point during their journey.
Smart travelling carriages appeared around bends with regularity, some passing at a brisk pace while others drew aside to allow swifter horses through.
Gentlemen on horseback cantered between them, while servants perched precariously atop towering stacks of trunks.
"I think this must be the rest of Lady Hortensia's guests," said Jane.
A handsome travelling coach swept past, its polished panels reflecting the afternoon sun.
Two blonde-haired young ladies within looked scarcely older than Lydia, both dressed in pale blue and peering eagerly from opposite windows in search of their fellow travellers.
One caught sight of Elizabeth and smiled before disappearing once more behind the fluttering curtain.
Another carriage came into view some distance ahead, climbing steadily towards the crest of a hill.
A gentleman rode beside it upon a dark bay horse, his hat pulled low against the sun.
They were still too far away for Elizabeth to distinguish his features, yet there was something striking in the ease with which he sat his horse.
He neither urged it on nor held it back, but seemed perfectly at one with the animal beneath him.
Mr Bennet leaned forward slightly. "Well," he said after a moment, "that is curious."
Elizabeth followed his gaze. "What is it, Papa?"
"I cannot be certain at this distance." He smiled faintly. "Though I would wager that young gentleman is a Darcy."
Jane looked from the rider to her father in evident confusion. "You know the gentleman?"
"No."
"Then how can you tell?"
"I knew George Darcy, he attended the Challenge the same year as I did. A good man, not the usual stuffiness of the upper gentry. And that young man has such a similar bearing and appearance that it must be his son or some other close relation."
Elizabeth looked again. The rider had moved off and was once more little more than a dark figure against the hillside.
"I suppose we shall discover whether you are right soon enough."
The road climbed steadily for another quarter of a mile before turning sharply between two great pillars of weathered stone, each surmounted by a reclining lion whose features had been softened by generations of wind and rain.
Wrought-iron gates stood open between them and, beyond, a broad avenue disappeared amongst towering beeches.
A wooden board had been fastened neatly to one of the gateposts, with text painted in an elegant hand:
CHAFFLEY HALL
Ladies vs. Gentlemen Challenge
Proceed With Spirit
Elizabeth laughed.
"It seems rather less serious than I expected."
"I have no doubt Lady Hortensia is behind it," replied Mr Bennet.
The carriage turned through the gates and immediately the world beyond was alive with movement.
The avenue meandered through parkland whose gentle curves seemed perfectly in harmony with the rugged landscape beyond, but there was nothing tranquil about the activity that filled it.
A pair of gardeners were fixing bright bunting to a line stretched between two ancient oaks, while farther on several servants wrestled with an enormous painted target.
"It does not feel as though we are arriving at a house party," said Jane.
"No?"
"It feels..." She searched for the right word. "Almost like a fair."
Elizabeth thought she had chosen exactly the right description.
Everywhere she looked people were buzzing around and the crush of carriages was more intense now.
Footmen darted between horses, unloading luggage with practised efficiency, a group of maids giggled under the portico and somewhere beyond the house came the cheerful sound of hammering followed by laughter.
Chaffley Hall stood itself stood beyond a broad sweep of lawn.
Its mellow honey-coloured stone glowing warmly beneath the afternoon sun.
The building itself was handsome without being austere, and swathed in ancient knots of ivy and tumbling summer roses.
The house appeared to have sprung up by degrees—a wing projected at an unexpected angle, Tudor windows sat comfortably beside Grecian pillars and terraces appeared to have been added on here and there at a whim.
The whole ought to have looked untidy. Instead, it gave the impression of a house that had been cherished for generations, each family leaving something of itself behind.
The broad gravel sweep before the entrance was alive with movement.
Ladies descended from carriages while maids rescued bonnet boxes and shawls from beneath the seats.
Gentlemen greeted each other with hearty handshakes before being swept away by bustling footmen directing uncertain guests with military efficiency.
Everywhere there was noise and the cheerful confusion that accompanies the beginning of any large gathering.
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken and looked to her father.
Mr Bennet followed her gaze across the crowded gravel. "Well," he said quietly, "there is nothing for it now."
"No?"
"Only to get out of the carriage and start having your adventures, my Lizzy."
A footman was already at their carriage door before it had quite come to a halt.
"Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mr Bennet.
" He touched the brim of his hat as he repeated the names to another servant, who immediately disappeared towards the house carrying a leather-bound ledger almost as large as Elizabeth's travelling trunk.
"Efficient," murmured Mr Bennet as he descended and turned to hand first Jane and then Elizabeth to the gravel.
Elizabeth had scarcely found her footing before one of the fair-haired young ladies she had noticed upon the road detached herself from the crowd and came hurrying towards them. "I knew it was you!" she exclaimed, stopping just short of the carriage. "I told Clara I recognised your bonnet."
Elizabeth laughed. "I am delighted to hear my headwear made such an impression."
"I am Harriet Sitcombe and I think you must be sisters, because you have just the same smile, though not quite the same eyes."
Before the younger lady could continue, her sister appeared at her shoulder, looking faintly horrified. "Harriet!" she said under her breath. "You cannot simply introduce yourself."
Harriet looked entirely unrepentant. "Why ever not? It is hardly an ordinary social occasion, Clara, and we ladies must stick together." She gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial wink.
Jane, who had until now remained determinedly composed, burst into laughter.
"I am afraid," she said, still smiling, "that my sister and I are quite incapable of taking offence.
I am Jane Bennet, this is my sister Elizabeth, and this"—she turned to the gentleman beside them—"is our father, Mr Bennet. "
"Ladies," said Mr Bennet, bowing politely.
Clara returned the bow with a graceful curtsy before administering a discreet elbow to her sister's ribs.
Harriet blinked. "Oh!" she said, hastily following suit. "Forgive me."
The Bennet sisters returned the gesture, although Jane had to stifle another giggle.
Harriet clasped her hands together. "How fortunate! I cannot wait to meet her. My aunt warned us she is quite—" Clara's elbow found her ribs for a second time that afternoon. "—unconventional," Harriet finished with a wince.
The butler regarded her for a long moment. "Now, if the Bennet family would be so good as to follow me, my lady is expecting you."
???
Pritchard led them not into the grand reception room Elizabeth had expected, but into a small parlour overlooking a pretty cottage garden.
It stood in complete contrast to the magnificent entrance hall through which they had just passed.
Here there was no marble floor or gilded portraits, only polished oak, well-filled bookcases and armchairs that sagged in the middle from extended use.
The windows stood open to admit the warm afternoon air, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle and the murmur of arriving guests.
Lady Hortensia herself was seated in a well-worn wing-backed armchair beside the empty grate.
A little table at her elbow was crowded with books, correspondence and a neglected embroidery frame, while fresh flowers filled every available corner of the room.
It was plainly the room in which she lived rather than one in which she merely received her guests, and Elizabeth found herself warming to it, and to the lady herself..
She rose as they entered, not without effort, and Elizabeth judged her to be well into her eighth decade.
She was dressed with an elegance that belonged to another age.
Her gown of soft silver silk was cut in a fashion Elizabeth had seen only in portraits, its full skirts and delicate Mechlin lace recalling the previous century, while her hair was still dressed high and lightly powdered in the old style.
Her back was bowed a little and she leaned lightly upon an ebony cane, but there was nothing uncertain about the clear grey eyes that settled upon Mr Bennet.
"Thomas," she said warmly, holding out her hand.
He crossed to her, taking her hand, "My lady," he murmured, bowing over it.
"I had begun to wonder whether you intended to make me wait another thirty years."
"I thought it only courteous to allow you time to recover from my performance in the sack race."
She laughed immediately. "My dear boy, you came a most respectable second from last."
"Only because the other gentleman had overindulged in port and couldn’t see straight."
"The races are not what I remember, you know."
"No?"
"I remember our conversations." She smiled at the recollection. "For one whole week I had the most intelligent and insightful discussions I had enjoyed in years. You were one of the only young gentlemen who seemed more interested in the world than displaying himself in it."
Mr Bennet gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "That may simply have been because I had very little to display."
"Nonsense. You possessed the rarest quality of all." She patted his hand. "Curiosity."
Only then did she turn to Jane and Elizabeth, lifting her pince-nez from the gold chain about her neck and settling it upon the bridge of her nose before examining them closely. "So these are your daughters."
There was nothing hurried about her inspection of them. She looked first at Jane, whose quiet composure never deserted her even beneath such close examination. She regarded Jane thoughtfully for a moment. "You are astonishingly beautiful, my dear."
Jane’s gaze found the floor and a blush rose high on her cheeks.
"Forgive an old woman for observing what everybody else will be thinking. Fortunately, beauty is not the most interesting thing about a person."
Jane looked up. "No?"
"No." Lady Hortensia smiled kindly. "I think yours is your gentleness." She patted her cheek.
Lady Hortensia's attention drifted to Elizabeth. "And you are a beauty too," she observed after a thoughtful pause. "Though perhaps not quite so gentle."
Elizabeth could not help smiling. "My mother would agree with you entirely, my lady. She has more than once described me as an ungovernable hoyden."
Lady Hortensia let out a delighted bark of laughter. "Has she indeed? My own dear departed mama favoured ‘wild creature’. I spent a considerable portion of my youth being pursued through this house by an exasperated governess determined to improve my deportment."
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with amusement. "Did she succeed?"
"Not nearly often enough to cure me of my impertinence.
Although once a lady reaches my age, it starts being described as eccentricity.
" Lady Hortensia lowered herself once more into her chair and motioned to her guests to sit.
"Tell me, Miss Elizabeth, what occupies your time when you are not alarming your poor mother? "
Elizabeth considered the question only briefly.
"It might be easier to say what does not.
I read whenever I can—novels, science, philosophy—almost anything somebody has thought worth writing down.
I enjoy walking. I play the pianoforte tolerably enough.
And quite often I dream up the adventures I may have if I could visit the far-away places I have only travelled to in my imagination. "
"Never lose that habit, my dear. There are an alarming number of people who cannot imagine a world beyond their front door."
Outside, another carriage rolled across the gravel, followed by the sound of cheerful voices beneath the open window.
Lady Hortensia glanced towards the garden.
"That must be almost all of them." She rose, leaning lightly upon the arm of her chair rather than accepting Pritchard's offered assistance.
"I am afraid I must attend to my other guests.
There will be plenty of time for us to become better acquainted over the coming week. "
She smiled first at Jane and then at Elizabeth. "I trust neither of you intends to make it easy for the gentlemen."
Elizabeth straightened her spine. "We shall certainly do our best."
"Excellent," said Lady Hortensia. "Between ourselves, I have rather high hopes for the ladies this year."