Chapter 75
Mr. Ryder took his duties as host of the little dinner with great seriousness, and exerted himself tirelessly to thaw the remaining reserve of the Gracechurch Street party.
He listened to Mr. Gardiner’s fishing stories with every appearance of interest, begged Mrs. Gardiner to tell him more about the butterflies she had seen on her last walk, and encouraged Mary to recount the pleasures of their recent outing on the lake.
When she had finished, he raised his glass to her.
“Well done, Miss Bennet! You describe it brilliantly. I see it perfectly through your eyes—it is as if I was there myself.”
From across the table, Mrs. Gardiner caught Mary’s eye; but Mary refused to respond.
“I did not catch quite everything you said, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Hurst. “I missed the part about the islands. Could I beg you to repeat it, please?”
“Perhaps on another occasion,” interrupted Miss Bingley. “I’m not sure I’m ready to sit through it again, illuminating as it no doubt was.”
“Do you have any sketches or drawings you made on the lake?” asked Mr. Ryder.
“I’m afraid my talent doesn’t lie that way,” confessed Mary. “I am no great hand with a pencil.”
“What a shame,” said Miss Bingley. “I should have longed to see them otherwise.”
Mr. Ryder indicated to the servants that the plates could now be cleared, and more wine brought in.
“I must say,” he declared, “your stories have properly whetted my appetite. Do you have another adventure planned? Or must we consult Mr. Wordsworth’s Guide?”
“As a matter of fact,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is an excursion we have been considering. It promises amazing sights but requires a great deal of stamina on the part of the walkers. Tom, why don’t you say more?”
Everyone fell silent as Mr. Hayward described the Scafell climb, outlining the drama of the ascent, the wild beauty of the landscape to be passed through, and the majestic prospects to be enjoyed once they had reached the ridge.
When he began upon the view of the sea with which they would be rewarded if their climb was successful, Mr. Ryder declared he had heard enough—his mind was made up—if it were left to him, they should set out tomorrow, or the next day at the very latest. Mr. Hayward, who was used to his friend’s enthusiasms, waited until his excitement had diminished a little before commenting mildly that it was not a trip to be undertaken lightly, for although the path itself was not too steep, it was long and strenuous, and said to be rocky.
“But,” he continued, “the landlord here has recommended a trustworthy guide. He assures us, that if his advice is followed in all things, there is no reason why it should not be attempted.”
“Then surely everything is settled?” cried Mr. Ryder. “Why did we come here, if not to experience adventures such as this? If we are too fainthearted to try it, we had far better have remained at home. Come, Tom, when do we set out?”
“Not before we have made proper preparations,” replied Mr. Hayward firmly. “Yes, we are here to experience adventures—but not to fall victim to them. I have walked a little on the fells nearby and have seen how harsh and difficult they can be.”
“Mr. Hayward would rather we confined ourselves to smooth lakes and the calmest of views,” murmured Miss Bingley. “I am with Mr. Ryder. I’m sure I long to stand on top of a mountain.”
“You misunderstand me,” replied Mr. Hayward severely. “I am keen for anyone who wishes it to walk up the fell; but no-one should attempt it who does not appreciate the risks, or who will not take trouble to prepare for them.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder, “there speaks the cautious lawyer! My dear Tom, we are a long way from Chancery Lane, thank God! Let us not bring its dusty, tedious habits to the very place we have come to escape them. Come, what would Wordsworth say? He would urge you on, as I do.”
Mr. Hayward said no more; and Mary saw he was stung by his friend’s suggestion that he was dull and unenterprising. Once the dinner was over, and everyone had begun to disperse, he approached Mary, clearly uneasy at the turn of events.
“When it was just ourselves I was not so concerned. But now we are to be a larger party, I am less certain we should attempt it. Will Ryder is my friend, and he is good-hearted and generous to a fault. But he does not consider consequences, especially if they stand in the way of the excitement of the moment. And his manner is so persuasive, he makes those who do not share his enthusiasms feel foolish for not following his example.”
“Yes,” said Mary, “I can see he is impulsive.”
She sensed from Mr. Hayward’s preoccupied air that he was actively considering whether the climb should be abandoned.
In most circumstances, she would have entirely endorsed his judgement.
But on this occasion, she was not so sure.
If the excursion was given up, she would lose the opportunity it offered to spend time alone in his company.
That alone was enough to prejudice her in its favour.
But she was also aware of an excitement that had begun to grip her as she had listened to talk of the ascent.
Perhaps it was the influence of the landscape around them, so harsh and yet so beautiful, that had encouraged her to imagine abandoning her habitual prudence and throwing herself headlong into the unknown.
Perhaps it was the fault of Mr. Wordsworth—she had spent so long seeing the world through his eyes that now she truly longed to experience for herself the sensations he described with such passion.
She only knew she very much wanted to walk up the fell and behold for herself the landscape laid out beneath her.
It would be dreadful to be denied it now.
But she did not think she could explain any of this to Mr. Hayward, at least not in the cramped dining room of an inn, with servants carrying dirty dishes passing them on all sides. Instead she was circumspect.
“I understand the need for caution,” she began, “and you are right to insist on our being properly prepared. But if that can be achieved, then, I wonder if we should not simply take the chance. Perhaps those of us naturally inclined to prudence might benefit from being shaken up a little.”
Her reply was clearly not what Mr. Hayward had expected; but before he could ask her to say more, they were joined by Mr. Ryder.
“Well, Miss Bennet, what do you say to this stride up the hill?”
“It is more than a hill,” retorted Mr. Hayward. “Not quite a mountain, as I told Miss Bingley. But something in between.”
“Well, whatever it is—mountain, fell, or molehill—shall we climb it or not? Come, Miss Bennet, tell me your thoughts.”
“I think Mr. Hayward is right to warn us of the challenges we might face,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And it is of the first importance that we take every possible care. But I confess I should like to try it. The sight of sea in the distance must be something not easily forgotten.”
Mr. Ryder clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“There, even the thoughtful Miss Bennet finds you too timid! And I would trust her judgement implicitly—no-one’s more so.”
He looked at her admiringly. Mr. Hayward, meanwhile, seemed disconcerted. It was plain that, for all her private misgivings, he had not expected Mary to take his friend’s part. Mr. Ryder went triumphantly on, oblivious to his friend’s silence.
“When we reach the ridge,” he declared, “as I am fully determined we shall, I intend to stand beside you, Miss Bennet, at the exact moment when you catch your first glimpse of the sea. I should not miss it for anything.” And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Mr. Hayward and addressed him in a very different tone.
“Tom, I wonder if I might beg the favour of a quiet word with you later tonight? There are some family matters on which I should like to ask your advice. Legal questions, you know. Perhaps we might take a glass together when everyone has gone to bed? The landlord has some decent claret hidden away which might make amends for my talking business at such an hour and in such a place.”
Sometime later, when Mary followed the others upstairs, she looked over her shoulder to see the two men settle themselves in a secluded corner.
The landlord brought out their bottle himself and placed it before them.
In her tiny room, once she had undressed and brushed out her hair, she lay on her bed for a while, but sleep would not come.
She hardly knew what she was doing as she put on her wrap and crept down the corridor to the top of the stairs.
From there, quite hidden from the sight of those in the public room, she looked down on Mr. Hayward and Mr. Ryder, who had made short work of the good wine.
Mr. Ryder was speaking with great animation, whilst his friend listened intently, every now and again interrupting with what appeared to be a question.
He looked sombre. Mary watched them for a while, before the ridiculousness of her position drove her back to her bedroom, faintly disturbed, for reasons she could not explain.