Chapter 81
When she arrived amongst them, only Mr. Hayward greeted her, his expression guarded, almost reproachful. Everyone else was staring intently into the sky.
“We are looking at the clouds,” he explained. “Will thinks he can see objects in them—ships, horses, and so on.”
“They are there for those with the imagination to see them,” declared Mr. Ryder. “Come, exercise your genius and tell me what you see.”
“It is far too fanciful an occupation for Miss Bennet,” replied Miss Bingley. “I beg you, do not feel obliged to join us in such a frivolous activity.”
Mary ignored her and looked up towards the sky.
“I see—shapes like the tops of trees, clustered together, a huge forest in the air.”
“Celestial woodlands,” murmured Mr. Ryder, looking first at the sky and then at Mary. “I should like to walk amongst them.”
“I cannot see it myself,” said Mr. Hayward. “I see only clouds.”
“It works if you surrender yourself to the conceit, Tom,” urged Mr. Ryder. “I’m sure you’ll see something extraordinary if you try.”
“I think them pleasing enough as they are. When I see something naturally beautiful, I have no need to turn it into something it is not.”
Mr. Ryder shrugged.
“Very well, I cannot compel you to be playful.” He shaded his eyes and looked once more into the sky. “I think I see a ship of the line in full sail in the outline of that cloud—can you see it too?”
Miss Bingley hurried to his side and immediately cried yes, she had it now, she could make out every detail, every rope of the rigging and billow of the sails.
Her eagerness to please was so fervent that Mary felt ashamed for her and moved away.
She found herself next to Mr. Hayward once more, and their eyes met; but neither of them seemed to know how to begin a conversation.
Both were relieved when the guide approached them, his hat in his hand.
“I see you’re looking at the weather. You’re right to take notice. There’s a change coming. We should think about going down.”
The others wrenched their gaze away from the skies, and turned to him, astonished.
“Go down?” asked Miss Bingley. “But we have only just got here.”
“Yes, miss, I know. But nevertheless, that’s what we must do. And quickly, if you please.”
“But the sky is so blue,” protested Mr. Ryder. “And these clouds above us—they don’t seem very threatening.”
“No, sir, not those,” replied the guide, patient but determined. “But look this way. On the horizon, over the sea. That’s where the rain is brewing up.”
Mary could see nothing but the hazy blue line where the sky met the water.
“I believe there is something there,” said Mr. Hayward, concentrating hard. “I can see a smudge of vapour or cloud, out in the distance.”
“That’s it, sir,” said the guide. “It’s a rainstorm brewing. It’s on its way. It might pass over quickly, or it might pelt down. Whichever it is, we don’t want to be caught in it up here.”
“It seems very hard to credit,” persisted Mr. Ryder, “when we’re basking in sunshine and the air is as clear as a bell.”
“Yes, it’s fine now, but it won’t stay that way. That’s not how the weather works on these fells. It comes out of nowhere, and it moves very fast.” The guide looked away from Mr. Ryder to Mr. Hayward. “Come, gentlemen, we should go back now.”
“That seems good advice to me,” said Mr. Hayward. “Our guide knows these hills. We should do as he says.”
But Mr. Ryder was not to be persuaded. “Really, Tom, look around you! Do you honestly believe we are about to be inundated?”
“In matters of such importance,” replied Mr. Hayward steadily, determined not to be provoked, “I prefer to rely on expert knowledge rather than my instincts, which are unlikely to be either accurate or dependable. I suggest we all do the same.”
“As usual we are obliged to be cautious and prudent,” cried Mr. Ryder. “It seems a pity to deny ourselves the pleasure we have just begun to enjoy, after so long a climb.”
“I’m not sure what pleasure is to be had in finding ourselves soaked through,” replied Mr. Hayward dryly.
“Even if it does rain,” Mr. Ryder went on, “who is to say we should run away from it? A rainstorm in so wild a situation is likely to be a great natural phenomenon—perhaps we should stay and witness it for ourselves?”
He gestured to Mary.
“Miss Bennet, I’m sure you have your copy of the Guide with you. May I see it, please?”
Mary produced the little book and passed it to him.
“If I can’t persuade you, Tom, perhaps you’ll take more notice of your hero.
Ah, here is the passage. Mr. Wordsworth tells us no traveller should grudge the price of a little inconvenience to witness ‘the sight or sound of a storm coming on or clearing away.’ He says it is an incomparable experience. ”
“I very much doubt he intended it to be enjoyed at the top of a great hill such as this one,” remonstrated Mr. Hayward. “Or that he intended ladies to be put to the inconvenience and misery it will doubtless involve.”
“I should not mind it,” declared Miss Bingley. “A little rain would be nothing to me. I will gladly stay, Mr. Ryder, in order to see something so remarkable.”
“You must see how foolish this is,” Mr. Hayward replied, his exasperation growing ever more apparent. “You surely understand the dangers that attend it. I beg you to reconsider. This is not a poem, to be enjoyed in the warmth of your study—this is real, this is life.”
“There lies the difference between us,” retorted Mr. Ryder, equally passionate. “You want to keep the spirit of one away from the experience of the other. I, on the other hand, long to bring them together.”
When he saw his arguments had made no impression at all upon his friend, Mr. Hayward turned to Mary.
“Miss Bennet, I appeal to you—yours is a rational mind—surely you appreciate the folly of all this?”
When he looked at her so directly, so urgent and imploring, Mary’s first instinct was to support him.
Every sensible impulse told her he was right, that she owed him her agreement.
But then she was suddenly angry once more, and the strength of her feelings put an end to all considered judgement.
He would not explain the reasons for his withdrawal from her—but imagined he could still call upon her when he required endorsement for his views.
Then she was of service to him—then she could be depended upon to be the voice of dullness and restraint.
Well, she should do so no more. She was tired of passing judgement, of urging others more lively than herself back to the narrow path of duty.
She would not agree with Mr. Hayward, even though every fibre of her understanding told her to do so.
For once, her heart would rule her head.
She would throw off her usual restraint, and surrender to the thrill of the unknown and the unpredictable. She should not be herself at all.
“I think I should like to see the amazing sight Mr. Wordsworth describes. It seems a great pity to have come so far and to leave, just as something extraordinary is about to happen.”
“That is exactly how I see it,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder. “We shall embrace whatever nature is pleased to exhibit to us.”
Mr. Hayward looked at Mary as though he could not believe what she had said; but she was determined not to falter.
“We will never have the chance to see anything like this again,” she continued.
“Perhaps we could stay just long enough to see the storm come towards us and begin our descent before it arrives. Then we might outwalk the worst of it, without having missed the remarkable scenes Mr. Wordsworth describes.”
Mr. Ryder thought this was an excellent plan, and went to inform their guide, who had absented himself from their circle once their disagreements began to grow lively.
Miss Bingley hurried along in his wake, pausing only to direct towards Mary a glance which was both imperious and disdainful.
Then Mary and Mr. Hayward were left alone.
“Mary,” he said, speaking so low that she struggled to hear him. “What are you doing? You cannot outwalk a storm! You must know that!”
“I am not sure what I know or do not know. I find it hard to say anymore what is true and what is false.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I am tired of trying to make sense of things—to understand behaviours—that seem to have no rational cause. I have given up on thinking for a while. All I want to do just now is to feel.”
“This is not like you at all.”
“I should very much hope not. I’m tired of my old character, and am resolved to try on a new one. Perhaps that will bring me more in the way of happiness and satisfaction.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I was very fond of the old Mary.”
He stepped towards her; but she moved away.
“I shall be sure and tell her that. I think she often wondered what your true feelings were, so she will no doubt be pleased to know.”
He did not reply, but stood silent, his whole person a picture of distress. He took off his hat and ran his fingers angrily through his hair; but still he said nothing. The only sound to be heard was that of the guide arguing with Mr. Ryder, clearly incredulous at what he had proposed.
“It seems I must leave you,” said Mr. Hayward stiffly. “I must explain to our guide why, when we hired him for his experience and promised to be guided by it, we have decided, on the flimsiest and most ridiculous grounds, to ignore his advice.”
Mary watched him join the two men and do his best to placate the angry, disbelieving guide.
She saw him wave Mr. Ryder away, watched as he spoke quietly to the guide, put his hand in his pocket, drew out what was plainly cash, and passed it to the aggrieved man, talking all the while until the guide grew calmer.
Mary swallowed hard. She hoped she had not been as foolish as her intellect now whispered to her that she had.