Without Undue Pride

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A few days after talking with Darcy, Elizabeth received word from him that breakfast would be early and that the ladies should dress for walking. Over the meal, they all tried to guess where they were going, but Darcy refused to tell them anything about the pleasure trip he had planned.

“I am forming a party to see a fine place about twelve miles from Pemberley” was all he admitted to.

The morning was favourable, and they were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be happy. Darcy rode while the ladies sat in the carriage, peering out and guessing where they might be going. The novelty of an excursion was enough to bring Elizabeth happiness, and it did not matter to her if they were to explore a dale or a fine house.

They followed the Derwent for a while before Georgiana looked around and said, “Oh, we are going to Matlock Bath!”

The village constituted of two baths, three inns, and two lodging houses, all situated on the southeast side of the Derwent, affording accommodation for the hundreds of visitors taking the waters. The buildings were elegant stone, and the pedestrian path in front of the inns was full of passers-by on their way to the springs, the museum, and the bowling green .

Georgiana and Mrs Annesley made quick work of finding the shops, and they all dutifully followed. Darcy tipped his hat to a few people, stopping to speak to some. Elizabeth and Charlotte stood to the side during these brief interludes. A few exchanges were friendly, but Elizabeth saw that for several, Darcy struggled.

She had been surreptitiously watching his face, his gestures. It might not be plain to the others, but she noticed how little he liked some of the people he spoke to. She was recognising his subtle changes of expression. Darcy was a man used to being in command of his feelings. He kept his patience well, but she saw the effort it took.

She wanted to join the conversation, not for the sake of the talk or to know the other person, but for Darcy’s sake. She saw he was endeavouring to not shrug his shoulders or lift his eyes, that he wanted to bow and turn away, but something sustained him through these conversations with people he found dull or officious.

If she had any right to stand by his side, to be introduced, she could have helped him. She could have shifted the attention away from the flattery he disliked, helped end the conversation sooner, or supplied a topic more enjoyable for everyone.

Helping Darcy that way was not her place. If he married prudently, his wife would be the one to give him a little more liveliness and help ease these sorts of interactions. She was resolved to never marry again, so whatever caused this pang of regret in her heart was best to be ignored. It was likely some inquietude brought on by her pregnancy.

“Are you feeling well, Eliza?” Charlotte asked her while Darcy touched his hat and parted from the two men who had stopped him.

Elizabeth brightened her expression. “Certainly. I am just wanting to walk a little more.”

“There are few walks in the village,” Darcy said as he joined them, “unless you want to shop,” he added with a look to his sister through a shop window. “Once you see the springs, there are several footpaths to some fine scenery.”

“Perhaps I should take the waters?” she teased. “Has anyone studied the efficacy of women in my condition bathing? The hot water might have a relaxing quality.”

“I do not think you would enjoy it,” Darcy said. “The baths here are not hot like Bath or even Buxton. Measured by Fahrenheit’s thermometer, the water at Matlock Bath is only sixty-eight degrees.”

She cringed, and Darcy laughed. “I thought you might like the scenery instead. When Georgiana exhausts every possibility for spending a few shillings, like all the other tourists, we can choose a walk or a drive.”

“Why did you bring us here?” Charlotte asked him. “This is on the way from London; you must pass through Matlock Bath whenever you come home.”

“But none of you have been.”

Charlotte nodded her acknowledgment, and Elizabeth felt a rush of fondness for Darcy’s consideration. She looked away in case her feelings were plain on her face. As attractive as he was, his good qualities had nothing to do with her. She was never placing herself under the control of a husband again.

“Did you want to join my sister before we decide where to go?”

He must have thought her absent look toward the shop window meant she wanted to shop along with Georgiana. “No, not at all.” Spending money was impossible, and certainly not for a souvenir. To shift the subject from her poverty, she said, “On entering Matlock Bath, I noticed an overhanging cliff. Its southern face looked remarkably steep, but it was covered in profuse vegetation compared to the surrounding limestone.”

“You cannot want to go all the way up there,” said Charlotte, laughing. “It is nothing like Oakham Mount. It must be a thousand feet!”

Darcy nodded knowingly. “That is Masson Low, and there are caverns atop it. The cliff is called locally the Heights of Abraham, supposedly for its resemblance to those in Quebec.”

“Caverns,” cried Elizabeth. “Can we explore them?”

Darcy looked at her askance. “They can be explored, but not by you. ”

Elizabeth drew back. “Is that because I am a woman?”

He threw her a look as though she should know better than to assume that. “A woman in an interesting condition. Your departed husband would never forgive me if I sent you inside a hole in the earth.”

“I am not afraid of dark places or stalagmites.”

“Absolutely not. You could slip and be injured.” He dropped his voice. “And in your condition, you are not the only one who could be injured.”

She saw the wisdom of it, but was not yet ready to admit it to him. “I will not press you if you can name aloud the condition that prevents me from descending the caves.”

They stared at one another, and she felt a battle of wills between them. A lighthearted one, but a battle nonetheless. She wondered if it would be easier for Fitzwilliam Darcy to curse on the public street than say “pregnant.” They had stopped walking, and pedestrians were having to move around them. He would struggle to say the word where anyone might overhear him.

“I cannot allow my cousin’s pregnant widow to crawl into a cavern. You or your baby could be injured.”

She expected him to say it impertinently, or in frustration at her teasing, but he was entirely in earnest. With the shock of surprise, she realised how deeply he cared. He cared about her, her child, and not only the duty he owed to his cousin’s memory. Her heart beat alarmingly fast at comprehending that he cared about her for her own sake.

“You have a reasonable answer to give, and I am reasonable enough to admit it.” She looked behind her toward the cliff over the river. “Can we still gain the summit?”

He laughed softly. “I thought you would buy some petrified spars with my sister before taking a carriage ride to look at High Tor.”

“I am not purchasing anything,” she said resolutely, before adding, “when I might walk and see magnificent scenery instead.”

“If Mr Darcy wants to drive to see some tors,” said Charlotte, “I think that would be the pleasantest way to spend the afternoon.”

Elizabeth looked at Darcy to determine his thoughts on this. “I think Darcy would prefer us to choose,” she said softly. Deferring to some men might be the best way to manage them and keep everything at peace, but she did not believe she had to act that way with Darcy. “And I would like to see the view of Matlock Bath and the rest of the dale from Masson.”

“Eliza, look how high it is,” said Charlotte. “It must be a rude path, mountainous and rugged. Even if you were not in a delicate condition, it would be an arduous climb.”

“It is not impassable,” said Darcy. “There is now a very capital and easy walk. You will have to take the same route up and down, but Mrs Fitzwilliam can manage it.”

“If I am quite an object of fatigue at the end, my dear Charlotte, I will say that you told me so, but I feel I can do it.”

Charlotte agreed, and they retrieved Georgiana and Mrs Annesley and crossed Matlock Bridge to begin the climb, but a demand for sixpence from each person soon interrupted them.

“It must be submitted to every time the walk is taken or all farther progress is forbidden,” said the man who stopped them.

Elizabeth recoiled at the idea of having to pay to reach the summit. A sixpence for a walk was not a luxury she could afford. “Darcy, we can turn back and go somewhere else.”

“There are hundreds of visitors to Matlock Bath. Every bit of ground here seems convertible into money,” said Darcy as he counted the coins. “There is no moving even on foot in some directions without an impost.”

She did not want him to pay another penny for her sake, but there was no way to refuse without causing an embarrassing scene. “Surely we can find some other beauty, or another way to the summit?”

“The imposition is only to be avoided by declining the gratification these places provide.” Darcy handed over the coins to pay for everyone. “This gentler walk diverges out of the main walk a little beyond the mine hillocks. He said this takes to the right and leads directly to the top.”

The group walked on with smiles, but Elizabeth felt angry at having to pay to see the view, and angry at being unable to afford such a pleasure for herself. “There is something ludicrous in the idea of locking up rocks, barring them from public observation and exhibiting them for sixpence a piece like a showman at a fair.”

Charlotte gave her a sharp look at her tone, but Darcy only shrugged. “I would not be much surprised if the good folks of Matlock Bath placed a door in some part of the dale to admit people to see the High Tor.” He smiled. “They would not hesitate to do it if they could profit by it.”

“This is an inane contrivance,” she muttered, but he had already walked ahead to talk with his sister.

“Why are you cross?” murmured Charlotte as she held her back to allow the others to get farther ahead. “How could you not enjoy an excursion into some magnificent scenery?”

“I do enjoy it.”

“Then why do you suddenly resent coming now that we are doing what you wanted?”

She sighed, knowing how petulant she sounded. “He paid for our admittance.”

Charlotte blinked as though she did not understand. “He did not hesitate at parting with two and a half shillings. Why do you resent him for it?”

“I do not resent Darcy’s generosity, but it makes me feel less than. Not his equal.”

“You are not his equal,” she said plainly. “His uncle is an earl. You have uncles in trade. He is an independent man with a fortune and an income greater than some lords. You cannot even afford a maid and rent after you receive your pension—and Pemberley has ten female and fifteen male servants.”

“Of course you counted.”

“You are not equals, but that does not mean he finds you objectionable.”

“I know he does not. I just want to be seen as whole, not a pitiable object with scarcely a few pounds to her name. ”

“He paid for all of us. He is a wealthy man, and a few sixpences are nothing to him. And any host would insist on paying for his guests’ amusements.”

That was done with the reciprocity expected amongst friends. A host paid for things, knowing that he would someday be their guest in return. “I wish I had the independence such that a sixpence for an excursion is not a trial.”

“You could have that wealth if you married him. Or a man like him,” Charlotte added when Elizabeth glared at her.

“I am not marrying again. I want only competence, not wealth. And not even that; I just want something of my own.” She felt pride in how she had survived alone in Spain. Now she knew she could endure anything, and endure it alone. “I would work if I could, although I have few skills anyone would pay for.”

“Gentlewomen do not work; it is not respectable. You will be dependent on men for the rest of your life, like all women. Do not let your pride prevent you from realising that you control very little in this world.”

She resented having to depend on men. They continued in silence, but Elizabeth wished for more control. She did not want command over others, only over her own life. Her pride might make her reluctant to ask for help, but she had accepted Darcy’s hospitality and assistance, had she not? But that was hardly the same as entrusting her life into another man’s hands.

After Spain, she was brave enough for anything except marrying again.

They completed the zigzag walk along the face of the hill until they gained the height of Masson Low. Darcy enjoyed the climb with Georgiana and Mrs Annesley. She was a refined and conversant woman, and better suited to his sister’s timid nature than Mrs Younge would have been. Mrs Younge would have seen her married sooner, but Mrs Annesley would see her confident and content .

He saw Elizabeth alone on the escarpment; Miss Lucas was reluctant to venture any nearer than a hundred yards, and was sitting under some fir trees. Darcy left his sister to talk to Elizabeth. She had seemed in good spirits at the start, but had grown silent after they began their ascent.

Darcy joined her, standing next to her and looking out over the countryside. “This is one of the finest landscapes that nature anywhere presents, but your mind seems elsewhere.”

She took a moment to answer and seemed strangely tense. “Oh no. I am in the contemplation of the woods and rocks of Matlock Dale, the windings of the Derwent, the pine-crowned Heights of Abraham, and the proud hill of Masson. There is nothing like it anywhere else, certainly not those manmade structures in the distance.”

“The structures man has reared seem as nothing amidst the beauty and grandeur of the works of nature,” he agreed. “Indeed, what are men to rocks and mountains?”

“I heartily agree with you,” she said in a dark tone, “and while the landscape is magnificent, I have little opinion of men in general.”

“I beg your pardon?” He looked sharply at her, but Elizabeth’s gaze was still on the landscape. “Why do you not admit to what is actually bothering you?”

“I hate that you were taxed in your purse before we could reach the summit.” She looked at him and sighed heavily. “I hate that you paid for me. I hate being a burden.”

He felt insulted that she resented his generosity. He did not even consider such a thing a kindness. “A sixpence is a trifle and not the amount of money that should come between friends.”

Now Elizabeth looked sad rather than angry. “No, it is not. But the men in my life scarcely left me a sixpence to my name, and I am feeling uncharitable today.” She forced herself to smile. “I am in a downhearted humour, but it shall not last. It does not do to dwell long on my spirits, and having talked of my griefs to Charlotte and now you, I will be all smiles to talk about other things.”

He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the landscape before them and pushing aside his offended feelings. Fitzwilliam had charged him with being more patient. He would not be here to smooth the way for him, and Darcy would have to do a better job of that on his own. He had to be less ready to take offence, especially when none was meant. Her ill humour had little, in fact, to do with him.

Fitzwilliam’s not leaving a will into her keeping and his poor investment choices, her father’s inability to give her a dowry, her brother-in-law’s scheming to take her son if she had a boy—it was all enough to make any woman indignant. He could either be unyielding and piqued, as he might have been before Fitzwilliam died, or he could be forbearing.

What manner of man did he want to be, and what manner of man did Elizabeth deserve to be her friend?

“Shall I keep a reckoning for services rendered while you are my guest?” he asked, smiling. “When you are established with a better competence, you may repay me for every penny spent on your entertainment today. I can even account for how much the horses ate and divide it by five people and present you with the bill.”

As he hoped, she smiled. “That would be a mean way to treat your friends. I think instead I will invite you to my own home someday and force you into my markedly less grand hospitality. You will probably have to fetch your own water.”

“You need only name the day.”

“I am sorry,” she said after a pause. “You did not invite me to Pemberley to be in low spirits and ungrateful.”

“I did not invite you expecting you to be anything other than yourself.”

The expression in her eyes softened and more of the tension left her shoulders. “Well, I am not unappreciative of all you have done for me, even if I resented that sixpence spent on my behalf.”

“I promise, you think of the money spent more than I do.” He gave her a long look as he thought of something. “And I realise now that therein lies part of the problem.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly, “but that was no reason to begrudge a dear friend’s kindness, although I reserve the right to feel that some things about a woman’s place are unfair.” She took in the view for a long moment and an exhilarated look overcame her countenance. “Thank you for bringing us here. This is exactly the sort of excursion I enjoy. The summit of the Heights of Abraham commands interesting views over a vast extent of Derbyshire.”

He felt the return to their former equanimity, even though he was certain Elizabeth’s frustrations were never far from her mind. Still, she wanted to talk about the scenery, and there was nothing he could do otherwise to ease her concerns. “Here, the eye ranges over a great portion of five counties. The next time we gain this summit on a clear day, I will bring a good glass. There are particular objects plainly distinguished in the counties of York, Nottingham, Lincoln, and Leicester too.”

“You would bring us back?” She now sported a gleam in her eye that told him he was about to be provoked. “I would like to see the caverns up here, but I expect to be pregnant or nursing for the rest of my time in Derbyshire.”

She spoke so plainly to tease him and distress his sensibilities, so he could not blink an eye. “I was thinking perhaps next year, when you are not pregnant,” he added, emphasising the word.

“If I stay until Christmas, you might not want me to return so soon.”

“Perhaps you will not be eager to leave your own establishment once you form it.” To his disappointment she winced, and he realised his mistake. Elizabeth would not have enough money to afford her own home for a long time. When she left Pemberley, it would be to enter into the home of her father or sister. Unless she ceded to Milton’s demand that she live amongst his family to be near the son he would take control of.

“I cannot think about what will happen after I leave here, after I have my child. I can only think about what I can control, and that is keeping my mind peaceful and preparing for the baby. I must survive each day as it comes, no more.” She turned from the view to look at him. “Pemberley is the place for me right now.”

He wondered how often she thought of how her brother-in-law would take her child or how her father settled nothing on her or how her husband invested unwisely. Darcy had promised to not mention Milton’s threats, but how could they be anything but an ever-present weight on her soul?

“If you feel so fondly toward Pemberley, then next summer I will invite the Bingleys and you and the little one. And we will return to Masson caverns and you can explore as much as you like.”

She laughed a little. “And I will pay your sixpence for you.”

By tacit agreement, they turned from the edge to find their friends. Darcy looked up the hill toward where the caverns began and asked, “Would Fitzwilliam have let you explore the caves in your present condition?” He hoped she would not argue over the euphemism.

“No, but if he thought it would distress you for me to enter, then he would pretend to think it was a grand idea just to see your horrified reaction.”

He smiled at the truth of it. “You know, our families came up here once, fifteen years ago or so, while my mother still lived. The Fitzwilliams always enjoyed a walk out of doors. The more vigorous, the better. Your departed husband and I ran ahead with Milton to see the entrance to Smedley’s Cavern. They had been working for years to clear a passage, and us three boys were determined to enter. Milton, however, baulked at the last and refused, and left us. We thought the opening was an awful abyss, but there was a man who acted as a guide to display its beauties, so Fitzwilliam and I entered.”

“I am sure you thought it a vast and awful place, and therefore had to explore it.”

“And prove our bravery, of course. However, we assumed Milton would tell our parents where we had gone once they gained the summit.”

He gave Elizabeth a pointed look, who said, “Oh no,” in a forlorn voice.

“We spent a happy hour underground, but when we climbed out, we learnt our parents were frantic. They had begged every tourist atop the cliff to aid in looking for their lost sons. My mother feared we had gone over that ledge we just left, and my uncle was certain we had been kidnapped.”

“And Lord Milton never mentioned where you boys had gone? How heartless!”

“He claimed to have quite forgotten we had been curious about the caves.” He shook his head at the memory. “My mother was in tears, and even my father looked shaken. If Milton wanted to enjoy his power and hold the secret for a while, there was no need to let it go on for so long.”

“I do not want to talk about him,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Tell me about the cave to help me bide my time before I can go in myself.”

“It contains immense treasures of spar and other curious minerals and fossils. For now, you can see the collections in the museum near the new bath. They manufacture some specimens into beautiful ornaments. I daresay my sister will spend an hour deciding which articles to send to her friends.”

She was quiet for a while as they walked toward the others. “Fitzwilliam never mentioned the story about the cave, but he mentioned summer trips with his cousins. He talked of wanting to make similar memories with our own children, and yours, and my sisters’.”

Darcy gave her a sympathetic look as a pang of grief hit him. The pain was like a sharpened steel blade lancing through his flesh. It happened less frequently, and he knew it must pale in comparison to whatever Elizabeth felt.

“He would want you to make happy memories. It would bring him joy to see you clambering into that cave with his child the same way that he and I once did.”

Elizabeth stopped walking and looked at him. “Yes, but life has not turned out the way I thought it would, and sometimes the gap between where I am and where I imagined I would be is inexpressibly painful.”

He had never before been so tempted to hug another person and yet felt as though such an act of affection was impossible. She could not want an embrace from her dead husband’s cousin at the moment she was wishing he were here. “If one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another. We find comfort where we can, and I hope you will soon be ready to find it.”

He walked on to their friends, pushing aside the question of whether he and Elizabeth could find any of that comfort in one another.