Chapter 12 #2
At that moment, Kitty came to sit beside me. Taking a pencil, she began drawing in quick, bold strokes: the sloping land leading down to the tarn, a tall sycamore tree, the two fishermen standing by the shore, the distant hills, a tumble of rocks falling around the peaks and crags.
Mr. Appleby watched her hand glide across the paper. There was genuine awe in his voice. “You are very talented, Miss Bennet. You put my humble sketches to shame.”
I mumbled my thanks for his approbation, and quickly closed the sketchbook. How could I explain that it was Kitty’s drawing, and not mine?
Refreshed, we rose and continued. From the northern shore of the tarn, the path angled upward, leaving the meadows and hedgerows behind.
The ascent grew steeper, and the track became rough with stones and tangled roots.
Mama declared she would go no faster than a snail, but she persevered, pausing only to catch her breath and remark on the wild heather.
“Only think, Lizzy, how pleased Mr. Philips will be to hear I have climbed a real mountain. You must write to him of all this.”
“I shall, Mama. And perhaps you will allow me to mention your fortitude. I’m sure Aunt Hattie will be most envious.”
Mr. Appleby, walking just ahead, pointed out the landmarks as we climbed—the sweep of Windermere to the south, the distant thread of the Brathay river, the shadowed bulk of the Langdale Pikes far to the west.
As we neared the summit, the wind grew brisk, carrying with it the scent of bracken and peat. The final push was the steepest, and I felt my heart quicken with the exertion. At last, we reached the crest—a broad, rocky plateau, dotted with tarns and crowned with a simple cairn.
The view was breathtaking. To the north, Grasmere—perhaps, even now, Wordsworth was gazing upon it from his cottage; to the east, the slopes fell away to Rydal Water, and beyond, the distant Pennines faded into haze; to the south, Windermere stretched out until hidden from view by Latterbarrow Hill.
“Oh, my,” whispered Mrs. Bennet, sinking onto the grass. “It is more beautiful than I imagined.”
Mr. Appleby unslung his knapsack and produced a neat parcel wrapped in oilskin. “I took the liberty of packing a luncheon, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet. There is barley bread, hard-pressed cheese, and dry-cured ham, all Cumbrian favourites. And a flask of tea, if it has not grown cold.”
I spread out my shawl, and we arranged ourselves comfortably, backs against a sun-warmed rock.
Mrs. Bennet, opening the offered package with delight, exclaimed, “Why, Mr. Appleby, you are the very soul of foresight! I was quite prepared to make do with our biscuits and water.”
We ate with the appetite that only walking can bring, the food tasting doubly good in the fresh air. Mr. Appleby poured tea into tin cups, and we toasted the summit, with lukewarm but very refreshing tea.
There was a happy silence for a time, broken only by the call of a curlew and the distant bleating of sheep. Mama, content at last, leaned back and regarded the view.
“Lizzy, I declare I have never seen anything so grand. It puts Oakham Mount quite to shame. You must sketch this, too.”
“I fear my sketch would not do it justice, Mama,” I replied, “but I will try.”
Mr. Appleby, finishing his tea, remarked, “There is a legend that if you make a wish at the summit and leave a stone on the cairn, your wish will come true.”
“What a charming notion!” said Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy, you must make a wish.”
“I will, Mama.” I selected a small, round stone and placed it atop the cairn, closing my eyes for a moment.
“Did you wish for something, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Appleby.
“I did,” I replied, “but I cannot say what it is, for then it would not come true.”
Mama, not to be left out, found a stone of her own and placed it with exaggerated care.
I did not ask what she wished for. As she stood on the hill, her eyes closed, breathing in the warmth of the sun, I knew that she wished, above all else, for a return of the love, and comfort, and care, and protection she had known before the trials and tribulations of widowhood.
But that was in the past—we both must move on.
At length, the air grew cooler, and we gathered our things to begin the descent.
The path down the eastern flank was broad and easy, and soon we joined Loughrigg Terrace, a wide, grassy track that contours the hillside above Grasmere.
The view was every bit as lovely as my guidebook promised—the lakes below, Grasmere and Rydal Water, their waters shadowed by the afternoon sun.
Such scenery could scarcely be equalled anywhere else in the country.
At the end of the terrace, Mr. Appleby led us down a winding path to Rydal Cave, a vast slate cavern carved out of the hillside. Inside, stepping stones crossed a shallow pool, and our voices echoed strangely beneath the vaulted roof.
“Do be careful, Mama,” I cautioned, steadying her as she crossed.
“It is rather gloomy,” she declared. “I cannot think why people should wish to venture into caves.”
From the cave, we took the lower track, winding down toward Rydal Water.
The path was shaded by oaks, and the river sparkled in the late light.
We crossed the graceful Pelter Bridge, its stones worn smooth by centuries of feet coming to The Grot, a historic 17th-century viewing house with stone walls and slate roof, perfectly framing the tumbling Rydal Falls.
I mumbled some lines from Wordsworth’s poem, An Evening Walk, which described the falls—
As by enchantment, an obscure retreat
Opened at once, and stayed my devious feet.
Save where, with sparkling foam, a small cascade
Illumines, from within, the leafy shade.
As Ambleside came into view, Mama declared she had never enjoyed a walk so much. Mr. Appleby promised to send her a copy of his guidebook when it was published.
“We shall look for your sketches, sir,” I said, “and remember this day with great pleasure.”
“Indeed, Miss Bennet,” he replied, “it has been a privilege to walk in such company.” He turned towards Grasmere, but suddenly stumbled.
“Mr. Appleby, are you all right?” I exclaimed, taking him by the arm.
“My knee, Miss Bennet. I twisted it coming off Loughrigg Fell—it is a weakness of mine. It will soon recover, but I need to return to my lodgings.”
“Let us assist you, sir,” said Mama, taking his other arm, “if you are not too embarrassed by having ladies holding close to you.”
Mr. Appleby laughed. “Quite the contrary, Mrs. Bennet. I shall be the envy of all the young men of the town. It is not too far, near the market place, beyond the Bridge House.”
Carefully, Mama and I supported Mr. Appleby as we walked beside Stock Beck, past Bridge House, a two-room building straddling the stream. As we came into the town, we passed two gentlemen, who, having turned by chance, followed us.
* * *
“I say, Fitz, what lovely ladies on the arm of old Appleby. I’m of a mind to have him introduce us, for society in the town is dreadfully lacking.
” I did not see who had spoken, but I could hear his voice clearly above the wind which blew leaves across the street, wrapping our skirts around our legs.
“Certainly not! You know how I detest making such casual acquaintance. While they may appear comely enough on Appleby’s arm, their hems are muddy, and their hair is totally windblown.” The other gentleman’s voice was formal, rather too precise in its clipped vowels.
“Oh, I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried the first gentleman. “For a kingdom! I have not seen such pleasant girls—they are both uncommonly pretty.”
I glanced at Mama—she was chuckling—she, a woman with grown daughters, to be called an uncommonly pretty girl! Mr. Appleby, who was a little deaf, gave every appearance of not hearing the gentlemen.
“Richard, you have been in the Peninsula far too long. Georgiana is the only girl in this town worthy of approbation!”
“Fitz, while I’ll admit Georgie has become a very attractive young woman—it is improper to compare her to such agreeable ladies. Come, let me speak with Appleby.”
At that moment, I made the mistake of turning my head and catching the gentleman’s eye—the one who disclaimed any interest in being introduced.
He caught my eye in turn, then withdrew it and coldly said, “She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who do not have the fortitude to walk even the mile to Rydal Falls without needing to lean on a man’s arm.
You can introduce yourself, if you must, but I intend to return to the hotel.
You are better off, Richard, saving your smiles for ladies of greater significance. ”
Shortly thereafter, we turned in at the gate to a small but well-maintained cottage.
Mr. Appleby thanked us for assisting him, assuring us that his housekeeper would ensure he was well looked after.
Before he entered the house, he turned, shaking his head.
“My apologies, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet. That gentleman spoke very ill, very ill indeed.”
Mama and I continued towards the Salutation Hotel.
Catching each other’s eye, we began laughing—for even though the stranger had insulted me, his companion had described both of us as uncommonly pretty and agreeable.
This, together with our excellent excursion, cheered our spirits, for we delighted in anything ridiculous.
Coming to the hotel, we immediately sought our room to change for dinner.
* * *