Chapter II
The next day, Elizabeth did not at first intend to be long from the inn.
She had gone out with no fixed purpose, only a wish for quiet, and the morning was so mild, the air so soft upon the hills, that she had continued almost without noticing how far she had come.
The lanes were pleasant, the hedgerows thick with summer growth, and the motion itself afforded her some relief, though her thoughts remained unsettled.
More than once, however, they returned to the same point.
Her aunt and uncle would now be at Pemberley.
She did not dwell upon it. She had chosen not to go. The reasons for that choice had been sufficient and must remain so.
Not of him, she told herself, but of the place. Whether it was indeed as fine as described. Whether the grounds justified such praise. Whether the house looked as she had imagined it – or whether, like its master, it might prove less easily judged at a distance.
She checked the thought, almost with impatience, and turned her attention resolutely to the path before her.
By the time she returned to Lambton, the sun stood higher than she had expected. The inn appeared quiet. No carriage stood before it, and within, everything seemed as they had left it.
“They are not yet come back, ma’am,” said the maid, when Elizabeth inquired. “They have been gone a good while. There is much to see, I am told.”
Elizabeth thanked her and went upstairs.
For a moment, she stood in the middle of the room, uncertain whether to sit or walk again. She moved to the table with her sewing box and took out Jane’s letter from some weeks ago.
The contents were affectionate and calm, filled with those small domestic details which, from Jane, always carried a particular charm.
Nothing was amiss. Nothing to alarm. Her mother was in spirits, her father as usual, her sisters much the same.
The cousins made up most of her days, as keeping them from creating havoc was almost an occupation in itself.
Elizabeth could almost hear their noise while she read.
She smiled once or twice, and when she had finished, she remained a moment with the letter in her hand, her thoughts softened.
There was always comfort in Jane.
She folded the letter carefully and laid it aside.
For some time, she sat quietly. The stillness of the room, so lately welcome, now seemed to press upon her.
They had been gone a long while. Longer than she had expected.
She rose and crossed to the window, though she did not look out at once. When she did, she found nothing to engage her attention. A cart passed, a few figures moved along the street, but none belonged to her party.
From below came the sound of movement within the inn – a servant hurrying along the passage, the sharp ringing of a bell, and somewhere beneath her window, a child laughing loudly before being hushed with little success.
The ordinary bustle of the house continued undisturbed, while she alone seemed incapable of letting the hour pass quietly.
The grounds must be extensive, she told herself. Or they had been detained. By what, she did not consider.
She moved away again, took up her gloves, set them down, then sat once more. It was a small restlessness, but she could not entirely command it.
To her mortification, the image came to mind: she, Elizabeth Darcy, receiving her aunt and uncle. Then they would not be staying at the inn… but she remembered too clearly what he had said at Hunsford. What if her relations, being in trade, would not be welcome at… Pemberley?
She stopped herself almost angrily. Had she not already learnt the injustice of forming conclusions from wounded pride?
And yet the memory of his proposal was not so easily separated from the man himself.
He had loved her; he had insulted her; he had written with candour; he had proved himself, in many particulars, better than she had believed.
The welcome sound of wheels upon the gravel reached her.
With relief, she stood at once.
Voices followed, her aunt’s clear tone, her uncle’s answering, both speaking at once, as if each eager to be heard before the other had done.
Elizabeth resumed her seat before they entered, though she could not have said why.
Mrs. Gardiner came in first, her bonnet slightly displaced, her cheeks touched with colour. “My dear Lizzy, we have had such a day…”
“Such a place!” said Mr. Gardiner behind her, removing his gloves. “You cannot conceive it.”
“But I protest I am quite fatigued,” she added, laughing. “I have not walked so much in…”
“Nor I,” said he, “and yet I would not have missed it.”
Elizabeth rose to greet them. “I am very glad you have been pleased.”
“Pleased!” repeated Mrs. Gardiner. “My dear, it exceeds everything. The grounds… oh, the grounds alone… The gardener was so knowledgeable and kind. He gave me some seeds. He said they would do well under the window.”
“The finest I have ever seen,” said Mr. Gardiner, nodding. “Beyond expectation. You would have loved it.”
The words struck her more than they ought.
“And the stream, Lizzy! I do not exaggerate when I say I have rarely seen a finer stretch of water for fishing. I ought to have enquired whether they would permit it, for I could very willingly have spent an entire day there.”
“Your uncle,” said Mrs. Gardiner, laughing, “was ready to establish himself at Pemberley entirely.”
“And with good reason,” he replied. “If a man cannot be content at Pemberley, I do not know where he may hope to be so.”
“But the house,” she continued, “though we must do it justice later, for I cannot speak of it properly now.”
“And dinner first,” said her husband. “I insist upon dinner.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That may be arranged, I believe.”
They spoke a little longer, though their account was broken and confused, each beginning where the other had not finished, until at last they agreed that a fuller description must wait.
***
When they met again below, the room was livelier, and the presence of others imposed some restraint upon their eagerness. Yet it did not wholly subdue it.
They had only just been seated when Mrs. Gardiner, who had been attempting to compose her account from the moment she entered, at last began in earnest.
“My dear Lizzy, I do not know how to give you any idea of the place, for I find myself unequal to the task. It is not merely that it is large, or well-situated, though it is both, but that there is such a harmony in everything one sees. Nothing appears forced, nothing arranged for show. The grounds seem to belong to the house, and the house to the grounds, in a way I have not often observed.”
Mr. Gardiner, who had been helping himself, nodded in agreement.
“Your aunt does not exaggerate. I have seen a great many fine places in my time, but I do not remember one which pleased me more. The woods alone would be worth the journey. They are extensive, but not crowded, and laid out with a degree of judgement which suggests a mind not merely proud of possession, but capable of valuing it properly.” He paused, then added, “From what you have said about him, I expected that arrogance to show, but although everything is of the finest quality, I saw a place that felt like a home. There is grandeur, certainly, but without ostentation.”
Elizabeth inclined her head; she said nothing.
“Yes, that is it, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner agreed. “I wonder whether the taste we admired belongs chiefly to him or was formed under his mother’s direction.”
Elizabeth listened with polite attention, though she found herself forming a clearer picture than she had intended.
“I am very glad you were so well rewarded,” she said. “I had feared it might prove no more than another large house.”
“That would have been a great disappointment,” said Mrs. Gardiner, smiling, “but I assure you, it is quite otherwise. Even the interior, which I had thought might be too grand for my taste, is remarkably well arranged. Your uncle is entirely right. There is elegance, certainly, but also comfort. One feels that it is inhabited, not merely exhibited.”
Elizabeth found herself wishing she had seen it.
The admission was unwelcome.
She reached for her glass rather than answer.
A house so spoken of could not easily be dismissed as the mere parade of wealth, and despite herself, she began to connect it with its owner.
“And we were shown everything with the greatest propriety,” her aunt continued. “The housekeeper is a most respectable woman, and exceedingly well-disposed. Indeed, I do not think I have ever met with one more ready to speak in favour of her master.”
Mr. Gardiner set down his glass.
“That is very true. I was struck by the manner in which she spoke of him. There was none of that measured praise that one sometimes suspects is prepared for visitors. She spoke as one who had long observed his conduct and was satisfied with it.”
Elizabeth could not help but look up.
“She praised him so highly?”
“In the highest terms,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “She described him as the most considerate of landlords, and the best of masters. She spoke with an earnestness that carried conviction. I am persuaded she believes every word she said.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment.
“Then she must think very highly of him indeed,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said her aunt. “I thought so too. There was nothing in her manner that suggested exaggeration. On the contrary, she seemed almost unwilling to say so much and yet could not help it.”
Elizabeth lowered her gaze.
This was not easily reconciled with what she had long believed. Or rather, it fitted too readily with what she had lately learnt, and that was almost more painful.
“There was another circumstance,” Mrs. Gardiner went on, after a short pause, “which surprised us still more. We saw a likeness of another gentleman among the portraits.”
Elizabeth felt a slight uneasiness.
“Mr. Wickham,” said her aunt. “We spoke of him quite naturally, as one connected with the place. But the housekeeper’s manner altered immediately.”
Mr. Gardiner added, “Not in a way that could be called rude, but sufficiently to be observed. She was far less ready to speak.”
Elizabeth’s attention sharpened. “In what way?”
“She acknowledged that he had been known there from his childhood,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “and that he had been a great favourite of the late Mr. Darcy. She said he had been brought up at Pemberley and had everything that could be given him.”
Mr. Gardiner continued quietly, “But she added, with some reluctance, that he had turned out very wild, and was not at all what he ought to have been.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened slightly upon her napkin.
This was no new information to her. Yet to hear it confirmed by another voice, and that voice belonging to Pemberley, gave the truth a weight which her own recollections had not quite possessed.
“And she said no more than that?” she asked.
“No more of consequence,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Yet she called him wild and said it with a gravity which made the word seem to contain much more than she wished to express.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise faintly in her cheeks. “It is a strong accusation.”
“It is,” her aunt replied. “And I would not repeat it lightly. I know you liked him. Yet I must own, I saw no reason to doubt her. She had nothing to gain by misrepresenting him, and she spoke rather as one who regretted the necessity of saying so much.”
Elizabeth did not instantly answer.
“I believe I may have been mistaken in my former opinion of him,” she said at last. “Indeed, I no longer think of him as I once did.”
“Indeed?”
“He has left the neighbourhood. He will not be missed by those who have had occasion to know him better.”
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looked at each other.
There was a short pause, during which Elizabeth appeared more thoughtful than before. Her aunt, with the delicacy of affection, asked no more, but her silence showed that she understood there was more to be known.
It was Mrs. Gardiner who resumed the subject, though with a lighter tone. “But we must not conclude our account in so serious a manner. There is something else we have not yet told you, and which perhaps will interest you more.”
Elizabeth looked up; she tried to appear indifferent. “What is that?”
“We have seen the gentleman’s portrait,” said her aunt, with a small smile.
Elizabeth could not help but return it. “Mr. Darcy’s?”
They both nodded enthusiastically.
“And what did you think of it?”
“That it was very like what I expected,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “and very favourable. He is, beyond question, a handsome man, though I suspect the painter has made him appear more severe than he truly is.”
Mr. Gardiner added, “Though I must say, the portrait does not quite do him justice.”
Elizabeth’s attention was now fully engaged. “Does it not?”
“No,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “For we had the opportunity of judging for ourselves.”