CHAPTER 6
The following morning, Elizabeth set out somewhat later than was her custom, the sun already well risen and beginning to warm the countryside.
Not a cloud marked the sky, though the wood offered some shelter from its heat, and the birds sang on with their usual cheerfulness.
Even without the relief of a breeze, Elizabeth found much to delight her in the familiar sights and sounds of the wood.
She had very nearly reached the last rise before Oak Hill's summit when she stopped short, hearing the unmistakable sound of a horse somewhere ahead. It was uncommon indeed to meet anyone at Oak Hill during such an early part of the morning, and rarer still to meet one on horseback.
She knew very well she would do no such thing. Curiosity, and a certain obstinacy of temper she was not always inclined to master, carried her onward, that she might discover who had claimed her hill before her.
Goodness, I ought to have turned back, she chastised herself, as rounding the last bend, she came upon Mr. Darcy and his horse; the gentleman entirely occupied with the view.
He turned at the sound of her approach, and Elizabeth's heart sank a little, for there could now be no retreat without impropriety; she must acknowledge him before continuing on her way.
"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. Have you come to admire the view?" Internally, he immediately reproached himself. Of course she has, you fool, he thought, with no small measure of embarrassment.
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I had thought only to reach the summit before turning back. It is a fine morning. Good day to you, sir." And she made to continue on her way.
"Miss Elizabeth, if I might," he called out quickly.
"Yes, sir?" She stopped, turning towards him.
"I… a good day to you," he abruptly said, clearly struggling to find the words to say.
Elizabeth offered a curt nod, and replied, "Then, good day, Mr. Darcy," before turning back down the path.
She had not gone far before she heard the horse's hooves behind her, and knew without looking that he had chosen to follow.
"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy called out.
She took a steadying breadth, feeling some annoyance at the repeated disruption he was causing that morning. She turned around again, and asked, “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
He replied rather bluntly, “Do you walk out alone every day?"
She considered her answer before giving it. His tone sounded accusatory, and she felt the need to defend herself perspicuously, "Do you mean to ask, sir, whether I walk every day, or whether I ever walk in company?"
He did not take long to reply, though he gave a look of serious displeasure, "Both, madam. I have never known ladies to be great walkers in general, nor a gentlewoman to walk without a companion in particular."
"Do you suppose, then, that women are unequal to the exertion," she asked.
He had dismounted from his horse to walk alongside her, and she decided to continue down the path, increasing her pace, rather than slackening it, "or only that a gentlewoman, whatever her constitution, must never be seen walking without one?
" Elizabeth could not entirely keep a note of irony from her voice.
He was not to be discouraged, pulling his horse along to keep up with the pace she had set, "I do not think women incapable of such exertion, only that I am unused to seeing it.
I do think, however, that it is unwise for a gentlewoman to walk alone, and more particularly in so isolated a wood as this. "
This caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she stopped immediately, looking directly into his face and speaking rather harshly, "You think me unwise, then, Mr. Darcy?"
He did not answer at once, noticing the growing alarm in her bright eyes and warming cheeks. "I think you unlike any lady of my acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth."
She laughed at so diplomatic an evasion. "You have not answered my question, sir. Do you consider it unwise of me to walk without a companion?"
"I consider it unsafe." He said, doubling down on the seriousness of his tone.
"And does a thing's being unsafe render it also unwise?
I cannot agree, sir. A great many occupations carry some risk without being accounted unwise.
Consider the blacksmith, who labours daily before a scorching forge.
His trade is not without danger, yet no one calls him foolish for practising it. "
"Just so, madam, but it would be both unsafe and unwise for a man to take up the blacksmith's hammer without any knowledge of the craft.
Experience, in that case, is what renders the risk a reasonable one.
In the case of a gentlewoman walking without escort, I confess I cannot see how experience answers the same purpose. "
His countenance was entirely grave, and Elizabeth spoke with a spark of confidence, growing more steadily, as she looked at him.
"If experience is indeed the material condition," she said, rather pointedly, "consider this.
Suppose a woman had walked her father's grounds from girlhood, until she knew every path so well she might find her way blindfolded.
Suppose, further, that she was acquainted with every soul for miles about.
Would you still call her walking unwise, even were her own father to consider it perfectly unobjectionable? "
"I would still call it unsafe, madam, and therefore unwise. However well she knows the ground, these paths remain open to any who choose to travel them, neighbour and stranger alike. I cannot, on that account, retreat from my position."
She felt the colour rise in her cheeks, and Elizabeth, feeling entirely put out by the turn of the conversation, set off again at a brisker pace.
"I thank you, then, for the education, sir," she said, with as much sarcasm as she could summon, and was answered only by the crunch of leaves beneath Apollo's hooves as horse and rider followed on behind her.
Insufferable man, she told herself.
And, while she longed to tell him plainly that his argument owed a great deal more to the privilege of his sex than to any real principle; that women had as much right as men to walk safely wherever they chose; that Meryton was as safe a neighbourhood as any in England, and its women had little enough to fear within it, she would not, for Elizabeth was weary from the climb, and wearier still of contesting a point with a man so entirely persuaded of his own correctness, and said no more.
Mr. Darcy, for his part, was rather more pleased with the exchange than his silence would have suggested. He had found her arguments well made, her reasoning sound, and had enjoyed the contest a good deal more than he cared to own even to himself.
They walked on without further conversation, Elizabeth leading and Mr. Darcy following at a small distance, the morning sun climbing higher and adding to her discomfort with every step.
At length a thin column of smoke came into view above the trees, and Elizabeth stopped once more, turning to her unwanted companion.
"Mr. Darcy, you see the smoke there, rising from Longbourn.
" She gestured toward it. "I will bid you good morning from here, sir, as we are now beyond my family's grounds. "
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, but before turning his horse, said, with rather more cheerfulness than she had yet heard from him, "I wish you a very happy day, Miss Elizabeth."
Before she could return any remark, he swiftly mounted, and horse and rider set off back the way they had come, turning at the crossroads toward Netherfield.
She blew out a frustrated breadth and told herself, ridiculous man, before making her way down the narrower path that led to Longbourn's rear garden, where summer flowers stood in full bloom and the bees went busily about their work.
Almost as soon as Elizabeth reached the garden beds, she noticed a squirrel darted up an ancient oak, and a white hare startled across the lawn. The creatures momentarily distracted her line of thinking, as she habitually followed the sandstone path toward the kitchen door.
He rises early, then. The thought suddenly struck her unbidden, and she put it from her mind at once, for it left her strangely uneasy. It signifies nothing whatever whether the man rose early or late, she reasoned, for he remained proud, and altogether too fond of having his own way.
The kitchen door opened as she approached, and Mrs. Hill, the family's faithful housekeeper, stepped out shaking a length of linen.
The rather plump woman noticed Elizabeth from the corner of her eye, and greeted Elizabeth warmly. "Good morning, Miss Lizzy! Did you have a fine walk?"
Elizabeth returned a kind smile, and goodwill nod, before responding, "Good morning, Mrs. Hill. Yes, it was pleasant enough, though growing warm."
"That it is, miss, warm indeed." Mrs. Hill raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun.
"It is, at that," Elizabeth agreed, smiling.
Changing her tone to something more serious, Hill asked carefully, "Miss Lizzy, have you heard anything of Miss Jenny Woodson?"
Elizabeth’s countenance changed immediately into concern, upon hearing Hill’s question. She replied promptly, "No, nothing. What of her, Mrs. Hill?”
Mrs. Hill looked down, staring at the ground, considering what to say, before looking back to Elizabeth, "It's not really my place to say, miss, but I've heard she's gone missing."
"Missing?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “My goodness, what can you mean?"
Mrs. Hill looked grave. "I had it from Tim, who was over doing some work for old Mr. Garrett, his land lying next to the Woodsons', you know. Mr. Woodson came round asking after Miss Jenny while Tim was there, and Tim says the poor man was quite beside himself with worry."
"Poor Jenny! Thank you, Mrs. Hill, I shall go to my father directly."
Elizabeth, if she were truthful, was more than alarmed at this news.
The Woodsons were a poor family, but industrious, and well known through the neighbourhood, their seven children counted among the district's hardest workers.
The boys were often engaged in the fields at harvest time by one landowner or another, and the girls in whatever household work could be found.
Elizabeth believed the eldest daughter, Maria, red-haired, freckled, and good-natured, had lately taken a place as kitchen maid at Netherfield.
Though she had not had much occasion to speak with either sister of late, she knew them both to be steady, responsible girls, and it did not sit easily with her that Jenny should have gone off without a word to anyone.
She resolved to find her father at once, and urge him to make what inquiries he could