Chapter 26 Arbor Low
Elizabeth woke to a rustling at the hearth.
Anna tended the fire. Taking her watch from the side table, she saw that it was already six in the morning.
She would dress for the day and study for an hour before breakfast. She meant to read in the family parlor rather than seclude herself in her bedchamber and appear an unsociable and disobliging guest.
The servant said, “Miss Elizabeth, I have filled the water pitcher, and all stands ready for your morning ablutions.”
Elizabeth rose from the bed. “Thank you, Anna.”
An hour later, dressed for the day and descending the stairs, she reflected upon the convenience of having one’s own maid, especially in a house as large as this one.
She found her uncle Edward and Mr. Radcliff at the table reading their papers. Both men rose when she entered. She curtsied and made her greetings, set her book upon a side table, then served herself from the sideboard.
“Lizzy, did you sleep well? I pray you did not sit up late reading.”
She chose not to answer the latter. “I slept very deeply, Uncle. It was a pleasure to sleep upon a down mattress between fine linen sheets.”
He chuckled. “Yes, indeed. I too am grateful for the luxury.” He addressed Mr. Radcliff. “Your hospitality is so generous that you may never be rid of me, James.”
“You are always welcome, Edward. Elena is often at loose ends now that the boys are both at Harrow. She pines for family.”
“Then we have done her a fine service by bringing Lizzy to her. But I must warn you, James. My niece has the leanings of a bluestocking.”
Mr. Radcliff raised his brows. “Does a particular area of study interest you, Miss Elizabeth?”
How could she explain her fascination with the henge without appearing fanciful or, worse, eccentric?
“My father was a scholar of the Greek poets and also enjoyed the writings of Virgil, among others. I have studied these works since the age of ten.”
Mr. Radcliff chuckled. “So, you are as learned as any young gentleman of your age?”
“Perhaps, sir, though I suspect some young gentlemen would object to the comparison.” She looked amused, then continued.
“In the last months of his life, my father introduced me to the writings of Stukeley, and since his passing, I have deepened my studies to include other antiquarians.” She motioned toward her book.
“I finished Stukeley on our journey here and have now begun Brand.”
He raised his eyebrows with a comical expression, part apologetic and part abashed. “You have no doubt heard the verse that says a prophet is not without honor except in his own country?” When she indicated that she had, he continued.
“Such has been true of our own Derbyshire antiquarian, Samuel Pegge, and of the henge itself. I admit, Miss Elizabeth, that though I have a copy of Pegge’s scholarly paper on Arbor Low, I have never taken the time to read it.”
Elizabeth raised her brows.
He continued, “My father acquired it, for he had a deep interest in stone circles, and there is an entire system of them in this county. For myself, the henge offers a beautiful place for a walk, but I prefer to read of current affairs. There is no accounting for taste, is there, miss?”
“No, sir, there is not. You seem a remarkably liberal man. I trust you will not frown upon my choice of study or my indulgence in scholarly pursuits.”
“No, I dare not, especially since it was an interest you shared with your late father and no doubt brings you comfort.”
Edward Gardiner spoke then. “James, you have no notion of the floodgates you have opened. At home, I arranged a study for Elizabeth in a secluded corner of my drawing room. One could find her there with a book at almost any hour of the day.”
Mr. Radcliff raised his brows again and opined, “My dear child, I confess myself surprised. I would expect a beautiful young lady such as yourself to take greater interest in fine gowns and fripperies and the pursuit of a husband. But as we have observed, there is no accounting for taste. Though I warn you, young lady, Mrs. Radcliff loves nothing more than marrying off any single woman of marriageable age within her sphere. She married our daughter at seventeen to a fine man with a very pretty estate. She did the same for our rector’s eldest daughter and for my nearest neighbor’s eldest.”
He addressed Gardiner. “Stanhope’s wife passed two years ago, and when his daughter reached eighteen, my wife took her to the local assemblies and the girl met and married a fine man who was visiting from Staffordshire.”
He addressed Elizabeth. “You will be married before you know it, my girl, if my wife has anything to say about the matter.”
Both men laughed, and Elizabeth, touched by his kindness and his evident affection for a penniless orphan, joined them.
When Elizabeth finished breakfast, her host rose and invited her to accompany him to the family parlor. Mr. Gardiner followed.
“Miss Elizabeth, come with me. This is where we spend most of our evenings, for it is cozier and easier to keep warm.”
They entered a beautifully appointed room, less grand than the drawing room where they had congregated the evening before. Light blues and grays predominated, relieved by cushions of deep rose. The couches and chairs appeared comfortable and serviceable rather than ostentatious.
Mr. Radcliff surveyed the room. “What say you, Edward? Will the corner at the far end serve for the pursuit of knowledge?”
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “The table is of a good size and stands beneath a window, so she will have reading light for most of the day.”
“And you, Miss Elizabeth? Will it suit you?”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Yes, sir. It will suit me very well. The table is large enough for my books and my notes.”
“Come, then, let us arrange it.”
The three crossed the room.
“Help me move the table closer to the window, Edward.”
Once the table stood in place, Mr. Radcliff brought another chair to it. “I expect you will have a certain gentleman joining you here before long, missy,” he said with a knowing smile.
Elizabeth rejoiced in her heart. Had he too detected a preference for her in the fine gentleman’s manner?
She hoped so with every fiber of her being.
But then, like a shadow, the thought of her family’s ruin tempered her happiness.
Should he indeed feel more than friendship for her, Elizabeth must shield them both from an attachment that, in her circumstances, could never come to anything.
Grief settled upon her at the prospect of another loss.
Her throat tightened, and tears filled her eyes.
The men placed another stuffed chair beside the table and surveyed their work.
“Sir, I am touched by your generosity. It is a lovely place to study,” she said.
“Lizzy, do you need help bringing down your other books?” Mr. Gardiner addressed Radcliff with a chuckle. “She brought along articles belonging to her father, then purchased four full volumes on a visit to Hatchards.”
Mr. Radcliff indicated the book she carried. “May I see it, Miss Elizabeth?”
She handed it to him. He leafed through the handsome volume bound in tooled calf leather, examined the contents, then opened to chapter ten and read aloud, “Opinions of Spirits and Apparitions; of the Devil’s appearing with a cloven Foot; of Fairies and Hobgoblins; of the walking Places of Spirits; and of haunted Houses. ”
He raised a brow. “My girl, what are you reading? A gothic tale?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I hope to learn all I can of the lore of this area, sir, including anything touching upon the henge and stone circle.”
Mr. Radcliff glanced at Gardiner, amusement in his eyes. “She will delight in conversing with Dr. Wynn, will she not?”
Her uncle drew her into a brief embrace.
“Lizzy, he is precisely what you need to improve your spirits. Maddie’s father is knowledgeable about the local stories and lore, though I pray you will not be disappointed.
He is a practical man of science and places no faith in legends, magic, and the like. ”
“Have no fear, Uncle. I seek only knowledge. If Dr. Wynn is skeptical, I will not be injured.” Summoning as much cheer as she could, she added, “I shall go up and collect the rest of my books now.”
She fled the room.
Once inside her chamber, Elizabeth threw herself upon the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
She hardly knew Mr. Darcy, but already she longed for him.
He was everything she had ever hoped to find in a husband, and the thought that nothing could come of their acquaintance filled her with despair.
* * *
Two hours later, Elizabeth raised her eyes from her notebook when her uncle addressed her.
“Lizzy, we should go if we are to meet the Darcys at the henge.”
She laid down her quill, closed her notebook, and rose. “Yes, sir. I will fetch my bonnet and pelisse.”
“Have you been weeping, my girl? Time heals all things, and eventually you will be able to think of your father without being brought so low.”
“Yes, Uncle. Thank you.” She dropped her eyes, ashamed that her recent tears had fallen for a man other than her beloved father.
As she climbed the stair, she considered.
Time had helped a little. Her grief for Papa had dulled, but the wound ran too deep and raw to bear examination.
Still, if a few months had begun to heal the wound left by the loss of the person she had loved most in the world, perhaps in time she might also bear this new loss.
Mr. Darcy’s image rose in her mind. His eyes had shown interest and, she believed, even affection. He appeared as drawn to her as she was to him. Her brows furrowed. Their acquaintance might also injure him. But what could she do for him when she could not even protect herself?
They set out in plenty of time. The countryside proved as beautiful as Elizabeth had hoped. The leaves had begun to change, the air carried the freshness of autumn, and the sun shone upon their path. For the duration of the walk, she found peace.