Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (36 page)

“My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have heard so much?” said her aunt, “a place, too, with which so many of your acquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you know.”

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She must own that she was tired of seeing great houses. After going over so many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.

Mrs Gardiner abused her stupidity. “If it were merely a fine house richly furnished,” said she, “I should not care about it myself, but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the country.”

Elizabeth said no more—but her mind could not acquiesce. The possibility of meeting Mr Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! How embarrassing and uncomfortable for them both. Darcy might believe Elizabeth had gone there specifically to see him. She blushed at the very idea, and thought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run such a risk. But against this there were objections, and she finally resolved that it could be the last resource, if her private enquiries to the absence of the family were unfavourably answered.

Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid whether Pemberley were not a very fine place? what was the name of its proprietor? and, with no little alarm, whether the family were down for the summer? A most welcome negative followed the last question—and her alarms now being removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself, and when the subject was revived the next morning, and she was again applied to, could readily answer, and with a proper air of indifference, that she had not really any dislike to the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.

Chapter Forty-Three

Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation, and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.

Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for half-a-mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills, and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration, and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something! Though even if Elizabeth had seen Pemberley before Mr Darcy’s proposal, her refusal would have remained unchanged. A fine house was one thing, but she could not marry without respect, love and affection. She could not have tolerated a man whose morals were as low as she had perceived them to be. If only she had known the truth.

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door, and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehension of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the hall, and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being where she was.

The housekeeper came, a respectable-looking elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good, and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms these objects were taking different positions, but from every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor, but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine, with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.

“And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But no,”—recollecting herself—”that could never be. My uncle and aunt would have been lost to me. I should not have been allowed to invite them.”

This was a lucky recollection—it saved her from the regret she usually encountered when thinking of Mr Darcy.

She longed to enquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really absent, but had not the courage for it. At length however, the question was asked by her uncle, and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs Reynolds replied that he was, adding, “But we expect him tomorrow, with a large party of friends.” How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached and saw the likeness of Mr Wickham, suspended, amongst several other miniatures, over the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was a picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense. “He is now gone into the army,” she added, “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.”

Mrs Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not return it. Mr Wickham was indeed wild, along with conniving, immoral and unscrupulous.

“And that,” said Mrs Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, “is my master—and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other—about eight years ago.”

“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,” said Mrs Gardiner, looking at the picture, “it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Mrs Reynolds’ respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.

“Does that young lady know Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth coloured, and said, “A little.”

“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?”

“Yes, very handsome.” An image of Mr Darcy’s sweat-soaked face as he lay atop of her flashed through her mind and Elizabeth coloured further.

“I am sure I know none so handsome, but in the gallery up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master’s favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.”

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr Wickham’s being among them.

Mrs Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.

“And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?” said Mrs Gardiner.

“Oh yes—the handsomest young lady that ever was seen, and so accomplished! She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just come down for her—a present from my master. She comes here tomorrow with him.”

Mr Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks, Mrs Reynolds, either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

“Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?”

“Not so much as I could wish, sir, but I dare say he may spend half his time here, and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.”

“Except,” thought Elizabeth, “when she goes to Ramsgate.”

“If your master would marry, you might see more of him.”

“Yes, sir, but I do not know when
that
will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.”

Mr and Mrs Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, “It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.” And by all accounts Elizabeth was flattered immensely that he had made her an offer of matrimony.

“I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows him,” replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far, and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, “I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”

This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to her ideas. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion. Her keenest attention was awakened, she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her uncle for saying, “There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master.”

“Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up, and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world.”

Elizabeth almost stared at her. “Can this be Mr Darcy?” thought she.

“His father was an excellent man,” said Mrs Gardiner.

“Yes, ma’am, that he was indeed, and his son will be just like him—just as affable to the poor.”

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain. Mr Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led again to the subject, and she dwelt with energy on his many merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase.

“He is the best landlord, and the best master,” said she, “that ever lived, not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but will give him a good name. Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”

“In what an amiable light does this place him!” thought Elizabeth, and wished she had known that side to Darcy’s personality, if it were there to see.

“This fine account of him,” whispered her aunt as they walked, “is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.”

“Perhaps we might be deceived.”

“That is not very likely, our authority was too good.”

On reaching the spacious lobby above they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below, and were informed that it was but just done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room when last at Pemberley.

“He is certainly a good brother,” said Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of the windows.

Mrs Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy’s delight, when she should enter the room. “And this is always the way with him,” she added. “Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.”

The picture-gallery, and two or three of the principal bedrooms, were all that remained to be shown. In the former were many good paintings, but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art, and from such as had been already visible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss Darcy’s, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and also more intelligible.

In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it arrested her—and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr Darcy, with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture, in earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father’s lifetime.

There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth’s mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt at the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people’s happiness were in his guardianship!—how much of pleasure or pain was it in his power to bestow!—how much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before. She remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen, they returned downstairs, and, taking leave of the housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall-door.

As they walked across the hall towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again. Her uncle and aunt stopped also, and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest.

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise, but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.