“Are you telling me, mother,” said Lizzy, her power of speech recovered, “that you have been looking for us in order to spend time with us thereby increasing our enjoyment of our holiday?”
“Yes, that’s right. And you’ve been wretchedly hard to find. The first place we tried was Jamaica Inn on the moors. We asked after you there but the landlady said you hadn’t been there.”
Darcy offered silent thanks to Mrs Wiggins. Without her denial they could have been found more quickly yet.
Mrs Bennet looked around the village.
“It seems there’s a celebration of some kind going on. Are we too late to join in?”
“Not at all,” said John Wickham. “Come and get some meat and drink. And fish.”
“Thank you. Do you have hard cider?”
“Of course,” said John with and amused grin at Darcy and Lizzy. He was not quite sure who this woman was or the nature of her character but he could guess well enough.
Mrs Bennet looked more closely at the feasting villagers.
“Good Lord,” she said, “is that Mr Wickham and Lydia? What are they doing here? They have some sauce, bursting in on somebody else’s enjoyment.”
“Perhaps I should explain, mother,” said Lizzy. “You see this is Mr Wickham’s brother.”
Introductions were made to John and Agnes.
“I didn’t even know Mr Wickham had a brother. Did you know he had a brother, Mr Bennet?”
“I believe he mentioned a brother in the West Country. Don’t you remember, my dear? He spoke of it when he and Lydia visited us recently and we discussed a...er... business matter.”
“If it was a business matter, Mr Bennet,” she said dismissively, “then I probably wasn’t listening.”
“I’m sure of it, my dear,” he murmured.
They joined Wickham and Lydia. Great surprise was expressed and convoluted explanations were duly made. Mrs Bennet drank a little hard cider and ate a piece of mutton.
“We met John and Agnes quite by chance,” went on Lizzy. “We needed somewhere to stay and they very kindly allowed us to stay the night at their house.”
“Oh splendid,” said Mrs Bennet. “It seems a very pleasant little village and it would be very agreeable to stay in a proper house and not a coaching inn.”
Darcy could not stomach the thought of being indirectly responsible for imposing Mrs Bennet on John and Agnes, for they had been so kind.
“Actually, Mrs Bennet,” said Darcy, “Wickham and Lydia are staying there too so there may not be room.”
“But, Darcy,” said Wickham with cool malice, “you said you were leaving soon. So, there would be room for Mrs Bennet after all.”
“Ah, yes,” said Darcy “but John and Agnes may need to keep a room free if any merchants come to the village and cannot find a room.”
“But, Darcy,” said Wickham, “now the catch is finished, the merchants will have concluded their business by this evening and will have returned to Truro.”
“Ah, yes,” said Darcy making the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of John and Agnes, “but as we are leaving this evening then Mrs Bennet will presumably wish to come with us. She has been chasing us all over Cornwall after all.”
“You are sure you don’t mind, Mr Darcy?”
“Not at all,” said Darcy through teeth that were only slightly gritted. “We’ll leave at once.”
“That’s settled then,” said Mrs Bennet. “And we won’t need to unpack and then pack again will we, Mr Bennet?”
“No, we won’t, my dear.”
Again, he made a gesture of apology to Darcy.
Darcy and Lizzy made warm farewells to John, Agnes and Lydia. They made farewells, rather cooler, to Wickham. Darcy confided in John and hoped that there would be plenty of interesting work for George Wickham in the tin mine. Darcy and Lizzy climbed aboard their coach, Mr and Mrs Bennet and their daughters climbed into their own. Mrs Bennet put her head out of the window and instructed Darcy’s driver to go slowly in order that they would not get left behind and subsequently lost. Mr Darcy replied to her, expressing the opinion that one could only hope.
Darcy’s coach sped away.
Chapter 6
They proceeded up the coast road and after overnight stops at Newquay and Porthcothan, spent a day and a night at a beautiful little port called Padstow with Mr and Mrs Bennet close behind. Hovering at a wide point at the head of the river Camel, Padstow watched the daily ebb and flow of harbour life as boats came in and out each day, in from the sea or up from the river, fresh water mingling with the sea. At lunch in a pretty tavern tales were told of the ancient rituals of May Day with the Hobby Horse and Maypole and Darcy and Lizzy were grateful that Mr Collins had not joined them as he would be sure to deride the old pagan customs. Instead they chatted about Cornwall with Mr and Mrs Bennet.
“So, what have you been doing on your holiday?” said Mr Bennet as they waited for the food to be served.
Darcy and Lizzy told them about the Five Sisters and the nearby rock on the moor which made Mr Bennet smile. They told them about the beauties of Land’s End which made Mrs Bennet snort. They told them about how they had helped with the pilchard catch at Perranporth. Lizzy said she had never been prouder of her husband.
“And what have you done?” Darcy asked them, adding under his breath, “apart from following us around Cornwall.”
“We stopped at various inns and taverns but really not very much,” said Mrs Bennet.
“And what of you, Kitty?” said Lizzy. “how have you spent your time while in Cornwall?”
“In the main I have spent most of my time reading,” said Kitty.
“Mrs Radcliffe?” said Lizzy with a smile.
“No, I have been reading Mr Henry Fielding. The book is called Tom Jones and it is about a handsome young rogue wandering around the country and having various exciting adventures.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten you were reading Mr Fielding. Very good. And what of you, Mary?”
“I have been sketching with pencil and charcoal. There have been so may interesting things to draw. Bleak moors, craggy rocks by the sea, the chimneys of tin mines, the clear blue sea…Oh, so many things.”
“Well, I’m glad. You must show us your sketch book.”
“I will, Lizzy.”
Lunch was served and they ate and drank in silence, stopping now and then to share a scrap of recollection concerning some small town or other.
“We went to a nice little town called St Ives,” said Mrs Bennet as her empty plate was taken away, “didn’t we, Mr Bennet?”
“Yes, it was just before the storm. We met a very nice clergyman called Parry. Reverend Parry.”
“We met him too,” said Lizzy. “He gave an excellent sermon in the seafarer’s chapel. It was about the Prodigal Son.”
“I imagine,” said Mr Bennet, “that his sermon was rather less prolix than that of our friend Mr Collins.”
“I’m sure you are right,” said Darcy. “But we did not have the good fortune to hear Mr Collins’ sermon.”
“We did,” said Mr Bennet wearily.
“Oh dear. How long were you held hostage?”
Mr Bennet held up two fingers.
“Two hours? Oh dear.”
“And Reverend Parry? How long did he take to sermonise about the same subject?”
“Fifteen minutes at most. He was direct but left nothing out.”
“Pretty much the opposite to Mr Collins then,” said Mr Bennet with a chuckle.
After breakfast the next morning they made ready to board their respective coaches and continue up the coast road.
“Where are we going next, father?” said Kitty.
“You should really ask Mr Darcy and your sister,” he said. “After all it’s their holiday.”
“Well, Mr Darcy? Lizzy?”
“I believe there is a place called Tintagel further east,” said Darcy.
“Tintagel?” sniffed Mrs Bennet. “Never heard of it.”
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br /> “It’s an interesting place by all accounts,” said Darcy. “There is a nearby castle which is said to be the legendary castle of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.”
“You mean Camelot?” said Kitty in wonder.
“If the legends are to be believed,” said Darcy. “It is quite possible that Arthur held his court there.”
Kitty was eager now to reach Tintagel and after a day’s ride the ancient ruins could be glimpsed in the distance at the top of a gigantic headland overlooking the mighty and endless Atlantic. She silently urged the horses to go faster, to break into a gallop down the narrow road, to climb quickly the hills up to the majestic cliffs at the end of the tiny peninsula.
A little further on she put her head out of the window and saw the decayed castle loom in front of them. She was not disappointed and the combination of myth, history and scenery flooded her imagination. When the coach stopped she walked all over the ruin and found out all the information she could, immersing herself in the ancient myths. When the coach finally left, hours later, she decided that as soon as she had finished Mr Fielding’s book she would persuade her father to take her to the book shop and buy her a copy of Mr Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur.
It seemed though that the holiday was beginning to wind down now. Darcy and Lizzy visited a few places but only briefly. They saw a gigantic rock on the cliffs at Boscastle which was said to look like Napoleon. Once they had seen the rock however, they did not stay any longer and proceeded on their way. It was as though they had enjoyed their time as fully as they could and now wished to return to Pemberley. Or perhaps they were eager to take their leave of Mrs Bennet. Rather than continuing up the coast they left Boscastle and headed direct to Launceston, for Darcy knew that was the quickest route to the main road to Bristol and thence to Derbyshire. Mr Bennet, who had some grasp of geography, guessed that Darcy had indeed chosen this route for its directness to Bristol from where he could find the quickest route to Pemberley. Mrs Bennet sat in blissful ignorance, looking forward to many more days of holiday before returning home.
From Launceston they crossed the border and entered Devon and after that Somerset. Finally, having stopped only when necessary, both coaches reached Bristol where they stopped at a large tavern.
“Where are we?” said Mrs Bennet.
“Bristol, my dear,” said Mr Bennet.
“Bristol? I didn’t know that was in Cornwall.”
“It isn’t,” he said. “It’s only a little way from Gloucestershire.”
“Gloucestershire? What on earth are we doing in Gloucestershire?”
“This is where we part ways,” said Darcy.
“Part ways, Mr Darcy?” she said. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean, Mrs Bennet, that while we travel north, through the midlands to Derbyshire, your coach will travel eastwards across the Chilterns and thence to Hertfordshire. It’s the quickest route.”
“But Cornwall. The holiday,” she said.
Mr Bennet took her firmly to one side.
“The holiday is over, my dear,” said Mr Bennet. “It is time for us to go home.”
“But I’m just starting to enjoy myself. And I’m sure Lizzy and Mr Darcy feel the same.”
“I am of the opinion, Mrs Bennet, that they enjoyed their holiday very much. Right up until the time we arrived in Perranporth.”
“Perranporth? Was that the village by the sea where they were all eating pies with fish’s heads poking out of the crust?”
“That’s right, Mrs Bennet. So now I only think it right and proper that we make our farewells.”
“Perhaps they’d like us to accompany them to Pemberley. We could spend a few days there.”
“Mrs Bennet, we are going to Hertfordshire. Mr and Mrs Darcy are going to Derbyshire. Alone.”
Mr Bennet’s voice brooked no argument whatsoever and with a deep sigh, his wife prepared to take her leave of her daughter and son in law. She composed herself and approached them with all the gravitas she could muster.
“Mr Darcy. Lizzy. Mr Bennet says that this is the parting of the ways, for now at least. He says that you might prefer to return to Pemberley alone and that we should not outstay our welcome. And he is quite right. Therefore, we wish you a pleasant journey and hope you have enjoyed your little holiday. Farewell, Mr Darcy. Farewell, Lizzy.”
The feigned stoicism and self-sacrifice implicit in this speech was so extreme that Darcy and Lizzy had difficulty in supressing their laughter. However, they managed to say a gracious goodbye to Mrs Bennet and wished her a pleasant journey. Darcy and Mr Bennet shook hands cordially and Lizzy embraced her father fondly.
“Goodbye, Kitty,” she said. “Let me know how you like Mr Malory’s book.”
“I will, Lizzy,” said Kitty.
“Goodbye, Mary. Next time you come to Pemberley, bring your sketch book. For I would like to see how your drawing is progressing and they will be a pleasant reminder of Cornwall.”
“I will, Lizzy. Goodbye.”
They boarded their respective coaches and after much waving of pocket handkerchiefs they went on their way in different directions.
“Well, Mr Bennet, we are on our way to Longbourn.”
“Yes, my dear, and I must say I am looking forward to being home.”
“Yes, well,” said his wife, “perhaps Mr Collins will be there waiting to ambush us and spring another of his sermons on us.”
With that pleasing thought, Mr Bennet fell asleep.
Darcy and Lizzy also looked forward to getting home. They had endured enough coach journeys for the time being and both looked forward to the familiar comforts of Pemberley: the heavy wood panelling of the library, the soft, thick four poster bed, meals alone in the dining room, walks beside the lake. Perhaps most of all, they relished the thought of not having to see and converse with Mrs Bennet and George Wickham.
The journey home was as long and arduous as the journey to Cornwall had been. The difference was, however, that on the way there they were filled with excitement and anticipation which shortened the roads somehow. On the way back, all they felt was weariness.
At last the coach pulled up to the familiar iron gates. The gates were opened and they were taken down the long gravel path.
“There it is, darling, “said Darcy. “Pemberley.”
“It’s never looked so welcoming,” said Lizzy.
They got out of the coach and, after gratefully stretching their limbs, entered the large front door. A simple dinner was ordered in the dining room, to be served after they had bathed. Baths were drawn, clothes were changed and they came downstairs together to be greeted by all the servants who welcomed them home and expressed their hopes that they had enjoyed their holiday.
“Do you know what I would enjoy now, Mrs Darcy?”
“What would you enjoy, Mr Darcy,” replied Lizzy.
“I would enjoy a glass of wine or two, a good dinner and then retire early. I am somewhat weary after our journey.”
“That sounds most agreeable, Fitzwilliam.”
“However, while we eat and drink perhaps it would be pleasant to talk about our time in Cornwall, what we did and what we didn’t, what we liked most and what we liked least, what we ate and what we drank, who we met and the places we visited.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
They enjoyed a glass of wine together and ate a simple but delicious meal. They tried to discuss the holiday but they were so tired that the memories were diffuse and limited to various disparate images with no sense of direction or overall design.
“I remember the rock that looked like Napoleon,” said Darcy. “I remember pies with fish’s heads poking out, I remember George Wickham working in the tin mine, I remember The Five Sisters, or was it six? But I’m so tired I can’t remember in which order they came.”
“I remember Reverend Parry,” said Lizzy, “and the chapel with the pulpit that looked like a ship, I remember Mrs Wiggins and her sister, I remember watching
you row. But I can’t put them in any particular place.”
“We are both tired. Come, my love, let us retire to bed.”
They awoke late the next morning and bathed, dressed and breakfasted in a leisurely fashion. For the first time in a while there was no coach to take, no long journey through the moors to endure, no arriving at destination hoping that all the inns would not be full.
Darcy and Lizzy's Cornish Adventure Page 9
