So he laughed as he always did, brushing aside her trepidation. “I have no reason to lock a door that none would dare enter. Not even Samuel,” he said before she verbalized what he knew she was thinking. “Trust me, I will and do respond when necessary.”
And he grew secretive as he often did when teasing her.
Several weeks after that conversation, she learned what he meant when he suddenly bolted out of bed one night, grabbing the robe hanging on the bedpost, and was across the room opening the door to the sitting room before Lizzy had fully assimilated that the sound that had woken her was a rapping knock. Why he instantly responded to the bang of the ornamental brass bob striking the plate affixed upon the solid oak was a mystery, but it roused him every time without fail.
This reality was again put to the test one night in early June, shortly after two in the morning. The resounding thud was heard by both of them, but Darcy was robed and reaching for the knob before Lizzy managed to drowsily lift her head from the pillow.
“Yes,” he said, his voice firm without any traces of sleep.
“A message from Hasberry, sir,” Rothchilde’s hushed voice carried to Lizzy, who sat up in bed eagerly.
She heard the rip of a wax seal, the paper being unfolded, and then seconds later Darcy’s instructions, “Have the landau prepared. Wake Mrs. Hanford. We will be leaving immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said, shutting the door and returning to their bed with the opened parchment sheet. “Sleep is over for the night, my love. Bingley writes, in trembling hand I must add, that Jane is laboring.” He chuckled, eyes on the words. “He apologizes for disturbing us but the process is moving hastily.” He looked at Elizabeth, who was already out of bed and drawing on her robe. “Is it too soon to tease over the fact that she is some weeks earlier than expected and that the labor is apparently of short duration?”
“Yes,” she snapped, glaring at his amused expression, “just as it is too soon for me to harass my sister for not taking two days to accomplish the task as it nearly did me.” Her eyes clouded. “Too much can yet go wrong.”
“Of course you are correct. Forgive me for jesting inappropriately. Get dressed and I will meet you in the foyer.” He placed his hands upon her shoulder, squeezing in assurance. “Jane will be fine, Elizabeth. Have no fears.”
They arrived to discover Bingley wide-eyed, pale, and pacing the parlor in circles. Unlike Darcy, Bingley had no intention of being anywhere near the birthing room. The thought was unappealing to Jane as well, for many of the obvious reasons but also because Charles was one of those individuals who became physically ill at the sight of blood. Thus, he was doing what most men did in these circumstances: pacing and sweating. Darcy assumed control, distracting the frantic father-to-be with conversation, an adorable six-month old who complaisantly latched onto being woken up in the middle of the night as a time to play, and a generous shot of brandy.
Lizzy rapidly ascended the stairs. Jane had chosen a local midwife to deliver her firstborn, again sticking to traditional methods. She admired Dr. Darcy, knew he was a gifted physician, but her timid nature quailed at the idea of any man, especially one she knew familiarly, witnessing her birth. George understood completely, so was not offended. He did, however, have the midwife’s experience verified and sought her out for a frank obstetrical conversation that may have shocked the poor woman to an early grave if not for the extraordinary reputation of Dr. Darcy that was now common knowledge. She saw their consultation with his approval as a badge of honor to increase her renown and her income!
George’s “interference” was based on his affection for the Bingleys, and was met with tremendous relief, especially from Charles, who was not handling the whole idea of birth very well. Since the esteemed Dr. Darcy could not deliver his child personally, the next best was a midwife who had passed the formidable doctor’s inspection. In truth his fears were the same as every man who loves his wife, but where Darcy possessed rigid control of his emotions for the most part, Bingley was transparent. It was rather comical, but Darcy was sympathetic enough not to point it out.
What Lizzy had said about so many possible complications was absolutely true. But in the end Jane continued the legacy set by Mrs. Bennet with all five of her deliveries. Minutes before eight that morning, after less than twelve hours of labor, Ethan Charles Howard Bingley was born. There were no incidents, no abnormalities, and no untoward aftermath. By the time Charles was ushered into the room an hour later, his wife was sitting serenely in bed—as beautiful as always with only the dusky circles under her eyes and tiny burst blood vessels around her pupils an indication of anything unusual having occurred—with their son bundled in her arms.
Lizzy and Alexander stayed at Hasberry for a week. Darcy returned to Pemberley that day, as it was a busy season for him, but rode over frequently to visit. Alexander was introduced to his new cousin, but the six-month-old wasn’t terribly impressed. There was plenty of time to develop a cousinly relationship.
The close proximity of Hasberry to Pemberley was a continual source of joy for the four people involved. Lizzy often commandeered her curricle, taking Alexander for fresh-air drives to visit his aunt for an afternoon. Numerous evenings were spent together, at one house or the other, as the adults dined and played games. Frequently, they were joined by Gerald and Harriet Vernor or Albert and Marilyn Hughes, their nearest neighbors. But the fine weather of summer allowed for dozens of visits with those like the Sitwells who lived a bit farther away. The men gathered for hunts and rides on a weekly basis, the ladies meeting for tea and conversation while the children played. It was a period of gay entertainment from dozens of avenues.
Nevertheless, Pemberley Manor was amazingly quiet that summer. With George and Georgiana away, the upper halls and family rooms seemed surprisingly empty. Alexander was a good-natured child, not disturbing the tranquil atmosphere to any great degree. His moments of temper were exceedingly rare, so loud cries or tantrums were not a common disruption. There were adjustments made to the furniture arrangements in some rooms as he grew more mobile, learning to roll and then creep. Primarily, of course, he was kept to the top floor nursery and bedchambers, as this was where Darcy and Lizzy passed large portions of their day. But it was not at all unusual to find the infant lying on a spread blanket littered with toys and within eyeshot of Darcy as he worked at his desk. Or in the parlor or library with whichever parent was tending him at the time. Mrs. Hanford’s services were employed, naturally, both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy busy people. But a large percentage of his waking hours, or even when asleep, Alexander was with a doting parent.
Frequently, he accompanied his father to the stables. Darcy would hold him tightly as they walked among the stalls or watched the grooms and trainers at work. Alexander observed it all with intent eyes, fearlessly touching the enormous animals with his tiny fingers. Parsifal tolerated the oddity only because it was held by his master and did not interrupt the expected treats. Naturally the groomsmen and stable hands thought he was adorable, fussing over the baby while maintaining a reverential respect for the young heir of Pemberley. He was introduced to the Connemara ponies, although even Darcy was uncomfortable with placing the baby onto one’s back as yet. Lizzy glared and sternly reminded him each time they headed out the door that taking Alexander riding was forbidden. Darcy pretended to argue, just for the fun of seeing his wife’s eyes flash, but he agreed that it was too soon. The delight in observing Alexander’s infantile interest in the environs was enough for the present.
Lizzy welcomed the beautiful weather. She resumed her gardening, the joy of kneeling and digging in the soft earth one that could not be denied. Alexander joined her, usually sitting or sleeping in his well-used perambulator under the shade of a tree. Long walks were essential, both day and evening. Again the baby carriage was utilized, the springs devised by Stan providing for a smoother ride, and there were few Pemberley trails unnavigable. Alexander loved the outdoors, a trai
t that immeasurably pleased his nature-loving parents. His first touches of grass or dirt or the cool water of the pond were met with the serious gaze they were rapidly growing accustomed too. Alexander examined everything with an intensity that was remarkable. Whether it was a toy or flower or attached appendage, Alexander studied it carefully before deciding what to do with it, that usually entailing trying to eat it. The rescue of any number of inedible objects, some quite disgusting now that he was proficient at escaping his confines, was a fulltime occupation.
She and Darcy carried on their tradition of nightly strolls along the terrace and private garden with Alexander brought along to enjoy the expanse of stars, splashing fountains, and chirping crickets. Darcy happily toted the bright infant in his strong embrace, pointing to the constellations, vegetation, or glimpsed animal as he instructed. Lizzy laughed at his informative dictations, but Alexander listened to every word spoken in his father’s resonant timbre as if keenly aware of the meaning.
In this way, the lazy days of summer slipped by with little in the way of drama to intrude. The only lengthy excursion beyond the immediate area was a weeklong trip to the Peaks.
Darcy’s yearning to show his wife the one remaining region of Derbyshire that she had yet to fully explore had burned within his soul for ages. Interruptions of a harrowing nature so continually intruded upon his plans that the normally non-superstitious man was almost afraid to bring up the subject. But a casual comment by Gerald Vernor restarted the wheels in his mind.
A mutual friend named Mr. Ward Logan owned an estate outside of Castleton, his manor house on the banks of the River Noe in Hope Valley. Darcy and Logan were not close confidants, but did overlap at Cambridge and were friendly enough to play billiards and engage in stimulating discourse from time to time. Over the years since University, chance encounters would occur while in Town or at a Derbyshire function, each man genuinely pleased to pause for a reacquainting conversation. Lizzy had met Mr. and Mrs. Logan at several social events during the past year-and-a-half, first at the Cole’s Masque. Only once had Darcy traveled to the Logan estate, Chelmbridge. It was over eight years ago, before Logan was married. He opened his house to a group of Cambridge alumni, the gentlemen spending a week hiking the numerous trails, exploring the caverns, and hunting the wealth of game roaming the rocky moors of the High Peaks.
Thus when Vernor told Darcy that he had seen Logan while on a recent trip to Chesterfield, and that Logan had informed him that he was in town with his wife shopping for a planned summertime trip abroad, Darcy decided it was a sign.
He wrote to Logan, asking if it would be possible for his family to reside at Chelmbridge for a few days early in July while touring the Peaks. Mr. Logan’s reply was swift and positive. Darcy was especially pleased with the arrangement, knowing that the comfort and privacy of a house was preferred over a questionable inn. Above all, he insisted on his wife and child being pampered and untroubled. Additionally, Chelmbridge was beautifully located in the valley created by the Noe with uneven hills of green dotted with the gritstone and limestone boulders prevalent in the region. It was nestled on a slight rise above the river, almost precisely upon the dividing line between Hope Valley and the Edale Vale with Mam Tor shadowing. It was an ideal placement with the distance to the main four caverns of the area, and Kinder Scout to the north within an accessible distance.
The plans were set, arrangements made, and their baggage packed without the tiniest upset interfering. Still, Darcy did not breathe freely until the carriage entered the outskirts of Castleton and made the eastern turn toward Peveril Castle. Lizzy was mesmerized by the passing scenery, but not unaware of her husband’s foreboding. She shared a look, her lips lifted in the teasing manner that inevitably brightened his spirits.
“Peveril Castle straight ahead,” she declared, staring directly into his eyes with laughter held in check. “Our tour of the Dark Peak has official begun.”
“Ready for a hard walk, Mrs. Darcy? Your tour involves intense exertion.”
Lizzy grinned, accepting his playful challenge. “I bet I shall arrive at the top same time as you, Mr. Darcy.”
“We shall see,” he said smugly, finally releasing the residual threads of his tension.
As it turned out, he reached the summit of Castle Hill simultaneously with his wife, but that was only because he shortened his stride on the chance he was needed to assist her up the rocky, snaking trail. That, of course, was unnecessary as Lizzy was an excellent walker and climber, navigating the difficult terrain and cresting the hill with relative ease. She did pause, partially to fan her glistening face and inhale deeply several times, but also to appreciate the view.
The impregnable apex flanked by steep cliffs offered an impressive view of the landscape in all directions. The rooftops of Castleton nestled in the sylvan vale below with the blue ribbons of the rivers cutting through the dales. The full breadth of Mam Tor looming to the west, the rugged stone outcroppings bounding the flat pinnacle, and the heights of Hathersage moorland were all stunningly visible. Bravely, they gazed down the sheer precipice into the yawning chasm marking the main entrance to the greatest Peak cavern, Devil’s Arse, far below. The panoramic view was truly breathtaking and abundantly worth the strenuous climb even without the Tudor castle sitting in glory upon the knoll.
Built originally in 1080 and later fortified of stone by Henry II from 1155 onward, the once massive keep remained an evocative example of a time long past. Although largely fallen into ruins, the twelfth century gatehouse serving as the entrance to Perevil was intact, opening into a vast courtyard with the sixty-foot gritstone keep dominating the picture.
As with their visit to Bolsover last summer, another ancient castle built by a William Peverel only one hundred years later, Lizzy and Darcy were content to stroll about the grounds and examine the ruins. A brisk breeze blew, tempering the fiercely shining July sun. It was a pleasant way to begin their trip, the adventurous, nature-loving Darcys ready to explore.
The week’s agenda was set, Darcy ever the meticulous planner, but of course with Alexander along for the excursion, each day’s enterprise could not be as time consuming as they may have wished. They began each day slowly, not leaving the house until after Alexander’s morning nap, and maintained a sedate pace, piling into the carriage rather than walking the short distances to the surrounding caves. Mrs. Hanford cared for the infant from the safety of the carriage or shaded locale with Mr. Anders and Watson providing protection while Lizzy and Darcy were away. He was a compliant baby, easy to amuse and keep contained, and handled the rigors of travel and strange environs with amazing composure.
On their first full day in the Peak, they drove to Treak Cliff Cavern, a mine for the beautiful and rare Blue John Stone, a type of bluish-purple mineral found only within the caverns of Derbyshire. Visitors were allowed limited access to the foremost chambers, paying a small fee for a guide to lead the way safely and point to the richly glittering veins of fluorspar. The polished stones were prevalent in the shops of Castleton and Hope, sold as jewelry, ornaments, and utensils, and were even sold in their raw crystallized form from vendors clustered about the mine’s trailhead. First mined and fashioned into priceless vessels by the Romans, the unique stone was not rediscovered until the mid-1700s, it now a prime commodity of the Derbyshire region.
Lizzy was awed by her first real cave, the Pemberley cave paling in comparison. Her husband, of course, was not offended by this. He was well aware that the Pemberley cave was dull, only a young boy’s imagination seeing it as anything to spark great interest. The humorous aspect of his wife’s response to Treak Cliff was that, aside from the Blue John which was remarkable, the cave itself was mundane compared to the others to be visited. Darcy purchased several items made from the multi-colored stone including three pairs of earrings, a necklace, and a hair comb for Lizzy; a carved horse figurine for Alexander’s collection; and a set of wine goblets as souvenirs of their visit.
Lizzy’s enthusiasm aft
er just one day of hiking steep trails and investigating subterranean cavities was so high that Darcy could barely contain his own zeal to get started the following day. Prior arrangements had been made for their tour of Speedwell Cavern. Darcy vividly remembered the one time he entered the horizontal mouth cut naturally into the sloping hill and descended the 105 steps to the submerged basin. He had no idea what to expect, his jaw dropping at the incredible journey taken and the wonders seen. Therefore, he was excited to share the experience with Elizabeth, knowing she would be as awestruck as he had been.
Hacked by miners searching for lead in the late 1700s, unsuccessfully as it turned out, the narrow entrance at the foot of Winnats Pass was easily reached by a short walk. The carved steps steeply declined, the relatively smooth tunnel a marvel not so much in workmanship, as it was crudely cut, but in the staggering revelation of how difficult the labor must have been. It was cool under the layers of solid rock and dimly lit. Great care was necessary, but the stairs were clear and stable, and they arrived at the gravel and wood landing without mishap.
Darcy was watching Lizzy avidly as they neared the end, thus he saw her momentary confusion as she glanced around, looking for the rocky ground or trail that one would expect. Then he saw her eyes widen in shock as the guide moved unerringly forward and the other people in their small group parted to follow him, allowing her to see that nothing was before them except a line of boats tied to simple wooden posts nailed into the rough wooden dock. They bobbed gently on the canal of dirty water that covered the unseeable rock floor of what was a rounded tunnel gouged horizontally into the solid rock. The “roof” of the small cavern landing was not much higher than a tall man, Darcy’s hair brushing the ceiling in places, and the tunnel that could be seen before it disappeared into darkness around a bend, was considerably lower.
He had not worried that Elizabeth would grow frightened, since she had never exhibited a fear of confined places, including the Pemberley cave, but watching her eyes now he began to regret that he had not warned her. She appeared so stunned, looking about with eyes wide and dilated, that he leaned in, his arm pulling her tight to his side.
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