It is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire, nor of any of the remarkable
places through which their route thither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth,
Birmingham, etc. are sufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present concern.
To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residence, and where she had
lately learned some acquaintance still remained, they bent their steps, after having seen all the
principal wonders of the country; and within five miles of Lambton, Elizabeth found from her
aunt that Pemberley was situated. It was not in their direct road, nor more than a mile or two out
of it. In talking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an inclination to see
the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her
approbation.
"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."
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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! 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 inquiries 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 43
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!
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
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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 something very like regret.
She longed to inquire 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 to-morrow, 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.
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"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, "is my master—and very