“Let us repair to the study. I am curious. Have you any idea where my Lizzy scurried off to?”
Moorlands
“Lizzy, does this not make you extremely nervous?”
“No, Margie, not really. Perhaps it should, but it does not.”
“I admit I am petrified.”
“You need not stay. I am perfectly well by myself and would never wish to push you to do anything you do not want to.”
“Who says I do not wish to?”
“That’s the spirit!”
Elizabeth delighted in standing high on a red rock cliff in the Moorlands of Derbyshire, overlooking a landscape that appeared both dead and vibrantly alive, monotonous and fascinating, light and dark, all at the same time, while the wind whipped her dress and hair into a frenzy.
The cliff was red sandstone, and below lay a windswept valley that looked like another world. There were wide swathes of purple, yellow, and blue flowers seemingly laid down with an artist’s brush for her sole pleasure. The land was crossed by roads that dated back to Roman times, and legend held that the Romans merely built on tracks in use for centuries. Some areas were dotted with lakes, and wide swathes of grasses in every colour of the rainbow. The valley floor was dotted with small hillocks that might be homes for elves, sprites, or other fae.
The wind whipped their dresses into a frenzy, and Elizabeth thought it best not to even contemplate what it was doing to her hair. It also brought the wonderful scent of wildflowers and trees—accompanied by less savoury odours from peat bogs and swamps.
Climbing from the valley, the view was hemmed in by other rocks and cliffs much like the one she stood upon, but in other colours from greys to reds to blacks. It was truly a magical place, and she wanted to drink it all in.
Margaret’s fear was an entirely sensible response to standing in high winds on a cliff face, and naturally, her father appeared before her mind's eye to pontificate
Fear and rationality are only weakly related. We fear things that are quite safe and think nothing of things a sensible person would flee in horror. Spiders and snakes are rarely dangerous but often frightening. Riding a horse is rarely frightening but always dangerous. It is quite a conundrum. And this does not only apply to fear. It is worth remembering that many, if not most, of our thoughts and actions are driven by emotion, and if it happens to match our rational thinking, we use the logic as a convenient excuse to yield to the feeling. Most of the time it succeeds because our feelings are far more sensible than our rational minds, but occasionally, you will have to step back, think carefully, and determine which is to be master and which the slave.
Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if her father ever did anythingbutlecture or read books in preparation for later lecturing. Mr Bennet similarly enjoyed the thrill of the place, coupled with the pleasure of a good—and lengthy—lecture well-delivered, though the wind obviously had no effect on a phantom.
Her friend Margaret, on the other hand, looked much less certain about the operation, but was bravely sticking it out as if to prove to herself and the world that she could.
Elizabeth was often conflicted about her father, thinking he did not do all that a patriarch ought. Sometimes she believed that she and her sisters were given none of the tools they needed in life save a headstrong personality; but at other times she thought that was the best gift parents could possibly give. She had narrowly evaded two offers of marriage, with varying measures of disagreeableness, through pure wilfulness. While she was not so adamant against being Mrs Darcy as she had been, a dream of being Mrs Collins could still wake the dead.
For the moment, she was willing to give her father the benefit of the doubt and perhaps give Margaret some of the benefit of his insight. Their discussions about her family over the previous weeks were an unusual combination of vague and specific. Margaret would recognise and accurately name any of her sisters, but everyone had been careful to refrain from asking any overly awkward or specific questions.
Lizzy regarded her friend, who looked quite frightened but determined to remain.
“It is most peculiar, Margie! On the one hand, you are quite correct to be afraid—terrified if that suits you better. Any sensible person would be. However, perhaps you can look at it another way. Would you care to discuss it, or just leave? Certainly, nobody would fault you for it.”
“I am all ears, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth chuckled, wrapping her arm around her friend. “You see, my father taught me that emotion drives much of our behaviour, with rationality playing second fiddle—at best directing our emotions from time to time. The idea has been around since the ancients. Does that make sense?”
“Vaguely.”
“Let us try rationality for just a moment. What happens if the worst comes about; the wind shifts or we lose our footing, and one or both of us tumble from the edge?”
Margaret paled. “I should think we would be dashed into a thousand pieces, but we would only mind the ones that camebeforethe one that killed us.”
“Exactly. Now, what is the true likelihood of that happening?”
“Not very high, I suppose,” Margaret said, glancing about fearfully. “It is more likely than if we were standing back down the path with my more sensible parents, but notparticularly likelyin rational terms.”
“More sensible, indeed. You do know that I quite like your parents. Your mother is really something, and I admire her immensely. Your father is as clever and sensible as mine on his good days but is far more industrious. By all rights, Ishouldbe jealous of you because your parents are superior to mine in every way, yet I am not.”
“This applies to falling from this cliff how?”
“Do you ride?”
