“There is Bingley’s chaise,” she said, waving to her sister, and then walking towards it. “And there is Mr Balfour.”
“Darcy,” said Balfour when he dismounted, “Hester has gone to a hill that supposedly has the earthwork remains of some castle?”
“Castle Hill,” he said. There were only a few yards of foundation walls left of the castle, and they were covered in verdure and turf. “Perhaps she shall have a view of the village from there if she wishes to draw.”
Balfour shrugged, already looking round for the next place to go, the next item to buy, the next person to banter with. “She can sketch where she pleases. You know what it is like”—he gestured to Bingley—“once a sister has married, your role as protector is incredibly lessened. Even a widow like my Hester can come and go as she likes.”
Balfour was about to leave when he added, “Miss Bennet, would you care to forgo the church service and fountain decorating frivolities to wander Bakewell with me instead? I shall be more attentive to you than the newlywed couple, and shall be livelier company than Darcy.”
Elizabeth gave him a wry smile. “You no doubt have some secret gentlemanly pursuit in your mind, and a single lady under your protection would only put me in your way.”
Balfour might have expected a polite demurral or a blush, and briefly looked taken aback before he laughed. “Why, Miss Bennet, you do speak your mind, dinna ye?” He touched his hat and left.
Bingley could not restrain a laugh, but his wife put her arm through his and asked, pointedly, if they ought not to leave. Darcy wondered if Bingley might have become like Balfour had he not married as young as he did, and to as steady a woman as Mrs Bingley. He might otherwise have become all frivolity and carelessness.
Darcy led them to All Saints’ Church, thinking that Balfour had been provoking on purpose and that he had not expected Elizabeth to provoke him in return. Women were generally expected to be obliging. Elizabeth’s frankness could be objectionable to some people. It may even frighten some gentlemen, but he found it a great attraction. It was a touchstone of honesty, a quality he admired in her.
“Balfour said you would not be lively,” Bingley called his attention. “Do not prove him correct.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said whilst taking his arm and thereby stopping his heart, “what can you tell us of these decorations?”
“You shall see for yourself during the service, but villages in the Peak have left garlands of flowers at wells and springs for centuries. From there, the custom of well dressing, or well flowering, has stayed in Derbyshire villages. At some point, rather than leaving garlands, we built wooden boards to form a frame about four feet wide. I have seen other villages erect a ten-foot arch over their fountains. The boards are an inch or two deep and covered in soaked river clay where a design is etched, and then flower petals, blossoms, seeds, berries, all manner of natural materials are pressed in to make patterns and pictures.”
“Where did the ancient custom come from?” Mrs Bingley asked.
“None can say for certain. In Roman antiquity, there was a festival called Fontinalia in honour of the nymphs of wells with a ceremony to throw nosegays into fountains and put crowns of flowers upon wells.”
“But how did such a custom stay so long preserved, and only in Derbyshire?” Elizabeth asked him, her expression curious.
“Was it because the Celts worshiped local water gods, or perhaps Black Death survivors thinking the local water saved them?” Bingley asked.
“Or maybe gratitude for water during a drought?” Mrs Bingley said.
“Some people think so,” Darcy agreed. The churchyard was now in view. “Derbyshire is beautiful but remote, and its hills and dales made it a challenge to pass. Perhaps its remoteness kept a Celtic or Roman practice intact even through Saxon, Danish, and Norman invaders.”
“What are the designs on the boards?” Elizabeth asked.
“You shall have to see for yourself,” he answered with a smile as they entered the church.
His guests were taken aback when the vicar read the service and then left the pulpit, and the congregation followed and listened to him read the psalm at the first well. Bingley and his lady looked bemused by the traipsing around the village to visit each well and spring, but Elizabeth’s face was rapt with interest. The procession continued withthe epistle, gospel, and then a hymn sung by church singers accompanied by a band at the final well.
“Each well or fountain with its stone surround is covered with a board dressed in flowers pressed into clay?” Mrs Bingley marvelled when the service was ended. She and her sister were looking at the dressing at the well near the churchyard. “Look, Lizzy, they have used violets, daisies, and primroses here.”
“The village children spent the last few days gathering flowers, moss, and the like,” Darcy said. “Then they are given over to whoever has been deemed the most talented to press into the boards.”
Bingley was taking in the crowd in the churchyard. “Why are so many people still here?”
“A fête has followed the service from time immemorial. And those of the village open their doors for strangers, friends, and visitors. Some people have already gone home to put their kettles over their fires for those who brought a picnic on the green.”
“How charming!” Mrs Bingley cried.
Darcy saw in Elizabeth’s and Mrs Bingley’s faces that they wished to attend, so he led them down King Street. Bingley and his wife lagged behind, and he was left to entertain Elizabeth. It seemed he would have the rest of the afternoon in her sole company. If she realised the same, she did not seem to mind going on with him alone. They passed Rutland Square and saw that Bath Garden, with its decorated well, was already full of booths and people.
“There appear to be a great many visitors amongst the villagers,” Elizabeth said as a group of children ran past.
“The festivity draws together the rich and the poor for many miles around. All the families in the neighbourhood contribute flowers for the purpose, although the weather this year must have limited their selection. Thank goodness it was dry today. Booths with nuts, gingerbread, and toys shall delight their children whilst their parents roam the village, having a picnic and visiting.”
Elizabeth wished for a nearer look at the dressing at this well, and Darcy stood by her whilst she waited her turn amidst the throng to get closer to it. As she took in the happy crowd around her, she said, “At one time I would have been surprised that you would partake in arural festival that shows gratitude for the gift of water. But I think now that these emblems of faith and benevolence, and of your ties to the community, suit you well.”
