Darcy laughed and went with him. As they turned back into the light, he felt a steadiness take hold. The first steps were chosen; the rest would follow in their time.
They came in together near the dinner hour. Mrs. Gardiner received them with her usual cordial gravity, and the small dining parlour, neat and cheerful, gathered the party in a circle of quiet propriety. The talk began with moulds and timber; then, at Mr. Gardiner's choosing, turned to what most concerned the company.
“Mrs. Gardiner and I are agreed. We shall be glad of your visits, Mr. Darcy, and the morning walks may continue openly. Only let James be within sight.”
A brief silence followed.
“Darcy and I also spoke of an outing,” continued Mr. Gardiner. “The lighthouse, when the wind is fair.”
“I have heard it affords a noble prospect,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “What may be seen in clear weather?”
“A fine sweep of the coast to the south,” replied Darcy. “The pale water over a shoal. Fishing boats keeping a sensible distance. On the brightest days, a faint headland very far off.”
“Then we shall attempt it the day after tomorrow,” said Mr. Gardiner, as though settling an ordinary household arrangement. “Tea in town before the week is out. When the frame stands, we will walk the ladies through the yard while the men are at their dinner. The rest may follow as it proposes itself.”
Elizabeth made a few inquiries regarding the excursion, and Mrs. Gardiner supplied the rest. Darcy was grateful for the order of it, yet not wholly easy. Something in Elizabeth's manner was altered. She was as kind as before, but less unguarded. Whether the change arose from embarrassment or caution he could not determine. It was enough that she received him kindly still. He therefore took his leave soon afterwards, kissed her hand with respectful formality, and wished her good night.
“Good night, Miss Bennet.”
“Good night, Mr. Darcy.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning the tide lay fallen; the sand was smooth and firm. James descended first to his discreet station; Elizabeth followed soon after. Her greeting to Darcy was perfectly proper; there was nothing in it to censure, yet he felt at once a newreserve. Their first two meetings had been almost wordless and yet more free. Now every phrase seemed weighed for measure.
He spoke of the wind turning north and of the likelihood of a fair view from the lighthouse. She agreed and said that her aunt loved high places. He ventured a question about a volume he had seen upon a side-table; she replied that she had only begun it and could not recommend it yet.
He checked himself. She had been open the day before; perhaps it was natural to draw back after such frankness. He knew in himself the same impulse. Better, then, to be silent and companionable than to press for confidence before it was ready.
They walked on, saying little, the sea answering for them. Near twenty minutes passed so, the low fall of water upon the shore keeping a gentle measure. At the path he turned to her, took her hand with quiet respect, and touched it to his lips.
“I wish you a very good day, Miss Bennet.”
She returned the civility, and they parted.
At his lodging he told himself he would keep away from the shore to-morrow, to leave her all the quiet that kindness could grant. The notion would not settle. He had parted from her but hours before, and already the morning seemed farther off than patience could bear. Not to see her was a deprivation he had not anticipated and could not quite reason away. He wished, with a humility new to him, that she might look for him as he looked for her, even after the reserve of that day. In so short a time she had grown very dear. That frank talk upon the sands had given his spirit a steadiness he had not known in years. Since his mind would not be ordered, he turned at last to the afternoon’s post.
His uncle wrote that Lord Ashcombe had lately produced several papers relating to the Trevelyan estate, enough to suggest that a formal will had once been lodged among thepublic records. The papers were incomplete, and no copy of the will itself had yet been found. Matlock had therefore made inquiry in town, but the document could not immediately be traced. Records from that period had suffered some confusion during the fever years, and it was possible the will had been misfiled or entered under an imperfect description. He had left word with the proper clerks and was promised notice should anything further come to light.
Darcy read the letter twice and was no nearer to ease. He wrote a brief reply, requesting to be informed of any development, and then sat awhile with the page still open before him, his thoughts divided between this unresolved business and the quiet he hoped again to find upon the shore.
In the morning he went down at the proper hour. James was already upon the slope; Elizabeth followed soon after, her step light and even. Her greeting held the same measured propriety as the day before, yet there was less strain in it. They spoke at first of small things, the air grown clearer, the promise of a wide prospect from the lighthouse.
“You place a great deal of confidence in the weather, Mr. Darcy.”
“Only when it agrees with me.”
“Then I fear it has an advantage over most people.”
“It certainly proves more obliging.”
She glanced toward him. “And when it refuses?”
“Then I claim I never trusted it at all.”
After a little while he pointed to a faint dark line upon the east and told her how a man might judge his course by sun and wind when no compass was at hand. She asked how far such reckoning might be trusted, whether pilots told more truth thanbrag, and whether a shoal could be mistaken for a low cloud upon the water. He answered where he knew; where he did not, he confessed it. The corner of her mouth lifted.
Chapter Sixteen
