Mrs Gardiner made several cautious attempts to discover how Mary and Mr Hayward had spent their afternoon together; but her niece deflected every mild enquiry and batted away every innocent question. Mary had barely allowed herself to dwell upon how pleasurable it had been, as she was not sure what she should conclude from Mr Hayward’s manner. Did his behaviour suggest that he enjoyed her company as much as she did his? It seemed probable, even likely; but beyond that she would not go. She told herself she would not think about him too often; and for at least a few minutes a day, she was successful in this endeavour. For the rest of the time, however, he was very much in her mind. So it was that she was thinking of him one morning, while around her the children ate their breakfast and the Gardiners drank their coffee. When the post was brought in, Mary took no notice, for there was never anything for her. It was only when her uncle held up a letter, with every appearance of surprise, that she paid attention.
‘Here is a note from that quizzical young man Tom Hayward. He asks a favour of me. You will never guess, my dear, in a hundred years, what it is.’
‘I’m sure I shall not,’ his wife agreed, spreading jam on the bread of her youngest daughter. ‘I hope you will tell me.’
‘He asks if I would be kind enough to bring Mary early one morning to Westminster Bridge, where he says he will meet us.’ He turned to Mary, incredulous. ‘He writes that he wishes to show you the City as the sun comes up and read us some lines about it.’
Mary could not quite believe it; nor, it seemed, could Mr Gardiner.
‘What can he mean by it?’ he asked his wife. ‘For such a respectable lawyer, he has some very strange ideas.’
‘I’m sure he imagines it as a treat,’ she replied, ‘an opportunity to see something remarkable. What do you think, Mary? Should you like to go?’
‘It must be a very extraordinary sight,’ said Mary, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice. ‘I should very much like to see it, if it won’t inconvenience Mr Gardiner.’
Her uncle shrugged.
‘Of course I will take you if you wish it. But it’s a very odd errand – and a very early one too. Tom will owe me a very decent bottle of claret in recompense.’
‘Does that mean we are to go?’ asked Mary eagerly.
‘I believe it does,’ replied Mr Gardiner. ‘There are times when I am astonished by my own magnanimity,’ he declared, as his wife offered him the last rasher of bacon.
It was still dark when, a few days later, Mary and her uncle made their way in a slow carriage through the early morning streets. Far from being deserted, the pavements were already filling up. Country people carried baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables; apprentices passed them with the tools of their trade wrapped in their aprons. In a side street, Mary thought she saw a dairymaid leading a cow.
‘I had no idea, sir, that the City was so busy at this time!’
‘London starts work early. No one makes money by lying too long in bed.’
When they arrived on the southern side of the bridge, Mr Hayward was there waiting for them. He thanked Mr Gardiner profusely for his kindness and hoped neither he nor Mary would be disappointed by their outing.
‘Do I understand,’ asked Mr Gardiner cautiously, ‘that you mean to read a poem?’
‘Yes, sir. But I shall do so very quietly, without drawing undue attention to us. And it is very short.’
Somewhat relieved, Mr Gardiner put his hands into his pockets, and walked a few steps away. Mary stared across the river at the City landscape spread out before them. The rising sun had just begun to appear above the roofs, touching everything with a thin rime of gold.
‘It is wonderful, Mr Hayward. I wish I had the words to describe it.’
‘I suggest we allow Mr Wordsworth to say what we cannot,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Now, what I ask of you, Miss Bennet, is not to think too much about what you feel as I read, but instead, to allow the sensations to wash over you.’
He drew a book from his pocket and began in a quiet, ordinary tone, without flourishes or affectation.
‘Earth has not anything to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty; …’
As he went on, Mary gave herself up to the rhythm and beauty of the words, and began to see the City through Wordsworth’s eyes.
‘Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.’
She leaned on a parapet, staring at the view, the dark water below her, the church spires glinting beyond. It was like nothing she had ever seen before.
‘Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep.
The river glideth at his own sweet will.
Dear God! The very houses seem asleep,
And all that mighty heart is lying still!’
Mr Hayward closed his book and stood staring for a moment into the dawn-flecked cityscape. When the sun finally cleared the rooftops, he turned to look at her.
‘This is sensation, is it not!’ he declared. ‘Do not tell me your feelings are not aroused by it – that it has not stimulated your mind to awe and admiration!’
‘Oh, but is has, truly it has,’ Mary replied. ‘I am amazed. Speechless!’
They both took one last long look at the view. Mr Hayward sighed and put the book back in his pocket.
‘It is one of the most remarkable experiences I know,’ he said, as they walked back to the carriage, where Mr Gardiner stood talking quietly to the coachman. ‘I saw it first when I was little more than a lad, just up from Hampshire.’
An image of him as a lanky, excited boy flashed in Mary’s mind’s eye. It was not hard to imagine him standing on the bridge, declaiming Wordsworth silently to himself in the early dawn light. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, taking in his animated, intelligent expression. They were nearly at the carriage now; but before they reached it, he stopped and bent his head to her ear.
‘I hope that encourages you to accept that your capacity to feel is as strong as anyone’s,’ he said quietly. ‘You need not fear that you are, in any way, “dull of soul”. That is not you at all.’
He held the door open for her, and soon they were all inside, heading back to Gracechurch Street. Mr Hayward was invited back for breakfast – he readily accepted – then no more was said. Mr Gardiner closed his eyes, Mr Hayward sat preoccupied, seemingly lost in thought, and Mary stared silently from the carriage window at the streets as they passed. She felt quite unlike herself, both very close to the world outside, and at the same time, distantly remote from it, as though she was regarding it from the wrong end of a telescope. It was not until they were back in the breakfast room, being served with everything hungry people could possibly require, that she began to return to her usual state of mind.
Mrs Gardiner sat at the table, watching them eat. ‘Was it as remarkable as you expected it to be?’ she asked Mary. ‘Was it worth getting up so early?’
‘Oh, indeed it was,’ exclaimed Mary. ‘It was a wonderful thing to see! To know that we stood where Mr Wordsworth stood, looked at the very scene that had inspired his words! What is it like, Mr Hayward, to do the same in the Lakes? It must be very splendid to stand in that wild landscape, reading his poems in its midst.’
‘I am sure it is,’ replied Mr Hayward, ‘but I’m afraid I would not know. I am sorry to say I have never been there – though I have often promised myself the pleasure of a visit.’
‘But that is so sad,’ exclaimed Mary. ‘The Lakes interest you so much, it seems very unfair you should not have seen them.’
‘I have no one to blame for that but myself,’ replied Mr Hayward. ‘I have allowed my work to keep me here in London, with the result that I have yet to set foot in the countryside I most wish to visit.’
‘I too long to see the Lakes,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘We once planned a trip there – indeed, we actually set out – but at the last moment, Mr Gardiner’s business obliged us to cut short our time, and we got no further than Derbyshire.’
There was a brief silence while everyone considered how much they regretted never having beheld the grandeur of the northern hills, crags, and lakes. Then Mr Gardiner reached across the table and gently took his wife’s hand.
‘I have always been sorry that you did not get your wish, and I think the time has come to put that right. The days are beginning to lengthen – what do you say to an expedition to the Lakes as soon as it is possible for us to leave? I am not too much occupied with business just now, so I do believe it might be done. And fortune favours the brave, they say.’
Mrs Gardiner rose from her chair, hurried round the table, and kissed her husband on both cheeks.
‘If you really think it can be managed, there’s nothing I should like better.’
Delighted at the success of his suggestion – he could not imagine why he had not thought of it before – Mr Gardiner now wanted nothing more than to see everyone around him as happy as he was himself.
‘Mary, you will accompany us, of course. And, Tom, if the law can spare you for a short while, I hope you will come too?’
Mr Hayward said he would be honoured to join them, if it could be arranged; and soon, he and Mr Gardiner were deep in conversation, discussing dates, itineraries, and the best way of making the journey.
‘What an unexpected treat!’ exclaimed Mrs Gardiner. ‘I cannot quite believe we are to go at last. I wonder if Jane would be happy to take the children for a short while – it would not be much to their liking, to travel so far and find nothing but mountains at the end of it! But you seem very quiet, Mary. Don’t you want to come?’
‘More than anything. But you have already been so kind to me. I must ask – are you certain you want me with you?’
‘Really,’ said her aunt, giving her a little embrace, ‘how should we manage without you? You can keep us entertained on the long road north – you’re sure to be able to point out all manner of curious rocks and historical ruins.’
Mrs Gardiner reached out and took the last roll left on the plate.
‘And Tom will be able to show us all the scenes that inspired the poetry of the place. Between the pair of you, we shall be excellently supplied with information. It will be hardly worthwhile buying a guidebook.’