The anticipation of the party increased steadily with every mile they advanced further north. They almost cheered at the sight of the first proper hills, distantly visible in the morning mist; by the time they left Kendal, and the landscape grew wilder, the knowledge that their destination could not be far away excited them even more. They chatted expectantly along the Bowness road until they caught sight of the great lake at Windermere; then they were quiet, for it was a sight magnificent enough to silence anyone. Huge, bright, shimmering in the fresh July sunlight, it seemed to Mary that she had never seen anything so beautiful. A few islands of thick green trees threw the blue of the water into striking contrast, while rough grey mountains tumbled down to the shore. Mr Gardiner signalled to the coachman to stop and the three of them climbed out into the road. There was nothing to be heard but birdsong and the sound of their shoes crunching on small stones as they walked to the lake’s edge. No one spoke. Mary was so moved, she thought she might laugh or cry. In the presence of such a vision, she felt herself both magnified and diminished. Her small human concerns seemed of no account when set against such severe, indifferent splendour; at the same time, there was a kind of joy in allowing its grandeur to overwhelm her, to abandon herself to something she did not fully comprehend.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Mr Gardiner to his wife, ‘I should not have missed that for the world. It’s a fine sight, is it not, Mary?’
Her mind was so concentrated upon the view that she did not hear him. When he spoke again, Mary could not help wishing him far, far away. This was unfair, for her uncle was the kindest of men; but his mild words struck entirely the wrong note in this wild place. Mary was glad when he took his wife’s arm, and they walked slowly back to the carriage, talking in low, contented voices, speculating on the likelihood of there being anything tolerable to eat at supper tonight. Mary did not follow them but stayed at the shore, staring up to where the mountains met the sky.
If only Mr Hayward were there. He would have understood what she felt. She stood still, listening to the birds in the clear air until Mrs Gardiner called her to come back to the carriage, or they should go away and leave her and she’d be obliged to make her own way to the inn.
When they finally arrived, their lodgings were everything they had hoped for, neat, clean, and, to Mr Gardiner’s relief, offering the very real prospect of a good dinner that evening. Mr Hayward had indeed arrived before them – the innkeeper believed he was out walking the fells – but he had not carried out his threat to take the best bed in the place, for everyone was soon placed in admirably comfortable accommodation.
Mary’s room was simple and pleasing, with a window that offered a tantalizing glimpse of the lake. It was only the smallest sliver of blue, but it was enough to excite her to desire to see more. She rushed downstairs to find her aunt and uncle, already settled with a large pot of tea placed before them. Neither were willing to be prised away from their resting-place to explore their surroundings; but on being applied to, the innkeeper assured them there was nothing to fear from allowing Mary to walk alone nearby if she wished it. The fields behind the inn were quite safe and commanded a wonderful view of the lake. The young lady would come to no harm there.
Before Mr and Mrs Gardiner had time to reconsider their permission, Mary was gone. She quickly found the path that led up the gentle hill under which the inn was situated. She strode firmly towards the top, where she soon found exactly what she wished – a clear, unhindered view of the water spread out before her, and a suitable rock on which to sit and admire it. The breeze, which had been slight below, blew more strongly here and threatened to unmoor her hat. She tied it tighter beneath her chin, clasped her hands round her knees and gazed into the distance, doing all she could to immerse herself in the feel of the place.
So successful was she in achieving this that it was not until he was almost upon her that she saw Mr Hayward striding in her direction. He had on a large loose coat of a kind she had never seen him wear in London; and having nothing to tie his hat to his head as she had done, he carried it in his hand. He appeared both very tall and very happy. His hair blew in the wind, and his face was a little brown from the sunshine. Mary thought she had never before seen him look so striking.
‘Miss Bennet! You have arrived at last!’
‘Look, Mr Hayward! Isn’t it extraordinary? Isn’t it the most remarkable, wonderful thing?’
He sat down bedside her on the great rock and looked from sky to lake to mountains and back again.
‘I have never seen anything like it.’
‘No,’ exclaimed Mary, ‘I worried that we might be disappointed once we were here, that it was impossible for any place to be as’ – she gestured again towards the view – ‘well, as tremendous as this is. But it is everything I imagined it would be.’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘“Tremendous” is exactly the word. And on the high hills, it’s even better. From some of them, I’m told you can see the sea.’
‘The sea? How I should love to see that! Can ladies make the climb?’
‘If they are as determined as you and own a stout pair of shoes, I don’t see why not. Shall we go down?’
He held out his arm. Mary took it and they walked slowly back towards the inn. On the way, Mr Hayward maintained he heard a lark, but Mary believed it was a thrush. As they strolled down the path, they disputed the identity of every bird that flew before them or raised its voice in song; but when they were nearly at their destination, Mr Hayward confessed that the only bird he could honestly recognise with any confidence was a London pigeon. Mary laughed out loud.
‘For one who loves the poetry of nature with such a passion, you know surprisingly little about it.’
‘Yes, it’s true that until now I’ve worshipped it from a distance. But seeing it here for myself – well, I think I finally feel its power.’
He looked solemnly up at the hills.
‘I think you feel it too?’
‘I do indeed,’ she replied, her tone as grave as his.
Then he turned back to her and she saw his mood had changed. Now he was excited, smiling with pleasure.
‘Then let us explore it together, Mary! We will let it work its magic upon us until we are both under its spell!’
He grinned down at her, his hair whipped by the wind.
‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Let us do that! There’s nothing I would like more.’
It was not until they were inside the inn, sharing tea with the Gardiners, that Mary realised Mr Hayward had called her by her first name. He had not done so before. Her hand shook a little as she reached out for her cup, but she did not think it was generally observed.