Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you would like to see pictures of the Lake District and Muncaster Castle (the subject of this chapter), you can find that and more on my tumblr (newnotebook)!
The evening after their squabble about the mine, Darcy told Elizabeth he had an idea of something else she might enjoy.
"I have planned an excursion for us," he said. "I thought to surprise you, but... perhaps you would rather know of it in advance, so you may tell me what you think of the prospect."
Darcy was too gracious to mention that he had been less than pleased when she had sprung upon him the idea of visiting a mine.
"Tell me; I am too intrigued to resist," she replied with a smile.
"I thought you might like to see Muncaster Castle. It is rather a drive, so I thought we might stay there for the night. We may stay elsewhere nearby if you would prefer."
"Oh, certainly, we ought to stay at the castle if we may!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I daresay we shall not get another chance to stay in a castle. Of course, Pemberley is nearly grand enough to be a castle."
"You are kind, and I am certainly partial to our home, but I would not go that far."
With an arch look, Elizabeth added, "What would Miss Bingley say to 'Miss Eliza Bennet' getting to sleep in a castle?"
Darcy was endeavoring, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile.
"She has many other and better reasons to envy me, of course; namely that I am married to you," continued Elizabeth. "But I see that I divert you against your conscience, so I shall say no more."
Rather than gossip or criticize, Darcy said only, "Some people say the castle is haunted; does that trouble you?"
Elizabeth only scoffed. "That is all nonsense."
"I am quite of your opinion. Perhaps stories circulate to earn business from curious tourists."
"Well, there is only one way to find out for ourselves," Elizabeth decided; "let us be curious."
Despite Fitzwilliam's predictions, there were some ways in which Muncaster Castle proved delightfully similar to Pemerley. Unlike other great houses, the gardens were not perfectly manicured; they were allowed to flourish in a state little hindered by man's taste, and Elizabeth found them all the more beautiful in their wildness.
The drive up to the castle had already provided breathtaking views. Elizabeth was, admittedly, quite tired of carriage rides; however, this one was made more pleasant by the views. They rolled past vistas of stunning hills and a palette of colors in the trees: red, gold, orange. Amid such an idyllic scene, Elizabeth was lulled into contentedness (despite any lurching of the carriage) by Darcy's soothing voice reading to her from Wordsworth.
Once they had arrived, the castle provided even more exhilarating than Elizabeth had anticipated. They stopped first at the gardens, as Elizabeth wished to see them before the weather turned colder and the sky turned dark; she took a turn round the gardens with Fitzwilliam while their luggage was taken to their room. There were plants that Elizabeth had never seen before, and the gardener informed them that they had been transplanted from another country! Elizabeth was quite impressed.
She might have lingered there arm-in-arm with Fitzwilliam for quite some time, for the gardens were lush and secluded, and quite empty; autumn was not the season when most visitors flocked to a garden.
However, even Elizabeth, fond of flora as she was, was distracted from it by the sound of a piercing cry.
It was not the cry of a wronged ghost seeking vengeance: but a bird.
"Muncaster is renowned for its Hawk and Owl Centre," explained one of its proud workers, seeing Elizabeth's telltale expression of shock.
"Is it too late in the day to visit?" Elizabeth asked.
"Certainly not, ma'am; it's just this way," the man said kindly, gesturing in its direction.
"Thank you!"
Elizabeth looked hopefully at Fitzwilliam, who smiled his assent.
"What magnificent creatures," he murmured, as they drew closer to the Hawk and Owl Center. They saw the reason for the cry they had heard a moment before: a magnificent hawk on the arm of a caretaker wearing a very thick leather glove.
"Oh, it's beautiful," breathed Elizabeth.
The caretaker greeted them as Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam hesitantly edged closer. There was only one other couple present, and the man kindly welcomed the newcomers.
"I'm Marks, one of the hobs here who cares for the hawks," explained the man. "This is Ophelia."
"Oh, my," said Elizabeth with a small smile; "rather an unfortunate name."
Marks chuckled. "Do not fear, ma'am; Ophelia lives quite a charmed life, and wants for nothing."
"I am sure of that," said Elizabeth, observing the belt Marks wore that looked akin to saddlebags, likely full of treats for Ophelia, as well as the trunk where Ophelia could rest, and the lovely backdrop of the rose garden.
"Would you like to see her fly?" Marks offered.
"Certainly," Darcy said, and the other couple agreed warmly.
At a word from Marks, Ophelia launched herself into the air.
Elizabeth thought Darcy's word had been perfectly apt: the hawk was magnificent. There was no motion wasted; she took to the skies, soared, wheeled, and then landed again with precision. Her keen eyes observed everything about her.
As Elizabeth studied the hawk, Darcy studied her. It was no wonder that they both appreciated the bird, for Elizabeth's eyes were as clear and sharply observant as Ophelia's.
After a short while, it was time for a brief tour of the castle. Darcy promised her they could enjoy their surroundings more the following morning, as it would soon be time for supper; the ride from Coniston had taken much of the day.
There was much to enjoy on the tour, which was led by a member of the Pennington family, who had lived in the castle for many generations. They began the tour and would end it in the Great Hall, where they would have dinner; Elizabeth was awed by the rich furniture and fine artwork, which still impressed her even though Pemberley had a fine collection of its own. The Guard Tower was also fascinating - that was certainly something they did not have at Pemberley!
Both Elizabeth and Darcy also marveled at the well-appointed and well-stocked library, which was even larger than Pemberley's; Elizabeth would not have believed it until she saw it.
Despite all of the wonderful objects to see, Elizabeth's eyes were drawn most particularly to the family portraits that lined the walls of the castle. They were not, of course, interesting to her for the same reason that she had been transfixed by the Darcy family portraits and sculptures during her first tour of Pemerberley - but they were fascinating nonetheless. She marveled at the paintings, some of them decades or a century old, and the way their memory had been preserved long after the subject's passing. What impact had each person had on their family; on the community?
"Can you believe the castle has been in the care of the Pennington family for six hundred years?" she whispered to Darcy, when their guide had momentarily stopped speaking to allow them some time to quietly observe their surroundings.
Darcy smiled. "I should hope many generations after us will show Pemberley such devotion."
As Elizabeth studied the portrait of one of the Penningtons, she pondered Darcy's words; they stirred deep within her a longing she was only beginning to understand. She hoped, in time, she and Fitzwilliam would have children; she expected any Darcy progeny would love and revere Pemberley just as their father did, and would feel the same weight of responsibility to care for it over the years.
She began to long to return home to Pemberley - though she certainly intended to enjoy the rest of their wedding-tour in the meantime.
A sumptuous supper had satisfied Elizabeth's palate, and their room for the night nearly satisfied her imagination, for it was decorated with as much taste as refinement, even though there were no spectres to be observed. The bed was plush and comfortable, and it was only slightly more difficult than usual to fall asleep, wondering if the rumors about the castle were true.
Still, she did eventually fall asleep - otherwise, she would not have startled awake sometime during the night, certain she heard a sound.
"What was that?" she whispered, grasping Fitzwilliam's arm rather more tightly than she'd meant.
"Only footsteps in the hall, my dear," Darcy said soothingly. Elizabeth could almost hear him smiling as he added, "And therefore, it must not be a ghost, as I believe they are incorporeal."
"Ha, ha," Elizabeth mumbled against his neck - though reassured nonetheless.
Fitzwilliam held her close, pressed a kiss to her hair, and murmured reassurances in her ear until she relaxed against him. Safe and warm in her husband's arms, Elizabeth fell asleep once more.
