Lizzy grinned, accepting his playful challenge. “I bet I shall arrive at the top same time as you, Mr. Darcy.”
“We shall see,” he said smugly, finally releasing the residual threads of his tension.
As it turned out, he reached the summit of Castle Hill simultaneously with his wife, but that was only because he shortened his stride on the chance he was needed to assist her up the rocky, snaking trail. That, of course, was unnecessary as Lizzy was an excellent walker and climber, navigating the difficult terrain and cresting the hill with relative ease. She did pause, partially to fan her glistening face and inhale deeply several times, but also to appreciate the view.
The impregnable apex flanked by steep cliffs offered an impressive view of the landscape in all directions. The rooftops of Castleton nestled in the sylvan vale below with the blue ribbons of the rivers cutting through the dales. The full breadth of Mam Tor looming to the west, the rugged stone outcroppings bounding the flat pinnacle, and the heights of Hathersage moorland were all stunningly visible. Bravely, they gazed down the sheer precipice into the yawning chasm marking the main entrance to the greatest Peak cavern, Devil’s Arse, far below. The panoramic view was truly breathtaking and abundantly worth the strenuous climb even without the Tudor castle sitting in glory upon the knoll.
Built originally in 1080 and later fortified of stone by Henry II from 1155 onward, the once massive keep remained an evocative example of a time long past. Although largely fallen into ruins, the twelfth century gatehouse serving as the entrance to Perevil was intact, opening into a vast courtyard with the sixty-foot gritstone keep dominating the picture.
As with their visit to Bolsover last summer, another ancient castle built by a William Peverel only one hundred years later, Lizzy and Darcy were content to stroll about the grounds and examine the ruins. A brisk breeze blew, tempering the fiercely shining July sun. It was a pleasant way to begin their trip, the adventurous, nature-loving Darcys ready to explore.
The week’s agenda was set, Darcy ever the meticulous planner, but of course with Alexander along for the excursion, each day’s enterprise could not be as time consuming as they may have wished. They began each day slowly, not leaving the house until after Alexander’s morning nap, and maintained a sedate pace, piling into the carriage rather than walking the short distances to the surrounding caves. Mrs. Hanford cared for the infant from the safety of the carriage or shaded locale with Mr. Anders and Watson providing protection while Lizzy and Darcy were away. He was a compliant baby, easy to amuse and keep contained, and handled the rigors of travel and strange environs with amazing composure.
On their first full day in the Peak, they drove to Treak Cliff Cavern, a mine for the beautiful and rare Blue John Stone, a type of bluish-purple mineral found only within the caverns of Derbyshire. Visitors were allowed limited access to the foremost chambers, paying a small fee for a guide to lead the way safely and point to the richly glittering veins of fluorspar. The polished stones were prevalent in the shops of Castleton and Hope, sold as jewelry, ornaments, and utensils, and were even sold in their raw crystallized form from vendors clustered about the mine’s trailhead. First mined and fashioned into priceless vessels by the Romans, the unique stone was not rediscovered until the mid-1700s, it now a prime commodity of the Derbyshire region.
Lizzy was awed by her first real cave, the Pemberley cave paling in comparison. Her husband, of course, was not offended by this. He was well aware that the Pemberley cave was dull, only a young boy’s imagination seeing it as anything to spark great interest. The humorous aspect of his wife’s response to Treak Cliff was that, aside from the Blue John which was remarkable, the cave itself was mundane compared to the others to be visited. Darcy purchased several items made from the multi-colored stone including three pairs of earrings, a necklace, and a hair comb for Lizzy; a carved horse figurine for Alexander’s collection; and a set of wine goblets as souvenirs of their visit.
Lizzy’s enthusiasm after just one day of hiking steep trails and investigating subterranean cavities was so high that Darcy could barely contain his own zeal to get started the following day. Prior arrangements had been made for their tour of Speedwell Cavern. Darcy vividly remembered the one time he entered the horizontal mouth cut naturally into the sloping hill and descended the 105 steps to the submerged basin. He had no idea what to expect, his jaw dropping at the incredible journey taken and the wonders seen. Therefore, he was excited to share the experience with Elizabeth, knowing she would be as awestruck as he had been.
Hacked by miners searching for lead in the late 1700s, unsuccessfully as it turned out, the narrow entrance at the foot of Winnats Pass was easily reached by a short walk. The carved steps steeply declined, the relatively smooth tunnel a marvel not so much in workmanship, as it was crudely cut, but in the staggering revelation of how difficult the labor must have been. It was cool under the layers of solid rock and dimly lit. Great care was necessary, but the stairs were clear and stable, and they arrived at the gravel and wood landing without mishap.
Darcy was watching Lizzy avidly as they neared the end, thus he saw her momentary confusion as she glanced around, looking for the rocky ground or trail that one would expect. Then he saw her eyes widen in shock as the guide moved unerringly forward and the other people in their small group parted to follow him, allowing her to see that nothing was before them except a line of boats tied to simple wooden posts nailed into the rough wooden dock. They bobbed gently on the canal of dirty water that covered the unseeable rock floor of what was a rounded tunnel gouged horizontally into the solid rock. The “roof” of the small cavern landing was not much higher than a tall man, Darcy’s hair brushing the ceiling in places, and the tunnel that could be seen before it disappeared into darkness around a bend, was considerably lower.
He had not worried that Elizabeth would grow frightened, since she had never exhibited a fear of confined places, including the Pemberley cave, but watching her eyes now he began to regret that he had not warned her. She appeared so stunned, looking about with eyes wide and dilated, that he leaned in, his arm pulling her tight to his side.
Yet, just as he was about to whisper that they could leave if she wished, she gazed up at him with the lively exuberance so typically Elizabeth, her voice breathless when she spoke. “We take the boats? Through the tunnel? Oh my word! William, this is incredible! Where do they lead? How do we row? It is so narrow! How far…?”
His laugh stayed her endless questions. “Here I was thinking you were nervous.” He kissed her forehead, propelling her gently toward the front boat that was being boarded. “Be patient, Mrs. Darcy. You shall see.”
The guide sat in the front, facing forward, with the ten passengers settled onto plank benches. Darcy sat on the outside with Lizzy close to his side, although his caution was probably unnecessary as the boats were inches narrower than the tunnel width, the bottom flat to lend stability, so the likelihood of capsizing was slim. The answer to Lizzy’s question of rowing was quickly revealed when the guide grabbed onto a post sticking up from the platform and pulled hard, propelling the boat forward over the water. The speed was faster than one would think, hidden undercurrents from the numerous waterfalls feeding the cavern not only creating a constant echo of rumbling water but aiding the driver’s efforts. He used embedded rails and grooves in the rock to grab onto and keep them moving. Spaced lamps swung from hooks in the ceiling, illuminating the passageway and casting ruddy glows onto the striated rock.
It was eerie but beautiful. Dozens of colors wove within the layers of limestone and gritstone, the seeping rivulets of water creating patterns over the encrusted surface. Talking was muted, even the hushed voices carrying strangely and mingling with the echo of moving water. They reached a wider pool, called Halfway House the guide informed them, where they passed another boatload of passengers returning to the dock. Spirits were high, their faces expressing their awe and pleasure as they waved to the newcomers. As they traveled on the one-boat width tunnel, the concept of time passing skewed in the dusky atmosphere, the guide told the story of the past-century’s miners searching for the lead they suspected lurked below due to the prevalence of the metal in other parts of the Peaks. It was an endeavor destined to be a financial catastrophe, unfortunately, with tourism being the only recompense.