“There’s a title to wear proudly,” Lizzy interjected with a laugh.

“Truly,” Darcy agreed with a smile. “You are welcome to read them, Mrs. Hanford, as well as anything else in the library, as you know.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Today I can promise that we shall see no thieves. We will, however, observe the troglodytes. The cave dwellers, that is. These are normal citizens who chose to live within the upper reaches of the cave. As you shall see, it is quite large. They build small houses under the rock, a whole miniature village, in fact, with barns for their livestock and workshops to ply their trade. Living quite happily and secure, one would imagine.”

“How odd,” the nanny declared, obviously baffled by the concept.

“I would tend to agree with you, madam. It is not how I would choose to live. But they have done so for centuries, perhaps at one time living in harmony with the thieves!” He laughed, and they joined in. “Now they continue the ancient tradition of making rope for the local mines. The moist atmosphere of the cavern aids the process. Rather ingenious, actually. The poet Charles Cotton wrote in his ‘Wonders of the Peake,’ Now to the cave we come, wherein is found,A new strange thing, a village underground:Houses and barns for men and beasts behoof,With walls distinct, under one solid roof.

“Cotton was a devoted Derbyshire gentleman and his poems express his great love for our fair county. I have several compilations of his writings if you appreciate poetry.”

Peak Cliff cavern, previously glimpsed from the crest above where Peveril Castle proudly guarded, was easily reached. The gently sloping, picturesque tree and brush-lined pathway leading to the cave followed the river and was a pleasant walk. Dozens of cottages nestled within the trees, residents going about the business of normal life and impervious to the tourists treading past in endless streams. A last curve in the road revealed the massive opening, the effect dazzling to behold.

The yawning portal, entirely natural as this cavern had rarely been used for mining, was a rounded, gaping hole resembling an unpillared arch, easily a hundred feet across and sixty feet high. It cut perpendicularly into the vertical cliff of solid limestone that rose nearly three hundred feet to the bluff above. The floor was predominately level on the right side, swept clean of debris by the people who called this gulf their home, and tapered downward on the leftward side into uneven terraces. The lowest point was where the Peakshole River flowed. The mouth was so wide that one could see a great distance into the interior, the magnitude of just how enormous the cavern was readily discernable. The farthest reaches faded to grey and then inky black as the blaze of day no longer penetrated, but the immediate area was well lighted.

A cluster of small huts covered the area to the right. The flat terraces provided the working surface, the area cluttered with industrious workers and yards of rope strung across the tall posts and wound around big spools. For a fee that they were happy to pay, a local man gave them a tour of the village and demonstrated the art of rope making. Darcy, of course, was especially fascinated.

Alexander and Mrs. Hanford were left outside, sheltered under canopies set up for visitors, while their guide led a small group of adventurous souls deeper into the residential portion of the cave, known as “the vestibule.” They passed women and playing children, the activities and mood strangely normal despite the tonnage of solid rock overhead. It was eerie.

They were handed lights and instructed to stay close. The vestibule cavern narrowed toward the back into a low tunnel that required Darcy and several others to stoop in order to pass through, but was fortunately short, before opening into the first of the two largest inner chambers. The Great Cavern, also referred to as Bell House due to its general shape, was dry and cool. The walls were difficult to discern in the dim light, but the floor was littered with loose rocks and fascinating calcifications that glowed in the lamplight hung from the ceiling. Flitches of Bacon, the guide called them, and as absurd as the moniker was, they did rather resemble wavy strips of bacon.

A long walk brought them to a broad river, the fancifully named Styx. Ferrying across the river in tiny boats that required the passenger to lie flat was the only way to reach the next chamber. Darcy had taken the trip once before, during his sojourn with Mr. Logan and his Cambridge friends, so he knew it to be safe if mildly scary. He hesitated, glancing to Lizzy to gauge her opinion. That she was nervous was obvious, but she was not to be deterred.

“I have come this far, William, and I won’t turn back.” Her voice quavered slightly, but she lifted her chin and bravely stepped into the boat. Darcy chuckled, his heart swelling with pride at her tenacity.

The chamber across the river was larger and far more interesting. Here the walls and ceiling were impossible to see, the breadth of the cave known to be over two hundred feet although one only had the impression of vast space. They cautiously explored, holding tightly to their lights and, in the case of Darcy and Lizzy, tightly to each other. Their feet veered instinctively toward the extremity of the vacuity where the echoing splash of water hinted strongly to what they would see.

Another underground stream, this one shallow, flowed and was fed by an incessant rain of droplets from crevices in the rock high above. It was this natural aperture from whence the cavern’s name derived: Roger Rain’s House. The combination of moisture in the air, damp rock, nonexistent sunlight, and still air created an environment that was bordering on cold.

Traversing the remaining rock hollows accessible meant crossing the running rivulet numerous times, but the water was shallow. The deeper caves descended gradually as they bored into the earth and were smaller. They were filled with stalactites in all sizes, some enormous and reaching completely to the ground to form natural pillars. Most were intact but many were broken or dislocated from their original placement on the ceiling. There were other oddities such as a huge pile of sand carried in and deposited by the river, the marine exuviae embedded into the strata of the limestone walls, and the three arches so perfectly carved into one rock wall that they appeared hand hewn.

But the crescendo was the spontaneous chorus that broke out. Disembodied voices burst forth from the unseen upper heights of the chasm, lifted in a song that reverberated against the walls. It was beautiful and creepy, pleasurable and astonishing. The mystery was quickly solved once the voices faded, a group of singers descending down a makeshift stairway to stand visible on a sort of chancel where they accepted applause and praise.

Returning to the surface was a relief, even though the enterprise had been thrilling. Both Lizzy and Darcy blinked in the sun that seemed far brighter than it had an hour previously and sucked in huge lungfuls of air.

Lizzy’s mien was the common one of impish enthusiasm that Darcy knew meant she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. He had as well, his expression controlled but the wide smile and shimmering eyes revealed his delight in the escapade. Still, Lizzy’s first words upon crossing the arched portal echoed his sentiments, “I do not believe I have ever been so happy to see the sun.”

They paused on the threshold, gazing back into the abyss. Mrs. Hanford saw them and rose with a still sleeping Alexander in her arms, walking to join them.

Darcy nodded. “I know what you mean. I love adventure, but cave exploration is definitely not on my list of possible hobbies. That takes a special breed of man. But now I have a greater appreciation for the rapidly increasing number of men who are embracing the activity.”

“Think how amazing it must be to happen upon a subterranean wonder, knowing that you are the first human eyes to ever behold it. That would be quite exhilarating.”

Darcy laughed softly, nudging her hand with his. “You are too busy as a wife and mother to dash off and discover caves, my dear.”

She laughed, turning to take Alexander into her arms. “Have no fear. I am abundantly content to care for my husband and son. That is plenty of adventure for me.” She kissed the infant’s forehead, curly locks tickling her nose, and looked up at her husband with a teasing grin. She opened her mouth to speak, most likely planning a humorous jibe, but the words were never uttered.

A loud cracking sound pierced the air, echoing through the ravine.

Everyone froze, reflexively gazing upward to where the noise originated. A chunk of rock protruding from the face of limestone near the edge of the towering cliff was suddenly and inexplicably breaking away. The clap of severing stone mixed with the high-pitched scrape of rock upon rock and the crunch of crumbling gravel. Time seemed to stop as they stared transfixed at the five-foot boulder directly above their heads that, with a final reverberating boom, disengaged. It started sliding down the flat face, the motion painfully slow in the paralyzed time, but gained speed quickly. The rock’s weight and rain of dirt, plants, and gravel caused it to twist in the air, toppling over as the jagged projectile plummeted down the three hundred foot escarpment.

Voices lifted in shouts and screams. People scattered in all directions. Lizzy stood open-mouthed, immobile in stupefied terror, staring at the calamity heading straight for her. Darcy, thankfully, reacted with brisk efficiency. At the second plangent crack, he pivoted, grabbing his wife and child in a crushing embrace, lifting bodily until Lizzy’s feet were off the ground, and lunged up the trail away from where the avalanche was destined to land. He whipped his head toward Mrs. Hanford, who also stood rooted to the spot, yelling in a snapping command, “Mrs. Hanford! Move!”