I expected that the fair maiden (for it is always a maiden in these sorts of circumstances, you know) would fall into my arms, and I was quite prepared to offer her my assistance through her womanly hysterics. Instead, she cried, “My gown!” And immediately she began decrying, oh, a great many things, from carriages to small children. When she recollected my presence, she blushed, and thanked me prettily for my help. We made ourselves known to each other, and I found her to be none other than the sister of your brother Bingley. I had not time to discover how she had found herself among the condemned before she began chastising her footman severely for allowing her to be jostled into the street. I know Mr. Bingley to be with you at Pemberley. Would you therefore care to satisfy my curiosity as to how his sister found herself in London in June?
I will only add that I found her a pretty sort of woman, but rather too tall and too thin, and with features too strong to be of any real pleasure to my eyes. A shame, because the company of a beautiful woman would not be unappreciated.
And so I bid you adieu, Cousin, until my next.
Yours, &c., R. F.
II. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST
June 2
My dearest Louisa,
You already know that I am wretched. Having detailed at length the evils of London in the summer in my last, I will say only that nothing has changed and I am still as miserable as I was a week ago. London is still hot, the air is still stale, and the company still nonexistent. All the world is enjoying pleasures that are denied me. As if this were not enough, today I was very nearly killed when an urchin knocked me into the street to be run down by a hack chaise. Aunt Lucy’s footman did nothing to help, yet still managed to drop my packages in his shock. If not for the assistance of a gentleman, I might not be writing this letter.
Our aunt sends her regards. Those were the last words she spoke to me before she retired to her apartment this morning. “If you should happen to write to anyone I know, do send my regards.” She is not fond of me. I do believe that my presence here is as much a punishment to her as it is to me. I have yet to forgive either you or Charles for condemning me to this. I can hear you protesting that it was our uncle who forced my hand, playing upon my guilt until I agreed to stay; but neither of you came to my aid, though you must have known that I have not the temperament to be a companion for an old woman who takes no pleasure in anything.
Oh, but I ought to mention that the gentleman who assisted me this morning was Colonel Fitzwilliam, the cousin of Mr. Darcy. I am sorry to say he is not at all handsome, especially compared with his cousin. I suppose there is a slight resemblance about the eyes, but that is all. He is altogether very plain, and his ears stick out almost comically. He will not do at all. I can see your expression, Louisa! Rest assured, I am not thinking any such thing. I am done with the entire family. I would not let myself have any hopes in his direction, for certainly the moment I even thought such a thing, he would fall madly in love with the daughter of a glove maker.
I hope my brother’s ill health has been improved by the waters at Bath and that you are well. As asked, I shall make no congratulations regarding that small line you tucked into your most recent letter, but I trust you will keep me appraised, and give me the honor of being the first to send well wishes when the matter becomes a certainty (as I am sure it will, dearest). Do write to me soon. Your letters are one of the few things I have to look forward to as I carry out my sentence.
Your most devoted sister, Caroline
III. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY
June 9
Dear Cousin,
I trust my last satisfied your request for “a letter fit to be read in company,” with all its idle pleasantries; regards to my father, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and Mrs. Darcy; love for Georgiana; &c. In this letter, I shall indulge myself by writing only to you.
I took the liberty of calling upon Miss Bingley at her aunt’s house two days ago. The aunt—who, I am told, is also a Miss Bingley—was not present and had retired to her rooms for the day. It was a pleasant sort of social call. I tried not to lend too much weight to my prior knowledge of her, as my prior knowledge of her came mostly through you, and you can be most severe on women of her sort. For myself, I found her pleasing, polite, and genteel company.
She made it clear that I am welcome to come again, though she, of course, can have no occasion for calling on me. I suppose I see in her a fellow prisoner, trapped in the hot and stale London air, with only the epistles of our friends and relations to remind us that the outside world exists. Commiseration in mutual misery is as steady a foundation for a casual acquaintance as any.
It has been a day since I penned the last. It occurred to me to attend a small exhibition of portraits that I had heard spoken of at the club. I happened to see Miss Bingley there. The gallery was largely empty, as most places are at this time, and we had much time to talk as we walked about, certainly more than is afforded by a social call. I wonder if she has ever held a real opinion in her life; everything that came from her mouth seemed calculated to please, and to conform to the fashion.
But this is an exceptionally dull letter. I suppose I should conclude, lest I spill more ink upon the subject of my two conversations with Miss Bingley, which (and this is a sad commentary) are the most interesting things that have happened in this past week.
Yours, R. F.
IV. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. BINGLEY
June 10
Dear Jane,
I trust this letter finds you and all your family in good health. I shall not hope that you find Pemberley pleasing, for to hope is to suggest something that is uncertain, and there is nothing more certain than that Pemberley will please. I well remember my first visit, and I could write for hours about the pleasing walks and tastefully appointed rooms. It is the work of generations; I do not believe there is a finer estate in all England.
I beg you will forgive me for failing to write earlier, but I have had so very much to do. London is not the ideal place to spend one’s summer, ’tis true, but I have so many associates in town that I have had quite a lot of society to choose from. There was a lovely art exhibition yesterday. It was of portraiture, and featured a number of renowned artists, including a few portraits by Mr. Gainsborough, though my particular favorite was a portrait of Mrs. Stanhope by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The conversation was nearly as pleasant as the art itself; it is so fine to exchange reasoned, educated opinions with those of well-formed minds.
Do give my love to Charles, to Georgiana, and to your dear sister, Mrs. Darcy. I beg you will excuse the brevity of this letter. I shall write again as soon as I have the time.
Yours, Caroline Bingley
V. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST
June 10
Dearest,
Can one die of boredom? There is no one here to speak to—this house is bereft of people. My aunt and I have progressed from civil silence to cross words. I am not certain what I have done to offend her, but she scolds me terribly for everything, from the dress of my hair to my playing and drawing. I am at home as rarely as possible, but there is so little to do. There are some small art showings. There will be an exhibition of exotic plants soon, which is the first thing I have looked forward to since I came here.
Colonel Fitzwilliam called three days ago, and I found him pleasing enough. We met again at an exhibition of portraits, and spoke for some time. I did not go with the intent to be pleased. The picturesque is the fashion now, you know, and I am told that portraits are often thought inferior to examinations of nature. Colonel Fitzwilliam says that he prefers portraiture to all other forms of art. He spoke with so much feeling of his pleasure in observing the expressions on the faces of the subjects that I began to like them very much myself. I hope that he calls again. Any company at all would be an improvement over my current isolation.
—June 13—
I left this letter open in the hope that something would happen that would make it worth the cost of the paper. Colonel Fitzwilliam
called again, a brief social call, and my aunt held a small card party. Can you imagine anything more insufferable than ten old women playing cards for hours at a time? They talked of nothing but how things were when they were girls—and how stodgy and staid and dull our generation is becoming!
I have tortured myself by reading Jane’s most recent letter from Pemberley. She is enraptured with it, of course. Who would not be? She has filled two pages, and half a page crosswise with her ramblings. The walks are lovely. The company is delightful. Miss Darcy plays piano so well. Have you gotten one like it?
Charles added his own illegible scrawl to the end of the letter. I have not the faintest idea of what he has written. No doubt, it is more of the same—mixed, of course, with his own puppyish, slavish compliments for Jane, and Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Darcy, and the whole lot of them. I care for none of it.
(By the by, when you see my brother next, will you mention how positively shabby my green gown looks? It must be replaced, and the going will be easier if you soften him for me first.)
I have thought a bit more on Mrs. Bingley’s letter, and I am decided. It is her revenge. She still hates me for not telling Charles she was in town, and the letter is exactly calculated to drive home to me everything I am missing. Our sister is more devious than either of us knew, Louisa, I am sure of it.
I shall end this letter now. I love you dearly, Sister. You know not how much I wish I were with you.
Yours,
Caroline
VI. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY
June 15
Darcy,
It is very late, or perhaps I should say very early, but I cannot sleep. Do not concern yourself. There is nothing the matter. I am grown vastly stupid and dull of late. This house is empty and I have so little to do. My father’s business is nothing to keep a man truly occupied. It is very hot. I have been in hotter places, places where the sun beats down upon your head with such intensity as to make a man think of the fires of hell. Yet one expects it in such regions. I have every window open, and the noise from the carriages scrapes my nerves raw. I am in such an odd mood. I am cross. My father will return to find that I have driven out all of his servants with my hash words and queer demands.
It is many hours since I wrote the last, and I very nearly took out a new sheet of paper as I read over what I had written (early this morning). But I trust you not to place too much stock in my ramblings. I am much better now, with several hours of sleep and a meal in my belly.
There was an exhibition of exotic plants, which I attended this afternoon. Miss Bingley was there, and greeted me prettily when we met, and we took in nearly the whole of the exhibition together. Did you know she is quite the botanist? I am not one of those men who likes imbecility in females, but she had such an air of superior knowledge about her that I could not resist teasing her.
We were bent over an orchid, a lovely plant, and Miss Bingley was telling me of how they reproduce. I gather that it is a finicky business. I said, “Miss Bingley, do you not find that there is something untoward about a woman knowing quite so much about these matters?”
She looked at me sharply and said, “What ever do you mean, sir?”
“All this talk of male and female and of the way in which the male is joined with the female—it seems almost an affront to modesty.”
She blushed and said coldly, “A mind that is always looking to make even things that are innocent seem rife with—with improper meaning—might see it in such a light. But I do not have one of those minds.”
She was rather standoffish with me for the rest of the afternoon, and I believe I will call on her tomorrow and set things right between us. She is my only friend in London, you know. It would not do for her to be cross with me.
Yours, &c., R. F.
VII. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST
June 16
My dearest Louisa,
I am so very, very sorry for your loss. Do take care of yourself, and listen to the accoucheur. Would that I could fly out of here and wrap my arms around you. You need only ask and I will leave for Bath at once.
Your most devoted and loving sister, Caroline
VIII. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR DARCY
June 19
Cousin,
I have written another letter fit to be read in company, but this sheet is for you alone. I called upon Miss Bingley on the 16th, but I was told she was “not at home.” I have not yet gone back. If she is still cross with me for what I said at the exhibition—which, upon reflection, was perhaps somewhat unkind—I shall not tax her by calling every day. I will try again tomorrow.
We have had rain these past two days, and my hip has ached terribly the entire time. It is eight months since they dug the bullet out, and it is still not right. I begin to fear it will never be right again. Yesterday morning, I nearly wept as I dragged myself from my bed. A very hot towel is the only thing that will do for it, but my valet must replace them every ten minutes, for even in the heat they cool too quickly to be of relief for very long.
No more of this!
I have been reading Mr. Smith’s Wealth of Nations upon your recommendation, and recently finished it. I found those pages in which he speaks of treaties of commerce most interesting, that being what I am so much concerned with at present. What would Mr. Smith think of my so intensely promoting a treaty that would prove advantageous to my father’s interests, without regard to its effects upon others? I like to think he would be as disgusted with the whole business as I myself am.
I will return the book to the circulating library tomorrow, if this infernal rain will end.
Yours, R. F.
IX. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST
June 22
Dear Louisa,
I am glad to hear you are recovered, in body if not in mind. I have every desire to comfort you with words and actions, but you say you prefer that I not make a fuss, and I will respect your wishes.
My aunt and I are getting on rather better of late. We have taken to ignoring each other again, which is a vast improvement over sniping at each other all the day. I am pleased that we have finally seen an end to the rain, and I can once again leave the house at my ease. I left once or twice even with the rain, to escape the confinement of my aunt’s company, and returned with all the appearance of a drowned cat. A grand idea this was! Do remind me to thank my uncle for his taking the time and effort to arrange my affairs to suit himself.
Yesterday, I went to the circulating library. My aunt has such a poor collection of books. There is not a novel in the entire house. Not that I read novels, of course, but there are a select few that can be instructive or useful. I hear so many good things about Madam d’Arblay, and I thought to get the first volume of her most recent work. Colonel Fitzwilliam was on his way out when I entered, but he stepped inside with me again when we greeted each other. He did not recommend Camilla, but thought that I might like Evelina. Having read a few pages of it, I find I like it very well.
He apologized for what he said to me at the exotic plants exhibition, which I never did tell you of, and which does not signify in any case. He was very impertinent and I was rather cross with him, but it is forgiven now. He walked me home, but declined to come in. Perhaps he will come again tomorrow. I miss his company. I should say, I miss company, and his is the only I have at present.
I must conclude. I shall take a cool bath tonight, and I will go to bed early. A good night’s sleep does wonders for the complexion. Do care for yourself, dearest.
Yours,
Caroline
X. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY
June 25
Cousin,
Do you cringe when you see my direction on a letter? I have no intention of stopping my frequent epistles, no matter your answer. I am only curious about how they are received.
I thank you for your concern regarding both my physical and mental well-being. Physically, I am much better. I have had only a little pain these past few days, mostly in the m
orning. I have not touched the laudanum for nearly a week, though I do sometimes require a bracing drink. I fear I may have given up the cane too soon. It helps greatly when I use one, and I have brought mine out to use when I am at home alone. I do not like to use it in company.
I am also much improved in spirits. I cannot account for it, except perhaps it is because I have been about the town more. I have called upon Miss Bingley several times. I fear I encroach upon her hospitality, for my visits are longer than the usual social call, but she is often the one who begs me to stay a bit longer. Her aunt seems a very unpleasant sort of woman. I am surprised that anyone thought the two of them would be good company for each other. She would be far happier if she were with her brother, at Pemberley. But I suppose I am happier because she is in London, so I will be selfish and say I am glad she is among the condemned.
She is surprisingly pleasing to call upon, you know. She is not what I would call a wit, but her manners are everything polite and engaging, and she is educated in all of those things that a woman is supposed to be educated in, and a few things more. She plays quite well, and she showed me several of her drawings. I was even talked into sitting for her for a spell, and am engaged to sit for her again in a few days. I have seen the beginnings of her sketch, though I had to sneak a glance, for she would not show it to me. My ears do not stick out that much.
The Road to Pemberley Page 12
