The Road to Pemberley

by Marsha Altman

  I have taken your advice and called upon the Gardiners. It seemed a bit odd, calling upon people I had never before met, but we are family, in a way. Mr. Gardiner was not at home when I called, but Mrs. Gardiner was very hospitable. I was able to meet Mr. Gardiner the following day, and I am engaged to attend a small party at their house next week. I am very much looking forward to it. I mentioned that Miss Bingley was also in town, and after a very long pause, an invitation was extended to her as well. I carried their invitation to her, but she declined it. Is there something I should know regarding the Gardiners and Miss Bingley?

  Do give Georgiana my love, and my regards to everyone.

  Yours, &c., R. F.

  XI. MISS BINGLEY TO JANE BINGLEY

  June 30

  Dear Jane,

  I thank you for your most recent letter. I am so pleased that you are enjoying yourself at Pemberley. For myself, I find that London in the summer is not nearly so bad as I had feared. There are so many people in town, one begins to forget it is not the height of the social season. Mr. Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, calls often, and I recently attended a party at the home of your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. They are delightful company, and they have such wonderful, sweet children.

  There have been a great many exhibitions, of exotic plants and of portraits and of all manner of things. My mind is full to bursting with all that is going on here.

  I do wish I had time to write you a proper letter. It seems there is so much to say, and yet when I sit down to write to you, I can never say it all. Well, I do hope to hear from you again very soon. All my love to Charles.

  Your sister, Caroline

  XII. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST

  June 30

  Dear Sister,

  Jane must truly despise me. Her most recent letter is two pages of nothing but what a wonderful time they are all having at Pemberley. I cried when I read it.

  No, I must be more complete. It was not only Jane’s letter that made me cry. I was already quite out of sorts when I received it this morning. I attended a party at the Gardiners’ house. When Colonel Fitzwilliam first brought me the invitation, I declined it, as I thought wise, but a second, written invitation arrived, and against my better judgment, I accepted. I wish I had not. The Gardiners have clearly not forgiven me for the events of more than a year ago. Honestly, Louisa, have they met Mrs. Bennet? The scandal with the youngest only proves what I have said all along: the Bennets are a vulgar, ill-bred family. I was only trying to protect my brother from a most imprudent match! I never thought I would say this, but I am glad, for Charles’s sake, that Eliza Bennet managed to catch Mr. Darcy. At least now they will manage Mrs. Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, and the two other girls between themselves, and it will not be Charles’s lot alone.

  I have lost the thread of my thoughts. To return to my point, the Gardiners were cold to me, which truly would not have bothered me, but Colonel Fitzwilliam was cold to me as well. I suppose this means they have told him all about me, and he no longer cares for me. I do not know why this bothers me so, only it was nice to have a friend in London. I tried my very best to make conversation with him, but I found myself rebuffed.

  I sat down beside him and said, “You have not called in several days, sir.”

  “No. I have unfortunately not had the opportunity to do so,” he said, not quite unkindly, but not with very great warmth.

  “Your sketch is still unfinished. When will I have the opportunity to complete it?”

  “I am sure,” said he, “that a lady of your talents must have a great many things to draw that are far more interesting than myself.”

  This was said unkindly, and he moved away before I could say anything in reply, which was a good thing, for I could not trust myself to speak for several moments.

  I spoke to few other people the entire evening, and left as early as I possibly could. I very nearly hurled the unfinished sketch into a fire when I returned home. But I could not quite bring myself to do so, especially as a fire would have had to have been made simply for the purpose of burning the sketch, and that seemed rather a big to-do for a spiteful gesture. I know not why I care so much. It was pleasant to have a friend, someone to talk to, and—well, it matters not. Tomorrow, I will attend another botanical exhibit. I had planned to finish Evelina tonight, but as I had only planned it in the hope of discussing it with Colonel Fitzwilliam when he next called, I see no reason to bother.

  But do tell me all about how you are faring, dearest. Your spirits seem dull. You write that Mr. Hurst is a great help to you, and that is very good to hear. I am glad also that his health is improving, but then your husband seems the sort of man whose health is most positively affected by Bath: A man who becomes very ill when he wishes to go, and quite well again when he is there.

  I send my love to you both.

  Your sister, Caroline

  XIII. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY

  July 6

  Cousin,

  I am out of sorts again, I fear. I suppose it is because I have so little to do. One would think that business so vitally important to my father that it must needs keep me in London for more than three months would occupy a greater portion of my time, but it is not so. It is a slow-moving thing, consisting of brief calls to men I hardly know and genial conversation lacking substance, yet always with subtle persuasion underlying every word. Deals and offers made, seeming to have nothing to do with the true aims of either party, but both playing a sort of extended chess match, moving pawns and rooks into place until such time as the final strategy is revealed. I do not speak of myself as a player, you understand, merely a pawn.

  I have not called upon Miss Bingley for two weeks. It is a bit cold of me, I suppose, but the sort of duplicity that you described has rather put me off.

  The weather has been fine, neither oppressively hot nor miserably rainy, but the air is still thick and choking. The coal dust is dreadful. Why, I wonder, is it worse in the summer than in the winter? One would think that the winter, with the many fires that are burning in the many stoves in the city, would see the worst of it. It is one of the great mysteries of life.

  I ought to call again on Miss Bingley. It is unkind of me to cut her so. I was not under any misconception about her, you know. She is much the same as any lady of the ton. (Do you dislike that word as much as I do? There is something very affected about it.) I have dealt with such ladies all my life. I did not expect any more from her. Perhaps I had hoped for more.

  Lady Susan O’Brien, the one who ran off with the actor when she was young, and was exiled to the colonies for it, is in town with her husband. He has gotten some appointment or other, no doubt through the charity of her family. I did call. I thought it only proper, because her brother is a friend of my father, but though they are a lovely couple, I was ill at ease in their company. Perhaps my knowledge of their elopement was an unpleasant reminder of things best left unmentioned.

  And now I have used up all of my news, and all of the news that I am likely to have for some time. I believe I will call upon Miss Bingley tomorrow. Politeness demands it. I have no intention of staying for very long, however.

  Yours, &c., R. F.

  XIV. MISS BINGLEY TO CHARLES BINGLEY

  July 7

  My dear Brother,

  Might I impose upon you to write to your uncle and use your not inconsiderable influence with him to convince him to send me an advance on my allowance. I do not think this an unreasonable request, because—and do forgive me if I am failing to grasp some theory of economics that is beyond my ken—the interest from my twenty thousand pounds is, in fact, mine. I know that we poor females are hopeless with money, and I do so appreciate my uncle structuring the annuity so that I am paid only once per quarter, and must put myself to much trouble in order to take any sort of advance on the funds, but if I am willing to take such trouble—for the sake of a lovely necklace, which I am getting at a very good price—I find that I become rather put out upon receivin
g a letter in which I am talked to like a child.

  Further, when you write, do tell him that I am not such a fool as to touch the principal of my fortune, and he need not concern himself about that.

  All my love, Caroline

  XV. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST

  July 7

  Dear Louisa,

  Colonel Fitzwilliam called today. I was very nearly not at home to him, but I have been very much lacking in company of late, and I could not bring myself to turn him away, though he was so unkind. He stayed a very long time. I hardly noticed how late the hour had become until after he had gone. It is very odd that time seems to fly by when I am in his presence. Our conversation was a bit strained at first. I do not know what he was told about me, and I do not care. We were soon on good terms again, though perhaps not on terms so good as before.

  We talked gossip a bit, but there is little good gossip. Everyone is behaving themselves right now, or their misbehavior has not yet come to light in any case. How dull.

  As we spoke, I noticed he would occasionally grimace, and shift in his seat, and I finally asked, “Are you quite all right, sir?”

  “Well enough,” he replied. “I was shot not a year ago. My hip has not yet set itself to rights. I am fine, most days. I think perhaps it will rain again soon.”

  “I am very sorry,” I said. “It must have hurt very much.”

  His lips twisted into something I suppose you could call a smile. “Yes, very much. It has been many months, and I am still sometimes set off by reminders of—” He broke off abruptly and complimented the wallpaper, for which I thanked him on behalf of my aunt.

  “Did you attend the botanical exhibition?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  “It is still open, I believe. I had thought to go tomorrow, but I suppose now I will not have the pleasure of seeing you there.”

  “Oh, but I may go again,” I said. I do not know why I said this, for I had no such plans. It is not as though I want to be in his presence every day.

  “I will look for you then,” he said, his voice suddenly cool.

  I must know what he was told about me! I should not care, but it vexes me to have him think ill of me. The Gardiners, I am sure, made me out to be quite the harpy.

  No, I do not care. It matters not.

  I had best conclude. I really must pen a letter to Mrs. Darcy. I have been putting it off, but it will not do to neglect her.

  Your devoted sister, Caroline

  XVI. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY

  July 11

  Dear Cousin,

  On Tuesday, I took in yet another botanical exhibition. It was not quite as grand in scope or perfectly arranged as the former, but I found it more interesting. The plants were those species native to England. I saw Miss Bingley there, though she had been once before. She was far more quiet than the most recent time I had seen her at such a show, and once or twice I said something I knew to be wrong and she did not correct me. I fear she may have taken my previous censure—which was meant in jest, truly!—too much to heart. It was not my intention to quiet her entirely.

  We went for a ride in the park, after. I know it is not quite smiled upon to be seen riding in a gig with a woman not one’s relation, but Hyde Park was very deserted, and I hardly intend to make a habit of it. In any case, her abigail was with us, which always lends respectability to a situation. She became more talkative then, finding some unkind thing to say about nearly everyone we passed.

  “Good heavens, that woman is wearing panniers. Has she been asleep since ’74?”

  “I do believe I could write my name on that woman’s face. Some people ought to have powder rationed out to them in small quantities each day. Was that man’s cravat tied by a drunken monkey in the midst of an apoplexy, do you think?”

  I am ashamed to admit how much she amused me.

  I must say that she is a very pretty woman. Her height is striking. I have always preferred women who were shorter and fatter, but I find I rather like a woman who can look me right in the eye without bending her neck at a painful angle. She looked particularly well this day. I believe it was the light. It is fortunate for her that she does not have her brother’s red hair; red hair on women is always a disadvantage. Her hair is a very light brown, and though she was shaded by her bonnet and her parasol, once in a while the sunlight caught the curls at the sides of her face, and it set off her features in a very flattering way. I still think she is too thin, but women nearly always develop a plumpness as they age. I daresay she will be more handsome at one and thirty than she is at one and twenty.

  Your news about Georgiana was very pleasing. I am glad that Mrs. Darcy is proving to be the sort of influence you had hoped, and that Georgiana has become rather less shy of late. I am delighted also to hear of her friendship with Mrs. Bingley. I do not claim to know Mrs. Bingley very well, but what I have seen and heard of her I like exceedingly, and I am moreover always happy to see Georgiana making any new friend.

  I think that perhaps I am forgetting something. Did you not mention something of importance in your most recent letter? I do not have it here in front of me, and I cannot seem to bring it to mind. It cannot have been so very important if it has slipped my mind. Ah! I recall now! Mrs. Darcy has found herself in the family way, has she? Well, I offer my congratulations, of course. I do hope for your sake that it is a boy. You are outnumbered. You need another male presence, even if he is an infant.

  I need not tell you what a fortunate man you are, and unlike other men with wealth, health, beauty, and marital felicity, one cannot even hate you for your good fortune. You are too good. You deserve it all.

  Because you have put me in a sentimental mood, I sign myself

  Your humble and devoted cousin and friend,

  Richard Fitzwilliam

  XVII. MISS BINGLEY TO MRS. HURST

  July 17

  Dear Louisa,

  How shall I begin this letter? Shall I tell you how I came to my revelation? Shall I tell you every detail, down to the color of my gown and the dress of my hair? No, I will simply say it. I have fallen in love with Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  I feel like such a fool for allowing it to happen. I do not know how it happened. He is not at all handsome! He does have very broad shoulders, I must in all fairness credit him with that. There is something in the twist of his mouth when he speaks that is very appealing, and his eyes—I like his eyes very much. They are a light brown, almost hazel, and striking, very striking. But no one could call him handsome.

  Yet his manners are so engaging and he is so pleasing to be around that I find I do not notice his less than ideal features, and notice far too much his better ones.

  I hate myself for this. I am sure it would not have happened were I not trapped here with nothing to do and no society to interest me. Perhaps I will join you in Bath. My aunt would say good riddance to my leaving her, and I would be away from him.

  Louisa, you alone know that I was in love—no, I was never in love with Mr. Darcy, but whatever certain people might think, it was not only his great fortune that attracted me to him. It hurt a great deal to lose him, and to a woman like Eliza Bennet!

  And now that I know what I feel for Colonel Fitzwilliam, I find myself very afraid of him. Does that not seem very odd to you? But I am not afraid of him, I am afraid of losing him, which will inevitably happen. He leaves town on the 4th of August, which seems at once too soon and not soon enough. Perhaps if he had not heard such a bad report of me from the Gardiners, I might entertain some hope. Perhaps if he were not such good friends with Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Darcy, whom he thinks excessively well of, and talks about far too often in far too complimentary terms, perhaps then I might…But he is such, and I cannot and will not allow myself to entertain any hope that he feels anything for me. Even if he did, Mr. Darcy would surely dissuade him. I know from my reception at the Darcys’ house in town this season just past that I am welcome there as Charles’s sister, nothing more.

 
; I have not yet told you how I came to this knowledge, this accursed knowledge about myself that I wish I did not have. He called again, yesterday, and stayed for quite a while. My aunt deigned to grace us with her presence, and we played at cards for a time. We played at piquet after she left us, and I won two guineas. We talked a while more, after the cards were set down, and I picked up the sketch I had begun several weeks earlier. He agreed to sit for me, and I made good progress, but it became late in the day, and he took his leave of me. It was all so unexceptional. Having him with me seemed the most natural thing in the world, and I could not remove him from my mind for the rest of the evening. I read books, and thought of passages he would like. I worked at my embroidery, and caught myself daydreaming of embroidering his handkerchiefs and making small items for his rooms.

  I had always thought falling in love a dramatic sort of thing, with swoons and declarations, but it happened so quietly, and now what am I to do about it? Oh, Louisa! If I avoid him, I will take from myself the only interesting companion I have. If I allow myself to be in his presence, I will surely give myself away. Your advice will be very welcome.

  Yours, Caroline

  XVIII. COLONEL FITZWILLIAM TO MR. DARCY

  July 18

  Cousin,

  I am not quite certain what your design was in sharing with me the information that Mrs. Darcy received from her aunt regarding Miss Bingley. I suspect it was to amuse me, but I fear that it has failed. Indeed, the effect may be quite the opposite from the one you intended, for I feel terribly guilty now. Miss Bingley did indeed keep much to herself at the Gardiners’ party, and I suppose one could say that her air was conceited, though I do not think she thought herself above the company so much as she did not know the company. It should have fallen to those who knew her to make her feel welcome. I do not censure the Gardiners in any way, for they were everything hospitable to everyone. But for myself, my behavior to her was so cold that I am not surprised she left as soon as she could.