Introducing Mrs. Collins
Dear Lizzy,
I am forced to write to you as I see you have no intention of writing to me, your own mother, even though you are away for what seems like a year.
Things are very bad here – Hill is away visiting her sister who is dying, so you can imagine how we suffer!
Your father, as you know, can hardly butter his own toast. Yes, he can read Latin, but can he fold his own nightshirt?
Can he make a pot of tea? No, he cannot.
I honestly do not think the timing could be worse.
With Jane in London and you gallivanting around Kent, it is the worst time in the world for Hill to be away – I cannot imagine how her sister has chosen now to be so very ill, if indeed she is so very ill. I have been informed she is very ill.
I have had two letters from Jane; she is such a good girl.
She has told me that she has seen the Bingley sisters – such nice, well-dressed ladies – and has been to several parties.
She must catch some attention in London with a face like hers.
I hope she remembers to show herself off.
Modesty will be her downfall, mark me. It will not be yours, I shouldn’t think.
Mrs Timpson, whom I am sure you will remember, is lately with child, which is her tenth. Her tenth! You will have your own thoughts on that, I am sure.
I have seen Lady Lucas, as she styles herself, and she tells me that all is well with Charlotte and her new, very fortunate situation.
I have had to hear it from her, Lizzy – as you have not written me any news!
Have you met Lady Catherine De Borgia? How large is the Collinses’ house?
Does Charlotte make it nice? Have you met any gentlemen on your stay? Have you worn your peach dress?
Why must I list these questions, Lizzy? Why have you not already offered the answers yourself?
The least you can do, as consolation for your rejection of Collins, is bring me news from Kent – a story, a little gossip.
Is Charlotte with child? Has she gained weight?
Do they talk about inheriting our house? I am sure they do.
I think you are coming home soon, and in truth, I will be glad of it, particularly while Hill is away. My great fear is that when she returns, she may be grieving – and, while I pity her, she will likely be at half capacity.
Your father is not well, but it is always hard to tell with him.
He has a cough, which as you can imagine is a strain on my nerves, and he has gotten a little thinner – but that may be simply because Hill is not around to bring him cheese constantly.
But I think he is not very ill. I think he enjoys the attention – something I cannot understand.
Write soon, Lizzy, and come home. You are missed.
Your mother