Write No Evil （Epistolary）
My Dearest Lizzy,
I hope this finds you well, and that you are sufficiently settled, though I miss you dearly.
I understand why you felt taking this position was the right course.
I must say, though, the timing seems a bit precipitous, and I hope you are not simply fleeing your fears.
However, we have discussed that issue to death, and I shall not presume to censure you again.
You must live your own life and make your own decisions; and I can see you are quite firm in this one.
As you requested, I attended the ball at Netherfield last night.
I was, as you well know, quite loath to do so.
Nothing short of your insistence would have sufficed to entice me there; and I must confess I very nearly turned around or hid in the library the moment I arrived.
Mother was naturally in her usual state of heightened exuberance, which decided the matter.
A few hours of discomfort seemed better than the months of censure I must endure should I refuse the ball.
In the end, I think I would have preferred the few months, because being completely unaware of what transpired, Mama kept pushing me towards Mr Bingley all night, until I finally feigned injury and declined dancing the rest of the evening.
Papa and I are naturally reluctant to share the story of what really happened with the most prolific gossip in Meryton for obvious reasons.
Papa, as you know, received Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy the day after that terrible night we spent at Netherfield, and while he did not tell me I must go to the ball, he mentioned once or twice that I was not to make myself fearful for no reason.
I know he tried to prevail with you using the same argument without success and hope you will not allow one night to take away your joy in life.
You were quite altered when you left, and I hope you will find happiness there, or that you come back and as Mary is fond of saying, ‘allow the balm of sisterly affection to heal you,’ or some such thing.
After all that preamble, allow me to tell you what happened at the ball.
The first thing of note was the absence of those horrid Bingley sisters. The hostess was an older lady, near Mama’s age, introduced as Mr Bingley’s aunt, Mrs Wibercomb. She is to remain his hostess until Mr Bingley tires of the neighbourhood and leaves, which I hope shall be soon.
Mr Bingley requested a few moments’ conversation, with Papa in the room, which I granted just to get it over with.
He was most profusely apologetic, practically throwing himself at my feet with his remorse, which I honestly found distasteful.
The time to be a proper gentleman and head of his family was months or years ago—not last night.
Mr Bingley indicated that he had chastised his sister severely, and then severed the connection, giving her control of her dowry and establishing her in a household of her own…
as if that were punishment for such a wicked woman.
He looked at me like a grovelling puppy, hoping, I assume, that would be enough to erase the horrid things his sister said; but as you expected, I simply thanked him for the information and excused myself.
Mr Darcy talked to Papa for quite some time, and I surmised he was trying to devise a means to apologise to you as well, but it is entirely possible they were talking about something different just to pass the time.
Papa did not toy with him as usual but talked quite earnestly for at least a half-hour.
Papa shook his head several times, but I have no idea why.
By Mr Darcy’s demeanour, I assume he sought to make amends, but Papa was not making it easy for him.
The man looks positively affected, even more so than Mr Bingley, but I will not presume to understand what bothered him so.
It cannot possibly be the first time he was exposed to the superior sisters, and yet he did nothing before, so I have no idea why that incident should be any worse than any other.
You cannot possibly be the first lady to be disparaged by Miss Bingley in his presence, but perhaps he was never caught in the act before so he is embarrassed, or perhaps this specific incident was worse than usual since the victim would have so much more trouble defending herself.
I have no idea, nor any particular desire to learn.
He will return to his own sphere soon enough, and I doubt I shall ever think of him again.
Mr Darcy asked me to dance. I correctly presumed he was trying to find out something about you, but I was no more obliging than Papa, so he yet remains in ignorance.
In the end, if the two ‘gentlemen’ did not know of the Bennet sisters’ disapprobation, they might have to be the two densest men in England, because I would have had to beat their heads with a stick to be any more blatant.
Mama was not quite in her full form, and Lydia and Kitty were even well behaved, so the rest of the evening was unremarkable.
Mr Darcy asked about Mr Wickham and said the oddest thing.
He congratulated you on your success and said that was yet another thing to add to his account.
I have no idea what that meant. Perhaps he correctly thought he should have been the one to bring the man to heel, and if that is the case, he can have one more thing to worry over. It is of no concern to us.
So, Lizzy, enough of those two. Let us put them entirely behind us, though that is probably being overly optimistic.
For my part, I imagine I will see them from time to time, but in a fit of pique, I broke propriety a bit by asking both gentlemen specifically to refrain from asking for my hand in any more dances.
You are not the only sister who can be stubborn.
I believe both will be gone before the new year, and I shall not repine their loss.
Until then, I will simply ignore them if we happen to be in company.
You are thankfully free of both, at least for the moment, but we know that cannot last forever.
At the very least, Mr Darcy visits his aunt every year at Easter, so you have but a few months’ reprieve.
It also seems unlikely he will remain ignorant of your location even that long.
I doubt he will seek you out at Rosings, but he might just happen to be visiting his aunt sooner or later.
Pray tell me a little about your new situation.
How did you bear the carriage ride? I know you become violently ill in carriages after less than a mile, so how did you endure fifty miles?
I imagine you did as people on ships do—simply endured it—but I worry for you.
I trust Lady Catherine did everything in her power to ease your discomfort, but such things seem beyond even such an estimable lady.
Is Miss de Bourgh amiable? Is she truly as ill as we have been told?
Do you really think you will be happy there, Lizzy?
Have you told Lady Catherine what happened at Netherfield?
I can well imagine her taking Mr Darcy to task over it like a misbehaving schoolboy, and I must say it might not be such a bad thing; though if his look at the ball is any indication, he already feels wretched enough.
Write me soon, please dearest.
Jane
~~~
3 December 1810
Miss Bennet,
Your sister requested that I briefly introduce myself.
My name is Elbridge Hopkinson, and I shall be the scribe for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
I have been in the employ of Lady Catherine de Bourgh for nearly forty years.
I have acted as secretary, scribe, and assistant to her steward among other duties.
I have two estimable daughters grown and well married, and six grandchildren.
My lovely wife died some five years ago.
Lady Catherine requested that I aid your sister in her new duties as companion and friend for Miss de Bourgh, and apart from this missive I will simply faithfully transcribe her words to paper for your benefit and accurately read whatever you write.
Naturally, you may count on my complete discretion.
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.
Yours etc&
Mr Elbridge Hopkinson
~~~
3 December 1810
My Dearest Jane,
As you are now introduced to our trusted scribe, I must say he is a very dear man, and I took an immediate liking to him. I suspect he is blushing deeply, but I dare say he shall survive the ordeal.
I know you feel that I am running away for the first time in my life, and there is probably a certain amount of truth to that.
I always thought my courage would rise to every attempt to intimidate me, but I find I have reached my limits.
I have no idea why that particular incident at Netherfield was any worse than any of the other unkind things said about me by other people before that night.
I have heard it all before, from people we knew all our lives and considered friends without undue pain.
In fact, I have heard worse from my own mother, in my own home, but none of those affected me greatly.
In the end, perhaps Mr Darcy and the Bingleys were simply the last straw.
I should be able to ignore the shrews, but I cannot.
I should be able to forgive Mr Bingley for not reining them in, but I cannot. Perhaps someday, but not today.