Chapter Twelve
Gracechurch Street
D ear Lydia ,
Perhaps uncharacteristically, our dear sister Jane admitted to some anxiety before we set out for Miss Henning's ball last evening. Her nerves, it transpired, were not on account of the gown, in which she looked absurdly pretty. It was a white silk underdress with white lace. I dare not attempt to sketch it for you but you will see when we return home that the cut was excellent and suited Jane's height nicely.
No indeed, the dress could not be faulted, nor her style of dressing her hair, but rather it was the sheer amount of money she was to carry in her reticule for the evening. A rather successful card party at Lady Metcalf's home a few evenings ago meant that in spite of outlay for a number of necessary purchases, the money to be staked last night was almost two hundred pounds .
Your name was invoked in order to calm her nerves, my dear, and it was that thought which spurred her on to go forth bravely. Above all things, Jane wishes to ease the way for her sisters and to ease Mama's mind should the Worst happen to Papa. I do feel that you might pen a short note at some stage, Lydia, to assure both of us that our dear father is in excellent health and Jane need not take so much upon herself. It is exciting, however. I do not mean to get ahead of myself in this epistle — I shall lay out the story of our successes last night in the order that they occurred. If we had to wait until the evening was half gone to sit beside a card table, then you must likewise read at least half a letter first. I foresee you turning to the end of this letter, little sister, for immediate gratification, and I have already resigned myself to it. Had I the inclination or ability, I might design a cipher of sorts to slow you down, but as it is I am too weary from dancing most of the evening away and getting very little sleep. It is a mystery to me why debutantes are so lauded for their youth and beauty in London, for after our exertions both Jane and I are feeling burnt to the socket — to borrow an expression I heard last night from the most scandalous man I have ever met .
If that does not keep you reading, I know not what will .
Miss Henning wore pale pink and pearls to her ball and I will say that she looked very well indeed. There is something in her colouring that suits pink enormously — her hair and skin are similar to Kitty's, I would say. Perhaps I ought to swap the tinted gloves we purchased for you all. We had imagined that Mary might prefer the green, that you ought to wear the pink and Kitty the blue — it is fortunate that your hands are of a similar size, so you may exchange them with one another at will. You might even echo the Harlequin we saw at the theatre and each change one glove rather than sporting a pair. Perhaps not. It would offend Mary to have that much disorder, distress Kitty that it might not be pretty, and annoy you that it would be that much more difficult to match gloves to gown. We were met with civility by the Hennings. Mrs. Henning announced with some glee that a gentleman already known to us had been waiting most anxiously for us to make our appearance, as he had heard that we were to attend .
Jane, as you will imagine, concealed her every inward thought when this was said. I tried hard to emulate her but I have not the way of it for Mrs. Henning laughed and said, “Ah, I know that Miss Elizabeth has some idea of who I mean even if Miss Bennet here will not give away a single clue.” We thought, as you likely do too, that it was Mr. Bingley, and perhaps his sisters, meeting us at last part way through our London Adventure .
It was not .
You will perhaps recall that some years ago when Jane was just fifteen, we came to town to stay with the Gardiners for a few months during the winter. During that time, through mutual friends, we met one Mr. Cranshaw, a pleasant young man destined for the army. Our aunt saw that he was much struck by Jane and half expected him to declare himself. It is as well that he did not, for Papa might have been obliged to refuse him. A soldier may look dashing and be amiable above all other gentlemen, but it would have been a waste for Jane at fifteen to marry the first handsome man who asked her .
It was our aunt who remembered him best of all. Jane did not give much away there, except to ask how he was getting on in the army. Mr. Cranshaw seemed pleased that she had remembered this much, but revealed a great tragedy in his life that elevated him from a mere Mr. Cranshaw to Lord Cranshaw and sole heir of all his father's property. Alas, Lydia, while the poor young man was away in Spain, serving his country in the most squalid of conditions (his descriptions have cured me of wishing to wed any military man and follow the drum, I assure you) his father, his two older brothers, and his younger sister succumbed to the enteric fever that was rife in Norfolk. Only his mama survived. How she must have grieved her losses. I can not imagine her great sadness. It seems that Lord Cranshaw was obliged to sell his commission in the army after that — his mother needed him and so too did the estate where so many workers had been buried. It is only this season that he has felt able to leave and come to town .
I tell no secrets, Lydia, but he looked at Jane as though she were his last happy memory before leaving for the continent, and wasted no time in leading her out to the dance floor. I must ask Jane when I have finished this letter if he still writes verses of poetry. She will accuse me of teasing her, but Mama, who naturally read the verses, still remembers his efforts well. He does not look like a poet — perhaps reality has driven away the dreamy quality that one expects of a writer of sonnets. There is something decidedly military in his bearing, even on the dance floor, that looks very well. Perhaps it is the precision with which he moves.
But I must depart from the subject of Lord Cranshaw, who spent most of his obligatory dance with me asking me about Jane. I have piqued your curiosity about the scandalous man I was in conversation with and I mean to satisfy you sufficiently to read all of our news in order and with great patience.
I noted, as I was speaking to our aunt and Lady Metcalf, that an immaculately dressed gentleman stood watching Jane as she danced with His Lordship. This is not so very unusual, I grant you, but the fellow looked so dreadfully bored that I felt moved to ask Mrs. Metcalf who he might be .
Well! Every caution that could be issued to a young woman was issued to me then. Mr. Sutton, Miss Elizabeth, is not to be thought of. Were he not a cousin to the Hennings he would not even be present where impressionable young misses walked. A breaker of hearts! A gambler the likes of whom ought to turn my hair white with shock (Lady Metcalf still powders her hair, so this particularly amused me), so very dangerous that entire fortunes have been lost to him, never mind the duels he has fought. He had been forgiven for some of the duels only because he is one of the richest men in the country.
Given this gentleman's rather interesting list of pastimes, I forgave him for thinking that Miss Henning's ball might be a little dull. Clearly, he is used to a stronger diet of dissolution and profligacy .
Naturally, an introduction to Mr. Anton Sutton was now something to be desired. He sounded to me as though he was designed to play cards with our sister, and if he could possibly have his own heart broken in the process, so much the better .
You would have been enormously proud of me, Lydia, for how neatly I did the thing. I did nothing so banal as dropping my fan to gain an introduction — no indeed. I made sure to exclaim over how full Miss Henning's dance card was and, while I was perusing it, noted his name for the fifth set. After that, it was an easy thing for Jane and me to stand beside her in support when Mr. Sutton came to lead her out. Miss Henning introduced us to her cousin, and to our aunt's horror I struck up a friendly conversation with him. Aunt Gardiner is very likely trying to compose an apologetic letter to Mama and Papa begging for forgiveness for the scandalous dance partner I managed to acquire for myself .
In truth, I feel you might be a little disappointed in Mr. Sutton. He does not look in the least like a villainous character ought. He appears to be like any other gentleman, though perhaps a little better dressed than most, and there is not the slightest hint in his conversation that he is unsuitable company for a gently reared young lady. It makes me rather pause to reflect if I would be able to spot a villain if one were present or if my judgement is in some way impaired .
I will say this for Mr. Sutton — when I dangled the possibility of him playing cards against my beautiful sister who had never been beaten, he did not noticeably salivate at the prospect of defeating her. That is the mistake the gentlemen made at Lady Metcalf's, you know, and it meant that Jane came home with hundreds of pounds. Instead, he smiled knowingly at me, which infuriated me enormously, and somehow or another secured a waltz with me. Do not on any account tell Mama. Or Papa. Or Mary. Perhaps you ought not to mention that to anyone in Meryton, actually. Suffice it to say that things in London are a little different and it is perfectly acceptable to whirl around a room in a gentleman's arms. It is a very good thing I have no intention of falling in love with Mr. Sutton, Lydia, for it is only retrospectively that I see why he is known for making girls fall in love with them. It makes me grateful for the mission that lies before me — to aid Jane in winning as much money from the ton as possible. Keeping my eyes upon that course must protect me from making a fool of myself. I will not give up the possibility of our independence for a charming gentleman who plays games with hearts for his own entertainment .
This leads me, with great cleverness, onto the subject of Jane's winnings at the ball. She is never able to stay long at the card tables if there is dancing, but she did play three games, two of vingt-et-un and one of hearts. She was triumphant in all three and, as they were playing shockingly high (in truth, I do not think they play any other way in London), left the ball trembling visibly, with eight hundred and forty pounds .
There now, are you not glad you have read this all the way through? I would add a note of caution — do not speak of this yet. From night to night things may change so rapidly here, what is eight hundred today may be doubled or trebled in a week. Furthermore, if we are to have a little money, I would urge you to remember your own worth. I do not say this in the same horrid way that Miss Bingley speaks. She believes that worth comes from money and connections. It is not so. The longer we are in town the rarer I believe my sisters are. I speak plainly, Lydia. Perhaps I am longing for home a little tonight .
You are lively, honest, and brave. You are fifteen years old and I cannot help but compare you to Jane at fifteen — had she married then it would have been a pity, and I rather think that it might be a waste if you were too. You may accuse me of envy or jealousy if you wish, or wonder if I am merely trying to stop you from marrying before your elder sisters. It is not so. I saw Miss Henning last night, and it is plain that she will be wed before the season is out if her parents have any say in it, whether or not she is ready. A few more years and she might grow in grace and confidence as Jane has done. A lord this season at seventeen years of age might well be a duke in two years' time. Not, of course, that a duke is necessarily more worthy than a lord, but I feel you must understand my general point .
Later on today we are to visit Lord Cranshaw. He most particularly wished to introduce us to his mother. Lord Cranshaw assures us all that his mama would be enchanted to have our attendance at the ball she is giving on Tuesday next. Jane sweetly protested that surely his mama must not be burdened by our call after so many troubles, but he took command and stated plainly that Her Ladyship would be burdened only by his disappointment if we did not come .
When we returned home late last night, Jane said with firmness (you know how she is when she is sure that she is in the right) that this time I will subject myself to be fitted for a new white gown alongside her. It is a pity that you are not here, for you would enjoy this ordeal far better than I. I had some pleasure in the first gowns we sewed for ourselves — it felt like a battle won against the ton to manage to dress so well and so cheaply. Now that we are to visit a dressmaker and be poked with pins, I find some of the sense of victory to be absent. Fear not — we shall not deviate from Miss Lydia Bennet's instructions for style. White it is to be, in order to appear ghostlike or angelic. I heard Jane compared to a caryatid last evening, which I felt was a good attempt at a compliment. Perhaps we shall see if there is something in the Greek style that she will like .
Tomorrow we are bid to attend another soiree, this time given by Mrs. Lambeth. Mrs. Houghton informs me that Mrs. Lambeth is something of a high stickler and thus only persons she deems to be of true quality are permitted to cross her hallowed threshold. I rather wonder who else might be there after such a hint .
Kiss Mary and Kitty soundly for me, if you please, then an affectionate buss for Mama and a respectful one for Papa too. Perhaps, you might tell Charlotte Lucas also that a letter is halfway through being composed to her, and that while she waits she has my every best wish and hope for her happiness .
To you, Lydia, Jane and I send our fondest love ,
Lizzy.