Chapter Thirty-One
Hunsford Parsonage
M y dearest Jane ,
I was assured by a few acquaintances that I would enjoy Kent, and however reluctant I was to come, it seems they were in the right. I shall be the most provoking sister, my dear, and begin with a banal description of the countryside, then extend this missive for many paragraphs in discussing the weather, and only then shall I write of the things you most truly wish to know by referencing my various interactions with the people of Kent, and, I suppose, its visitors .
But I recollect that you are my sweetest sister, and I must not provoke you lest I receive, by the hand of a very tall, imposing gentleman, another letter from you that will very nearly scold me. I am repentant. The woods and groves hereabouts are charming. I have walked out almost every day and the further I am able to walk, the greater my delight in the area. Charlotte informs me that she has made it her habit to explore a little more of Hunsford and its surroundings each week, in spite of how busy she finds married life to be. I encourage her in this, particularly since her knowledge of various walks has been to my great benefit. There is one path she likes to take, no more than a mile long, that leads past a river, along the edge of a wood, and back through the town and down the lane to the parsonage. It is a pretty little lane, with well-kept cottages and hedgerows that are beginning to thicken. The house martins like to nest in the porch of Mr. Thaw's dwelling, and as we watched them one afternoon he came to the gate (which he has painted blue) and we became very well acquainted. I now know his opinions on house martins, sparrows, swifts, and starlings. The last are not in favour with him, I fear, for they nested in his chimney one year and made a dreadful noise and mess. The sweep had to be called and the late Mrs. Thaw was distinctly offended by the resulting mass of sticks in her parlour. Mrs. Collins has been warned, therefore, that she must not permit the starlings near her chimneys in the parsonage. I do not quite know what methods she ought to employ to keep them at bay, but my most favoured thought is that Mr. Collins should climb up there and preach repentance unto them until they fly off to less righteous habitations. Oh to be a starling, in such a situation, Jane — to have wings which may be employed to leave part way through one of Mr. Collins's sermons. I will not incur your disapproval by narrating all the idiocy our cousin employs on a Sunday morning, but this I will say — there ought to be a very large clock hung in the church here and it ought to chime very loudly each half an hour. Perhaps some of our fortune ought to be put to charitable use for the people of Hunsford. I shall ask Mr. Darcy if he thinks a good clockmaker may be found in Westerham — he seems to have all manner of knowledge regarding Kent, so much so that I believe he would make an excellent and informative guide in his own county. Given he owns at least half of Derbyshire, I daresay he has something of a responsibility to know it very well .
The weather has been occasionally troublesome, but Mr. Collins discussed at breakfast only this morning that he believes it will improve as the summer months draw near — it may even become warmer. I do not know what I should have done had he not educated me with this knowledge. I am grateful to him for his advice and shall equip myself with lighter dresses and shawls by the time June approaches. Perhaps I will even write to Charlotte, begging for her husband's advice and predictions as to the temperatures once autumn comes. I see your gentle frown, my dear, and — would you believe me — I have tried to be a good guest. I listen attentively and restrain my sarcasm so as not to mortify Charlotte, but he is, I fear, as foolish a man in Kent as ever he was in Hertfordshire .
Charlotte appears quite unchanged, although I will add that she is content with her lot in life. She likes to have her home and order it as she pleases. She orders Mr. Collins as she pleases also, but with such finesse that I do not think he sees it. To him, a husband is the happiest of men and great efforts must be made to keep his subordinate as cheerful as can be. I will say this for him, as you once did — he is not vicious .
I could almost wish that my dear friend Mrs. Collins might have mysteriously lost a little of her discernment when entering the married state. She looks at me very knowingly whenever Mr. Darcy calls or if I happen to mention his name in passing. She has begun to ask what time we may expect the gentlemen from Rosings to call, of a morning. Charlotte does not mean 'the gentlemen' — she means 'Mr. Darcy,’ if you please, and should he, in the most civil way, bow over my hand, a gleam enters her eye that puts me to the blush most dreadfully. It is inconvenient, of course, because I am sure Mr. Darcy feels me to be blushing over him and takes it as encouragement .
Here now lies the rub. My blindness is quite done with regarding Mr. Darcy. He does not despise me in the least and neither, it seems, am I merely tolerable in his eyes. Does Mr. Bingley look at you as though you are the most entrancing creature in all the world? Of course he must, for you are, but does it give you the oddest feeling in your breast, as though your heart lurches before beating far too quickly? He ought not look at me so, I am sure, for it is plain as day what he is thinking, but how might one reasonably tell him to stop? He would surely ask me why he must cease and I do not know what my answer to that would be .
In fact, I do not know what any of my answers to Mr. Darcy must be and this uncertainty within myself has left me feeling distinctly skittish. It was so much easier, Jane, when I felt he disliked me — then I was all boldness. Now that he admires me so obviously, I am silly, missish, and shy as any young lady with a suitor. It has got to the point where I am sure he would ask me to marry him if I encouraged him even a little. Lest you think me too presumptuous, I will tell you plainly that I happened to overhear Mr. Darcy speaking quietly in his cousin's ear that he wished to court me and that his aunt's ridiculous refusal to invite those at the parsonage to dinner was not helping him do so. Were I writing to Mama, she would indubitably send an express letter back to me wondering why I do not help him myself. You will perhaps understand my hesitancy rather better than she .
It was not so long ago, Jane, that I believed all manner of things about Mr. Darcy — Mr. Wickham's tales were well crafted after all and Mr. Darcy's own manners did him few favours. I disliked him so that I might congratulate myself on my own cleverness, so determined I was to be wiser than all of our friends in the neighbourhood. It gives me no great pleasure to assure you that my confidence in my judgement has had a blow, a heavy blow. I do not say that I was wrong regarding his pride, but my error lay in the sort of pride he has. He feels the responsibility of his name too keenly to disgrace it and therefore is too proud to demean himself. Is the difference between that sort of pride and the common variety of conceit so significant that one must consider wedding a gentleman ?
I could wish that he would rein in his jealousy a little. I am almost sure that his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam is deliberately more charming when Mr. Darcy is in view. His motivation I cannot guess at but the effect is obvious. Were I in love with Mr. Darcy, I daresay I might be gratified by his reaction when he sees me speaking quite indifferently with the colonel, but as it is I only feel a little guilty that I have been involved in something which brings him unhappiness. I do not set out to cause Mr. Darcy pain, Jane, and neither do I think his cousin should. I cannot quite decide if one ought to be jealous of something that is not theirs to begin with — a favourite book, for example. Have I warrant to be jealous over Papa's beautiful copy of Othello? By no means. I have no right to consider Mr. Darcy my rightful property and neither does he have the corresponding privilege .
The difference, I suppose you will say, is that I am not a book. I have the ability to encourage Mr. Darcy if I like, and I am even now wondering if I do like. There is something there, certainly, when we walk together and he is near to me listening so attentively. I like that very well. Yet I do not understand him enough to determine if I ought to marry him. How strange it is. I applaud his patience and his gentleness. He is cautious and perhaps determined not to be so overbearing as he was in London .
Am I a strange, contrary creature, if I tell you that a part of me does not mind that he swept me into a waltz or that I do not object to his manner at Lady Matlock's ball? There was something thrilling between us on that balcony, and if left only to feeling and not good sense, I might determine that we would suit perfectly well. It is fortunate that I am a sensible creature and would not heedlessly rush into a marriage based on this, nor on the fact that Mr. Darcy is the most unreasonably handsome man I have ever encountered. Is it like this with Mr. Bingley for you, dearest? Perhaps I am a foolish miss and this is all my vanity being flattered that such a man should like me so well .
It cannot be that I am in love, for I am not. I sleep perfectly well, have little difficulty in speaking of things other than him, and my appetite remains hearty. Mrs. Collins keeps an excellent table, despite Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attempt to interfere with her order at the butcher. If I do ever marry, be sure to remind me that my husband must not be obliged in any way to a patroness — it makes things so awkward when a woman wishes to order her own household .
If there is one source of entertainment in Kent that I am enjoying, it is the current dispute between Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Now do not scold me, dearest, for I know well that a daughter ought to honour her parents as best she can, but you will own, I hope, that it is not always an easy thing to do .
Anne de Bourgh, it seems, has been a quiet presence at Rosings for all her life. She is almost Mr. Darcy's age and during that time has never spoken a word that would bring her lady mother displeasure or disquiet. During my time at the parsonage, Miss de Bourgh has found her voice and is causing great upheaval in making use of it .
Mr. Darcy says that I am not to make myself uneasy for my part in it, that his cousin's wild talk is her own doing. I meekly ducked my head at that and said, 'Yes, Mr. Darcy.' I have no objection to bowing to a demand that excuses me from any culpability. I believe he finds me amusing when I am impertinent, but I occasionally have the disquieting feeling that he would stop my mouth if he could .
I have digressed, I see. I intended to reveal to you the goings on at Rosings. Miss de Bourgh has informed her mother that she does not desire marriage. She wishes, I understand, to use the fortune her father left her to purchase her own house in a location of her choosing, hire as many servants as she deems fit, and live her life according to her own wishes. It seems that I inadvertently put the idea into her head when her mama was quizzing me dreadfully over my own single state .
Lady Catherine, according to her nephew, had hopes that her daughter might make a splendid match with Mr. Darcy. He did not say so in so many words, of course, but he was clear that there was no inclination on his side, nor had there ever been. If Mr. Darcy had been promised to his cousin, he is too honourable to break that promise. Mr. Wickham's false report there was based on a half truth and twisted into an outright lie .
It seems, my dear, that it is not the first falsehood Mr. Wickham has told regarding Mr. Darcy. Little wonder he is well practised enough to be convincing. I have been told in confidence the truth of Mr. Wickham's character, and I believe Mr. Darcy's account that he is not a respectable man. I would go so far, my dear, as to agree with you that it is a good thing that our younger sisters, blessed as they are with moderate fortune, are to leave Longbourn and go to school. Mary I do not worry about so much — she is so sensibly minded, which I appreciate more and more — but Kitty and Lydia? I fear they are very young and may need their hearts guarded against W. It is possible that they will not be an object of prey, of course, but I wonder if a hint may be helpful. I was fooled myself, so it is no great stretch of imagination to think that other young ladies could be too .
I have regret in that. My own prejudice against Mr. Darcy led me straight into the web of untruth spun by Mr. Wickham. My self-recrimination there is the greater because I think it gives Mr. Darcy pain that I thought so little of him. You referenced that pain, I believe, in your last letter. How happy I am that we had no money when we first met Mr. Wickham! It might have been so much worse if it had been known that there was any fortune .
Aunt Gardiner has written to me. It seems that our uncle is so pleased with how well the business grows that by the next quarter he wishes to include an additional amount of money for each of us. Our aunt did not specify an amount. Perhaps she knew that I would hardly mind how much it was — thanks to your brilliance I have more than sufficient after all. What think you? Should we encourage our uncle to keep it for now, to invest it for his own children? I wonder if it would be unhelpful for our sisters to have so great a change in their pin money so quickly. Lydia already writes of very little but her clothes. At least she does not err in her choices — she knows what she is about with her wardrobe .
How goes your planning for the wedding, dearest? Is Lydia's self-applauded sense of fashion proving to be helpful or is it a trial to you? Poor Mary must be at the end of her patience. At least Kitty does not mind being involved in the choosing of fabrics .
I would very much like to know if that pineapple has been consumed yet or if Mama is still getting great value for money in having neighbours call to admire it. Do ensure it is eaten before it becomes rotten. I am sure that Mr. Bingley would think it a very fine addition to a family meal at Longbourn .
Give my love to Papa and assure him of my forgiveness that he does not write to me and how sorry I am that the very fine pen we purchased for him in London must have been faulty. To Mama, beg that she will receive me home with gladness in spite of my not having wed Mr. Collins and having eschewed the burdens of planning a wedding. To my dear sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia — I will kiss you all soundly when I see you for I have been too long in quiet and peace — I now look forward to the day when I will wake to the sound of merry squabbles and cap pulling .
I do not send my love and a sisterly kiss to Mr. Bingley just yet, my dearest Jane, but rather I will generously bestow both upon him after he walks out of our dear church with you upon his arm as a bride. I shall end by turning your cheeks the colour of crimson and suggest that by then it will not be my sisterly kiss foremost on his mind .
Yours ,
Lizzy.