Page 24 of May I Have the Pleasure
Elizabeth
Snowfall
13 January 1812
Gracechurch Street
My Dearest Mary,
I am so happy to have your letters to join with Jane’s, and I hope you will be a diligent correspondent, as I expect my stay here to be of some duration. Perhaps you and Jane might share your respective letters if it pleases you.
We had snowfall over the last few days, which blanketed the world in white just like a winter fairyland. The children and I went out to make snowmen, and a wonderful time was had by all. It reminded me so much of when we were children and succumbed to the infrequent snow in furious bouts of joyfulness. Emily ended up covered from head to foot in snow and ice, just like we once did. Elijah is quite the deadeye with snowballs, or at least he fashioned himself as such until I demonstrated true skill. I do hope he recovers from the mortification of being bested by a mere girl before his wedding day, but since that is at least a decade hence, I believe he has a better than even chance. I managed to refrain from letting him know that you are even better (just barely).
Unfortunately, this is London, so a day or two later, the pristine promise of beauty and felicity had turned into sooty and dirty grey and black. Perhaps it is a suitable metaphor for our last three months. I have lately noticed I do not have quite the contented nature that has been my usual for most of mylife. I am not morose, per se, just not as sanguine as I once was.
With too much time on my hands, I naturally employ it in the worst possible manner: thinking and brooding. There is a small park near our uncle’s house where I walk, but Uncle insists I always be attended by one of his footmen. This means I do not have the freedom to come and go as I please. John makes himself available at my convenience, but he also has other duties, and I feel guilty about taking him away very often. He should not go to bed late just because I wish for a longer walk.
I am so happy that you have allowed Papa to convince you to read Shakespeare’s works, and I am even happier that you suggested we discuss your thoughts by post. I believe it will be most enlightening. Perhaps you might convince Jane to read the same volume, though I realise that may be harder than it sounds.
Your pensive sister,
Elizabeth
Bingley
18 February 1812
Gracechurch Street
My Dearest Jane,
Though it will give neither of us pleasure, I must say this anyway. You were right and I was wrong! Mr Bingley does not, and never did esteem you. It pains me to say it, but I must be as blunt, unambiguous, and as clear as possible. I would hope that removing all uncertainty should make healing your heart easier. He was just a rich man playing with the affections of a country miss. Rather than feel you lost an eligible suitor, you might prefer to thank the fates you escaped a life shackled to the cretin.
Though I certainly did not enjoy being driven from home by my own mother, I am quite happy that it is not you here in town, as it has been a debacle. It was mortifying for me, and I suspect it would have been heart-breaking for you.
As you already know, I wrote to Miss Bingley twice, before finally asking John to deliver another note personally and await a reply. She invited me to tea only after it was forced upon her. She had the nerve to claim the first two letters had been lost, even though we both know that to be preposterous. She put on a smiling face, much like a serpent, and claimed the bonds of friendship. Then I remained at our uncle’s house every morning for two weeks before she returned the call.Two Weeks!
When she finally arrived, she made it exceedingly clear she found no pleasure in the visit. She looked around our uncle’s fine home as if it were a warehouse or a pigsty, even though said home shows much more refined taste and elegance than the Bingley townhouse, which tends toward the vulgar (to tell the truth vulgarity arrived some time ago).
Miss Bingley’s voice and manner delivered even more of the crystal-clear disapprobation we are both so familiar with. As to her sister, Mrs Hurst, the lady should acquire a parrot or a dog. It could echo every word she says at considerably less expense and would stand some chance of accidentally adding to the conversation. At the very least, it could mark its territory with something other than pure disdain.
During the visit, Miss Bingley once again reiterated that her brother was extremely busy, etc&. She also repeated her assertion that the ‘gentleman’ was very much engaged with Miss Darcy. It seemed clear to me at first that she was simply trying to separate her brother from you, as you well know I believed when they left. Were it only for Miss Bingley’s word, I would no doubt still believe that, because I do not have your essential goodness. Mr Bingley had such the air of a man thoroughly in love that it could not be doubted by anyone with eyes in their head.
Subsequent events have proven you correct. It now seems so obvious in retrospect, that I cannot believe I ever disagreed with you on the matter. I beat my fists on my head in mortification at my ignorance and misjudgement of the situation, and I shall never doubt your judgement nor trust mine again. If Mr Bingley did esteem you, he would have simply come back to Hertfordshire, yet there you are and here he is.
As if that were not enough, I have more evidence of his inclinations and there can no longer be any doubt whatsoever. There is much more to tell.
Our uncle allowed me the use of his carriage to make my long-anticipated visit to Hatchards. That store will forever beburned in my memory as both the best and the worst of places. The shop itself was magical, and I spent a full three hours perusing the shelves before selecting three volumes.
Afterwards, I went to Gunthers for one of the ices we have heard so much about. As I was leaving the carriage, I glanced over at the front of the shop. I found myself thoroughly dismayed, shocked, and angry to seeMr Bingleyenter the establishment with a young lady on his arm. I ask you—with all of London to separate us, what are the chances that I would encounter him at that exact place and time? It is incredible, and yet the tale gets even worse, as theveryyoung lady was, in fact, precisely who Miss Bingley asserted.
You may wonder how I ascertained that it was Miss Darcy, but that was easily done since her brother was with her. Papa may think me missish, but I truly found the experience frightening, and I do not hesitate to tell you why.
Mr Darcy, whom you know dislikes me as much as I do him, and who stared at me with disapprobation many times in Hertfordshire, saw me at around the same time I saw him, and—I can hardly say this—but he stared at me with the most intense look of hatred I have ever been subjected to by any human. I have no idea whether he hates me in particular, our family in general, or some offence we made while he was in Hertfordshire; but his gaze frightened me to death with its intensity.
I was so discomposed that I climbed back into the carriage as quickly as I could and signalled the driver to ride on before the man had a chance to cross the lane to accost me. I have not the slightest idea what I have done to earn Mr Darcy’s disapprobation—but earn it I have. His look of intense hatred was the most frightening moment of my life. I know that is repetitious, but I cannot help it. I still find myself shaking from the experience.
As for his sister—apparently, the Darcys belong to the Mrs Bennet school of thought. She could not possibly be any older thanKitty, yet there she was on the arm of a man at least a decade her senior.
