Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  ≈≈≈

  May 4, 1811

  It was a sunny Saturday morning when Elizabeth and Maria left Hunsford Parsonage. Charlotte stood back as her husband made their farewells in the fawning yet prideful manner that was his particular talent. In addition to praising the condescension of Lady Catherine’s efforts to make the parsonage a comfortable home, Collins thanked Elizabeth for visiting. He also managed to hint of her inescapable regret for having rejected his proposal, given all she had seen of Charlotte’s life. “From my heart, dear Cousin, I wish you equal felicity in marriage,” he said, adding in a mumble, “in the unlikely event you receive another offer.”

  Elizabeth suppressed a wry smile. If you only knew what had occurred under your very roof!

  Collins continued, “Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of thinking. We share a remarkable resemblance of character and thoughts as if we were designed for each other.”

  Elizabeth offered her sincere gratitude for their hospitality, but her thoughts were already in London with Jane. Shortly, the carriage arrived, the ladies’ trunks were fastened on, and all was ready. As Elizabeth and Maria settled into their seats, Maria exclaimed, “It seems but a day or two since first we came, yet how many things have happened! How much I shall have to tell!”

  And how much I shall have to conceal, Elizabeth thought.

  Collins began walking to the front door of the parsonage, talking as he went. “I am convinced Cousin Elizabeth and your sister will do us justice, Charlotte, as they recount their pleasant time here.” When he finally noticed his wife was not beside him, he turned and saw her gazing at the branches of a nearby tree. “What is it?”

  “That bird’s nest was not there last week.”

  “Ah, yes, our first spring as husband and wife. Your sentiments do you credit, my dear. Are you coming in? I would like some tea.”

  “In a few minutes. Cook will see to your refreshments.”

  Annoyed that his and his wife’s remarkable resemblance of thoughts did not extend to her rushing to arrange his tea, Collins gave a disapproving sniff before entering the house and closing the door with unnecessary firmness. Charlotte glanced at the closed door, aware of her husband’s pique, but she gave it no thought. Do not pity me, Elizabeth. I am content—more than content—now that I am with child.

  Charlotte Lucas Collins was not romantic. As she had told Elizabeth last autumn, “I ask only for a comfortable home. And considering Mr. Collins’s character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast upon entering the married state.” She would not assert this was a love match, but her husband was tolerable. She did, however, love having her own home, and she did not regret being so far from her parents. It was enough to endure the often nonsensical suggestions of Collins and the frequent interference from Lady Catherine; Charlotte cringed at the thought of having the guidance of her own mother, Lady Lucas, as well!

  Shortly after her December wedding, Charlotte accompanied her husband on a visit to his only sibling, a younger brother named Donald, who ran a small print shop in Kingston, not far from London. Had she not known that Donald was the younger, born scarcely a year after William, she would have sworn he was the elder, as he was clearly the leader of the two brothers. Donald was brash, bright, and—as Charlotte was quick to note—rather devious. However, his wife, Olivia, and their three children (all girls) accepted his incessant boasting as a merry joke.

  William Collins, however, was in awe of Donald and blind to his brother’s custom of planting ideas in his head. “My brother and I are so close in manner and thought, we are practically twins. He gives me wise counsel and guides my investments.”

  It was during the visit to Kingston that Charlotte made the worrisome discovery that she was in danger of losing Longbourn to Donald. One night, long after Olivia and the girls had gone to bed, she remained in the parlor with her husband and his brother. William, who had tried and failed to match his brother in glass for glass of strong drink, had fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace. Donald, who was also in his cups but better able to tolerate the effects, revealed to Charlotte that he would inherit Longbourn if William died before fathering a male child.

  This news was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. “To retain the estate, my husband and I must have a son?” Charlotte exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice low.

  “Indeed, you must!” Donald said and then belched. “Otherwise, after the demise of my brother, as unfortunate as that would be, you will have no home.” He belched again and mused, “Olivia would love to be the mistress of her own estate! Perhaps the babe she carries now will be a boy, but even if she bears another girl, Longbourn will pass from William to me if he has no son.”

  Charlotte accurately sensed Donald had little fondness or respect for his older brother. Of course, she could not know he sometimes fantasized that after a childless William took possession of Longbourn, he would have some fatal accident, resulting in Donald acquiring the estate. And while Donald would never take action to harm his brother, he believed acquiring Longbourn would greatly assuage his fraternal grief.

  As for Charlotte, the notion of becoming homeless if she were a widow without a son was terrifying. By late January when she was not yet with child, she began to worry in earnest that her marriage to William might not result in her having a permanent residence. Her concern was very nearly at a fever pitch when Donald arrived unexpectedly at Hunsford Parsonage on a cold, rainy afternoon at the beginning of February.

  “Surprise, surprise!” Donald called, pushing his way into the foyer as soon as Agnes, the maid, opened the door. Stripping off his wet coat and hat, he shoved them at her before greeting Charlotte, who had emerged from her little sitting room.

  “Welcome to Hunsford, sir. I hope all is well with your family.”

  “Oh, yes, Olivia and the girls are in good health. I was on business in Westerham, but the weather is so beastly, I hoped William would offer me a bed for the night, Sister Charlotte. And send someone to see to my horse; I tied him to the gate.”

  Charlotte gave Agnes a nod, and the maid hurried away to alert the parsonage’s only manservant. Then she led her brother-in-law to the drawing room. “Come warm yourself, and I will have a room made up for you. Would you like tea? Something to eat?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to some bread and cheese … perhaps some meat, as well. Have you soup? Soup is very warming on a wet day. And brandy, if you please. I’d sell my soul for a fortifying glass of brandy.” Donald stood in front of the fireplace and held out his hands to the warmth. “Where is the parish bull today?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “William. My brother. Parish bull—parson. Surely you’ve heard the expression?”

  “No doubt,” Charlotte murmured, certain she had not. “My husband is conferring with Lady Catherine De Bourgh. I expect him soon. Now if you will excuse me, I will have a tray of food prepared for you.”

  Donald watched as his sister-in-law exited, noting that she carried herself with more elegance than did his own wife. I may have done you an injustice, Sister Charlotte; you’re not so plain as I remember. Or perhaps I think this now because Olivia refuses to have marital relations until she gives birth. Good

  lord, that will not be for another two months!

  Donald had finished his meal and was on his second glass of brandy when William returned from Rosings. Charlotte stood apart from the brothers’ exuberant reunion, watching with a twinge of envy; however, her envy was of Olivia, now in her confinement with her fourth baby. Unconsciously, Charlotte frowned at her husband and wondered, not for the first time, whether he knew what he was doing in the marriage bed. While their sexual congress was not unpleasant, neither was it a source of pleasure; invariably, it was brief.

  At dinner, Charlotte observed that Donald ate sparingly but drank heavily, while William ate heartily and attempted to match his brother drink for drink. She
also realized Donald was making an effort to pull her into the conversation. It is almost as if Donald were trying to ingratiate himself with me, to charm me. As for my husband, he will be asleep within the hour.

  Long admired for her practicality, Charlotte made a practical decision: should Donald attempt to seduce her, she would let him. This seemed the best way to produce an heir who resembled her husband. Also, as Donald was already the father of three healthy children, he clearly knew what he was doing. In addition, she was confident that Donald’s affection for (if not fidelity to) Olivia would prevent him from admitting to any such liaison.

  During the evening, as Charlotte spun an admiring account of how successful the Collins brothers had grown to be, Donald believed himself to be the object of her flattering words. Thus, while William snored in his own chambers, Donald bedded Charlotte in the guest room, convinced he had beguiled her.

  The next morning dawned cloudy but dry, and before Donald left for Kingston, he bowed low over Charlotte’s hand and presented her with two bottles of Dr. Sillcon’s Scientific Treatment for Animal De-Worming. (Worried that her husband might question such a gift, she disposed of the bottles before the day was out.) Now, some three months later, Charlotte believed she had felt the baby quicken.

  Thus, after Elizabeth and Maria departed, Charlotte stood in her garden and smiled at the bird’s nest, knowing that her baby’s father was as likely to be her husband as his brother; at any rate, the child would be a Collins. And if she were widowed, she had improved her chance that a permanent home would be hers.

  ≈≈≈

  To Georgiana’s delight, Anne’s latest letter arrived at Darcy House on Saturday. These letters had inspired her to consider how her life might be better if she could bring herself to acknowledge aloud what she was thinking and feeling. Lately, she had imagined herself being bold—well, politely bold or perhaps simply bolder—than she had previously believed was possible.

  Dear Georgiana, Tomorrow, the Collinses and their two guests, Elizabeth Bennet and Mrs. Collins’ sister Maria, will join us for tea, as those ladies will leave the next day for London. Elizabeth has an aunt and uncle — the Gardiners — for whom she has great affection, and she will spend a few days with them in Cheapside before returning to her home, Longbourn, in Hertfordshire. Her favorite sister has been staying with these relatives for several months, and they will travel to Longbourn together. I shall miss my visits with Elizabeth. She is witty, kind, and a lively conversationalist. We have agreed to continue our friendship through letters. As Darcy is acquainted with both Bennet sisters, perhaps you could persuade him to call upon the Gardiners. I will include their direction at the end of this letter, for I am certain you would like Elizabeth. My impertinence abilities are developing well. I look forward to practicing on Mr. Collins — a sycophantic nincompoop. He thinks so well of himself, he is unlikely to recognize my impertinent words. Affectionately, AdB

  ≈≈≈

  As was now their custom, Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley, and Darcy had tea together in the afternoon. Although each still prepared three topics for possible discussion, they found less and less need to rely on these to fill lapses in their conversation.

  “I received a letter from Anne today,” Georgiana said.

  “She seems to be writing you more frequently,” Darcy said.

  “She is inspired by her friendship with the guests at Hunsford Parsonage. Well, to clarify, Anne has more to say because of her conversations with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Anne is very happy with her new friend and hopes I may meet her.” She added to Mrs. Annesley, “Brother also mentioned Miss Elizabeth in his letters.”

  Darcy sipped his tea. Noticing his sister’s expectant look, he said, “She is a pleasant lady.”

  Mrs. Annesley asked, “Where does she live?”

  When Darcy said nothing, Georgiana said, “Hertfordshire. Is that not where you first met?”

  “Yes, Hertfordshire.”

  “Ah, how unfortunate you will not have the opportunity to make her acquaintance in the near future,” Mrs. Annesley said.

  “As it happens, Miss Elizabeth arrives in London today, where she will spend a few days with relatives before she and her sister, who has been visiting here, return to their family estate. Anne said their estate is called ‘Longbourn.’ Have you seen it, Brother?”

  “Yes, it is a nice enough little place. Mrs. Annesley, how is your daughter these days?” Darcy was aware that her daughter was expecting the birth of her third child very soon.

  “Rebecca is in good health, thank you. For a grandmother such as myself, this is a time of both excitement and worry.”

  “You have spoken fondly of her two healthy children. I am sure all will be well with the latest addition to the family.”

  An eager Georgiana redirected the conversation to the topic which interested her most. “Brother, as you are acquainted with both Miss Elizabeth and her sister, might we call on them while they are in town? Christopher could join us.”

  “I doubt Fitz is available. And, as you know, I am busy searching for the lady who will be an appropriate sister for you and wife to me,” he said, striving to end his refusal on a teasing note.

  After studying her brother’s face for a moment, Georgiana addressed Mrs. Annesley. “As my cousin’s letter is essentially a written introduction, would it be acceptable for me to send a note to the Gardiners explaining my connection to Anne and asking to be introduced to Miss Elizabeth?”

  “No, I forbid it,” Darcy said sternly. “It would be an intrusion on a family we do not know. Now kindly excuse me, as there are matters requiring my attention.” When Georgiana gasped, feeling as if she had been slapped, he gave no indication he had heard.

  After watching her brother exit the drawing room, Georgiana gave her companion a tearful look. “I do not know what is wrong with my brother and, please, make no excuses for him.” Then fearing she had been rude, she added, “Forgive me. I wish to practice my music now. I shall see you at dinner. I suspect my brother will dine out tonight, and I am glad of it.”

  “We shall meet at dinner, my dear, but if you wish to speak with me before then, I will be in my room,” Mrs. Annesley said calmly, although her heart ached for the young lady.

  ≈≈≈

  Once in the corridor, Darcy cast his mind about for a refuge, a quiet place to be alone with his thoughts. Unfortunately, it was nearly the “fashionable hour” (or, to be precise, the three hours from late afternoon to early evening), when Hyde Park would be cluttered with carriages and riders who wanted nothing more than to see and be seen. After a moment of indecision, he briskly descended the main staircase, instructing the waiting footman, “My hat, gloves, and walking stick.”

  As the footman left to fetch the requested items, the butler joined Darcy in the foyer. “Shall I call a carriage, sir?”

  “No. Wait. Yes, Ashton, I shall require my carriage. I will dine at my club, and I expect to return late.”

  ≈≈≈

  When Elizabeth and Maria arrived at the Gardiners’ home on Saturday afternoon, they found a surprise awaiting them in the form of a footman, a coachman, a maid, and a carriage from Lucas Lodge. Lady Lucas had injured herself in a fall, so she wanted Maria to return home. Thus, with hugs and well wishes, Maria was soon on her way to Hertfordshire, leaving Elizabeth with her uncle, aunt, their four young children, and Jane.

  At forty, Mr. Evan Gardiner was seven years younger than his oldest sister, Muriel (who was Elizabeth’s mother) and five years younger than his second sister, Serena Phillips. Yet in temperament, intellect, and manner, he and his sisters were worlds apart. Mr. Gardiner and his wife Vivian were well-spoken, intelligent, fashionable people for whom Elizabeth felt great affection. She was convinced that whatever social graces she and Jane could claim were learned at the Gardiner home. Thus, she was very happy that following Mr. Bingley’s abrupt departure from Hertfordshire last year, Jane was welcomed for an extended visit with these gracious, sensible relatives.
/>
  At the Gardiners, Elizabeth attempted to assess the mood of her eldest sister. Jane seemed well enough, but there was an air of sadness beneath her customary pleasantness. Still, because Elizabeth was undecided as to what to reveal about Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, she did not immediately inquire as to the feelings of her favorite sister.

  ≈≈≈

  On Saturday afternoon, Ives, the Darcy House coachman, slowly circumnavigated Kensington Gardens twice while Darcy sat in his rolling sanctuary with the shades drawn. The rural nature of the roads surrounding the gardens was such that even this well-sprung coach lurched along, but its sole occupant was oblivious to anything but the all-important question, Do I wish to meet with Elizabeth Bennet again?

  During the ride, Darcy realized Elizabeth had pressed her letter into his hands exactly one week ago. Since then, he had had many conversations with her in his imagination, but he had not given serious thought to the possibility of seeing her again.

  I cannot imagine the lady has any desire to see me. What would be the purpose—for either of us—of such an encounter? In a perfect world, I would wish for her to know I am not the dishonorable man she believes me to be. Yet how could she know this without seeing me again? Who is there to give her an account of me as a good landlord, a good master, a true gentleman, and a loving brother.

  9

  “At best, you will return with a betrothed.”

  May 5, 1811

  During breakfast following Sunday services, Lady Catherine sat in her usual place, with Anne on her right and Mrs. Jenkinson on her left. The three ladies ate in silence for several minutes before her ladyship declared, “It is good that Miss Elizabeth Bennet left when she did. You gave her too much consequence, Anne, with those rides in your phaeton.”

  After silently contemplating what response she should make, Anne said, “Elizabeth is an interesting conversationalist.”