Bingley

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 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 than Kitty, yet there she was on the arm of a man at least a decade her senior.

I would have been terribly embarrassed and thoroughly mortified, if I were not so frightened out of my wits.

I relayed the incident to our uncle, as is proper, and he was prepared to march over and discuss the matter with Mr Darcy straightaway. He was quite formidable in his rage, but I eventually convinced him that since the ‘gentleman’ did not even speak to me, and I will not be in their part of town anytime soon, there was nothing that could or should be done. It is not as if it is against the law to stare at someone with malice, nor abandon a woman with whom you have no understanding. Both are terribly ungentlemanly, of course, but I have it on the best authority that applying that standard of behaviour would fill our transport ships to the brim with gentry within a week.

I am so sorry, Jane, if your heart was still engaged by that cretin (I apologise, but I could neither think of a ladylike term to use nor one even worse that would fit). Now that we are both certain of his true colours, I believe your recovery should be rapid since all doubt has been removed. There is still a dearth of eligible gentlemen in Hertfordshire, but at least you have narrowly escaped one rake.

Speaking of our mother, has she desisted from her screeching at all the gods, old and new, about how ill-used she has been by her least favourite daughter, and how she is surely just one step closer to the hedgerows. I hope the ordeal for all of you has not been too trying, but you know as well as I do it would be ten times worse if I were there for her to scream at. I still believe my stay with our aunt and uncle will be of some duration.

All my love to our sisters and tell them I will write them if they can be troubled to write to me.

That rule will certainly prevent me from having to trouble myself with Kitty or Lydia, but as you know I have already exchanged letters with Mary, and I believe she will be a reliable correspondent. I find a wry sense of humour and some acute observations in her writing, so perhaps we have all been misjudging our next youngest sister all these years. Pray, take the trouble to know her better. I would very much like to see the two of you with a closer bond.

Your loving sister, Elizabeth