Although having now imagined it, I wonder if I know him well enough to engage myself to him. He is a gentleman, and his father is worth about two thousand a year. He appears to have correct opinions about politics—not that we discoursed at length about such a topic—and he likes eating fish but does not like quinces. He likes a jig better than a waltz, and he thinks Town is more amusing than the country. Is it enough? I do not know what he thinks about serious matters at all.
And yet, does anyone know these things? How often did you and Mr. Bingley converse on weighty matters before you agreed to marry him? I know far more about the thoughts of Mr. Caldicot on serious matters than I do Mr. Arnot. He really is a noble soul, Jane (Mr. Caldicot is, I mean). I really think he ought to be married. A wife might make him less—I was going to say less serious, but that is not quite what I mean, for I do not think he should be more frivolous. I suppose I think he should not be so constantly serious. I told you that we are giving the children dancing lessons for the ball, and he and I were called on the demonstrate some steps for them. He turned the wrong way and bumped into a table and burst out laughing—we all did, I fear. But the laughter changed his face entirely, and I forgot he was a clergyman. If he looked like that more often, he would have no difficulty in obtaining a wife.
He even ventured on a mild witticism. He said, “I ought to have heeded my own sermon. I spent ten minutes last Sunday on the text, ‘Ponder the path of thy feet.’”
When we said farewell at the end of the lesson, he apologized again to me for his mistake. I said, “If Mr. Bunyan put you into The Pilgrim’s Progress, he might have named you ‘Mr. Turns-the-Wrong-Way’.”
He laughed, but I have since wondered if my little joke was not a bit irreverent.
Ah, well, no doubt I am thinking too much about it. If Mr. Arnot asks, I daresay I will accept him.
Annie is perfectly well now.
With much affection,
Kitty
Dear Jane,
Kitty reminded me that I must ask the Arnots to dinner. I was hoping she would forget, but I think their son, one James Arnot, has fascinated our sister. He is not a bad man, as men go, and his fortune is fair, but I think him a somewhat shallow and careless gentleman. I’m sure it was on Kitty’s account that we were asked to dine with them a month ago. He does seek out Kitty whenever they are in the same company, and smiles at her a great deal, but I see no signs of an ardent attachment. I fear that he would not hesitate to transfer his attentions to another girl who had more money coming to her, if her connections were as good as Kitty’s.
And I must entertain the whole family—the mother who is supercilious to anyone who does not move in the highest circles, the father who has little conversation and no wit, and a younger son who is now down from Cambridge. One can only hope that he is not stuffed with self-importance over his newly-acquired learning. I earnestly hope that Mr. James Arnot will be dissuaded by his parents from making an offer for Kitty, for I fear that in her present state of mind, she would accept him.
Oh, that she would transfer her affection to Mr. Caldicot! I have ventured to say to her a few words in his praise, to which she heartily gives assent, but I do not think it has ever entered her head that he might be a suitor. Of course, he has not said anything to Kitty directly, and he may never do so, and therefore I have restrained myself from proposing that she look on him as a possible husband. It has not been easy, Jane, and I hope you will admire the self-control I have exercised in this regard.
I do wish you were here to lend me your aid in this matter! I am tempted to tell Georgiana about our matchmaking plot, but I think the secret would be a burden to her. She and Kitty have become good friends, and I think the friendship has been beneficial for both of them. I would not wish to mar it by a lack of openness.
Ah well, I must write the invitation to the Arnots—something I have been putting off for the last half-hour. I think I will ask the Gardiners to come as well. If the Arnots are repelled by Kitty having relations who are in trade, so much the better!
Resignedly,
Lizzy
My Dear Margaret,
Yesterday I summoned Kitty to come and see the ballroom, on the pretext of asking her what she thought of my plans for decorations. There was not the slightest chance of my changing what I had determined, of course, but it is so difficult to find any other means of talking to her alone! I managed to tell her that John was extremely sought after as a dancing partner when he first came upon the town, and very nearly smiled at the incredulous look on her face. I hope at least that she may henceforth be aware that he was not born a clergyman. I was tempted to say more in his praise, but she is not a simpleton and might become suspicious if I say too much.
I did ask her to write to John for me and ask him if the children should dress at their homes for the ball, or if they ought to dress elsewhere—for example, at the vicarage. That is one of the advantages of being Lady Hampshire: one may be imperious and demand that people do the most ridiculous things, like write your letters for you, and no one will refuse you.
Your co-conspirator,
Isabel
Dear Mr. Caldicot,
Lady Hampshire desires me to write to you and ask about the children being dressed for the ball. She wonders if it will not be difficult to deliver the clothes to the various homes, and thinks perhaps the garments might be soiled or stolen before the ball. Would it be better to have the children be dressed at another place? If so, would the vicarage serve, or would it be too inconvenient for you? She tasked me to say that it would be a great kindness if you would reply to me rather than her, as she is so very busy and may overlook a communication from you.
If I might, I will also venture to ask your advice about little Annie. When the doctor came to see her during her illness, he happened to remark that it might have been better to amputate the leg when it was broken. Annie heard him (I cannot think what he was about to say such a thing in her hearing!), and she told me later that she is so glad no one thought of cutting off her leg, else she would never go to heaven. I told her that she was mistaken, and was amused at the strange ideas children get.
I mentioned this to Sarah, the servant who cares for Annie, thinking she would find it as diverting as I did. However, she was not at all surprised, and in fact, seemed to agree with the sentiment—that someone who is missing a limb might be kept out of paradise! I do not feel myself qualified by any means to correct this error, and am exceedingly puzzled as to what to do. I feel that Annie, at any rate, ought to be better taught about heaven. I know you are very busy, but perhaps you could come and talk to her? Or if you cannot, you might possibly tell me what I ought to say.
I remain, respectfully,
Catherine Bennet
Dear Miss Bennet,
You may tell Lady Hampshire that she was perfectly right to think of such a thing—I fear that a bachelor like myself is ill-equipped to foresee difficulties like this. The children had better be dressed here at the vicarage. They will be taken from here to the ball, so they may as well dress here.