Since you ask, Georgiana is doing very well. She has earned the reputation of quiet and sensible elegance. The older matrons all approve of her, and she is finding her way in London society. Fitzwilliam is thankful that no eligible suitors have made serious attempts to attach her thus far. I may say that I have no worries about her—which is probably why I have been thinking and writing so much more about Kitty.
Mr. Caldicot came yesterday to lay before us his plan for using former governesses to care for children such as Annie. He asked if we knew of any such governesses who would like the work. I noticed that he looked at Kitty often. I could not blame him: she was in very good looks, and I may say she became quite animated when discussing the possibilities of the scheme. She expressed regret that we had never had a governess and therefore could not recommend anyone for the position but did offer to do what she could to look out suitable houses for the governesses and children, otherwise known as “coteries” (a title which Kitty and Mr. Caldicot devised for these little households). Can you imagine the Kitty we knew only a year ago doing such a thing?
Mr. Caldicot also went up to visit little Annie, which I thought very kind of him, and he spoke to her for a full fifteen minutes. Kitty was there, as well, and I asked her later what Mr. Caldicot had conversed with Annie about. Kitty said they talked mostly of the things they like to eat! I was afraid the vicar might read the poor child a sermon, but Kitty said they chatted away in the friendliest manner, and only at the very end did he offer a little prayer for her.
“It was very touching to hear him,” Kitty said. “One can see how he cares for the children.”
One can only puzzle over her blindness to his eligibility! Then again, I was quite blind to Fitzwilliam’s good qualities for a long time, so I cannot blame her much. I cannot help but hope that the Christmas ball will bring some kind of understanding between them.
Oh, Jane, I do wish you were here! Not only because I long to see you, and because I wish I had your help in opening Kitty’s eyes to the splendid suitor under her nose, but because I wished to tell you to your face that you will become an aunt shortly after I do. I will tell Mama (and Kitty) after Christmas, but I could not bear that you should not know it first.
With joy,
Lizzy
Dear Jane,
Tonight is the Christmas charity ball! It is early afternoon now, but I must begin getting ready soon. I am going to the vicarage to help get the little children dressed and ready for the ball. I had thought that Lady Hampshire would be there to help as well, but then of course as she is giving the ball it would be quite impossible for her to spend some of the afternoon at the vicarage. However, Miss Stephens (the former governess who has been helping us) and two other former governesses that Mr. Caldicot has found, will be there to assist.
I am wearing my pink gown tonight, and Lizzy’s own maid is going to dress my hair. I cannot help but wonder if Mr. Arnot will think me pretty, and if he will ask me to dance the first dance, and if he will be sure to be my partner before the supper so that he may sit by me there. I also wonder if it really matters to me if he does all those things. I do not even know what I think of him. At one time I wished him to make me an offer, but now I am not certain. I hope he will not ask tonight, at any rate! I suppose I have all these musings because Mr. Arnot is the only young man (apart from various coxcombs and other ineligible men) who has seemed to want to attach me. I am not—oh, dear, I have just seen the time and must fly! I will post this directly and will write more tomorrow!
In haste,
Kitty
Dear Susan,
Such a rumpus there was tonight at the vicarage! I told you of this charity ball that Mr. Caldicot is taking some of his urchins to, on account of which they have been invading the vicarage once a week for weeks on end! There was no reason they could not have done their practicing at the school, and so I told Mr. Caldicot, but it seems that the lady who is giving the ball wanted it done at the vicarage. The lady usually came to help teach, with an old governess and another young lady, a Miss Bennet. At first, I thought Miss Bennet must be trying to fascinate Mr. Caldicot—why else would she do such a thing? But after a bit I could see that she no more thought of him than if he had been sixty years of age. However, I could see that he noticed her!
At all events, tonight is the big ball, and the children all came here to dress. I was not happy about it, as this required much time washing them, pressing the clothes, and getting the children dressed. Mr. Caldicot, to do him justice, apologized at the end, saying that he hadn’t realized just how much work it would be for me. Miss Bennet, who came to assist at the proceedings, was already arrayed for the ball and could not help to wash the little urchins—she offered, but it would have been the ruin of her dress. She looked quite grieved at having not thought of such a thing, but there wasn’t much she could have done about it, save coming in old clothes and getting dressed for the ball here. And I couldn’t have put up her hair for her the same as whoever did it—a first-rate lady’s maid, I should say.
At last all the children were washed and dressed, and I must say they looked quite presentable at the end. Lady Hampshire had sent two carriages and Mr. Caldicot had hired a third to transport the children to the ball. We were bundling the children into them when a man who was far from sober came along down the street. I recognized him by sight—having seen him in various stages of drunkenness all around this district.
Well, he comes up to the carriage that I was handing a little girl into and says, “That’s my niece you have there!” Only of course it came out as “Thashs my neesh you ‘ave there.” And he grabbed the little girl by the arm.
“Oh, sir,” I said, trying to be very firm although I can’t abide men when they are the worse for drink and it always makes me quake. “She’s going with these children for a few hours, and she’ll be back before long.”
But he paid no heed to me and grabbed the girl’s arm. The wee thing—she couldn’t have been more than about six or seven—looked all of a tremble, and I felt as if I couldn’t move or do anything, when Mr. Caldicot was suddenly right beside me. I hadn’t seen him come up, but he must’ve seen the man coming.
“Now then, Jack,” he said. “Leave Lucy be. I’ll see her safe home.” He was that commanding, Susan, as I thought the man must back down and move along. But this is the kind of man who likes nothing better than a fight when he’s in his cups, and he wanted to fight.
“It’sh my neesh! I’ll ‘ave her and I’ll ‘ave that frock and sell it before the day ish out!”
I heard Mr. Caldicot mutter “In vino veritas,” which if you don’t know is French for “If you’re drunk you tell the truth.” French or Italian or some such language, I forget which one. And then he said, “Let the girl go.”
And the man Jack did let go of her arm, but only to take a swing at the vicar. I think I may have screamed, but in a moment it was over. The vicar dodged the blow and then, neat as you like, took hold of Jack’s arm and twisted it behind his back. It seemed to take no effort for him to do this—his clothes were not in the least rumpled and his hat was still firmly on his head. The man Jack was crying out “It hurtsh! He’sh killing me!”
“Carry on,” Mr. Caldicot said to us. “I’ll see that he is put safely somewhere and be back in a moment”—and trotted quietly down the street with him. That is to say, the vicar was quiet. Jack was not!