I am, etc.,
Mr. T.T.W.W (Turns the Wrong Way)
Dear Miss Bennet,
I have just sent the footman off with my answer to your note, saying that I shall see you this afternoon. I hope, during the course of my visit, to return to you the handkerchief which you left at the vicarage on the day of the ball, and also this letter. I know it is something of an impertinence to write to you, but I have not had opportunity to speak privately with you and I must communicate something of importance.
I am not the most observant of men, but I did notice a difference in your demeanor toward me on the day of the ball from when you helped with the children until we danced. There was an ease and friendliness between us in the beginning, but when I asked you to dance, you seemed quite changed. I imagine that you disapproved my handling of Jack, the uncle of Lucy. I can think of two reasons you might not have liked it. Either you thought I was too rough with him, or that I was not rough enough. If you thought I handled him too severely, I must tell you that that man is a thorough scoundrel, even when not drunk, and mere talk would not have dissuaded him from creating a scene. He very possibly would have offered violence to one of you ladies, as you saw that he did to me. He was not injured by me in any way, only put in the charge of a friend who kept him restrained until we were away.
If, on the other hand, you thought I should do more than restrain him, I share your sentiments. Believe me, I wished I could do much more! However, as it is not my job to punish or reform him, I did the only thing I could and keep him from hurting others at that moment.
Again, I do not know whether you thought me too harsh or too lenient, but I wanted to explain my motives in what I did.
If I seem to be taking too much thought about the incident, I beg you will forgive me. I may say that your opinion of me is a matter of great moment, which I hope to make clear to you very soon.
John Caldicot
Oh, my dear Jane!
My feelings and thoughts are in such a whirl, I hardly know what to write! I suppose I will be more intelligible if I explain what has happened since yesterday.
Mr. Caldicot came to dine with us last evening. Before he arrived, Lizzy asked me if Mr. Caldicot had done anything to make me annoyed—I suppose I did look a little forlorn at the ball. I assured her that he had done nothing to diminish my regard for him and determined to appear just as usual during the evening. I think I succeeded, for the most part.
I was hoping that when the ladies joined the gentlemen after dinner, I might perhaps have a little conversation with him, lest he also think I had some ill-feeling toward him. Alas, he was called away to a sick-bed almost as soon as I entered the drawing room. I am afraid I slept little that night; the time in his presence had reminded me how much I enjoyed being in his company. I could not help but contrast it with the first dinner he ate with us—how could I have thought him dull? And yet—he is more lively now, I think. At all events, I felt that I must avoid being near him as much as possible. I have a horror of turning into a languishing female, and I knew that is what I would become if he was, as it were, frequently dangled before my eyes.
We went to church this morning, as it is Christmas Day, and then came home to feast upon a superb dinner. Afterwards, all the servants received a gift from Mr. Darcy and Lizzy, and even little Annie was given a dissected puzzle with the letters of the alphabet on it. Lizzy drew her aside and told her that she would very shortly go to live with a very kind lady and some other little girls, but the thought of leaving us, and Sarah, to whom she has grown very attached, so distressed her that she went into hysterics.
I always knew that Lizzy had a kind heart, but I was astonished when she determined that I should write Mr. Caldicot a note asking him to come and talk to Annie as soon as he could. I must say that I was a little indignant at being asked to serve as her amanuensis again, but Lizzy said she was very tired and feeling a little unwell, and so I wrote the note.
To my surprise, Mr. Caldicot sent a message saying that he would be with us by four o’clock. I had planned to let Lizzy or Mr. Darcy take him to Annie, but when he arrived, I found they had decided to go for a walk. It fell upon me to escort Mr. Caldicot to the old schoolroom where Annie was waiting with Sarah. I was determined to be natural and friendly, and asked him the only question that came to mind, which was if he had dined well that day. He said yes, he had dined with his cousin and her husband.
“Oh,” I said, grasping at this topic, “have you a cousin in London?”
“She has only recently arrived, to my great delight,” he said. “Perhaps you met her at the charity ball? You might have seen me dancing with her.”
“Ah, that was your cousin!” I said with a little more glee, I suspect, than was seemly. “How agreeable for you to have family so nearby!”
By then we had arrived at the schoolroom, and Annie’s joy at seeing him was truly moving. I was about to leave them to talk, when Mr. Caldicot held out to me a little parcel and said, “Your handkerchief, Miss Bennet. You left it at the vicarage when you helped the children prepare for the ball.”
I took the package, but it was evident that there was more in it than just a handkerchief. There was probably a puzzled expression on my face, for he said, “Come back to us, if you will, when you have dealt with the parcel.”
It was almost as if he had given me a command, which I found very odd, but I obediently left the room. Once in my bedroom, I opened the package and found not only the handkerchief, but a letter. The letter was an explanation of his conduct with the drunk man on the night of the ball, which he was afraid I had taken offense at. He closed the letter by saying that what I thought of him was of very great importance, which he hoped to make clear to me very soon!
Jane, I have never been closer to swooning. His words seemed to imply an attachment to me, but I was afraid to let myself believe such a thing. I had convinced myself that he would never think of me in that way. I told myself to be calm, but it took me some moments before I could suppress my agitation.
When I thought I could appear composed, I went back to the schoolroom and listened as Mr. Caldicot talked with Annie. He was very kind and assured her that even after she was settled in her new home, she would be visited by myself and by Sarah. He gave to her some sugar plums which he had brought (which she did not need, as Cook has given her more than she ought to have already!) and concluded the discussion by praying the sweetest little prayer over her.
“And now,” said Sarah, “it is time for Annie’s tea, so you’ll excuse us, I hope.” And she shepherded Annie out the door and left Mr. Caldicot and myself alone. I could not help but feel awkward—no doubt Sarah expected that Mr. Caldicot would take his leave, but he did not. Instead, he leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and made no move to go.
“I wish I might do more for children like Annie,” I said, feeling that I ought to say something, and bursting out with the first thing that came into my head. It seemed to me after I said it that it sounded like an idle boast.
“Do you?” he said, and I thought it was more than an idle query. “Do you not think you would tire of scenes of misery after a time?”
He was so earnest in his question that I felt ready to sink lest I answer foolishly. The thought came into my mind that the reason he wanted to know my opinion of him was because he was thinking of establishing an orphanage himself and wanted me to help in some fashion. My hopes fell again.