2 February 1812
My Dearest Lizzy,
I have finally received what must be all your letters that have been accumulating, misdirected, or otherwise delayed. I am quite well-settled here in the parsonage for the immediate future. If I were a more disciplined woman, I would make you wait until the end of the letter to introduce you to little Abigail Collins, but I do not have the heart.
You will be happy to know that Abbie is absolutely the loveliest, as well as possibly the noisiest baby that ever lived. Mary and I love her dearly, and I shall not even attempt to describe the effusions of her father, which are all you would expect, and truly everything wonderful. Even though she is avery noisy baby, hearing her father’s voice quiets her. She will begin to scream again when he stops, so he simply rehearses his sermons when she is noisy, and all is well. I even detect an improvement in the delivery on Sundays, so perhaps the little one is doing us all a great favour.
This precious child was born with quite a head of hair, almost the same colour as yours; light blue eyes that to my mind speak of mischief; and the aforementioned healthy set of lungs. She is otherwise of average size, and in every way delightful… when she is quiet… indeed, she is always delightful, but sometimes more so than others. She is resting just now, so I will do my best to write a letter, and I may perhaps have one worthy of being read in a week or two.
Lady Catherine visits us at the parsonage nearly every day, and Abbie dotes on her. We have compared notes on your various travels, and it is always a lively topic of discussion. The lady always shares letters from you and Anne when she has any, and of course we return the favour. I struggle to determine whether she is angry at Anne for leaving or proud of her for such a great adventure; though I am certain it is possible to be both at the same time. She also worries, but that is to be expected. She is, I must say, quite unambiguously proud ofyou, and what you have done for her Anne. She believes Anne was merelyexistingbefore, and now she isliving,and it is all because of you. When her ladyship is in a boasting mood, there is no stopping her, and no subject gives her more pleasure than you and Anne.
To turn to the subject of mutual acquaintances, Mr Bingley has turned out to be surprisingly resilient. He finally purchased Netherfield several months ago, and by all accounts is endeavouring to be a diligent estate master. Mr Darcy has continued instructing him, and the man seems to be taking his responsibility seriously. He is attending to tenants, has had a number of discussions with my father about bordering fields,and seems to finally be achieving what he set out to do. Papa speaks of him with respect now.
With respect to his sisters, they have never been seen in the county again, and I have been told they are not welcome. You know how unreliable rumours are, but it has been bandied about that Mr Darcy gave Miss Bingley the cut direct in a London ballroom, and her social standing has suffered a severe blow. If that is the case, I must applaud Mr Darcy.
Before I left for Hunsford, I encountered Mr Bingley socially from time to time. The sharp edge of my animosity seems to have been blunted by your near-constant reminders to let the past go, and I have managed to engage him in civil conversation on some occasions. We have worked our way back to indifferent acquaintances, which is about the position in which I believe we will remain. I expect to be here with Mary for some time, so in the end it is of little importance. I must say in the spirit of generosity that whoever marries that gentleman will find a more resilient husband than he once promised to be, so perhaps some good will come of that debacle. I hate to say it, but I believe your acquaintance with Anne can also be counted as a good outcome, so who knows—maybe we should be thanking the superior sisters for the efficacy of their machinations.
In all seriousness Lizzy, there is no doubt whatsoever that your presence has been a boon to Anne, and I believe in the end you will count her friendship as a boon to you as well. I am quite envious of your adventure, in the abstract sort of way in which one is envious of someone doing something they would like to boast of but not particularly wish to do. In common with Lady Catherine, I am quite proud of you Lizzy, but in no hurry to exchange places.
I am curious whether the two of you plan to conquer only the Eastern coast of the Americas, or do you plan to subdue the rest of the continent while you are at it? Philadelphia, Boston, NewYork, Virginia—what is next, the Pacific? Forget I spoke; I do not want to put wild ideas in your head.
Your descriptions of the Americans are quite hilarious, and Mr Hopkinson’s own narratives and commentary are wonderful. I must forewarn you that I am quite as in love with Mr Hopkinson as you are, and should you ever return to English soil I will do my best to charm the poor man away from you. We never had a proper grandfather, and I am not to be denied my due out of sisterly affection.
Speaking of English soil, are you ever coming back Lizzy? I would not dare to criticise you, nor would I dare to look at your big adventure with anything short of envy and pride; but I do miss my sister. It has been a year and three months since I have seen you.
Your Hunsford Sister,
Jane
~~~
1 July 1812
Dearest Mother,
I hope you are well. We received both your report of February and that from Miss Bennet detailing the latest addition to your society, and I must say I highly approve of little Miss Abbie. I understand you are a frequent visitor to the parsonage, and the Collins family seems frequently to return the favour, so I could not be happier. I feared it might be lonely at Rosings, but it appears you have matters well in hand.
Lizzy and I are quite happy in our little adventure, and the only thing we lack is your company to make our enjoyment complete. I know it must be difficult to be without me all this time, and I feel some guilt occasionally; but we have had thegrandest of adventures and I cannot imagine spending the last year in any other way.
I must thank you repeatedly for your foresight in selecting Lizzy as my companion. As I strongly suspect you planned from the beginning, she has become ever so much more than a companion. She has become friend, sister, and confidante combined; I love her as much as I could any sister, and I am certain she feels the same. It has been a wonderful match in every respect.
I have no idea if you will be appalled or proud, but either way I must tell you of our latest endeavour. We just completed setting up our fifth school for poor children, and we are both so proud of all we have achieved. Let me explain how it all started.
I never quite realised just how constraining blindness could be. Lizzy was a great reader until she lost her sight, and she lost her greatest source of entertainment and knowledge, as well as the one thing that most connected her with her beloved father. Perhaps her father is somewhat indolent, and I fear for her sisters at his death, but he has been a good companion and educator for Lizzy. She lost that, but she also lost the ability to do all the other things gently bred ladies do to pass the time. She can no longer traipse around her father’s estate for miles, she cannot embroider or sew, she cannot paint or draw. She can do just about nothing other than interact with other human beings, and even that in a limited capacity.
On the other hand, she has becomeexceptionally goodat ferreting out the basic goodness and reliability of people, and she can detect dishonesty. I have come to believe that practised liars like Mr Wickham are too reliant on a look of goodness, honesty, and integrity; but those have no effect on Lizzy. She hears their tone of voice, compares what they say in logical terms to it, and she has honed a way to tell the good from the bad. It is more useful than you might imagine, and I believe in a tradeshe might do quite well. Imagine how well a businessman could do if he had a better idea of the truth or falsehood of a business proposition than he could obtain himself. I can well imagine you might even find it useful.
In our case, she is not made for idleness; so as soon as we arrived in Brighton, she stumbled almost by accident on our favourite pastime. She has a prodigious memory and can remember most of the books she read before she lost her sight. She can also remember a book if Mr Hopkinson or one of the footmen reads it to her. I have tried to read to her as well, but the effort is too taxing to sustain for long, whereas Hopkinson thinks nothing of reading for many hours. He is really the dearest man, as you well know.
One Sunday afternoon, Lizzy sat with me in a park in the city centre when I was feeling poorly, and she offered to read to me. Thinking me melancholy, she recited the comedyMuch Ado About Nothing. As she spoke in her clear and enticing voice, we gathered an audience of children. We were in a not particularly prosperous part of the city because I wanted to see what it was like. Do not worry, we were surrounded by our retainers and were perfectly safe. By the end of the recitation, we had a good two dozen listeners hanging on every word in rapt attention.
We repeated the experiment and always had the same result. Then Lizzy selected one of the poor children who had not been sent to work yet, but was likely to be soon. She asked the girl if she would like to learn some letters, and much to her delight, between Lizzy and Mr Hopkinson she soon had a small gaggle of children learning to read. We continued this exercise for some weeks, eventually deciding to hire a small schoolhouse to teach them in. We then added a few more students, and naturally needed to hire a real teacher. To be brief, Lizzy wanted to use her stipend to fund the school after we were gone, and I naturallytook care of that from my own allowance, which we barely touch with our simple way of living.
We hired a man Lizzy believes is honest as our man of business to oversee the affair, a schoolmistress to instruct, and another man to take care of the building and grounds. We left a fully working school with sufficient funds to operate for several years—five at least.
I must tell you, Mother, that I was so insufferably proud of the pair of us that we did the same thing again in Boston, and again and again. We have done our best to ensure they can survive after we leave, at least for a few years. Neither of us believe we materially changed the world. The poor are like the tides and we can no more affect the ebb and flow than we can for the sea we both love so much; but for a few boys and girls, wemightallow a child to go to a maid’s position instead of a workhouse; or perhaps become an upstairs maid or shop clerk or shopkeeper’s wife instead of a scullery maid. Our ambitions are small, but we are confident that we will achieve them in some measure, so we are content.
Mother, who would have thought the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be so insufferably proud over such a small thing? But I am, and I have you to thank for the fortune and freedom to do my part for the world. I am quite certain Lizzy feels the same.
