Work Text:
To: Miss Elizabeth Bennet
18th October
My Dear Elizabeth,
Well; it is near midnight: being too late to dine, Mrs Reynolds kindly brought me supper and a candle, and now I am finally at liberty to write to you. The rain and the wind during the whole carriage-ride would not cease, and consequently all but one of the roads to Pemberley are flooded, and my arrival, intended for around 4 p.m., was delayed until half-an-hour ago. Do you comprehend what this means? The world - or at least Derbyshire - is telling me very emphatically that I should not after all have listened to your exhortation that of course I must personally visit Mr Hawkins, and personally examine his roof which he claims my steward cannot have checked properly. No, indeed, you have said to me, smiling, which I of course cannot resist, indeed, you must go and visit the old man; clearly he is in distress and I would not for the world have one of your tenants put out for my sake. And now it is midnight and I ache all over for many reasons, and wish I had not come - even to risk your disapprobation. I would welcome it, to be back at Longbourn.
Goodnight - D.
Dearest Lizzy, please forgive my peevishness of last night, which I shall not however cross out, fearing that that would be an even more disagreeable act. I know you delight in honesty. I have slept well; I hope you have too: and now, after having breakfasted, I shall ready this letter for the post in the hopes that it shall reach you to-day, while I ride out to visit Mr Hawkins with a sunny countenance and charitable stance. Forgive me.
I hope you and your family are well.
Yours, &tc
Fitzwilliam Darcy
To: Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy
19th October
Dear Mr Darcy
Do you generally begin your letters full of indignation and self-justification, only to end them full of a most benevolent magnanimity? I am merely perceiving a trend -. Now it is my turn to beg for forgiveness. More: I cannot blame a carriage-ridge for my own peevishness, if we are to reduce the melancholy of parting to such a word. But it has been raining here too, and I have not been able to take my customary tramp through the landscape. You are not here to forbid me from risking the mud and mizzle, so I must forbid myself. What else remains? You will perhaps say: poetry; and I will reply that poetry is, like punch, best shared between many; and so I will keep poetry until we are married. I shall keep a number of books about my person at all times to reconcile us to any weather we may encounter.
Now to be serious. I wish you were at Longbourn too; but I saw your expression when you told me of Mr Hawkins, and of how he showed you how to make a fly, and how pleased young Master Darcy was when he caught a pike and Hawkins did not. Having known you as a boy, he would not, I am sure, abuse your good nature without cause - recognizing, as I do, after only a few months’ acquaintance, that you would do anything for your dependents. Go, then, to help him, and do not blame me for imagining you bravely climbing a ladder, inspecting thatch, or mending a wall.
Please write soon, and send my best regards to Mrs Reynolds and Mr H.
Yours, &tc
Elizabeth Bennet
To: Miss Elizabeth Bennet
20th October
My Dear Elizabeth,
Your letter prompted a number of sentiments in me - too many, perhaps, to set out here - but be assured I have contemplated them over and over in my head. One point of order, as your future husband - I write it now with a firm hand - no poetry, if you please. We shall have better things to do, rain or no. Onto other things. I was a little angry with Mr Hawkins for taking me away from you; however, as you correctly guessed, I owe him a great deal for his kindness to me as a solemn and often lonely boy. (Pity me if you will - I will endure it.)
I went, then, to his cottage in good spirits, remarking the trees and bushes on the way that may be worthy of your future notice. When I arrived, however, he was in a very sorry state. He ran out to meet me and soon told me the whole story. The roof, it appears, was the least of his woe. After we had sat down at his table and he had sighed for a while, he admitted that his great-nephew, one Sam, had given him a great deal of trouble. Last week he ran into especial difficulty. A night’s carousing at the Lamb had left him penniless and fit only to lay down where he stood and sleep until he was well again. However, in the morning the boy awoke to find himself at Matlock billet with the King’s Shilling in his pocket.
You can guess the rest; Sam was told he should not leave and in the billet he remained. He was permitted, however, to write to Hawkins in order to ask him for a guinea to release him. Hawkins had no guinea, but went anyway to extricate his relative from the wiles of the recruiting officer - by all accounts a dreadful, conniving fellow. Thus the matter stood, and thus was I called to Pemberley. Could I go, asked Hawkins, to Matlock and plead Sam’s cause? I agreed very willingly. I have not, as you know, any great love for some officers of the Army; so I anticipate with some pleasure besting this gentleman who has treated the boy so deceitfully. I set off in an hour.
My best regards to your family. How are Charles and your sister? I hope they have argued. Please express more about your own peevishness; it will soothe my spirits.
Yours, &tc
Fitzwilliam Darcy
To: Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy
21st October
Dear Mr Darcy
I have only just received your letter, and am writing straight away; but I suppose I shall be too late to ask you to be careful. Best all the Army officers you wish, but remember I am here far away and imagining any number of dreadful things happening to you.
Yours, &tc
Elizabeth Bennet
To: Miss Elizabeth Bennet
23rd October
My dear Elizabeth
Well! It is all done, and while my vanity partly delights in imagining you sitting in the garden, fearing for me - like patience on a monument/Smiling at grief - I would not for the world cause you any pain. Indeed I hope you are teasing me. And yet - I do not. Now it is my turn to suffer a green and yellow melancholy! And yet I shall prove as much in my vows as in my love. Do not, I pray, do not be concerned. Sam is free: the officer has been enjoined to leave not only the environs of Pemberley, but all of Derbyshire; and I am at liberty in turn, I believe, to return to you tomorrow. Mrs Reynolds is relieved, for my presence has temporarily prevented her from continuing the vast project of cleaning and polishing and baking she has commenced prior to our visit in two months’ time. I told her we should be home soon.
Yours, &tc
Fitzwilliam Darcy