Dear Nameless Stranger: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Jeannie Peneaux

Author:Jeannie Peneaux [Peneaux, Jeannie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six: September

If Darcy were to own himself surprised by any of the Miss Bennets, he would say that it was Miss Catherine Bennet whose letters were vastly different from the insipid personality she had displayed during his time in Hertfordshire.

He was perfectly ready to admit that he had paid her very little attention, often pairing her in his mind with the more ebullient Miss Lydia when they far too often strayed into behaviour that was unbecoming.

Yet her letters did not match well with a silly and flighty girl who was forever following in the shadow of her younger sister. She wrote in a decidedly whimsical manner, the like of which he had never before encountered. It was clear that she had not been well taught – her complete abandonment of the usual formality of address made that quite plain, but in spite of the unusual style, he found his attention quite caught by her monthly account. Catherine did not write her letters with clarity in mind, that was evident. She would describe, in great, artistic detail, some small thing but quite forget the importance of context. Had he not the letters from the other Miss Bennets to enlighten him, he should find it almost impossible to determine what it was she was attempting to speak of.

Elizabeth had been wrong in her supposition regarding Miss Kitty – she had suggested that entire pages might be devoted to the description of bonnets and the like. No, Catherine Bennet might be given to excessive description, but she did not waste her paper on anything so mundane as a bonnet.

Her letter from the month of September was by turns quaint and exasperating to him, being as it was so typical of every letter she had thus far written.

29th September

Dear Sir,

There is a field of wheat that I often walk past. It did not belong to Papa but it is a long ribbon of yellow between what used to be the great meadow and Oakham woods. If you look at it from higher ground, it winds along the landscape like a river of gold in the summer. The wheat is almost to my waist at present and will soon be cut down. It is so sad that such a pretty thing must be destroyed in order to feed us. I cannot help but feel for the field mice and other inhabitants that have made their homes therein, imagining themselves quite safe from all harm – what a shock they will have in a few weeks time when the men will come with their sharp scythes and hooks to cut down their little houses.

Perhaps they have their own little streets and dwelling places in the wheat fields that we will never know about. Mayhap the lady field mice will pay calls upon each other and encourage their daughters to be charming to the young gentlemen mice. I wonder if gentlemen field mice are judged to be handsome not by their height, but rather by the length of their whiskers and tails.

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