Mrs. Bennet Has Her Say Read Online Free PDF Page B

London to embellish his library? Of course he does. If indeed he does purchase a book I know what its subject will be, for I have seen what rests on his library shelves, hidden behind the volumes of birds and beasts he boasts of. “Ah, my dear,” he has exclaimed more than once, “how much we have to learn from the world about us! The birds, do they not make you wonder how such flight is possible?” I am to look at him in admiration, impressed by his wisdom and intelligence. I am to be grateful for his attention. I am to look on him as my superior. “I urge you, my dear wife, to prepare yourself for the motherhood that awaits. Pray, leave off your contrariness and heed my counsel. It is certain that your mood would improve, as would the well-being of our children, especially that of my sons. We must look to the future.” Tra-la, I want to say, I prefer the past.
    And then came Elizabeth and with her the blame that fell upon me. He thought to comfort me: “I am not blamingyou,” he said, and added, “but it is your fault.” Elizabeth and I are the reason Mr. Bennet is making his way to London. If he thinks to punish me by his absence I am content to have him think so inasmuch as his departure recalls a bit of the freedom I felt as a girl, before Mr. Bennet showed himself on my horizon, and returns to me some of the joy I felt in the company of my dear colonel. Such happiness must have showed itself at once because Mr. Bennet was no more out of the door than Mrs. Rummidge said, “O ma’am, your cheeks are rosy! I have not seen their colour since little Elizabeth came to us.” Mrs. Rummidge at this moment held the baby in her arms as she does during most of her waking hours, quieting Elizabeth by way of some mystical spell I know not of. I am grateful to the woman, no matter that my daughter may be becoming bewitched; she is at least quiet. My strength is returning, as is the colour in my cheeks, as is my desire to see what lies beyond the upstairs chamber of my lying-in. Little Jane, sweet and compliant in her crib, babbles a bit and waves her little fingers in my direction; she takes my milk hungrily and often; she grows plump and rosy, just like her mother, and soon she will walk on her own. She is nothing like her little sister, although, given the difference in fathers, one ought not be surprised.
    And so I am left to amuse myself and, dear sister, I am doing so though not as my husband would wish. In his absence I can return to
Pamela
. Alas, her misfortunes multiply with each page, caused by her Master, who pursuesher unceasingly. Do you wonder at my affinity for this poor child? I will say, however, that her Master, unlike mine, brings her beautiful clothes: a silk nightgown, silken petticoats, laced shoes, Holland linen, and fine stockings, even a swan-skin undercoat. Good girl that she is, she refuses them and sews for herself flannel undercoats and rough shifts. Now, were Mr. B. to offer me fine silken garments, I would never for a moment refuse them, though of course, unlike Pamela, I am a married woman whose virtue belongs to the past. I shall add one additional difference between Pamela’s Master and mine: Pamela’s is handsome though nonetheless loathsome in his pursuit of this virginal girl. Oh, what luxury it is for me to while away the hours when I am detached from my babes amidst the pages of Mr. Richardson’s novel.
    But it is not just Pamela who provides my amusement. A unique sort of amusement comes from the slim volumes hidden on Mr. B.’s library shelves whose pages, as thin as the skin of onions, detail females like Mindy Sharpton in congress with men who resemble, dare I say, Mr. Bennet. So many and such varying ways of securing male pleasure I find astounding. I pray you will not think me too immodest, dear Jane, but I have no one else, certainly not Mrs. Rummidge, with whom to share my discoveries. I pray that you do not scold me for