Chapter Two
Letter No. 2
Friday, 11th May
My dear Julia,
I believe I may have abandoned my previous letter rather abruptly, leaving in your head a vision of myself, face down upon the bed. Please remove me from this undignified position at once—Nell soon scolded me out of it, in any event—and assume that I dined like a civilized person on a bit of bread and butter, and that a night’s sleep saw me as recovered from the rigors of our journey, as I judged prudent. I might, indeed, have been more fully restored to strength, save that my mother was determined to waste no time, but almost at once announced that we must bestir ourselves to visit a truly Gargantuan list of shops. My suggestion that perhaps I would not need to accompany her, since I had already so many new garments but recently finished by Mrs. Anderson, met with what I can only describe as a most withering stare. It seems that dresses that are deemed perfectly acceptable for Warwickshire neighbors, and approved for catching the eye of your good-natured cousin (who, after all, cares so little for the arbitrary decrees of fashion, that he could not even be bothered to purchase a commission in a regiment that would clothe him in scarlet), would not do at all for Bath, with its balls and concerts, and its wealth of well-born idlers and invalids. Off we went, therefore, to immerse ourselves in silks and muslins, gloves and fans and buckles and ribbons; straw hats adorned with highly-colored fruits and flowers; self-important dress-makers with decisive but respectful opinions and exhausted minions staggering under the weight of pattern-books; a shoe-maker who was strangely astonished, and not a little disappointed, to find that my mother desired him to make for us several pairs of shoes, rather than to pay him to instruct us in how to do so ourselves: a most peculiar bit of whimsy, which has apparently begun to gain popularity in certain quarters.
What quarters? you may be asking yourself, having never heard of such a thing, safely sheltered in your bucolic paradise as you have been. As someone who has now had the benefit of living for almost three days in a proper city, I am now qualified to reply, “Why, those quarters where people have a good deal of money, and a good deal of time, and nothing better to do with it than to sit around struggling with stubborn leather and coarse thread, being patiently instructed by a most respectful master cobbler, who is no doubt taking great pleasure in the thought of being paid twice—once for his hours of instruction, and then again, the following week, for making a decent pair of shoes, after those wrought by his high-born pupils prove too uncomfortable to be worn for longer than it takes to flaunt them before the astonished eyes of their friends.”
Dutifully following my mother up and down Milsom Street, I could not help but be reminded of a general who has just learned he is to be facing Boney himself upon the battlefield, scurrying about making what preparations he can, all the time fearing they will prove inadequate in the face of the many disadvantages heaped upon him by nature. In the general’s case, his chief disadvantage is undoubtedly the fact that he is not Bonaparte; my mother’s, that I am her daughter; or rather, that her daughter is I, and not another. I have only to look down at my sadly unremarkable hand (a smaller version of my father’s) as it guides the pen across the page, or glance across the room at the glass on the wall and confirm that this morning’s careful curls have wilted to an alarming degree, to know that in her eyes I must seem almost expressly fashioned to disappoint her every maternal hope; even if she had not scrupulously informed me of it at choice intervals over the past ten years.
Alas, that in her zeal, my mother should have over-estimated the strength of her troops: after two days of such furious activity, my condition is far worse than it was even directly after our arrival, and she has been forced to accede to my desire to spend today, at least, comfortably ensconced on a sofa, and with no further call upon my strength, than is necessitated by dipping a pen, or holding open a book.
Monday evening, if I am judged fit, it is her intention to lead me forth to my first Bath assembly, if a suitable dress should have been delivered by then. Given my uselessness in such a setting, I cannot help but wonder what sort of Eligible Peer she imagines will be drawn to a young lady who spends the entire evening sitting on a bench, waiting impatiently for the moment when she might go in to tea (my mother assures me that a splendid tea is included in the subscription).
It has occurred to me, that my mother’s plans might have a greater chance of success, if she would simply allow me to write out an advertisement beforehand, so that I might hold it before me as I sat; and if that did not serve, perhaps I could ‘accidentally’ let it fall into the path of any especially promising candidates who passed before me. I think I could contrive quite a creditable notice: “Required for the purposes of matrimony, a titled gentleman of no particular talent or intelligence; personal fortune is negotiable, though at least a modest allowance is necessary in order to support an appearance of respectability. Dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts and barons preferred, though baronets accepted if nothing better is on offer. Must be prepared to wed countrified heiress of 18 years, possessed of few social graces, a disagreeable disposition when crossed, and no more than moderately attractive appearance, even when curl-papers are employed. Heiress is worth in excess of £8,000, but prospective suitors should be warned that she has not wit enough to know what is good for her, and has repeatedly declined to cast her line before neighboring lords when it was her manifest duty to do so, and banishment was threatened as a consequence of disobedience. If interested, please inquire at _____, or arrange to be introduced to Mrs. Northcott in the nearest card-room, at your own convenience. Caveat Emptor: said heiress has also a slight limp due to a fall in her youth, but as this defect in no way compromises her fortune, any gentleman of intelligence will realize the advantages to be found in a wife who cannot dance, and thus has little need of expensive ball gowns, as well as decreased opportunities for flirtation.’
Yours, in the guise of merchandise, Ann Northcott