A.N.: For the record, I never had any inclination to watch this movie. I expected it to be completely stupid. But, last week, some of my friends decided to go see it, and I figured I may as well go along for the company, as I had nothing better to do. Besides, in her efforts to convince me to come, my roommate told me that Matt Smith was playing Collins, and I figured that, if nothing else, would be worth seeing. I chose not to take the movie too seriously, because then I would be forced to judge it rather harshly, but I thought it was very funny and allowed myself to enjoy it. Despite my deliberate leniency, however, one thing still bothers me - in order to make time for the zombie storyline, they had to compress the original, and while they actually did a commendable job for most of it, I felt that, after Rosings, we lost too much of Darcy and Elizabeth. I realize that things can't be quite as drawn out as in the book, but this is my attempt to make the development of their relationship a bit more gradual while still fitting within the boundaries of the movie.
Disclaimer: I have very little to do with the letter you are about to read. I did little more than take some excerpts from the book and the movie and fit them together in my own way.
The sun had only just begun to rise on the morning following Charlotte's wedding to Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth sighed in relief as her carriage rattled off down the road. After all that had passed, she could not return home soon enough. Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart, and even as she set her face toward Hertfordshire, it plagued her mind, haunting her as it had incessantly since the author had first placed it in her hand.
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. If, in the explanation of my actions and motives, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.
I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till she took ill and remained at Netherfield that I had any apprehension, for knowing of her occupation as a slayer of the undead, I was certain that she had been stricken with the strange plague. Not wishing to trouble you or any of the Netherfield party with my theory, I endeavoured to smother Bingley's affections, thus sparing him the agony of watching your sister succumb. Upon her recovery, which I expected to be temporary, I perceived that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but I remained convinced that she would soon begin the cheerless descent into Satan's service. As the weeks turned to months, I began to question my observations. Why had she not yet turned? Could I have been so wrong as to mistake a simple fever for the strange plague? By the time I realised my error, it was too late to affect any undoing of the scheme. Mr. Bingley had been quite separated from Miss Bennet, both in distance and affection. Though I did so without malice, my actions have surely pained your sister, and your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the severity of your sister's cold was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was pledged to darkness. That I was desirous of believing her stricken is certain-but I will venture to say that my investigation and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be afflicted because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.
But there were other causes of repugnance. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by herself, your three younger sisters, and even, on occasion, by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, let it give you consolation to consider that you and your elder sister are held in my highest esteem, both in manners and skill as fellow warriors. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done, and only as a consequence of affection for my friend.
As to your other accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham: No sooner had my father made clear his intention to leave Mr. Wickham a handsome sum than Mr. Darcy was mysteriously infected by the plague. It was left to me, his son, to provide a merciful ending. Still, I gave Wickham the inheritance my father left. Wickham squandered it, whereupon he demanded more and more money until I eventually refused. Thereafter, he severed all ties with me. Last summer, he began a relationship with my 15 year old sister and convinced her to elope. Mr. Wickham's prime target was her inheritance of 30,000 pounds, but revenging himself on me was a strong additional inducement. Fortunately I was able to persuade my sister of Mr. Wickham's ulterior motives before it was too late.
I hope this helps explain and perhaps mitigate my behavior in your eyes. May God bless you, and save England from her present unhappiness.
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Elizabeth studied every sentence, and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation. But, when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself, and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect. But she could not approve him, nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret, and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin.
She knew not what to think or feel, but looked forward to relief upon her return home. She would not - could not - burden dear Jane with that news of Mr. Bingley that could bring her only misery, but the rest could be confided, and sparring with her sisters would be a welcome distraction from the thoughts that troubled her.
A.N.: As I said, I really didn't do much here. This chapter was pretty much just establishing a starting point for my story, which will kick off in the next chapter.
