Mrs. Elton Sez: Deplorable Table Manners Repulses Groom-elect!

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am writing to you in the strictest confidence. While my name is of no consequence to you (and would be of no value to your readers), I solicit your advice. I am about to be engaged to a woman I do not wish to marry. Although she is respectable enough in looks and possesses a spectacular fortune, she laughs like a neighing horse, speaks in a volume that would still a crowd, and eats while talking. One can see the bread crumbs flying from her mouth and liquids dribbling on her fine satins. After a meal one can discern which dishes she ate by merely staring at her bodice. I understand that when the old and infirm are taken to exhibiting such manners they are forgiven, but the young lady in question is barely nineteen.

How could I possibly dine with her for the rest of my life? Please do not ask me to approach her parents about her table manners, for they are equally lacking in decorum. My father, you see, owes this young lady’s father an almost insurmountable debt, which shall be erased on the day of our nuptials. Adding to my dilemma, I am in love with another – the daintiest and sweetest of creatures, who would not for the life of her ever allow a morsel or a crumb to fall waywardly from her cherry red lips.

If I elope with my beloved, my father will disinherit me. If I marry the heiress, I shall never forgive myself. As you can see, I am in sore need of your words of wisdom.

Sincerely,

Miserable and in love.


My dear Miserable,

You need not dissemble. I can see through you; your secrets are visible to me. La! I have often prided myself on being cautious as a minister of state, to be sure, but the single quality most to be celebrated in me, I think, is my Penetration. Do not be alarmed; I do not know precisely who you may be (though I have a pretty good guess), and any way the secrets of the confessional, you know, are secret.

Your description of your unpleasing bride-elect, however, is far too exact to be mistaken. The neighing horse, the dribbling liquids down sattin, are unmistakeable. There is only one woman in England with the courage and the importance to allow herself to behave in that way, and it is the Princess Charlotte.

So! You aspire to marry the Princess, do you? Let me tell you then, in no uncertain terms, that would be a very bad course, and her manners, if not the least of it, form only a part of my objections. In the first place, you are, I shrewdly collect, a handsome young blade now, who enjoys life. How much would you enjoy, pray, when you are Prince or King Consort, and doomed to watching the bread crumbling down her chin, and all England watching? Life would not seem such a merry jest to you then, would it, Sir?

I know two other things against the Princess, which, good-humoured and amiable girl though I believe her to be, must be taken very seriously when considering her as a wife. First, she admires Miss Austen's Sense and Sensibility, as indeed she ought to do, but only because she feels that the character of Marianne is exactly like her, only better! Really, now, sir, Marianne as a wife - that mixture of hysteria and self-absorption - would you, or any prudent man, want to be married to such? And Marianne, to do her justice, had excellent table manners. But that is not all that I know against Princess Charlotte. Now mark what I say, though I am surprised you need to hear it from me as it was common London gossip, and you move in circles that should scarcely be ignorant of this sort of thing. It is said, however, that she exclaimed in wonder at a lady friend who had been married to her husband for many years, "Law! Lady ___, do you not get tired of just Sir John in bed?" For it is well known that she leaves a passage open from her bedchamber door to the street, and slips downstairs at odd hours to bring up any random gentleman for some bed sport - which she considers to be "the healthiest thing in the world."

Princess or not, I conclude, she is perfectly unfitted for a wife, and as you have not actually committed yourself to an engagement, you will be quite justified in ceasing to call at Windsor and Carlton House. I understand your wish to do away with your father's debt, but is it likely? Would the Prince Regent countenance it? I think not. You did not incur your father's debts and cannot clear them. With a clear conscience, you may propose for your own true love, and marry her, if, that is, she has a proper dowry of her own. As Miss Austen herself said, it is needful for a couple to have one independent fortune between them; so if she has one, it will do very well.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Philip Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Grandson Stalked by Groupie

Dear Mrs. Elton

I put pen to paper to you today under much duress kind lady, and entreat you urgently for your assistance. I currently reside in London with my dear husband Robert Birchall, who is by trade a dealer in musical instruments and music publisher of some repute on New Bond Street. We have been happily married these forty years and blessed with many children and grandchildren. It is with great alacrity that I write to you concerning my grandson James, a young and aspiring musician who is currently residing with us while he studies at the Conservatory.

Last month he had his first salon recital on pianoforte at the home of his distinguished patroness (who shall remain nameless) meeting with great success. Since that eventful night, his world has changed so considerably that I do not know where or how to reveal all the particulars without exciting a fit of my nerves. One of the attendees was Lady Blessington, whose intimate friend Mrs. Penelope Paget a woman of a respectable middle age, has taken an intense interest to my young, handsome and talented grandson. After their introduction, she has forced her friendship upon him and followed him about town. She appears at the most inopportune moments startling and embarrassing him greatly in front of his family, friends and professional connections. This has continued unabated every day since his premiere, taking a tremendous toll on his health and happiness.

My dear husband Mr. Birchall has attempted polite intervention, but to no avail. We are so taxed and distressed by her continued unwelcomed advances; yet do not want to offend anyone who might be in the position to advance his career. Yesterday, a most alarming discovery has pushed us into despair then it was revealed that she has taken up the townhouse across our street and staked out surveillance from the front balcony with a spyglass.

Dear Mrs. Elton. We known not how to resolve this dilemma without offending the lady or her important friends, and entreat your honoured advice urgently. We await your reply most anxiously.

Your most humble and obedient servant,

Mrs. Robert Birchall


My dear Mrs. Birchall,

That is an excessively interesting letter, for a number of reasons: almost too interesting. First, I never heard it said that Lady Blessington was musical, more literary I would have thought; and then who is this Mrs. Penelope Paget, exactly? Who was she before her marriage? Who is her husband? for it is he who ought to intercede with her, surely, and an appeal direct to Mr. Paget would seem to be in order. You do not name him, however, and the style in which her name is given seems to indicate that she has been divorced. If so, then how is it that she is admitted into society? There is more than meets the eye here, that much is plain.

Mrs. Birchall, I do not pretend to move among the aristocracy myself. The Hawkins were a very old family in Bristol - I know we have lived there since my grandfather's time at least - and yet we are not of the metropolis, and do not affect to move in Court circles, only in the well-bred, but unpretending ones that are the most elegant of all. Therefore you cannot expect me to be au fait with all the modes and manners in aristocratic London. That kind of society in which divorces, and mistresses, and all kinds of unsavory doings prevail, is not the milieu in which you will find a respectable clergyman's wife, of good family.

Even so, I have seen a good deal of the world; and in my quiet way, have observed people of all stations, with uncommon acuteness, which no one, I think, will deny. And it is on this authority that I may say that there are only three possibilities in the present case: Mrs. Paget is mad; or she is passionately in love with your grandson and has forgotten herself; or she and he are lovers and his reluctance to reveal this state of affairs to you, causes him to prevaricate. If the first conjecture is correct, and this is a case of madness, your course is clear: in simple charity to the poor lady, you must find out who are her people, who is responsible for her. If they will not place her in the country with a stout woman to check her movements, then you must call upon the local constabulary and have her bound hand and foot. I am sure her relations would prefer the former course to out-and-out disgrace; and if you are in need of a reputable woman to act as guard and companion, I am sure that, with my resources, I can find one for you in a twinkling.

In the second instance, if Mrs. Paget is sane, but acting out of an excess of stirred passions, perhaps stemming from her unfortunate time of life, then as before, compassion is called for. She may be considered as temporarily insane, and she must therefore be told in the strongest terms that if she does not control herself, you will use legal means to have her placed in a situation of confinement where she cannot disturb your grandson's peace.

However, on mature thought, in this instance I believe myself to be writing about situations which have no reality. My strongest suspicion is that the last example I gave for Mrs. Paget's behavior, is the true one. I reluctantly conclude that it is by far most likely that this lady, whose morals must be suspect (as she is in all probability a divorced person, and by your own statement a frequenter of Lady Blessington's raffish set), this woman then, is regrettably, the mistress of your grandson. This being the case, it is not the place of a grandmother to remonstrate with the young man as to his morals; even if you could do such a thing without mortification, the time for his moral instruction is past. Indeed, he is not acting entirely without compunction, in throwing up a skreen to hide the real truth from you, thus showing that he is not entirely dead to decency; but this is a case for the gentlemen to resolve. Your husband, or the young man's father, must interview him, and find out what are the extent of his debts (for it is impossible he can be supporting a mistress on nothing-a-year), and if he has been injured by the malaise and other ailments that are too often the sad, life-long result of such immoral behavior, then he must take a course of treatment at once. Even my own resources do not stretch to a knowledge of the best doctors to consult in such a delicate case as this, but I can take advice of my husband, who in his work as a clergyman, has at times had to deal with some very low and sordid matters, though of course he does not tell me exactly what they are.

May I say that I am particularly sorry to hear this sad story, as the lady with whom I am closely associated, Mrs. Peter Birchall (though to be sure we are bosom friends, and call each other by our first names, "Augusta" and "Diana"), is distantly descended from your husband, Mr. Robert Birchall, by marriage. She will be very concerned indeed to hear of her husband's great, great, great, great, grandfather's immorality, but I conclude that I must tell her, as is my duty.

Yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Entrenched Dowager Displaces New Mistress

Dear Mrs. Elton,

This letter describes a matter of utmost delicacy. Last year I was married to a most respectable man. I have known Mr. Weakpeace all my life and have been told since my days in the schoolroom that we were destined to be married. His father’s property and my father’s lands march side by side, and there was no question but that our union would be proper and right.

Just before our wedding, my fiance’s father died. This most unfortunate event not only put a pall on our engagement (we delayed the nuptials for two years at his mother's insistence) but it placed me in the most untenable position. I am mistress of the mansion in name and by law, but not according to my mother-in-law. Since our marriage a year ago, she has refused to remove herself to the dowager house. Indeed, she still presides at the lower end of the table, opposite my husband who sits at its head! She also consults with Cook as to the menu and with Mrs. Strong, our housekeeper, about the servants. I have been forced to relinquish my rights as mistress of the house. Worse, my husband fully supports his mama! As a consequence the servant treat me with barely concealed contempt.

My mother is incensed, for I am increasing and she feels I must fight for my rights before my lying in. However, my physician has cautioned me from becoming too excited, saying such humours cannot but bode ill for the child. Pray, what shall I do? What steps would you take if you found yourself in my unfortunate situation?

I await your reply most impatiently. Sincerely yours,

Mrs. George Weakpeace




My dear Mrs. Weakpeace,

What steps would I take? What would I do? Why nothing at all, Mrs. Weakpeace, because such a thing could never happen to Mrs. Elton. Can you conceive of a mother-in-law trying to take place of me? Or my caro sposo allowing such a thing to happen? Certainly not. Very fortunately, my husband's mother is dead, so it cannot be put to the trial; but in the event I do not approve of the older generation living with the younger. Do not you remember Miss Jane Austen quoting me in Emma, as saying, "Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter." Yes, I did say that; I have always been famous for that sort of wisdom, and I still believe in it. You, I am sure, will not be the one to disagree with me, after your trying experiences of the last few years.

It is all very well using hindsight, but you ought to have known something was amiss when your future mother-in-law insisted on putting off the wedding for two years in deference to her dead husband. Two years! It should not have been two months. That should have warned you of trouble ahead, and certain sure, trouble came. But the worst sign, to my mind, is that never once in your letter do you declare that you love your husband, or that he loves you. You describe yourself only as biddable - you were told since your days in the schoolroom that you were destined to be wed. What girl of spirit in these modern times weds where she is told? Perhaps it was very right that you should marry; but where is the love in all this? The only love I see is your husband's mutual love with his mother, and not theirs for you.

You are in the unenviable situation of a loveless wife, tyrannized over by a triumphant mother-in-law. You cannot now win their love, as they are united in a formidable front against you. Gentleness and sweetness will avail you nothing; they will only persist in their present course. Fury and storming would be still worse, as you are bound to obey your husband; the only result of such unbecoming, unladylike, unwifely behavior would be the possible loss of your child - the child that is your only weapon.

A formidable weapon indeed, especially if that child should prove to be a son. For the numbers of opponents will then become more even. You and your son against your husband and your mother, is a far fairer fight than what you wage at present. Your son will be but a powerless child, you protest, and yet I tell you that every one, servants included, will bow to the rising, rather than to the setting, sun. Your position will immediately assume more importance upon your son's birth, and as sons generally love their mothers, you will have his protection and fealty as he grows older. My advice to you is to give the best possible attention to your health now; ignore the ill judging behavior of your husband, and the ill bred behavior of his mother, as if it does not exist; lie upon the sofa as much as ever you can, drink new milk, small eggs, and a very smooth gruel, as poor old Mr. Woodhouse always used to advise; and be a luxurious creature in every particular. If your mother-in-law wishes to be a bustling do-all sort of body, let her. You play a lady of leisure, read novels, and turn your mind to your children. You will find yourself respected, in the long run; and time is on your side, as your mother-in-law will die, and your household will be rid of its incubus at last. Depend upon it, her displacement is what she fears, but it is inevitable. If you have not the dignified bearing that would turn away insult, then practice
patience, and the worm will turn.

Your esteemed friend and well-wisher,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Dancing Demon Wants to Ditch Sisters!

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am fifteen years old and am appealing to you to intercede on my behalf. My two older sisters, Emily, who is eighteen, and Octavia, who is seventeen, have come OUT and are attending balls, soirees, and parties. In a few months they will be traveling to Town for the season, while my parents have decreed that I must remain in the nursery with my younger sister, who is ten, and my twin brothers, who are two years old. This situation is unfair! I would be forever grateful if you would consider writing to my father and advising him that I am mature enough to join my older sisters. He has a high regard for Mr. Elton's sermons, so I am certain your thoughts would be most welcome.

Sincerely yours,

Miss Cordelia Compton




My dear Miss Cordelia,

You write like a young lady who has the insatiable taste for dancing that comes to us all at fifteen. But it will never do for a younger sister to be married before her two elder ones, and judging by the liveliness and eagerness of your letter, you will be snatched up for marriage in your first season, very likely ahead of Miss Emily and Octavia. Imagine their fury! They will be your sisters for the rest of your lives; do you wish to disappoint and alienate them so that a positive hatred for you stirs in their breasts? Surely not. I know it would be a very fine thing to walk before them into all the drawing-rooms of the country, as Mrs. So-and-So, or better yet, Lady So-and-So, which will happen if you are the first to marry; but I appeal to your sense of fairness. You are young enough to wait a little, and to give your elders a chance. Only think, if they have a season themselves, they will be all the better placed to introduce you to all manner of beaux when you come out. Whereas if you all entered society at the same time, you would be in danger of being thought as elderly as they! No, no, depend upon it, you will come out with far more eclat if you wait, if only for a twelvemonth. I give you my word, if your papa and mamma do not consent to your being presented at sixteen,
I will mention the matter to them myself, or perhaps beg Mr. Elton to intercede on your behalf. In the meanwhile, practice your music and drawing assiduously; make good use of the back-board, and be most careful of your Complexion. Grow older and prettier, my dear Cordelia, and you will, with certitude, have your reward.


Faithfully, if a bit wearily,


Mrs. Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Modesty? Ladyhood? As if!

Gentle readers, last week Mrs. Elton received a letter from a young lady who is clueless in Beverley Hills entreating her for advice with a young man named Elton. Suffice it to say, Mrs. Elton's advice was not quite what she was expecting.

Hey Mrs. E.

Modesty? Ladyhood? Anglican? As if! Are you from Pasadena Mrs. Elton? Cuz my best Dione has a cousin Sally from Pasadena. She’s totally a dweeb and full of cake. Thinks she’s Sandra Dee or somethin’. Sits at home on Saturday nights watchin’ Stone Age flicks with her mom like Gidget Goes Hawaiian or Beach Blanket Bongo. Gag. Don’t they know dancing on the beach is so yesterday? Oh I could just ralph. Modesty? Oh yeah. Wasn’t that a fashion craze from London in the 60’s? I think that’s when my Gramma wore her stylin’ white go-go boots. Those were way cool. Anyway, why would you want me to be in that gross street gang Ladyhood? Ew! Their clothes are like so growdy and they need like better colors in their tattoos. Fur sure.

So I give one snap for effort Mrs. E., but give me somethin’ to work with here. That boy Elton is a total Bladwin, but he doesn’t even notice me.

Even more clueless in Beverly Hills

Cher Horowitz



My dear Miss Horowitz,

Your letter concerns me greatly. It is so badly written, with such poor mode of expression, appalling use of gutter patois, and no attention to stops. When first I had the honour of hearing from you, you will recollect that I even thought you were Irish. I have been disabused on that point; but how extraordinary it is that the daughter of a rich man should express herself like the merest guttersnipe, so as to give rise to the impression that she is, at best, of the servant class, and newly arrived in a situation. It is the mingling of classes that does this sort of mischief, I am convinced. The divisions of society ought always to be respected; every one should know his place. Do not you remember the verse, "The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, God made them high and lowly, and ordered their estate"? Surely you have heard that in Church on innumerable Sundays...unless, can it be? Mr. Horowitz has not done his duty and made you acquainted with the precepts and duties of your Religion. But that can scarcely be possible. I would not believe it, even of him.

You are a Christian, are you not, Miss Horowitz? Yet I cannot account for your writing like the merest Cockney, like a girl who has not been gently bred. I do perceive from your letter, however little I comprehend its language, that you have a value for Fashion. That being the case, do you imagine that any of the most fashionable ladies in the kingdom speak or comport themselves as you do? Surely you know better. I conclude, however, that you are deaf to appeals to your better nature, to your Religion, and even to the trammels of Fashion. To what then can I speak? Only to your love of the young Mr. Elton, which would be perfectly apparent, even if you were writing in Greek.

A young lady who loves a young man (though no girl should fall in love until actually assured of the affection of the object in question) must study to see what will please him, and practice allurements and blandishments that will inevitably win him. Miss Horowitz, your money may be some inducement; your appearance is altogether well and even handsome, and may be another attraction. But young Mr. Elton is a gentleman, and none but a lady will ever succeed with him. You must rid your vocabulary of its coarseness, and learn to comport yourself as a modest young woman, as to be sure I have told you before, but you do not seem to have heard.

Miss Horowitz, I am patient beyond all reason, and will try to make myself clear once again. You are in the most urgent need of tuition. Your father has been so much occupied making money, it is very evident that he has neglected his duty by his daughter, and your manners have been formed in a very bad school. Who, then, is to teach you? Upon whom are you to model yourself as a lady? Out of respect to your family, I will venture to make a suggestion. If you would like to come to the Vicarage at Highbury for an extended visit of two or three months, I will do what I can in the way of tutelage. It is not to be expected, in the midst of my multifarous activities, that I will have much time for instruction; but by watching a clergyman's lady wife in her round of activities, you will have before you a Living Rule of Ladyhood, and the result should be that your manners and speech will be very much improved. Let me know if you wish to take up this invitation; Mr. E's coach can meet you halfway. I am sure I should find you of very valuable use with the younger children, and it may be that young Mr. Elton may even pay a visit to his old home. I make no doubt he will, if informed of your presence; but you must be thoroughly prepared for such a circumstance, and cease your foolish talk about white boots. They would be most extravagant and unsuitable in our muddy lanes.

Your sincere friend and well-wisher,

Mrs. Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Borrowed Family Jewels Mere Trumpery?

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am writing to you about a sensitive situation. My best friend, Arabella, lent me her semi-precious earrings for a ball. They were quite lovely but rather delicate, as they had been in the family for years. During the course of the evening, I lost one of the earrings. I searched for days, making one discreet inquiry after another, but then had to give up. I took the remaining earring to a jeweller and asked him to make an exact copy. Imagine my astonishment when he said that the jewels were fake! What am I to do? Arabella firmly believes she lent me her family heirlooms. Should I tell her about this new development (she is already quite upset about the loss), or should I ask the jeweller to match the fake earring and not say a word?

Sincerely,

Miss Felicity Turner




Mrs. Elton's reply

(Faintly) Semi-precious! fake jewels! mere paste! My dear Felicity, have you lost your senses? No young lady ought to wear jewelry before her marriage - a simple cross on a ribbon or plain chain round the neck is as far as you ought possibly to go. When you are a married woman, like me, then you may graduate to pearls. But paste! - Heaven and earth, Felicity, of what are you thinking? I feel quite ill.

There. I have made the servant fetch me some smelling salts. I feel a bit stronger now. Felicity, you are for ever being taken in, I can perceive that you are that sort of a girl. Your genuine warmth of heart, and candour of nature, will cause you more trouble even than this in the future, if you do not take hold of things and allow your own good sense, which you have in abundance, to rule your heart. Now only think for a moment. You are a young lady of good birth, as yet unmarried. How then can you conceive it proper to be parading round the neighbourhood in tinsel and fake jewellery? That they are borrowed does not make the situation better, for it only means that there are two young ladies, you and Miss Arabella, who are so distressingly in error. Arabella, I will concede, has at least been imposed upon. It may seem sad that her family jewels should turn out to be mere trumpery; but we must consider that we may not know the whole story. The real jewels may exist in a vault somewhere, and Arabella may have been given the copies, to wear as a young girl, so there need be no fear of her losing them in her flightiness and thoughtlessness. The proof that she has such qualities, is that she would lend family heirlooms that she thought valuable, to a mere friend, and not even a sister.

But you are asking me what you ought to do. She already knows that the jewels are lost. Tell her that your father is writing to her father about making restitution. Inform your father of the story, and beg him to write to her father, offering to reimburse him for the full cost of the jewels. If he is an honest man he will admit that they are worthless, and that will be the end of the matter. If he tries to dun your father for a thousand pounds, you will show him the jeweler's report. None of this need come to Arabella's knowledge, unless her own father wishes it, and to humiliate her must be very far from his desire. Nor should this sorry episode disturb your friendship. You will of course apologize for losing the jewels, and if she is as ladylike a girl as you think her, she will accept your apology graciously. But as for making copies of the fakes - Pah! Have you never heard the word of the poet, "Oh! What a tangled web we weave/ When first we practice to deceive"? No good can ever come of such a course.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Vulgar is As Vulgar Does

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I do hope that the quarrelsome Mr. Arden has not deterred you from giving your sound advice, as you have been wont to do on occasion. My problem is a small one. Nevertheless, it is vexing enough to prompt me to seek your council. You may simply tell me to mind my own business, but I hope to elicit a more elaborate reply, one that I may use as a guide as I escort my motherless niece during her first London Season.

My niece Mary is my youngest brother's eldest daughter. She is a taking little thing, I suppose, if one is predisposed to like an abundance of curves. Her disposition is sweet and she is most obligingly malleable except in one crucial area - her manner of dress. To put it mildly, the Prince Regent's light o' loves display less flesh at three in the morning than Mary reveals at breakfast. I must add that Mary's endowments cannot be ignored or denied. She is brazenly proud of her attributes, calling them her "twin sisters in courtship."

I am near my wit's end trying to cover the girl up. These new revealing fashions made with thin muslins and inspired by those Grecian PAGANS aren't helping the situation at all. Oh, how I long for the days of brocade! I have given Mary a variety of scarves, fichus, and high necked chemises, but she calls them old-fashioned and dislikes their "restriction." Aside from locking my niece up during the daytime (for, to give Mary her due, she does look appropriate for the evening), what is a blushing aunt to do?

Sincerely,
Miss Anne B. Goode

La! My dear Miss B. Goode, there are some, no doubt, who would stand amazed to hear of your niece, and scarcely conceive that one so young could be so bold; but to me it is no matter of astonishment in the least. I can see instantly from whence the error has arisen. It is all the fault of education. If a girl has not been taught good principles, as poor Miss Mary plainly has not, you see the result. Whether the bad instruction, and example, are to be laid at the door of your brother, your late sister-in-law, or yourself, is not for me to presume to answer. Yet a little reflection shows me that the girl’s mother is not likely to be very much to blame; and at any rate we must give her the benefit of the doubt, being dead. If she at all resembled the ordinary run of mothers, however, her dearest wish must have been to guard her daughter from falling into unwisdom’s ways, and when she died and left her most precious treasure in your hands, how have you fulfilled your trust?

You are older than your brother, and it is in the way of human nature for him to look to you still, at least as a directrice in female matters. I make no doubt that he depends upon you to instruct his daughter, and to provide an example of right feminine behavior which his own dear wife, having left the world, is no longer able to do. Yet see how you have failed him! Here you have written a letter full of improper expressions (actually referring to the Prince’s mistress, in a polite letter to a stranger! Only fancy!), and going so far as to repeat this poor girl’s own coarse speeches. I will not revive them here. You know what they are.

If you, yourself, cannot obey the ordinary conventions of intercourse in speech, how can you feel surprise when the young girl under your care imitates you in vulgarity? She can have no compunction against using the loosest of language, nor can she have any exampled modesty before her. To be sure, the fashions of the age are rather against modesty, but a young woman’s innate circumspection would keep her from following London fashions, unless her natural instincts have been harmed and corrupted. And here is Miss Mary, having lost her mother, entrusted to her own aunt – a woman who writes a letter filled with coarse expressions, and without having the least conception of the true evil of her niece’s situation: the loss of distinction of the chasm that lies between the states of being In or Out. Do you not realize that you have described your niece going about in a condition of half-undress when she is not yet even Out? How then can you affect concern about what will happen when she goes to London, where such an immodest ensemble would attract little attention among the ton, while here she has been breaking every law of good country society? Yet she has been in company, improperly dressed, when not yet Out, and more than once!

It is clear that this poor girl’s education has been sadly neglected. Her father would be justified in locking her up for the next year and not allowing her to go to London until she has grown more sober, and learnt to think. And you, madam, would do very much better to go to London without cumbering yourself by attempting to chaperone such a charge. You will never catch a husband with a great grown girl in your train. Of what are you thinking? Have you never heard the expression of how mutton looks, standing next to lamb? No, no, go to London yourself, under the protection of a married woman friend perhaps; and let Miss Mary remain to cool her heels in the schoolroom for another season.

Your sincere well-wisher,
Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Image detail: Cruikshank, 1799, Parisien Ladies

In Defense of Mrs. Elton now available at JASNA online!

"Knightley!" continued Mrs. Elton; -- "Knightley himself! Was not it lucky? For, not being within when he called the other day, I had never seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had a great curiosity. 'My friend Knightley' had been so often mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very gentleman-like man." Mrs. Elton, Emma, Chapter 32

Our regular readers of the advice column Mrs. Elton Sez (and of course the community at large) will be interested to read about the origins of author Diana Birchall’s discovery of her affinity to Jane Austen’s character Mrs. Augusta Elton and read about her first adventure writing as the character in the pastiche In Defense of Mrs. Elton which has just been posted online at the JASNA website.

Originally written as an internet serial told on the Janeites online literary list to defend Mrs. E. against some serious bashing, it was an immediate sensation to the Jane Austen community. The Jane Austen Society of America saw its brilliance and paired it with Austen scholar Juliet McMaster’s charming illustrations publishing it as a gift to attendees of the 1999 annual conference in Colorado Springs. In addition to reading In Defense of Mrs. Elton online, readers can own there own copy of it as part of the recently re-released book Mrs. Elton in American: The Compleat Mrs. Elton which includes a trilogy of stories; In Defense of Mrs. Elton, The Courtship of Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Elton in America. Happily, the new edition by Sourcebook has a beautiful new cover and is available at Amazon.com.

Posted by Laurel Ann, Austenprose

Mrs. Elton in America

Mrs. Elton in America by Diana Birchall is now available for order as either a printed book or a download from Source Books or at Amazon.com. Diana is so excited, for the cover looks smashing and stunning. To Diana this painting of the Duchesse de Berry by the noted female painter Elizabeth Vigee LeBrun is Mrs. Elton in the flesh. "So elegant...yet the woman has that little bit of a vulgar look. You could not ask for a more stunningly eye catching cover, I think!"

In this book Mrs. Elton crosses the Atlantic Ocean with her caro sposo and children. She enjoys high comedic adventures in Boston and New York society, makes a sobering visit to a Southern slave state, and sojourns among the Comanche Indians. Her trip to America is the talk of Highbury...

For new visitors to this blog, Diana Birchall is the featured writer in Mrs. Elton Sez, in which she answers questions posed to her. If you have a question for Mrs. Elton, please send it in. She will be happy to answer it to the best of her ability. For previous Mrs. Elton Sez letters, click on the above link.

To understand our mini infatuation with this slightly vulgar, sometimes misunderstood and often irritating character, read In Defense of Mrs. Elton in the Jane Austen Centre's Online Magazine.

Posted by Vic of Jane Austen's World

Mrs. Elton Sez: Did Over Anxious Wife Drive Husband to Road Rage?

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I have been happily married to my Edmund for several years now. He is the rector of our parish and we have two dear children, Thomas age seven and Maria age five. They are good children and look up to their father in all things. My life with my family is indeed tranquillity and comfort because of my dear husband’s consideration and patience with his wife and children. He is above all men in all things but one dear lady, which I will attempt to explain, though I feel quite reticent to reveal. His driving of our carriage is quite erratic and worrisome. When he takes up the reins, and commands of our gig, he becomes quite a different man, loosing his temper with other drivers along our narrow country roads, shouting at Mr. Barker to remove his herd of sheep from our path, and knocking poor Rebecca in a ditch soiling her frock and giving her such a fright that it took a week before she could return to her duties at the great house.

I am hesitant to speak to him about such matters, as he is my dear husband, and I owe so much of my happiness to his love and support. I alone could abide such discomfort and anguish, but for our children’s sake, I must speak up. To see their distress and hear their cries of fear for their lives takes years off my life every time we travel by carriage. I have prayed much on this matter without any sign for guidance. I know not what to do Mrs. Elton and entreat you for a solution to end our torment.

Respectfully Yours,

Mrs. Fanny Bertram


Mrs. Elton's Reply

My dear Mrs. Edmund Bertram,

Reputation has preceded you, and I am familiar with your character, from the phantasy the authoress Miss Jane Austen wrote that was (report has it) based upon your life. Consequently I am similarly acquainted with the character of your husband, Mr. Edmund Bertram; and even were I not a devotee of all the works of Miss Jane Austen, your husband, as a respectable clergyman, would yet be known to me. If I am not mistaken, my dear caro sposo, Mr. Elton, kept similar terms with him at Oxford, and more recently associated with him again at a convocation they both attended in Northhamptonshire, September last.

I am on solid ground therefore in my knowledge of Mr. Edmund Bertram by character and reputation, and it is categorically inconceivable that this sterling gentleman could possibly be guilty of any such rash behavior or impropriety as either driving a carriage erratically, or losing his temper. Did he ever lose his temper once, during the entire course of Miss Jane Austen's narrative? His temper was infinitely tried on many occasions, by his Aunt Norris's meannesses, his brother's foolish peccadillos, his sister's crimes, and his beloved Mary's - but perhaps on that last point I had best be silent. In short, Mr. Edmund Bertram is the most phlegmatic and even-tempered of men, and it is not possible to believe evidence to the contrary. Therefore I must conclude it is much likelier that your own neurasthenic anxieties, evident on nearly every page of that exquisite effusion Mansfield Park, have grown out of all proportion, perhaps as a result of your own increasing age, the stresses of childbirth and motherhood, and responsibilities that may have proved to be too much for such a fragile young woman as yourself.

Mrs. Bertram, I must warn you that such tendencies as over-anxiety and wild exaggeration of circumstances, are very dangerous, and must of all things be controulled. You must not allow yourself to become prey to these weaknesses, for the next thing that happens, is that you will be given over to nagging; and that is fatal in marriage, where your duty is submission to your husband above all things. If you continue to find fault where none exists, and stir up your children to cry and demonstrate bad behavior in the presence of their father, you will be very gravely at fault. Perhaps, indeed, you are already guilty of being what is expressively called a Nag, and that is what is driving poor Mr. Edmund Bertram to drive his carriage more heatedly than he ought.

I first suspected something was wrong with your thinking when I noticed that you have named your daughter Maria. Heaven and earth, madam, of what can you be thinking! Is that not a shameful name and memory that ought to be erased from your family for ever? The naming may have been done in honour of your mother-in-law, not your disgraced cousin, I will allow; but it my opinion it was very ill thought of, in any case. I can see that Mr. Edmund Bertram has much to bear with, and so I adjure you, with all possible forcefulness, to conquer your nervousness and timidity once and for all. These are not useful qualities in a clergyman's wife, and you ought always to concentrate upon the useful, and your parish duties, as to be sure I always do.

Yours faithfully,

Augusta Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her once a week in August for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Governess Presents Suspicious Request

Dear Mrs. Elton,

Although we have never met, your reputation for dispensing advice to everyone and anyone regardless of their background or station has spread far and wide. I wonder if I may prevail upon you to aid me in helping a young girl named Jenny.

I am the governess at Houghton House. This letter is not about me, however, as I have known since I was orphaned at fifteen that this employment would be the most practical solution for a woman in my situation. As you know, governesses occupy a unique niche in a household: we are neither servant nor family. I am not complaining, for my employers are generous and often ask me to make up a fourth at bridge or other card game. I am a realist, and have come to terms with the knowledge that I will probably never marry or have children. This brings me to Jenny, who at fifteen reminds me of my orphaned self. As you know, scullery maids lead a harsh existence. Jenny is up at the crack of dawn drawing water, emptying chamber pots, and bringing coal up to the rooms. I suspect she is one of the last servants to go to bed, as she is at the beck and call of all the other house servants.

These past two years, Jenny has arisen a half hour early to come to my rooms. During our stolen moments together I have taught her the alphabet, how to sign her name, and the rudiments of becoming a lady's maid. I have allowed Jenny to practice dressing my hair and lay out my wardrobe, such as it is, and taught her all the duties that would be expected of her in this position.

Jenny is now considered too old to remain as scullery, and I overheard my mistress saying she would be moved to the laundry room. In this post Jenny would be expected to work with lye soaps and other strong solutions that cause her delicate skin to swell in huge red welts. Jenny is too delicate for such work and I fear for her health.

Would you be willing to help me find a position for Jenny as a lady's maid? I thank you most humbly ahead of time.

Your obedient servant,

Miss Eleanor Pritchett



Mrs. Elton's Reply

Dear Miss Pritchett,

It is quite a surprise, and not entirely a pleasant one, that my reputation for dispensing advice has spread so far and wide. Me, an advisor general! I do not pretend to any thing of the sort; indeed, no one can be more an advocate for minding my own business than I am. I would not for the world offer my opinion in a forward way, as that would be unsuited to the rectitude and propriety of my position as a vicar's wife; still, there is the matter of doing one's duty, and as the helpmeet and partner of my dear caro sposo Mr. Elton, I am often obliged to venture into the affairs of people in whom I would otherwise have no interest whatsoever. I hope I never shirk my duty, but that the repute of my talents in this line should have spread to the servants' hall, is certainly something remarkable, in fact, quite wonderful.

I must, however, confess that I have certain suspicions, that must be communicated without delay. You claim to be Miss Pritchett, the governess of Houghton House; but, my dear madam, every one knows that Houghton House is the merest ruin. Did not the Duke of Bedford strip the house and remove the roof, so recently as 1794, after his father was killed whilst out riding? The story was in all the newspapers at the time, and I remember very well when the Duke died in '02, reading that Houghton House was a ruin, quite a ruin. It is said to be utterly uninhabited, except perhaps by...ghosts. I only write what all the world knows.

The practicality and domestic concerns of your letter do not accord well with the fanciful world of ghosts, and your stated aim of procuring a position for a young scullery maid is not the stuff of horrid tales. You will acknowledge, however, that the name of Houghton House is not the very best reference for a young servant's character. As that is the case, I regret to state that, without farther testimonial, I cannot be of service in recommending your Jenny to a place. It is a pity, for I know several ladies on the watch for a lady's maid; but they would all demand more solid testimonials than you seem able to produce. One cannot employ a servant whose domicile is the merest fiction, as you can plainly comprehend.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Charity or Hard Knocks for Sanguine Sister

Dear Mrs. Elton,

Abominable! Unlike my ostentatious older sister Hester Pynne who recently wrote to you for assistance, I will tout no pretension to having met you in Plymouth, because as we both know, you were never in such a place, and neither was she. It is all lies, a gross fabrication concocted to discredit me, her most loving and devoted little sister, who only has her best interest at heart.

If you would be so good as to indulge me with your gracious attention, I will attempt to explain the two offences that have been laid to my charge. Firstly, my sister Hester is quite correct in her assessment that I have copied her in all manner of style, speech and deportment. I have, dear lady, I most certainly have. For to hear her tell the tale, I do it out of spite. But I assure you that my motives are far from the case. My dear sister you see, is so uncertain with her own choices of clothes, or books or social intercourse, that to be with her is quite exhausting. If she puts on her blue bonnet, and I put on my pink one, she doubts her choice and prefers mine. I then offer to switch and she agrees. Then when she sees her blue bonnet on me, she is again uncertain that she has made the correct choice and wants it back. This would go on in every manner of her life, until it ‘wore me down slowly, like rain on a stone’! I shared my concerns with our dear mamma, and she suggested that since my sister’s elegant tastes and manner are so much admired in the county, that I adopt it as my own in the hope that it would vanquish her uncertainty. I have endeavoured from that moment, at much loss to my own person to apply this plan, though I doubt my dear mamma knows of the sacrifice that she has asked of me. I see now, that her solution may have solved one dilemma, but created another.

As for the second offence of stealing a kiss from her affianced, well I never heard of such a thing in all my born days. What proper young gentleman would kiss a young lady before they were married? I do not know such a man. I am afraid that she has drawn you into her story, my dear Mrs. Elton, and I am quite certain that there is no truth in it.

Now, I write to you from Maple Grove, that extensive estate of your dear sister Mrs. Suckling where I have been banished at your suggestion; - far removed from my home, and my sister. My parents know naught of the truth, or my sister’s letter to you. My best friend Georgiana writes to me of the news from home and emplores me to send a copy of my sister’s letter from the publication anonymously to my mamma and the parents of her fiancé so that they will know the truth and I will be vindicated. I am inclined to agree, but seek your advice. Should the truth be known, or am I to continue the charade?

Your obedient servant,

Miss Charity Pynne


Mrs. Elton's Reply

My dear Miss Charity,

I beg to understand you. You have written a most amiable letter, and it goes far to redeem your good name with me; yes, certainly, I can see that it may well be that your sister Miss Pynne has overstated her complaint of you. It is a thing sisters do, and part of the little rubs of family life that we all must endure. But to say the truth, it matters little who is on the right side in this case. Miss Pynne complained of your copying her clothing and stile; you have given a most plausible explanation of why you so acted. Sometimes I think you must be right and sometimes she - but as I say, it is a little matter. I do, however, detect an inconsistency in your story, which puts me on my watch. You assert that Miss Pynne's choice of dress is so confused and uncertain as to wear every one down; but your mother states that Miss Pynne is universally admired for her elegance. Excuse me, but I cannot ignore the testimony of your respected mother, whom you have quoted yourself. I must believe what she says, that Miss Pynne is a byword for elegance; which puts your copying her in a different light altogether - the light in which Miss Pynne presented it in her own letter to myself.

The accusation that you wilfully acted to divide Miss Pynne from her groom-elect is a far more serious charge, but it is treated in both your letter and in hers as being no worse a crime than your aping her colour choice in bonnets. Did you lay a trap so that Mr. Mortimer would kiss you in the shrubbery? Shocking! if you did. You deny the charge completely, and I do not set myself up to be your judge. If your heart knows its innocence, then you must know yourself acquitted in the eyes of God and man. If your sister invented this accusation out of whole cloth it is a very serious one, indeed, but she at least has a creditable motive, which is her fear of losing Mr. Mortimer. Perhaps you are more attractive than she is - I cannot pretend to know - but who cannot understand and sympathize with the feelings of a young woman who trembles to lose her intended husband to another?

All in all, I consider it most desirable that you two sisters should be separated. All will be well, once your sister is married; she will have an establishment of her own, and you will have the benefit of being the oldest young lady at home, the first in that interesting division of a family. You will receive more attention, and be far happier, when your sister has been transplanted. In the meanwhile, who can be happier than any inmate of Maple Grove? Is not my sister's estate a Paradise upon earth? Are not you enjoying the inestimable privilege of playing with, dressing, washing, and teaching, the sweet children - all six of them are perfect angels, and I am sure you are proving yourself invaluable to Mrs. Suckling; indeed, she has written to me in great praise of you. It is so important to have a truly genteel young person to associate with children. Perhaps you will help her farther by reading to them about "The Hare and Its Friends," and teach little Augusta how to stitch her sampler. I rejoice in thinking of you as so usefully and profitably occupied, and so very happy at Maple Grove, for who would not be happy there. Such modern elegance! Oh, you are a fortunate young woman indeed. And when you return home, after some months perhaps, Miss Pynne will be married, and you will have all the joys of being "out," and chusing your own bonnets without reference to her whims.

Faithfully yours,

Augusta Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Scatterbrained Scheme Solicits Blackmail

Dear Mrs. Elton,

Modesty and shame prevent me from revealing my real name in seeking your advice, though I will tell you that I am seventeen years old and have been out for nearly twelve months.

I have participated in a deed that, if I were to be discovered, will brand me a fallen woman and shame my family for all eternity. Two nights ago, and several hours before the break of dawn, I eloped with my beloved Crispin. My Papa detests him, calling him a coxcomb and a ne’er-do-well fortune hunter, but I think my Crispin is the handsomest man in all of England. Like a hero of old, he helped me down the oak tree near my window and into his new curricle. We made great speed until the wheels became hopelessly mired in mud. Dark clouds had masked the full moon, which we had counted on to guide us. Crispin, alas, made a wrong turn off the main road. We had not even gone as far as eight miles! Thus, we had no choice but to turn back on one of the horses, for we were much too close to home. Oh, how deliciously wicked I felt sitting bareback behind Crispin and clinging to his manly waist as he guided his horse, but that is neither her nor there, for I am straying from my tale of woe. We arrived at my front door just as day was breaking. Crispin and I were ever so careful not to be seen and I believed that I had slipped into my bedroom unnoticed, for the servants were just rising.

Alas and alack I was wrong. A footman had witnessed my stealthy entry. Unless I pay him £500 he threatens to expose us to my parents! Oh, Mrs. Elton, has any girl ever been more unfortunate than I? I could sell my pearls, I suppose, but would such a sacrifice silence that awful man? What would prevent this blackmailer from asking for more money? If my Papa were to find out, he will ban me from ever seeing Crispin again, Indeed, Papa’s temper is legendary and I fear he will place me in some horrid Irish Catholic convent! Oh, Mrs. Elton, I have no time to lose. Please be speedy with your advice and tell me what to do. Sell my pearls, or do nothing and risk losing the love of my life?

Most desperately and sincerely yours,

Caught and fearful of the consequences


Mrs. Elton's Reply

Dear Nameless Sinner,

You wicked, wicked girl. Imagine one with the face, the effrontery, the abominable lack of shame, to address such a letter as that to a respectable lady, and a vicar's wife, what is more! Heaven above! I never thought I should see such an object as your letter. It is positively polluting the pure and wholesome atmosphere of my caro sposo's vicarage - you may be very sure I shall burn the thing at once, lest any one see it, and associate my name with such scandalous doings.

A girl who would sell her pearls! I never heard of such a proceeding. Young lady, do you not know that girls of family and reputation, do not - sell - their jewels, particularly not pearls that have doubtless been given them by their dearest father and mother? If you sell your pearls, you will put yourself outside the pale, quite apart from society, and no decent person can ever admit you into polite company again. You will have to go live in a cottage with an attendant and no wax candles, and who is to support you, when you are in such a situation, I cannot think.

Quite plainly, you are a very sad, sad girl. Only a sad, scatterbrained creature would conceive of such a foolish scheme. From this I can infer that you was not very well educated. I pass over the episode with Mr. Crispin, because I am very sure it is all a story; your phrase, "Dark clouds masked the full moon," gives it all away. Young lady, I have seen your sort before. Girls of seventeen who are given to scribbling fiction (and your reluctance to give your real name is also a clue), are doing very great harm to themselves. My advice to you I will certainly give: Hereafter, read more, and write less. A course of improving books is what you need. Allow me to recommend Samuel Johnson in particular. That is not so dull as reading sermons or homilies, but much, very much, ought you to learn from that great and good man. But pray put up your pen, that runs away with you! Such fancies are dangerous. You can see for yourself the courses into which they tend to lead your imagination - the idea, the very idea of selling your pearls! For how can you ever hope to make a show in the world as a married woman (if ever you are fortunate enough to receive a good offer, from a more substantial sort of gentleman than your fictionary Crispin - what a name - do you honestly expect me to believe in his existence?), without a decent set of family pearls?

On the very slight chance (I do not seriously consider it, and will dismiss it from my mind instantly, and I hope you will follow my example) that there is any grain of truth to the story, immediately go to your father and mother and tell them that this footman has made advances to you, and must be dismissed at once without a character. If he rants and storms about Crispin, calmly point out that such a fairy tale is not likely, as you were sitting at home on the night in question reading Samuel Johnson.

Your sincere friend and well wisher,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Besotted Miss Bereaved Over Banished Beau

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am quite beside myself with grief. I am truly in mourning. I am forbidden to ever see my dear darling amour Wilkinson ever again! Mamma and Papa have separated us, - sending him to some far distant shore or thereabouts - away to our cousin’s estate in the south in Cornwall. The end of the earth to be sure. Why oh why? They are cruel and unyielding even though I plead his case. Mamma is the worst. She does not understand my need of him, or our carefree and pleasurable time together galloping across the meadows and hills of our estate. Papa says he is an unmanageable rogue and should be shot immediately! Heavens, all because he threw me over at the sight of that odious Caroline Bartley in her red shawl. Insufferable flirt. She acted all coy and apologized, but she knew exactly what she was doing. She has spoiled everything for me, and my parents are unsympathetic. Oh misery, you are a cruel master indeed.

Mrs. Elton, pray advise me. Should I run away and travel to the ends of the earth to be with my love in Cornwall, or should I take my father’s advice and find a new mount from our stables?

Most Sincerely and Truly Yours,

Miss Prudence Puckler




Mrs. Elton's Reply

To Miss Prudence Puckler:

I am afraid I do not quite take your meaning, in your most extraordinary letter. Is this Wilkinson of whom you speak, a horse, a gentleman, or a servant? You speak of him as your amour, which, whatever he may be, is most shocking. A horse ought not to be called an amour, even by a young lady in the most tiresome stage of horse-loving, unless you mean to be confused with the Empress Catherine of Russia, of whom many things were said; but I will not repeat them in the interests of delicacy.

No lady who is a lady could call any gentleman to whom she was not actually engaged, her amour; I refuse to believe such a thing of you, as I have heard of no engagement. Finally, it is quite unthinkable that you should speak of a servant in such extravagant terms, for in such a case you would deserve the utter contempt of society. I collect, therefore, that you do mean your horse, however indelicately you have expressed yourself in the matter. As you are a young lady given to such odious expressions, I am all the more surprised at your father, being willing to allow you to take another mount from his stables. In my opinion, all horse-riding by you ought to be curtailed for at least a twelvemonth, and you be confined to the school-room with your governess who will practice strict use of the backboard and the globes. Perhaps, at the end of another year, you will have learnt to express yourself less violently and be all the readier to "come out" - though not, one hopes, upon a horse.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: No Charity for Kissing Copy Cat

My dear Mrs. Elton,

We met once briefly in Plymouth before your marriage at a gathering of a mutual acquaintance. On the basis of that short introduction, I feel free to impose myself upon you and ask for your sage advice (for you quite impressed me with your knowledgeable airs). My concerns may seem rather petty to you, but they are beginning to wear me down slowly, like rain on stone. I can no longer stand to be around my younger sister, Charity. We are in each other's company day and night, for we share a room. Charity copies everything I do - my clothes, my accessories, the ribbons and styles I choose for my bonnets, my speech and habits, the subjects I choose to paint or write about, the routine of my daily walk! I could go on and on. At first, I admit, I was flattered, but now she is like a shadow that haunts me.

The final straw came yesterday. As I was waiting in the drawing room, expecting my affianced to collect me at any moment for a ride, I spied Charity lurking outside in the shrubbery, wearing a similar riding habit as mine and with her back turned to our front drive. At that moment, my affianced arrived. The moment he spied Charity, he dismounted his horse, and mistaking her for me, strode towards her, swept her into his arms and kissed her! My gasp of horror echoed the look of horror on Mortimer's face (that is his name) when he realized his mistake. Poor Mortimer was mortified, and he has been apologizing to me ever since, for he saw me standing at the window.

As for Charity, I caught a glimpse of my sister's expression before she steeled it, and can only liken it to the smiling visage of a Cheshire cat. I believe she meant to cause this mischief on purpose, but towards what end I cannot tell, for Mortimer and I are as much in love as ever. Please advice me on my course of action regarding Charity. She is the apple of my parents' eye, so it is useless to tell them about her conduct. Should I confront her? Or simply ignore her? I would rather kill her, but that is not an acceptable course of action, nor is it considered polite.

Waiting with baited breath for your answer,

Miss Hester Pynne


Mrs. Elton's Reply:

My dear Miss Pynne,

I regret to say that I do not remember ever meeting you, for certain it is that I have never been anywhere near Plymouth in my life. To be sure, my sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, quite fly about the country in their barouche-landau; and I believe they have graced that part of the coast with their presence. Your story reminds me that there have been occasions when my sister, usually when meeting someone she deems unacceptable, and whom she does not care to meet again, gives my name as her own. As I know that I, Mrs. Elton, have never been introduced to a Miss Pynne, I believe you may in fact have met my sister, Mrs. Suckling, who allowed you to be under the misconception that she was myself. She has quite as knowledgeable airs as I do; and as to her pretending to be me, I can only attribute it to those high spirits that are what made her so much the beloved of Mr. Suckling.

As you have applied to me for advice, however, I will attempt to give it. It must be recollected that even the most superior of sisters, such as my dear Selina, and your dear Charity, sometimes will play the most mischievous tricks on such as ourselves. You seem to have been far more of a victim of this kind of deception than I have, and there is no doubt that Miss Charity's joke has been taken too far. Selina's was only the result of her high spirits and her extreme disinclination to meet strangers; but Miss Charity's enactments are of a far more perfidious nature. It seems to me that she may be trying to get your Mr. Mortimer for herself. Indeed, I believe this to be beyond doubt. The only answer for this kind of desperate situation is complete removal. As you would not wish to go from home yourself, and miss your best chance of Mr. Mortimer's shortly leading you to the altar, it is Miss Charity who must be removed. I should be quite willing, if you are agreeable, to write to my sister Mrs. Suckling, and procure an invitation for Miss Charity to make a long visit to Maple Grove, of some months duration. Selina always needs help with the children, and in visiting such a fine estate, and making herself useful, Miss Charity will have no leisure nor inclination to be the cause of any more trouble. By the time of her return, you and Mr. Mortimer will be married, and then it will no longer be of any import what freakish mischief-making the troublesome girl attempts.

Accept my best wishes for your health and happiness,

Yours faithfully,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Sister & Spouse Spoil Elegant Soirees

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am a married lady of some distinction who likes to entertain in style and serve a fine meal to my guests. I go to great lengths to instruct my French chef in all the particulars of my menu, and order only the finest wines from the best merchants. My guests are all people of rank and distinction, and I dare say you know that on one occasion this season, we were honoured with the Prince Regent himself at our table. My younger sister who is also in town for the season wants me to include her in all our soirées. She is also married to a gentleman of considerable wealth, but low birth, and absolutely no manners. As sometimes happens in marriage, after a certain number of years together, one adopts the manners and personality of their spouse, and I am quite often as shocked and appalled by my sister’s new behavior as her husband's. In fact, quite recently it is hard to distinguish whose behavior is more abhorrent.

Today, I received a note delivered by her servant, who looked quite overwrought I might add, beseeching me to include them in my next party. Impossible! How did she know of my plans? She must have a spy in my household, since I have only discussed the event with my maid and the invitations have not been dispatched. Whatever shall I do? I do not know what is worse. My unpropritious sister and brother-in-law, or the weasely spy in my midst who they have bribed to keep them informed of my plans.

Your Most Obdient Servant &C

The Right Honorable Lady Venetia Murray


Mrs. Elton's Reply:

Oh, your dear Ladyship!

How shocking that you should be beset by such troubles. If the aristocracy is subject to such atrocious, such barbarous impositions, there is no security anywhere. Let me offer my service, that is, not in a way of being a servant, you will understand, but as one lady to another. My experience may prove valuable to you, and my advice, I am very inclined to give. The sad situation you describe reminds me exceedingly of some circumstances concerning my dear sister Selina. Selina - Mrs. Suckling, that is, of Maple Grove - is married to a gentleman in a very fine way, one of the leading figures of his part of the country; he owns two carriages and from this you would be quite correct to infer that they are very well off indeed. Consequently Selina finds herself too often the object of envy, and is forced at times to associate with people who do not possess quite the same standard of breeding as herself. She would not wish to show disdain, for she is a lady through and through, dispensing comfort and condescension to all stations. You will understand that as a rule she associates only with the highest ranks, the upper circles; she moves in a sphere that is inclined to be highly exclusive. Yet on the occasion of which I speak, she was imposed upon, in much the manner which you describe. Exactly so. A dreadful spy! It was discovered to be the nurse who attended her while she was lying-in, and who went on to her next lady, and told all manner of details of which she ought not to have spoke. Where Selina bought her stockings, and what tips she gave the servants at Christmas-tide, and I don't know what else. Fortunately, one of Nurse Peacock's - clients I suppose they must be called, was Selina's dear friend Mrs. Bragge, who was confined only a fortnight after my sister; and most fortunately she told her what a gossipping creature that Peacock was. We traced her familiar to the chambermaid, and you may be sure that Selina sacked her at once and turned her out without a reference. "To be sure, I do not wish her to starve in the street," said Selina, "but we could not have some one so untrustworthy in the house. No doubt, she can find employment doing needlework, or working in a mill among the lower classes, so she will find her level, and all will be well." Selina always had the tenderest heart!

Surely, it will not be a difficult matter, my dearest Lady Venetia, to ferret out your own Spy. If you like, I can come to visit you, for any number of weeks you like to name - whether in London in season, or when you are installed in Murray Castle during the quiet months. I am sure I should be able to identify this malevolent Viper at once, and make my certain accusation in very short order, to your complete satisfaction. Only let me know when it will be convenient for you to receive me. My caro sposo could not take time from his parish duties to accompany me, but I would come with only one maidservant, my coachman, and my six pugs, so as to be the least possible inconvenience to your Ladyship.

As for your sister, once the Spy is eliminated from your household, she will know nothing more of the society in which you are mixing; and as she will receive no farther invitations, you may be secure in the peace and prosperity of your happy home never being disturbed again.

Your extremely obliged and humble servant,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall. Please join her on Tuesdays and Fridays for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects.