VOLUME
III
CHAPTER XXXV
ELINOR'S
curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars, was satisfied. She had found in her
every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between the
families undesirable. She had seen enough of her pride, her meanness,
and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend all the
difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and retarded the
marriage of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise free; and she
had seen almost enough to be thankful, for her own sake, that one
greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other of Mrs.
Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her
caprice, or any solicitude for her opinion. Or at least, if she did
not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered to Lucy,
she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she ought to have
rejoiced.
She
wondered that Lucy's spirits could be so very much elevated by the
civility of Mrs. Ferrars; that her interest and her vanity should so
very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid
her because she was not Elinor, appear a compliment to herself,- or to
allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her,
because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not
only been declared by Lucy's eyes at the time, but was declared over
again the next morning more openly; for at her particular desire Lady
Middleton set her down in Perkeley Street, on the chance of seeing
Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was.
The
chance proved a lucky one; for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon after
she arrived carried Mrs. Jennings away.
"My
dear friend," cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves,
"I come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so
flattering as Mrs. Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday? So
exceeding affable as she was! You know how I dreaded the thoughts of
seeing her; but the very moment I was introduced, there was such an
affability in her behaviour as really should seem to say, she had
quite took a fancy to me. Now was not it so?- You saw it all; and was
not you quite struck with it?"
"She
was certainly very civil to you."
"Civil!-
Did you see nothing but only civility?- I saw a vast deal more. Such
kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me! No pride, no hauteur,
and your sister just the same- all sweetness and affability!"
Elinor
wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to own
that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go
on.
"Undoubtedly,
if they had known your engagement," said she, "nothing could
be more flattering than their treatment of you;- but as that was not
the case-"
"I
guessed you would say so," replied Lucy, quickly;- "but
there was no reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like
me, if she did not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan't talk
me out of my satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there
will be no difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars
is a charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful
women, indeed!- I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable
Mrs. Dashwood was!"
To
this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.
"Are
you ill, Miss Dashwood?- you seem low- you don't speak;- sure you an't
well."
"I
never was in better health."
"I
am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I
should be sorry to have you ill; you, that have been the greatest
comfort to me in the world!- Heaven knows what I should have done
without your friendship."
Elinor
tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success. But it
seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,-
"Indeed
I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and, next to Edward's
love, it is the greatest comfort I have. Poor Edward! But now there is
one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty often, for
Lady Middleton's delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall be a good
deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his time
with his sister- besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will visit
now;- and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say, more
than once, they should always be glad to see me. They are such
charming women!- I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think
of her, you cannot speak too high."
But
Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she should
tell her sister. Lucy continued,-
"I
am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took
dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for
instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice
of me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way- you know what I mean-
if I had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have
gave it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she
does dislike, I know it is most violent."
Elinor
was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by the
doors being thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr. Ferrars, and
Edward's immediately walking in.
It
was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each showed that it
was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to have
as great an inclination to walk out of the room again as to advance
farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest form,
which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen on
them. They were not only all three together, but were together without
the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves first.
It was not Lucy's business to put herself forward, and the appearance
of secresy must still be kept up. She could therefore only look her
tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.
But
Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her
own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment's
recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost
easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still
improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the
consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from
saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much
regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.
She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as
a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of
Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.
Her
manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough to
sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in a
proportion which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might
make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy's, nor
could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor's.
Lucy,
with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no
contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word;
and almost every thing that was said proceeded from Elinor, who was
obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother's health,
their coming to town, &c., which Edward ought to have enquired
about, but never did.
Her
exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself so
heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching
Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it,
and that in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several
minutes on the landing- place, with the most high-minded fortitude,
before she went to her sister. When that was once done, however, it
was time for the raptures to Edward to cease; for Marianne's joy
hurried her into the drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing
him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself, and
strongly spoken. She met him with a hand that would be taken, and a
voice that expressed the affection of a sister.
"Dear
Edward!" she cried, "this is a moment of great happiness!
This would almost make amends for every thing?"
Edward
tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such witnesses
he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat down,
and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was looking
with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and sometimes
at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other should be
checked by Lucy's unwelcome presence. Edward was the first to speak,
and it was to notice Marianne's altered looks, and express his fear of
her not finding London agree with her.
"Oh,
don't think of me!" she replied with spirited earnestness, though
her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, "don't think of my
health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us
both."
This
remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor to
conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no
very benignant expression.
"Do
you like London?" said Edward, willing to say any thing that
might introduce another subject.
"Not
at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The
sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and, thank
Heaven! you are what you always were!"
She
paused- no one spoke.
"I
think, Elinor," she presently added, "we must employ Edward
to take care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I
suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very
unwilling to accept the charge."
Poor
Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even
himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace
it to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied,
and soon talked of something else.
"We
spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so
wretchedly dull! But I have much to say to you on that head, which
cannot be said now."
And
with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her
finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her
being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in
private.
"But
why were you not there, Edward? Why did you not come?"
"I
was engaged elsewhere."
"Engaged!
But what was that, when such friends were to be met?"
"Perhaps,
Miss Marianne," cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on her,
"you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have
no mind to keep them, little as well as great."
Elinor
was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the sting;
for she calmly replied,-
"Not
so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that conscience
only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he has the
most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in
performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make
against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving
pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being
selfish, of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it.
What! are you never to hear yourself praised?- Then you must be no
friend of mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem must
submit to my open commendation."
The
nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened to
be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her
auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon
got up to go away.
"Going
so soon!" said Marianne; "my dear Edward, this must not
be."
And
drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy
could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he
would go; and Lucy, who would have outstayed him, had his visit lasted
two hours, soon afterwards went away.
"What
can bring her here so often?" said Marianne, on her leaving them.
"Could not she see that we wanted her gone?- how teazing to
Edward!"
"Why
so? We were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known to
him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well
as ourselves."
Marianne
looked at her steadily, and said, "You know, Elinor, that this is
a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your
assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to
recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot
descend to be tricked out of assurances that are not really
wanted."
She
then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more, for
bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give no
information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the
consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was
obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope was, that Edward
would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing
Marianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of
the pain that had attended their recent meeting- and this she had
every reason to expect.
CHAPTER XXXVI
WITHIN a few
days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world, that
the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and
heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all
those intimate connections who knew it before.
This
event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness, produced a
temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a
like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished
to be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every
morning as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in
the evening; and the Misses Dashwood, at the particular request of the
Middletons, spent the whole of every day, in every day, in Conduit
Street. For their own comfort, they would much rather have remained,
at least all the morning, in Mrs. Jennings's house; but it was not a
thing to be urged against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were
therefore made over to Lady Middleton and the two Misses Steele, by
whom their company, in fact, was as little valued as it was
professedly sought.
They
had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and by
the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on
their ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolise.
Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to
Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they
neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them
good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them
satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be
satirical; but that did not signify. It was censure in common use, and
easily given.
Their
presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the
idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was
ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was
proud to think of, and administer at other times she feared they would
despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the
three by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to
it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and
minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby
she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the
best place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned.
But this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out
expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt
a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne; no effect
was produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of
disgust in the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her
their friend;- would they only have laughed at her about the doctor!
But so little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige
her, that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day
without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was
kind enough to bestow on herself.
All
these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally unsuspected
by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing for the girls
to be together; and generally congratulated her young friends every
night on having escaped the company of a stupid old woman so long. She
joined them sometimes at Sir John's, sometimes at her own house; but
wherever it was, she always came in excellent spirits, full of delight
and importance, attributing Charlotte's well doing to her own care,
and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail of her situation, as
only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire. One thing did disturb
her; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained
the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being
alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different times, the
most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his
relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no
persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other
baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the
simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world.
I
come now to the relation of a misfortune which about this time befell
Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters with
Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another of
her acquaintance had dropt in- a circumstance in itself not apparently
likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of other
people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct,
and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness must in
some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present
instance, this last arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far out-run
truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Misses
Dashwood, and understanding them to be Mrs. Dashwood's sisters, she
immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this
misconstruction produced, within a day or two afterwards, cards of
invitation for them, as well as for their brother and sister, to a
small musical party at her house; the consequence of which was, that
Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit, not only to the exceedingly
great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Misses Dashwood,
but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness
of appearing to treat them with attention, and who could tell that
they might not expect to go out with her a second time? The power of
disappointing them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not
enough: for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they
know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of anything
better from them.
Marianne
had now been brought, by degrees, so much into the habit of going out
every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to her whether
she went or not; and she prepared quietly and mechanically for every
evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest amusement
from any, and very often without knowing, till the last moment, where
it was to take her.
To
her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent as not
to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her
toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes
of their being together when it was finished. Nothing escaped her
minute observation and general curiosity; she saw everything, and
asked everything; was never easy till she knew the price of every part
of Marianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns
altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself; and was not
without hopes of finding out, before they parted, how much her washing
cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself.
The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally
concluded with a compliment, which, though meant as its douceur, was
considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after
undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the
colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost
sure of being told, that "upon her word she looked vastly smart,
and she dared to say she would make a great many conquests."
With
such encouragement as this, was she dismissed, on the present
occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter
five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very
agreeable to their sister- in-law, who had preceded them to the house
of her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their
part, that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.
The
events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like other
musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real taste
for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all; and
the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation, and
that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in
England.
As
Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no
scruple of turning her eyes from the grand piano-forte whenever it
suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and
violincello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the
room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived, among a group
of young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on
toothpick-cases, at Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking
at herself, and speaking familiary to her brother; and had just
determined to find out his name from the latter, when they both came
towards her, and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert
Ferrars.
He
addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow,
which assured her, as plainly as words could have done, that he was
exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy
had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his
own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his
brother's bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill-humour
of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she wondered at
the difference of the two young men, she did not find that the
emptiness of conceit of the one put her out of all charity with the
modesty and worth of the other. Why they were different, Robert
explained to her himself, in the course of a quarter of an hour's
conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme
gaucherie which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper
society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any
natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;
while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material
superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,
was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.
"Upon
my soul," he added, "I believe it is nothing more; and so I
often tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. 'My dear madam,'
I always say to her, 'you must make yourself easy. The evil is now
irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you
be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to
place Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his
life? If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself,
instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt's, all this would have been
prevented.' This is the way in which I always consider the matter, and
my mother is perfectly convinced of her error."
Elinor
would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her general
estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not think of
Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any satisfaction.
"You
reside in Devonshire, I think," was his next observation,
"in a cottage near Dawlish?"
Elinor
set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather surprising to
him, that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living near
Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation, however, on their species
of house.
"For
my own part," said he, "I am excessively fond of a cottage;
there is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I
protest, if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and
build one myself, within a short distance of London, where I might
drive myself down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and
be happy. I advise everybody who is going to build, to build a
cottage. My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose
to ask my advice, and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's.
I was to decide on the best of them. 'My dear Courtland.' said I,
immediately throwing them all into the fire, 'do not adopt either of
them, but by all means build a cottage.' And that I fancy, will be the
end of it.
"Some
people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a
cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend
Elliott's, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. 'But
how can it be done?' said she: 'my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is
to be managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten
couple; and where can the supper be?' I immediately saw that there
could be no difficulty in it, so I said, 'My dear Lady Elliott, do not
be uneasy. The dining-parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;
card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open
for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the
saloon.' Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the
dining- room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple,- and
the affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you
see, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be
as well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling."
Elinor agreed to it; she did not think he deserved the compliment of
rational opposition.
As
John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,
his mind was equally at liberty to fix on anything else; and a thought
struck him, during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for
her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.
Dennison's mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had
suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,
while Mrs. Jenning's engagements kept her from home. The expense would
be nothing; the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an
attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be
requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his
father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.
"I
do not see how it can be done," said she, "without
affronting Lady Middleton, for they spend every day with her;
otherwise I should be exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always
ready to pay them any attention in my power, as my taking them out
this evening shows. But they are Lady Middleton's visitors. How can I
ask them away from her?"
Her
husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her
objection. They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit
Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the
same number of days to such near relations.
Fanny
paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,-
"My
love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power. But I
had just settled within myself to ask the Misses Steele to spend a few
days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I
think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by
Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the
Misses Steele may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like
them; indeed, you do like them, you know, very much already, and so
does my mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!"
Mr.
Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Misses
Steele immediately; and his conscience was pacified by the resolution
of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slily
suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by
bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon's wife, and Marianne as
their visitor.
Fanny
rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had procured
it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and her
sister's, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady Middleton
could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and reasonably
happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for herself; cherishing
all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an opportunity of
being with Edward and his family was, above all things, the most
material to her interest, and such an invitation the most gratifying
to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too gratefully
acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to Lady
Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was instantly
discovered to have been always meant to end in two days' time.
When
the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after its
arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the
expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed
on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will
towards her arose from something more than merely malice against
herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do everything
that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady
Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John
Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of
greater.
The
Misses Steele removed to Harley Street; and all that reached Elinor of
their influence there strengthened her expectation of the event. Sir
John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts of
the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.
Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her
life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle-book made
by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know
whether she should ever be able to part with them.
CHAPTER
XXXVII
MRS. PALMER
was so well at the end of a fortnight that her mother felt it no
longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,
contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned
from that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she
found the Misses Dashwood very ready to re-assume their former share.
About
the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in
Berkley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to
Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by
herself, with an air of such hurrying importance, as prepared her to
hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,
began directly to justify it, by saying,-
"Lord!
my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?"
"No,
ma'am. What is it?"
"Something
so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr. Palmer's, I
found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was sure it was
very ill- it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples. So I looked
at it directly, and, 'Lord! my dear,' says I, 'it is nothing in the
world, but the red gum;' and nurse said just the same. But Charlotte,
she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donovan was sent for; and luckily
he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he stepped over
directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, be said just as we
did, that it was nothing in the world, but the red gum, and then
Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it came
into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of it,
but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon
that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know
something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, 'For fear any
unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to
their sister's indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I
believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will
do very well.'"
"What!
is Fanny ill?"
"That
is exactly what I said, my dear. 'Lord!' says I, 'is Mrs. Dashwood
ill?' So then it all came out; and the long and the short of the
matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars, the
very young man I used to joke with you about (but, however, as it
turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never anything in it), Mr.
Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to
my cousin Lucy! There's for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a
syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a
thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another;
but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody
suspect it! That is strange! I never happened to see them together, or
I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was
kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor
your brother or sister suspected a word of the matter; till this very
morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no
conjurer, popt it all out. 'Lord!' thinks she to herself, 'they are
all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it'
and so away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her
carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come- for she had just been
saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to
make a match between Edward and some Lord's daughter or other, I
forget who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and
pride. She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams
as reached your brother's ears, as he was sitting in his own
dressing-room down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his
steward in the country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene
took place, for Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming
what was going on. Poor soul! I pity her. And I must say, I think she
was used very hardly; for your sister scolded like fury, and soon
drove her into a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and
cried bitterly; and your brother, he walked about the room, and said
he did not know what to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not
stay a minute longer in the house; and your brother was forced to down
upon his knees, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed
up their clothes. Then she fell into hysterics again, and he was so
frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found
the house in all this uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to
take my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came
off; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk;
and Nancy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with
your sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in
spite of her. Lord! what a taking poor Edward will be in, when he
hears of it! To have his love used so scornfully! for they say he is
monstrous fond of her, as well he may. I should not wonder, if he was
to be in the greatest passion!- and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same.
He and I, had a great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is,
that he is gone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within
call when Mrs. Ferrars is told of it; for she was sent for, as soon as
ever my cousins left the house, for your sister was sure she would be
in hysterics too; and so she may, for what I care. I have no pity for
either of them. I have no notion of people's making such a to-do about
money and greatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and
Lucy should not marry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do
very well by her son; and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she
knows better than any body how to make the most of everything; I dare
say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow him five hundred a year, she
would make as good an appearance with it as any body else would with
eight. Lord! how snug they might live in such another cottage as
yours- or a little bigger- with two maids, and two men; and I believe
I could help them to a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of
place, that would fit them exactly."
Here
Mrs. Jennings ceased; and as Elinor had had time enough to collect her
thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such
observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.
Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest
in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the
case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy
above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne she felt very well able
to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her
judgment, as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every
one concerned in it.
She
could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really
was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being
possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and
Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a
doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious
to know how Edward would conduct himself. For him she felt much
compassion;- for Lucy very little- and it cost her some pains to
procure that little;- for the rest of the party none at all.
As
Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the
necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be
lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth
and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others,
without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any
resentment against Edward.
Elinor's
office was a painful one. She was going to remove what she really
believed to be her sister's chief consolation, to give such
particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her
good opinion- and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their
situations, which to her fancy would seem strong, feel all her own
disappointment over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it
was necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.
She
was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feeling or to represent
herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the self-command she
had practised since her first knowledge of Edward's engagements might
suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne. Her narration was
clear and simple; and though it could not be given without emotion, it
was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor impetuous grief. That
belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne listened with horror, and
cried excessively. Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own
distresses, no less than in theirs; and all the comfort that could be
given by assurances of her own composure of mind, and a very earnest
vindication of Edward from every charge but of imprudence, was readily
offered.
But
Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed a
second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she had loved
him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy
Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely
incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded
at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of
Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and
Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only
could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.
Her
first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact of
the engagement, and the length of time it had existed. Marianne's
feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of
detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her
distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first
question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was-
"How
long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?"
"I
have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park,
last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement."
At
these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her lips
could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed-
"Four
months! Have you known of this four months?"
Elinor
confirmed it.
"What!
while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart? And
I have reproached you for being happy!"
"It
was not fit that you should then know how much I was the
reverse."
"Four
months!" cried Marianne again. "So calm! so cheerful! How
have you been supported?"
"By
feeling that I was doing my duty. My promise to Lucy obliged me to be
secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the
truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a
solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to
satisfy."
Marianne
seemed much struck.
"I
have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,"
added Elinor, "and once or twice I have attempted it; but without
betraying my trust, I never could have convinced you."
"Four
months! and yet you loved him!"
"Yes.
But I did not love only him; and while the comfort of others was dear
to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now, I
can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you
suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially
myself. I have many things to support me. I am not conscious of having
provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne
it as much as possible without spreading it farther. I acquit Edward
of essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of
his always doing his duty, that though he may harbour some regret, in
the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense; and that is the
foundation on which every thing good may be built. And after all,
Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and
constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's happiness
depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant- it is
not fit- it is not possible that it should be so. Edward will marry
Lucy; he will marry a woman superior in person and understanding to
half her sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he ever
thought another superior to her."
"If
such is your way of thinking," said Marianne, "if the loss
of what is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else,
your resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be
wondered at. They are brought more within my comprehension."
"I
understand you. You do not suppose that I have ever felt much. For
four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without
being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it
would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained
to you yet unable to prepare you for it in the least. It was told me-
it was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose
prior engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought,
with triumph. This person's suspicions, therefore, I have had to
oppose, by endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most
deeply interested; and it has not been only once; I have had her hopes
and exultation to listen to again and again. I have known myself to be
divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one circumstance that
could make me less desire the connection. Nothing has proved him
unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to me. I have had
to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of
his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without
enjoying its advantages. And all this has been going on at a time,
when, as you know too well, it has not been my only unhappiness. If
you can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that
I have suffered now. The composure of mind with which I have brought
myself at present, to consider the matter, the consolation that I have
been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful
exertion; they did not spring up of themselves; they did not occur to
relieve my spirits at first. No, Marianne. Then, if I had not been
bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely not even
what I owed to my dearest friends- from openly showing that I was very
unhappy."
Marianne
was quite subdued.
"Oh,
Elinor," she cried, "you have made me hate myself for ever.
How barbarous have I been to you!- you, who have been my only comfort,
who have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only
suffering for me! Is this my gratitude? Is this the only return I can
make you? Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying
to do it away."
The
tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of mind
as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her
whatever promise she required; and, at her request, Marianne engaged
never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of
bitterness; to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of
dislike to her; and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring
them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality. These
were great concessions; but where Marianne felt that she had injured,
no reparation could be too much for her to make.
She
performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration. She attended
to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an
unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard
three times to say, "Yes, ma'am." She listened to her praise
of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another; and when Mrs.
Jennings talked of Edward's affection, it cost her only a spasm in her
throat. Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel
equal to anything herself.
The
next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their
brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful
affair, and bring them news of his wife.
"You
have heard, I suppose," said he, with great solemnity, as soon as
he was seated, "of the very shocking discovery that took place
under our roof yesterday."
They
all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.
"Your
sister," he continued, "has suffered dreadfully. Mrs.
Ferrars too- in short it has been a scene of such complicated
distress- but I will hope that the storm may be weathered without our
being any of us quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all
yesterday. But I would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is
nothing materially to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one,
and her resolution equal to anything. She has borne it all with the
fortitude of an angel! She says she never shall think well of any body
again; and one cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!- meeting
with such ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shown, so much
confidence had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her
heart, that she had asked these young women to her house; merely
because she thought they deserved some attention, were harmless,
well-behaved girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we
both wished very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us,
while your kind friend there was attending her daughter. And now to be
so rewarded! 'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor Fanny, in her
affectionate way, 'that we had asked your sisters instead of
them.'"
Here
he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.
"What
poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is not
to be described. While she with the truest affection had been planning
a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that he
could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!- such a
suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected any
prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in that quarter. 'There, to
be sure,' said she, 'I might have thought myself safe.' She was quite
in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be
done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am
sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make
him put an end to the engagement, assisted too, as you may well
suppose, by my arguments, and Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail.
Duty, affection, everything was disregarded. I never thought Edward so
stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal
designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would
settle on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in
a good thousand a year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to
make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still
persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain
penury that must attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she
protested should be his all; she would never see him again; and so far
would she be from affording him the smallest assistance, that if he
were to enter into any profession with a view of better support, she
would do all in her power to prevent him advancing in it."
Here
Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together,
and cried, "Gracious God! can this be possible?"
"Well
may you wonder, Marianne," replied her brother, "at the
obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation
is very natural."
Marianne
was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore.
"All
this, however," he continued, "was urged in vain. Edward
said very little; but what he did say was in the most determined
manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He
would stand to it, cost him what it might."
"Then,"
cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be silent,
"he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood,
but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a rascal. I
have some little concern in the business, as well as yourself, for
Lucy Steele is my cousin; and I believe there is not a better kind of
girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good husband."
John
Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open to
provocation; and he never wished to offend any body, especially any
body of good fortune. He therefore replied without any resentment:
"I
would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours,
madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman;
but in the present case, you know, the connection must be impossible.
And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under
her uncle's care, the son of a woman especially of such very large
fortune as Mrs. Ferrars, is, perhaps, altogether a little
extraordinary. In short I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of
any person whom you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her
extremely happy; and Mrs. Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole has
been such as every conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances,
would adopt. It has been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his
own lot, and I fear it will be a bad one."
Marianne
sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung for the
feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's threats, for a woman
who could not reward him.
"Well,
sir," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did it end?"
"I
am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture. Edward is dismissed
for ever from his mother's notice. He left her house yesterday, but
where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do not know; for
we of course can make no enquiry."
"Poor
young man! and what is to become of him?"
"What,
indeed, ma'am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the prospect
of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more deplorable. The
interest of two thousand pounds how can a man live on it? And when to
that is added the recollection that he might, but for his own folly,
within three months, have been in the receipt of two thousand five
hundred a year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand pounds), I cannot
picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must all feel for him;
and the more so, because it is totally out of our power to assist
him."
"Poor
young man!" cried Mrs. Jennings, "I am sure he should be
very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if
I could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his
own charge now, at lodgings and taverns."
Elinor's
heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she could
not forbear smiling at the form of it.
"If
he would only have done as well by himself," said John Dashwood,
"as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have
been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing; but
as it is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him. And there
is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than
all,- his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit,
to settle that estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been
Edward's, on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her
lawyer, talking over the business."
"Well!"
said Mrs. Jennings, "that is her revenge. Every body has a way of
their own. But I don't think mine would be, to make one son
independent because another had plagued me."
Marianne
got up and walked about the room.
"Can
anything be more galling to the spirit of a man," continued John,
"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which
might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely."
A
few minutes more, spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his
visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really
believed there was no material danger in Fanny's indisposition, and
that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away,
leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present
occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the
Dashwoods', and Edward's.
Marianne's
indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her
vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs.
Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party.
CHAPTER
XXXVIII
MRS.
JENNINGS was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but only
Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. They only knew how
little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was
the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could
remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in
his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for
his punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public
discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which
either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it
upon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the
too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward's
continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away;
and Marianne's courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a
topic which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever,
by the comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor's conduct and
her own.
She
felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had
hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of
continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never
exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,
without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened, that she
still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only
dispirited her more.
Nothing
new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs in
Harley Street or Bartlett's Buildings. But though so much of the
matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had
enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking
after more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort
and enquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the
hindrance of more visitors than usual had prevented her going to them
within that time.
The
third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars was so fine,
so beautiful a Sunday, as to draw many to Kensington Gardens, though
it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor were of
the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were again in
town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather to stay
at home, than venture into so public a place.
An
intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they
entered the Gardens; and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing
with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was
herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,
nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of any body who could by
any chance, whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last
she found herself, with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who,
though looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting
them; and on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of
Mrs. Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join theirs.
Mrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,-
"Get
it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing, if you ask.
You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke."
It
was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too,
that she would tell any thing without being asked; for nothing would
otherwise have been learnt.
"I
am so glad to meet you," said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly
by the arm- "for I wanted to see you of all things in the
world." And then lowering her voice, "I suppose Mrs.
Jennings has heard all about it. Is she angry?"
"Not
at all, I believe, with you."
"That
is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is she angry?"
"I
cannot suppose it possible that she should."
"I
am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of it!
I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she
would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me
again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are
as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put
in the feather last night. There now, you are going to laugh at me
too.- But why should not I wear pink ribands? I do not care if it is
the Doctor's favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never
have known he did like it better than any other colour, if he had not
happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare
sometimes I do not know which way to look before them."
She
had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say, and
therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to the
first.
"Well,
but Miss Dashwood," speaking triumphantly, "people may say
what they choose about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy,
for it is no such thing, I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for
such ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might
think about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people
to set it down for certain."
"I
never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure
you," said Elinor.
"Oh,
did not you? But it was said, I know, very well, and by more than one;
for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could
expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty
thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele, that had nothing at
all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my cousin
Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was afraid Mr.
Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us for three
days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in my heart
Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother's
Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, and
Saturday and did not know what was become of him. Once Lucy thought to
write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. However, this
morning he came just as we came home from church; and then it all came
out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been
talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared
before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy
would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that as
soon as he had went away from his mother's house, he had got upon his
horse, and rid into the country, somewhere or other; and how he had
stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the
better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he said,
it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at all,
it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because it
must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, and
no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he had
some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy; and how was they to
live upon that? He could not bear to think of her doing no better, and
so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the
matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say all
this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for her sake,
and upon her account, that he said a word about being off, and not
upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being
tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like
it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking;
so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you
know, and all that- Oh, la! one can't repeat such kind of things you
know)- she told him directly, she had not the least mind in the world
to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little
soever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, you
know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and
talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he
should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he
got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin
called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach,
and would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go
into the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go,
but she did not care to leave Edward; so I just ran up stairs and put
on a pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons."
"I
do not understand what you mean by interrupting them," said
Elinor; "you were all in the same room together, were you
not?"
"No,
indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love when
any body else is by? Oh, for shame! To be sure you must know better
than that. (Laughing affectedly.) No, no; they were shut up in the
drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the
door."
"How!"
cried Elinor; "have you been repeating to me what you only learnt
yourself by listening at the door! I am sorry I did not know it
before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me
particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known
yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?"
"Oh,
la! there is nothing in that. I only stood at the door, and heard what
I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me; for a
year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets
together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a
chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said."
Elinor
tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be kept
beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.
"Edward
talks of going to Oxford, soon," said she; "but now he is,
an't she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I
shan't say anything against them to you; and to be sure they did send
us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And
for my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us
for the huswifes she had given us a day or two before; but, however,
nothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of
sight. Edward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go
there for a time; and after that, as soon as he can light upon a
bishop, he will be ordained, I wonder what curacy he will get? Good
gracious! (giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my
cousins will say, when they hear of it. They will tell me I should
write to the Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living. I
know they will; but I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the
world. 'La!' I shall directly, 'I wonder how you could think of such a
thing? I write to the Doctor, indeed!'"
"Well,"
said Elinor, "it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.
You have got your answer ready."
Miss
Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of her
own party made another more necessary.
"Oh,
la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to you,
but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you they
are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and they
keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings about
it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not in
anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything should
happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings should want
company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay with her
for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton won't ask us
any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was not here.
Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your spotted muslin
on! I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn."
Such
was her parting concern; for after this she had time only to pay her
farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was claimed
by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of knowledge
which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though she had
learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and
foreplanned in her own mind. Edward's marriage with Lucy was as firmly
determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely
uncertain, as she had concluded it would be:- every thing depended,
exactly after her expectation, on his getting that perferment, of
which there seemed not the smallest chance.
As
soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for
information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible
intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained,
she confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple
particulars, as she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own
consequence, would choose to have known. The continuance of their
engagement, and the means that were able to be taken for promoting its
end, was all her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings
the following natural remark:-
"Wait
for his having a living!- ay, we all know how that will end:- they
will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it, will set
down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a year, with the interest of his
two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr. Pratt
can give her. Then they will have a child every year! and, Lord help 'em!
how poor they will be! I must see what I can give them towards
furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed! as I talked of
t' other day. No, no, they must get a stout girl of all works. Betty's
sister would never do for them now."
The
next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from Lucy
herself. It was as follows:-
"Bartlett's
Building, March.
"I
hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing
to her; but I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to
hear such a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after all the
troubles we have went through lately, therefore will make no more
apologies, but proceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered
dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always
be in one another's love. We have had great trials, and great
persecutions, but, however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge
many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness
I shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have
told of it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs.
Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon: he
would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my
duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, and would have parted
for ever on the spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should
never be, he did not regard his mother's anger, while he could have my
affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must
wait, and hope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should
it ever be in your power to recommend him to any body that has a
living to bestow, am very sure you will not forget us; and dear Mrs.
Jennings too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or
Mr. Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.- Poor Anne
was much to blame for what she did, but she did it for the best, so I
say nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won't think it too much trouble to
give us a call, should she come this way any morning, it would be a
great kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know her.- My paper
reminds me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and
respectfully remembered to her, and to Sir John and Lady Middleton,
and the dear children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss
Marianne,
"I am,
&c. &c."
As
soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to be
its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs. Jennings,
who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and praise.
"Very
well indeed!- how prettily she writes!- ay, that was quite proper to
let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor soul! I wish
I could get him a living, with all my heart. She calls me dear Mrs.
Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived. Very
well, upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, yes, I
will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to think of
every body!- Thank you, my dear, for showing it me. It is as pretty a
letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great
credit."
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE MISSES
DASHWOOD had now been rather more than two months in town, and
Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed for
the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied, that if
any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly
less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less
bent on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of
the difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be
brought to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her
thoughts towards its accomplishment; and had already mentioned their
wishes to their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence
of her good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining
them from yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much
more eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland,
about the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings,
with both her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte
to go with them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for
the delicacy of Miss Dashwood; but it was enforced with so much real
politeness by Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great
amendment of his manners towards them since her sister had been known
to be unhappy, induced her to accept it with pleasure.
When
she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not
very auspicious.
"Cleveland!"
she cried, with great agitation. "No I cannot go to
Cleveland."
"You
forget," said Elinor gently, "that its situation is not-
that it is not in the neighbourhood of-"
"But
it is in Somersetshire. I cannot go into Somersetshire. There, where I
looked forward to going;- no, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go
there."
Elinor
would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such feelings; she
only endeavoured to counteract them by working on others; and
represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the time of
her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to see, in
a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan could
do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which was
within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not beyond
one day, though a long day's journey; and their mother's servant might
easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no
occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be
at home in little more than three weeks' time. As Marianne's affection
for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty,
over the imaginary evils she had started.
Mrs.
Jennings was so far from being weary of her that she pressed them very
earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland. Elinor was grateful
for the attention, but it could not alter her design; and their
mother's concurrence being readily gained, every thing relative to
their return was arranged as far as it could be; and Marianne found
some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that were yet to
divide her from Barton.
"Ah!
Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Misses
Dashwood," was Mrs. Jennings's address to him when he first
called on her, after their leaving her was settled; "for they are
quite resolved upon going home from the Palmers; and how forlorn we
shall be when I come back! Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another
as dull as two cats."
Perhaps
Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their future
ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give himself an
escape from it; and if so, she had soon afterwards good reason to
think her object gained; for, on Elinor's moving to the window to take
more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she was going to
copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of particular
meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes. The effect
of his discourse on the lady, too, could not escape her observation;
for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even changed her
seat, on purpose that she might not hear, to one close by the
piano-forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep herself
from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with agitation, and
was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment. Still farther
in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of Marianne's turning
from one lesson to another, some words of the Colonel's inevitably
reached her ear, in which he seemed to be apologising for the badness
of his house. This set the matter beyond a doubt. She wondered,
indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but supposed it to be
the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she could not
distinguish, but judged, from the motion of her lips, that she did not
think that any material objection; and Mrs. Jennings commended her in
her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for a few minutes
longer without her catching a syllable, when another lucky stop in
Marianne's performance brought her these words in the Colonel's calm
voice,-
"I
am afraid it cannot take place very soon."
Astonished
and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost ready to cry
out, "Lord! what should hinder it?" but checking her desire,
confined herself to this silent ejaculation,-
"This
is very strange!- sure he need not wait to be older."
This
delay on the Colonel's side, however, did not seem to offend or
mortify his fair companion in the least; for, on their breaking up the
conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings
very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which showed her to
feel what she said,-
"I
shall always think myself very much obliged to you."
Mrs.
Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered, that,
after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take
leave of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost sang-froid, and
go away without making her any reply! She had not thought her old
friend could have made so indifferent a suitor.
What
had really passed between them was to this effect.
"I
have heard," said he, with great compassion, "of the
injustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for,
if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by
them for persevering in his engagement with a very deserving young
woman. Have I been rightly informed? Is it so?"
Elinor
told him that it was.
"The
cruelty, the impolitic cruelty," he replied, with great feeling,
"of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long
attached to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what
she may be doing- what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr.
Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with
him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted
in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for
his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I
understand that he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to
tell him that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am
informed by this day's post, is his, if he think it worth his
acceptance; but that, perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is
now, it be nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more
valuable. It is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I
believe, did not make more than 200l. per annum; and though it is
certainly capable of improvement, I fear not to such an amount as to
afford him a very comfortable income. Such as it is, however, my
pleasure in presenting him to it will be very great. Pray assure him
of it."
Elinor's
astonishment at this commission could hardly have been greater had the
Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand. The preferment,
which only two days before she had considered as hopeless for Edward,
was already provided to enable him to marry; and she, of all people in
the world, was fixed on to bestow it! Her emotion was such as Mrs.
Jennings had attributed to a very different cause; but whatever minor
feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have a share in that emotion,
her esteem for the general benevolence, and her gratitude for the
particular friendship, which together prompted Colonel Brandon to this
act, were strongly felt and warmly expressed. She thanked him for it
with all her heart, spoke of Edward's principles and disposition with
that praise which she knew them to deserve; and promised to undertake
the commission with pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so
agreeable an office to another. But, at the same time, she could not
help thinking that no one could so well perform it as himself. It was
an office, in short, from which, unwilling to give Edward the pain of
receiving an obligation from her, she would have been very glad to be
spared herself; but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy,
declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being given
through her means, that she would not, on any account, make farther
opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately
she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could undertake,
therefore, to inform him of it, in the course of the day. After this
had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage
in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and then it was
that he mentioned, with regret, that the house was small and
indifferent; an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed her
to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size.
"The
smallness of the house," said she, "I cannot imagine any
inconvenience to them; for it will be in proportion to their family
and income."
By
which the Colonel was surprised to find that she was considering Mr.
Ferrars's marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; for
he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply such
an income as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle on,
and he said so.
"This
little rectory can do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable as a
bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that my
patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive.
If, however, by an unforseen chance it should be in my power to serve
him farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do,
if I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I
could be at present. What I am now doing, indeed, seems nothing at
all, since it can advance him so little towards what must be his
principal, his only object of happiness. His marriage must still be a
distant good; at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very
soon."
Such
was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the
delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but, after this narration of what
really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at
the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting may
perhaps appear, in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less
properly worded, than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.
CHAPTER XL
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