But perhaps he had. Perhaps I was worrying precipitately. Perhaps a letter would arrive in the next few days explaining everything.
I clung to the hope, the better to sleep, for I needed sleep in order to be able to search again, refreshed, on the morrow.
Friday 12 February
It is more than a week now since Eliza disappeared and still no news. Surely she would have written to me if she was married? But she might be enjoying herself and her new life too much to think of me. She might write in another week.
I must hope so, for I have been able to discover nothing and Sanders has had no better luck. I mean to keep searching, and I have told him he must do the same.
Saturday 12 March
It is over a month now since Eliza disappeared and there is still no news. I dread to think what might have happened to her. If she was alive, surely she would have written to me? She would want my congratulations if she was married, or my help if she was not. Surely I should have heard something?
Friday 26 August
I met Sanders in London, and my hopes were dashed again as he told me he had no news. In seven months I have discovered no trace of her.
I retired at last to my club, where I met Sir John Middleton. He greeted me cheerfully, for I had not told him about Eliza.
‘You must come to visit us next month, Brandon,’ he said. ‘We have not seen you at Barton for months.’
I was glad to talk to him, for his good cheer lifted me out of my own gloomy thoughts, and I accepted his invitation with gratitude.
‘Good, good. We will make you very welcome, and we will be able to offer you some new company. A relative of mine, Mrs Dashwood, who has recently been widowed, has come to live at Barton Cottage with her daughters. The cottage is only small, but it is capable of improvement, and if the ladies like it, I will alter it according to their taste.’
‘You do not have to introduce me to new company in order to induce me to visit,’ I said. ‘I am very happy with the company I always find at Barton.’
‘But you will not object to finding some new faces when they are there,’ he said jovially. ‘Four ladies! A mother and three daughters, and lucky for me that it is so, for a mother and three sons would have not been to my taste. The sons might have been sportsmen, and if so, I would have been obliged to offer them my game. And if they were not sportsmen, it would almost have been worse, for I would have found precious little to talk to them about. But it is different with ladies. Ladies never take a man’s game! I saw them once, many years ago, pretty little things, and I believe they are held to be very handsome now that they are grown.’
‘I am sure they are,’ I said as we went into the dining room.
‘It is about time you married, Brandon. Yes, I know you have had your share of unhappiness, but that is in the past. You need to look to the future. You are still young. A wife is just what you need.’
‘I have no intention of marrying,’ I said to him shortly, and then I was sorry for my bad manners, for he only wanted to help.
‘Well, you know best,’ he said.
We talked of other things as we ate: of his family and the political situation, of the price of corn and new ideas in farming; and then we parted, he to go back to Barton and I to return to my rooms.
And now my thoughts are once again with Eliza. That she has run off with someone I am sure. As long as she is happy, that is all I ask. But why does she not write to me?
Monday 5 September
I arrived at Barton Court today and I was glad to be among friends.
After admiring the family and greeting Mary, I walked down to Barton Cottage with Sir John. He was eager to show it to me, and to point out what he had thought of doing for the Dashwoods’ comfort.
The day was fine and the walk was a good distance, not so close that the inhabitants of each house would be forced into constant company, but not so far that walking between the two residences was difficult.
We came to the cottage at last, and I was surprised at its appearance, for it looked more like a house than a cottage. It was regular in shape and the roof was tiled, whilst there was a small green court in the front with a wicket-gate leading into it. There was not a trace of thatch or honeysuckle anywhere.
‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked as we stopped at the gate.
I cast my eyes over it and saw that it was in a good state of repair. The roof was sound and the paint on the door and windows was new.
‘From the outside, it looks well enough,’ I said.
‘Come and see it inside.’
We went in. A narrow passage led directly through the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square, and beyond them were the offices and the stairs. Four bedrooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house. It had not been built many years and was very convenient in its arrangement.
‘The situation is good,’ said Sir John.
He looked out of the window at the high hills which rose immediately behind and at no great distance on each side. Some of them were open downs, the others were cultivated and woody. I went to join him at the window and saw the village of Barton nestling against one of the hills.
‘The prospect in the front is even more extensive,’ he said, moving to a different window. It commanded the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond. ‘Well, what do you think. Will they like it?’
‘I am sure they will,’ I said, thinking that they were fortunate to have found such a home, and such a good neighbour and relative as Sir John.
‘Ay, it will do.’
We walked back to the house and found that the children were downstairs with their nurse. John was well grown for six, whilst William was not far behind him, and Anna-Maria was growing into a pretty girl. Mary indulged them and Sir John played with them until they began to grow fractious, whereupon their nurse took them upstairs again.
‘I tell you, Brandon, you should be setting up your nursery, ’ he said to me.
‘I hope they play,’ said Mary, ignoring him. ‘I am very musical, and if the Misses Dashwood choose to entertain us, I shall not say them nay.’
Tuesday 6 September
‘I think I will just go down to the cottage and see if the Dashwoods have arrived,’ said Sir John as he pushed his chair back from the breakfast table this morning.
‘You will do no such thing,’ said Mary. ‘It is far too early for them to have arrived, and even if they have, the last thing Mrs Dashwood will want is a visitor. She will have enough to do without a stranger to take care of.’
‘A stranger?’ he asked, astonished.
‘A stranger, for that is what you must be to begin with. She will want to set her house in order before she receives guests.’
Sir John hummed and hawed but at last he gave way and said that he supposed he could wait until tomorrow to see them, but that Mary must take the blame if they felt themselves slighted.
I suggested we go for a ride, and he was happy to fall in with the suggestion, for he likes to be doing something.
‘What do you make of John Dashwood?’ he asked me, as we rode out to the hills. ‘Mrs Dashwood’s stepson, you know, and half brother to the girls. Inherited the family home when his father died but made no provision for his father’s second wife and left her to the mercy of a distant relative. Seems bad to me.’
It seemed bad to me, too, but I said only, ‘We know nothing of the circumstances.’
‘Ay, you are right, though what could prevent a son doing right by his father’s wife I do not know. Family is family, and a man should take care of his own. Though lucky for me he did not, eh, Brandon? It will do us good to have some new faces to look at.’
Wednesday 7 September
Sir John lost no time in looking at his new faces. As soon as he had finished breakfast, he said, ‘No one can object to my calling on my cousins this morning, I am sure. I am determined to walk down to the cottage and greet them. The girl
s will not remember me, for they were very small when last I visited them, but Mrs Dashwood will know me. I am looking forward to seeing them all again. Will you come with me, Mary?’
‘Certainly not. I do not believe Mrs Dashwood will be ready for such a call. But pray tell her I will call on her as soon as it is convenient for her to receive me,’ said Mary.
He left, intent on making the new arrivals welcome, and I went out with the dogs, returning to find that Sir John was in the drawing room, regaling Mary with an account of his visit.
‘Charming people,’ he said, ‘and what handsome girls! The youngest is only thirteen, but the other two are older and are both out. What manners! And what pretty faces! Oh, it will do us good to have them about the place. We will find them husbands, eh, Mary? And then we will have a wedding or two to look forward to. I have promised to send them my newspaper every day, and to convey their letters to the post for them.’
‘Did Mrs Dashwood say when she would be receiving?’ asked Mary, ignoring most of his speech.
‘She was touched by your message, my love, and said she would be happy to welcome you at any time.’
‘Then I will go tomorrow,’ said Mary. ‘I do not wish to be backward in showing them any courtesy, for they have suffered a grievous loss. I wish to make them welcome here. I think I might take the children with me. They cannot help but be cheered by the sight of my two splendid boys and my beautiful little girl.’
Thursday 8 September
Sir John and Mary visited the cottage today. In the end they took little John with them and left the two younger children behind. The visit went well, and they have invited the Dashwoods to dine with us tomorrow.
Friday 9 September
Sir John spent the morning visiting the neighbouring families in the hope of procuring some addition to our society this evening, but it was a moonlit night and everyone was already engaged.
‘I never thought I would consider it unlucky to be giving a dinner on a moonlit night, but so it is, for if it were dark, then there would be plenty of families sitting at home.’
‘And therefore not willing to visit us,’ said Mary.
‘What? Not willing to come such a short step, and with the offer of a carriage being sent for them if necessary? But at least your mother is coming,’ he said. ‘She will be here before the Dashwoods arrive — ’
‘As long as she has a tolerable journey,’ Mary put in.
‘And will cheer the young ladies. She will be able to tease them about their beaux!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Young ladies always like to be teased about their beaux.’
I thought of Mrs Jennings, with her jokes and laughter and vulgar humour, and I wondered what the Dashwoods would make of her.
The post arriving at that moment, I saw that I had a letter from Sanders. I excused myself and retired to my room where I opened it eagerly, but Sanders had no news. I put my disappointment aside as best I could, but I was in no mood for company, and when the Dashwoods arrived, I was silent and grave.
My silence was not noticed, however, for Sir John and Mrs Jennings were boisterous enough, with Sir John asking his cousins how they liked the cottage and Mrs Jennings teasing the Misses Dashwood about the beaux they had left behind.
Miss Marianne was asked to sing after dinner, and the music roused me from my melancholy thoughts. I turned to look at her, and as I watched her, I was struck by how difficult the last few months must have been for her. She had lost her father; after which she had had to leave her home, travelling across the country to live in a small cottage, when she was used to a mansion house. She had found herself in a strange place with strange people, far from her friends, far from everything, save her family, that she knew and loved. And I was aware of all this because it was all going into her music. Her feelings of loss and heartbreak were pouring out of her through her voice and her fingers.
I could not take my eyes away from her. The emotion on her face was now light and now shade, now sadness and now regret; and the room faded and I saw nothing but Marianne until the song had finished.
I came to myself, to find that the others were chattering, and I thought, How can they chatter when such music is being played?
I walked over to the piano, and as Miss Marianne was about to leave the piano stool, I said, ‘Will you play this?’
‘Gladly,’ she said.
I opened the music and she settled herself again, resting her hands over the keys, and then began to play. I stood by the piano, the better to listen to her, and I turned her music for her when she needed it.
There was a pause when the song finished, and I was ashamed to find that there was no applause, for the song had certainly deserved it. Then Mary, remembering her duties as hostess, said how delightful it had been and asked Miss Marianne to play ‘The Willow.’ Miss Marianne and I exchanged surprised glances, for she had just played that very song.
I pulled another piece of music forward and asked her if she would not sing that one instead.
When she had finished, the others did not even look up from their conversations, and I said, ‘A very pretty song.’
‘Pretty?’ she asked me, turning towards me and arching her eyebrows.
‘You do not find it so?’ I asked her.
‘No, I do not,’ she said, and as she continued her voice became passionate: ‘Haunting, yes; lyrical and wistful; but pretty, no.’
I was surprised, for she was very forthright for someone so young, and my eyes followed her as she returned to sit beside her sister.
‘Well, Colonel, and what do you think of Miss Marianne? ’ asked Mrs Jennings when the Dashwoods had gone. ‘You seemed mightily taken with her.’
‘She is charming,’ I said.
‘Charming? Ay, that she is, and pretty, too. Just the match for a man such as yourself, a fine bachelor with a good bit of property.’
‘I scarcely know the lady,’ I returned. ‘Besides, she is too young for me.’
‘Tush! What’s a few years in a marriage? Nothing at all. A rich man like you, Colonel, should be married, and who better than Miss Marianne? You could listen to her play the pianoforte every night! Ay, I saw you attending to her, and what more proof of love could there be than that?’
‘I like music,’ I said.
‘But not as much as you like Miss Marianne, eh, Colonel?’ she said.
I could do nothing to curb her, for with her own two daughters married, she has nothing better to do than to try and arrange a marriage for everyone else.
Monday 12 September
We dined with the Dashwoods at the cottage, and I took Miss Marianne in to dinner. I wondered if I would be disappointed in her, if the extraordinary qualities I had found in her music and the forthright opinions it had called forth, would not be found elsewhere; but to my pleasure I found her to be just as interesting when we were discussing other subjects.
She was generous in her praise of her sister, amiable in her attentions to her mother, and interesting in general conversation, displaying a lively mind and a quick intelligence, as well as a great degree of sensibility.
She spoke of the home she had left behind, the woods and gardens, the walks and the view, and as she talked about it, I saw it all before me, with its fine prospects and its sheltered groves.
‘It must have been difficult for you to leave it, but you find your new home some consolation, I hope?’ I asked her.
‘What can console me for the loss of such a home, where every tree was known to me? ’ she asked. ‘But we can certainly never thank Sir John enough for his kindness. My sister-in-law’s behaviour made it impossible for us to remain at Norland, and we had to live somewhere. If Sir John had not offered us a home, I do not know what we would have done, for we could find nothing in the neighbourhood of Norland to suit us. It must have been difficult for us to live there in any case, for we would have had Norland before us always, and yet we would not have been able to call it home.’
As she spoke, I was reminded of Eliz
a, for Eliza, too, had dearly loved her home.
My thoughts went from Eliza to her daughter, and as the ladies withdrew, I fell silent. I knew I should rouse myself, that it was unbecoming of me to be so morose, that I should help Sir John to entertain his guests, but I could not shake off the gloom that had taken hold of me and I spoke no more.
Tuesday 13 September
I was hoping to take Miss Marianne in to dinner at the Park, but instead I found myself escorting her sister, a sensible young woman with a fund of interesting conversation. I think I entertained her, even though my attention kept drifting to Miss Marianne.
‘You will be having visitors of your own before long, now that you have arranged the cottage to your own satisfaction,’ said Sir John to Mrs Dashwood. ‘You must be wanting to see your friends.’
‘Yes, indeed. We are hoping that one of our friends, Mr Edward Ferrars, will soon honour us with a visit. He has an open invitation,’ she said.
‘Ferrars? Ferrars? Can’t say I know the name.’
‘He is the brother of our sister-in-law,’ said Miss Marianne. ‘He is a fine young man, full of sense and goodness, and loved by us all.’
‘Does he hunt?’ asked Sir John.
Miss Marianne could give him no particulars, and Sir John remarked that he hoped that Ferrars did not enjoy the sport, for then he would be very glad to see him.
Miss Marianne was again prevailed upon to play, but Sir John talked all the way through her performance; Mary upbraided him, saying, ‘My dear John, how can you talk when we are being so entertained? I do not understand how anyone can be distracted from music.’ However, she herself was distracted a minute later by her children, saying, ‘No, William, do not plague your brother. I am sure he does not want his hair pulled. No, my love, he does not.’ Four-year-old William argued, thinking it a huge joke, whilst Mrs Jennings declared, ‘There’s nothing I like better than a good tune,’ and kept the beat, out of time, with her fan.