Monday 26 September
Miss Marianne again spent the evening talking to Willoughby, to the exclusion of everyone else. I found myself in conversation with her sister, and before long we were talking about my experiences in the Indies.
‘I have always wanted to travel,’ she said, ‘but I have not had the opportunity to do so. Was it very different there?’
‘It could scarcely be more different,’ I said, and I proceeded to tell her all about the heat and the mosquitoes, a little about the political situation and a great deal about the bazaars, with their fine silks and jewellery.
‘And are the animals as strange as I have heard?’
Encouraged by her interest, I told her about elephants and tigers, and she listened with attention, asking sensible questions.
As we spoke, I thought of the difference between the two sisters. Miss Dashwood was quiet and conventional, with a great fund of common sense, whilst Miss Marianne was open and lively, with a spirit that had reawakened my own. I had forgotten how good it felt to be fully alive, to be stimulated by the world around me instead of being half-dead to it. I glanced again at Miss Marianne and I thought, It is Marianne who has brought me back to life.
After dinner, Mrs Jennings said, ‘I hear you are a good dancer, Mr Willoughby.’
‘As to that, I cannot say, but I certainly enjoy dancing.’
‘As do I,’ said Miss Marianne.
‘Then we must have a ball. Sir John! What do you say? We must give the young people an opportunity to dance.’
‘A splendid notion,’ said he, eager, as always, for company and amusement.
‘Oh, yes, an excellent idea!’ said Miss Marianne.
‘We will have it next week. Nothing grand, just fifteen or twenty couples, but mind, Willoughby, I have told the ladies how you danced until the early hours the last time I saw you, and you must not let me down.’
‘I believe I can safely undertake to do the same, if Miss Marianne will honour me by partnering me,’ he said.
She readily agreed, and Mrs Jennings said, ‘You must claim a dance, too, Colonel, and you had better do it now, before there are no dances left.’
I asked Miss Marianne for a dance and she gave it to me, and then I asked her sister, too, whilst Miss Marianne returned to her conversation with Willoughby.
But next week when I dance with her I will have her to myself, and I find I am looking forward to it.
Wednesday 28 September
‘A fine time we are going to have of it, Brandon. We shall be twenty couples,’ said Sir John this evening, rubbing his hands in glee as he waited for the first of his guests to arrive.
‘There is nothing better than a ball,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘You mark my words, Colonel, there’ll be plenty of young ladies for you here. Willoughby can’t take them all!’
The guests began to arrive. The Dashwoods were first, and I could not help my eyes going to Miss Marianne, for her vitality lit up the room. She turned her head this way and that, and I knew she was looking for Willoughby.
The music began and I led Miss Dashwood onto the floor. When our dance was over, I danced with Miss Carey and then it was time for me to claim Miss Marianne. She was silent and I did not start a conversation, for I was content to watch her. She took delight in the music and her step was graceful and elegant.
After dancing with me she partnered Willoughby again. She had already danced with him twice, and I saw her sister looking anxious because if anyone noticed that she was dancing with him for a third time, it would arouse comment.
‘No one else will notice,’ I said to Miss Dashwood reassuringly.
‘But you did,’ she remarked.
‘Ah, yes,’ I admitted, for I could not deny it. ‘But that is because . . .’ She looked at me curiously and I said quickly, ‘I happened to notice.’
Only when I had spoken did I realize how lame the conclusion had been.
I saw a thoughtfulness spring into her eye, and I thought, I must be more careful. I must not give her the impression that I am interested in her sister.
But as I thought it, I realized that I was interested in Miss Marianne, and not just as a friend and neighbour of Sir John’s. I was interested in her as a young woman.
Thursday 20 October
Our round of pleasure continues. Today we had a party on the water. Marianne and Willoughby contrived to be alone together in their boat, and everyone had grown so used to seeing them together that their behaviour did not occasion comment. I found myself wondering how long it would take her to see that he was all charm and nothing else.
‘This is what I like,’ said Sir John, claiming my attention as we returned to the shore. ‘To be out in the open with friends. We must do it again next week, as long as the weather holds.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Marianne eagerly. ‘I am sure it will. Did you ever see such an autumn?’
She looked around her ecstatically, taking in the blue sky, and against it the russets, browns and golds that shone in the sunshine as the trees put forth their autumn colours. And indeed it was a lovely sight, for the scene was reflected in the water, doubling its beauty and making it glow.
‘Never,’ said Willoughby.
‘Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye
Kissing with golden face the meadows green
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.
‘But never a morning as glorious as this one.’
‘La! Listen to them!’ cried Mrs Jennings.
‘It is Shakespeare,’ said Miss Marianne.
‘Ay, I dare say it is,’ replied Mrs Jennings, ‘and very pretty it is, too, with all its flatterings and kissings. I never knew a beau for so much poetry!’
I turned my attention to him and I wondered if I had been mistaken in him. Had I allowed my wishes to colour my judgement? Had I seen in him a shallow wastrel because that was what I wanted to see? Sir John, Mrs Jennings, the Dashwoods, all saw a charming, lively young man who was a good match for Miss Marianne.
Doubts assailed me. But they were soon dispelled. He would grow cold, I was sure of it. His kind could not settle for long, nor even remain with one set of people, because, having used up their scanty store of conversation, they had to move on in order to have something to say to someone else.
Friday 21 October
Another ball.
As I was sitting out beside Miss Dashwood, Mrs Jennings came over to us and told us that Mrs Carey was about to marry again, having been a widow for five years. Then she left us to go and share the news with Miss Marianne.
‘Though what she will make of it I cannot imagine,’ I said to Miss Dashwood as Mrs Jennings hurried away. ‘I remember her saying that she does not believe in second attachments.’
‘Her opinions are all romantic,’ she agreed. ‘But they must inevitably change, becoming settled on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation before long.’
I could not help my thoughts returning to Eliza at the words, for she had been forced to abandon her romantic opinions on her marriage. But alas! Common sense and observation had led her on to a dangerous path, for seeing other people embark on affairs, she had done so herself, to disastrous effect.
Without realizing it, I spoke my thoughts aloud, saying nothing of Eliza, but remarking that when the romantic refinements of a young mind were forced to change too rapidly, they were frequently succeeded by opinions which were all too common and too dangerous.
She looked at me strangely, and feeling some explanation was necessary, I said, ‘I speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who from an enforced change — from a series of unfortunate circumstances . . .’
I stopped, for I could not say more without telling her the whole, and indeed, I had already said too much, for I saw from her expression of sympathy that she had guessed something of my past.
&nb
sp; Not wanting to betray myself any further, I asked her if she was ready to dance again, and learning that she was, I led her out on to the floor, where I was silent and grave, lost in my thoughts, only rousing myself when the dance was over, and even then, only so far as necessary in order to retire to the card room.
Saturday 22 October
I now know why Miss Dashwood offered me such ready sympathy yesterday, for it seems that she has troubles of her own. As we sat talking this evening, it appeared that she had left someone behind at Norland. It came out when Mrs Jennings, teasing Margaret, said, ‘You must tell us the name of the young man who was Elinor’s particular favourite at home.’
Margaret, too young to dissemble, turned to her sister and said, ‘I must not tell, may I, Elinor? ’
This of course made everybody laugh, and Miss Dashwood tried to laugh, too, but I could tell it cost her an effort. I was about to distract Mrs Jennings when Marianne turned red and, in an effort to defend her sister, turned to Margaret and said, ‘Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to repeat them.’
‘I never had any conjectures about it,’ replied Miss Margaret; ‘it was you who told me of it yourself.’
Sir John and Mrs Jennings laughed heartily, and Margaret was eagerly pressed to say something more.
‘Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘What is the gentleman’s name?’
‘I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is, and I know where he is, too.’
‘Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be sure. He is the curate of the parish I dare say.’
‘No, that he is not. He is of no profession at all.’
‘Margaret,’ said Miss Marianne, with great warmth, ‘you know that all this is an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in existence.’
‘Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such a man once, and his name begins with an F,’ said Margaret tartly.
I was about to speak when Mary, who disliked the vulgarity of such raillery, said that it rained very hard. I immediately joined in with a comment on the weather, so that the conversation could not return to its painful subject; painful for Miss Dashwood if no one else. I wondered about her young man, and I hoped her love would prosper. And then I thought how beautiful Miss Marianne had looked when she had sprung to her sister’s defence.
Miss Marianne subsided, going over to the card-table, where she made a four with Willoughby, Sir John and Mrs Jennings. Willoughby cheated himself to help her, and I found myself thinking that, although for the time being she found such chivalry charming, there would come a time when it would not be enough to hold her attention.
Monday 24 October
Sir John, always in need of diversion, asked me today if we could get up a party to go and see my brother-in-law’s place at Whitwell.
‘If you wish it, yes,’ I said.
‘Capital! This is a treat,’ he said to Mrs Dashwood. ‘Bran don’s brother-in-law is abroad and allows no one to see the house when he is out of the country as a general rule, but he allows Brandon to take friends there.’
‘The grounds are very beautiful,’ said Mary.
‘Indeed they are, and I am a good judge, ma’am, for I have taken parties there twice every summer these past ten years. There’s a lake for sailing — you will enjoy that, eh, Miss Marianne? ’ he asked, turning towards her, and I saw her smile. ‘We will take some cold provisions and ride in open carriages so you ladies can enjoy the view, as long as the weather is fine.’
‘I am doubtful of that,’ said Mrs Dashwood, ‘since it has rained every day for the last fortnight.’
‘All the more reason for it to stop tomorrow,’ said Sir John. ‘There cannot be any more rain up there!’
Mrs Jennings laughed heartily.
‘I am sure it will be fine,’ said Miss Marianne, much taken with the idea. ‘An outing to a great house is, above all things, the one I would enjoy the most.’
‘And I,’ said Willoughby.
‘How good are the roads?’ asked Mrs Dashwood.
‘Very good indeed. It will not take us above an hour and a half to get there, or two, if we admire the views along the way.’
‘I will bring my curricle,’ said Willoughby. He turned to Miss Marianne. ‘I hope you will do me the honour of travelling with me? ’
‘Oh, yes!’ she said.
‘You will come in my carriage, I hope,’ said Sir John to Mrs Dashwood.
‘I am not sure I will be able to join you, for I fear I have a cold coming on,’ she said.
I noticed that she looked pale, and that she held her shawl closely about herself.
Miss Marianne looked dismayed and Miss Dashwood looked concerned.
‘You should stay at home, Mama,’ she said. ‘An outing in this cold weather will do you no good.’
‘I am probably making a fuss about nothing,’ she said. ‘I am sure I will be better by morning.’
‘You must take care of yourself. No need to fear for the young ladies, they will be safe with us,’ said Sir John.
‘Indeed, I think you had better not go, Mama,’ said Miss Dashwood.
‘I will see how I feel tomorrow. But I would not spoil your pleasure, my dears. You will like to see the house, and then you will be able to tell me all about it when you return. Sir John will see that you come to no harm.’
‘No, indeed, ma’am.’
It was settled, then, that we should all assemble at the Park at ten o’clock, where we would have breakfast together before setting out.
Tuesday 25 October
The night was wild, with heavy rain, but it stopped by eight o’clock, and by ten o’clock, when we were all gathered together, the morning was favourable. The clouds were dispersing across the sky, and the sun frequently appeared.
‘You see, I told you it would be fine,’ said Miss Marianne, as we sat down to breakfast.
We were just about to eat when the letters were brought in. I took mine without any real interest, for I was looking forward to the outing, but as soon as I saw the handwriting on the second letter, all thoughts of the outing were driven from my mind, for it was from Eliza! I stood up and immediately left the room, for I knew that I would be unable to disguise my feelings when I read it.
I retired to my chamber where I opened it and scanned it quickly, seeing that it had been written in great agitation.
I have no right to appeal to you, I thought it would be settled by now, I thought we would be married, he said we had only to wait until she died, it could not be more than a few weeks, and then we would be happy. He said she had had a turn for the worse, he said he had to leave but that he would come back for me. He left no address, I asked for none, thinking he would only be gone a short while, but it is months — months! — and my time is near. Help me, please! Oh! I do not deserve it, but I don’t know what to do.
I felt a rush of relief as I read it, for she was alive! But it was mingled with anger at her seducer — for I could no longer doubt what had happened — and sorrow that she had been used so ill, and compassion for her distress. And over it all I felt guilt that I had not looked after her better.
I made my plans quickly. Her address was on the letter. I packed and returned to the dining room.
‘No bad news, Colonel, I hope,’ said Mrs Jennings, as soon as I entered the room.
‘None at all, ma’am, I thank you,’ I said, for I was resolved to protect Eliza’s reputation as far as I was able. ‘It was merely a letter of business.’
‘But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a letter of business?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Come, come, this won’t do, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it.’
‘My dear madam,’ said her daughter, ‘recollect what you are saying.’
‘Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin is married?’ said Mrs Jennings, without attending to her daughter’s reproof
.
‘No, indeed, it is not.’
‘Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.’
‘Whom do you mean, ma’am? ’ I asked, colouring a little.
‘Oh! you know who I mean.’
I ignored her remark and said briskly to Mary, ‘I am particularly sorry that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which requires my immediate attendance in town.’
‘In town!’ cried Mrs Jennings. ‘What can you have to do in town at this time of year?’
‘My own loss is great in being obliged to leave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell,’ I said.
I saw their disappointed faces, but it could not be helped.
‘But if you write a note to the housekeeper, will it not be sufficient?’ said Miss Marianne.
I did not like to disappoint her, but I said, ‘I am afraid not.’
‘We must go,’ said Sir John good-humouredly. ‘It shall not be put off when we are so near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.’
‘I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to delay my journey for one day!’
‘If you would but let us know what your business is,’ said Mrs Jennings, ‘we might see whether it could be put off or not.’
‘You would not be six hours later,’ said Willoughby, ‘if you were to defer your journey till our return.’
‘I cannot afford to lose one hour.’
I heard Willoughby say in a low voice to Miss Marianne, ‘There are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of them. He was afraid of catching cold, I dare say, and invented this trick for getting out of it. I would lay fifty guineas the letter was of his own writing.’