When the particulars
of this conversation were repeated by Miss
Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her
was not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that
Marianne appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she
listened to it all with the most steady and submissive
neither objection nor remark, attempted no vindication
Willoughby, and seemed to show by her tears that she felt it to be
impossible. But though this behaviour assured Elinor that the
conviction of this guilt was carried home to her mind, though she
saw with satisfaction the effect of it, in her no longer avoiding
Colonel Brandon when he called, in her speaking to him, even
voluntarily speaking, with a kind of compassionate respect, and though
she saw her spirits less violently irritated than before, she did
not see her less wretched. Her mind did not become settled, but it was
settled in a gloomy dejection
. She felt the loss of Willoughby's
character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart;
his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the misery of that
poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might once have been on
herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, that she could
not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor; and,
brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister
than could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent
confession of them.
To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving
and answering Elinor's letter would be only to give a repetition of
what her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment
hardly less painful than Marianne's, and an indignation even greater
than Elinor's. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other,
arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her
anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with
fortitude under this misfortune. Bad, indeed, must the nature of
Marianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude!
mortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets,
which she could wish her not to indulge!
Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs.
Dashwood had determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any
where, at that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view
would be bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting
manner, by constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had
always seen him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore,
by all means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length
of which, though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to
comprise at least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of
objects, and of company, which could not be procured at Barton,
would be inevitable there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne,
at times, into some interest beyond herself, and even into some
amusement, much as the ideas of both might now be spurned by her.
From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother
considered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the
country, since his acquaintance must now be dropped by all who
called themselves her friends. Design could never bring them in each
other's way: negligence could never leave them exposed to a
surprise; and chance had less in its favor in the crowd of London than
even in the retirement of Barton, where it might force him before
her while paying that visit at Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs.
Dashwood, from foreseeing at first as a probable event, had brought
herself to expect as a certain one.
She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain
where they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and
his wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she
judged it right that they should sometimes see their brother.
Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion, and
she submitted to it, therefore, without opposition, though it proved
perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt
it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds; and that, by
requiring her longer continuance in London, it deprived her of the
only possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy
of her mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as
must prevent her ever knowing a moment's rest.
But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought
evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the
other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid
Edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their
longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it
would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.
Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing
Willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though
without knowing it herself, reaped all its advantages; for neither
Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever
spoke of him before her. Elinor, wished that the same forbearance
could have extended towards herself, but that was impossible, and
she was obliged to listen, day after day, to the indignation of them all.
Sir John, could not have thought it possible. "A man of whom he
had always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured
fellow! He did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was
an unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his
heart. He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he
might, for all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of
Barton covert, and they were kept watching for two hours together.
Such a scoundrel of a fellow! Such a deceitful dog! It was only the
last time they met that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and
this was the end of it."
Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. "She was determined to
drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that
she had never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her
heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify,
for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much
that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she
should tell every body she saw, how good-for-nothing he was."
The rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shown in procuring all
the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and
communicating them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker's
the new carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's
portrait was drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.
The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion
was a happy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were
by the clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her
to be sure of exciting no interest in one person at least among
their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was one
who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or
any anxiety for her sister's health.
Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of
the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried
down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more
indispensable to comfort than good-nature.
Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once
every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying,
"It is very shocking, indeed!" and by the means of this continual,
though gentle, vent, was able not only to see the Misses Dashwood,
from the first, without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see
them without recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus
supported the dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure
of what was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to
attend to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined
(though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs.
Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to
leave her card with her as soon as she married.
Colonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never
unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege
of intimate discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly
zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always
conversed with confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion
of disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations was given in the
pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the
gentleness of her voice, whenever (though it did not often happen) she
was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. These assured
him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards
himself, and these gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented
hereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew
only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could
never prevail on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her
to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that,
instead of Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and
by the end of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good
understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to
declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the
yew arbour, would all be made over to her; and Mrs. Jennings had,
for some time, ceased to think at all of Mr. Ferrars.
Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of
Willoughby's letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her
sister that he was married. She had taken care to have the
intelligence conveyed to herself, as soon as it was known that the
ceremony was over, as she was desirous that Marianne should not
receive the first notice of it from the public papers, which she saw
her eagerly examining every morning.
She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation
on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would
burst out, and for the rest of the day she was in a state hardly
less pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.
The Willoughby's left town as soon as they were married; and
Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either
of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house
since the blow first fell, to go out again, by degrees, as she had done before.
About this time the two Misses Steele, lately arrived at their
cousin's house in Bartlett's Buildings, Holburn, presented
themselves again before their more grand relations in Conduit and
Berkeley Streets; and were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.
Elinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave
her pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to
the overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her still in town.
"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here
still," said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word.
"But I always thought I should. I was almost sure you would not
leave London yet a while; though you told me, you know, at Barton,
that you should not stay above a month. But I thought, at the time,
that you would most likely change your mind when it came to the point.
It would have been such a great pity to have went away before your
brother and sister came. And now, to be sure, you will be in no
hurry to be gone. I am amazingly glad you did not keep to your word."
Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her
self-command to make it appear that she did not.
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did you travel?"
"Not in the stage, I assure you," replied Miss Steele, with
quick exultation; "we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau
to attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd
join him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten
or twelve shillings more than we did."
"Oh, oh!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "very pretty, indeed! and the
Doctor is a single man, I warrant you."
"There now," said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, "every body
laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins
say they are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare
I never think about him from one hour's end to another. 'Lord! here
comes your beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw
him crossing the street to the house. By beau, indeed! said I- I
cannot think who you mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine."
"Ay, ay, that is very pretty talking- but it won't do- the
Doctor is the man, I see."
"No, indeed!" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness,
"and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of."
Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that
she certainly would not, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.
"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss
Dashwood, when they come to town," said Lucy, returning, after a
essation of hostile hints, to the charge. "No, I do not think we shall."
"Oh, yes, I dare say you will."
Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.
"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both
for so long a time together!"
"Long a time, indeed!" interposed Mrs. Jennings. "Why, their visit
is but just begun!"
Lucy was silenced.
"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood," said Miss
Steele. "I am sorry she is not well;" for Marianne had left the room
on their arrival.
"You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the
pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with
nervous headaches, which make her unfit for company or conversation."
"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy
and me!- I think she might see us; and I am sure we would not speak a word."
Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister
was, perhaps, laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and
therefore not able to come to them.
"Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, "we can just as well go and see her."
Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper;
but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp
reprimand, which now, as on many occasions, though it did not give
much sweetness to the manners of one sister, was of advantage in
governing those of the other.
Sense and Sensibility - Chapter 31 Sense and Sensibility Sense and Sensibility - Chapter 33