Elinor was less certain, not of the truth of her conclusions but of her justification for drawing them, until she recalled that Lady Middleton had begun to inquire after some relation of the girls who lived near Plymouth—an uncle? an aunt?—during the visit. She could not swear the name had been Pratt, but if it had, that explained her conviction, for she knew Mr. Pratt had been Edward's tutor. How inconvenient it was that one of the children had caused a disturbance before Lady Middleton could receive a reply, and the question had not been repeated.
“Lady Middleton was glad enough to return all her attention to the child,” Marianne said.
Elinor nodded. “And Lucy Steele must have been glad the subject was dropped.”
Marianne agreed.
“Do you think,” Elinor continued, “that she deliberately courted the interest of Mrs. Jennings, that she knew of her or Sir John from Edward's letters or conversation? I wonder who approached whom in Exeter.”
“If she had such knowledge, I am sure she sought to use it to her advantage. She would not resist the chance to have a peep at you.”
“I cannot imagine what she hopes to accomplish by it. There is nothing she can say in an attempt to put me off Edward that would not also put her reputation at risk.”
“And more to the point, he will never go back to her.”
Elinor sighed and allowed her shoulders to relax. Marianne was glad to see it.
The following day, the sisters had all the proof Elinor could require. Mrs. Jennings, who had been out during the Dashwoods' call, could only bear having missed the girls' first meeting by arranging a second, and she came to the cottage with her cousins in tow. Before ten minutes had elapsed, the woman told Elinor and Marianne that the topic of 'smart beaux' had been thoroughly canvassed amongst her guests. On their very first evening at Barton Park, the Steeles were made acquainted with Elinor's Mr. F and Marianne's Mr. W. “It is too bad that nothing came of that,” she said in reference to Willoughby, “but there is always the colonel. He was quite enamoured before, Miss Marianne, and it may take no more than the sight of you to catch his fancy again. This time, you will have competition, though, won't you? Lucy has been secretive about her beaux—I refuse to believe she don't have any! Anne has a doctor friend back in Longstaple, don't you, Anne? Or is he in Exeter? Wherever he is, as he has not snapped you up yet, you are fair game for the colonel. Yes, Colonel Brandon may have his pick of the four of you when he arrives.”
“What?” Marianne said.
Elinor spoke at nearly the same time and to better effect. “Is the colonel to visit you again so soon, then?” she asked Mrs. Jennings.
“He wrote Sir John to fix upon a date. I dare say we shall see him in a week or two, and I hope I may convince my cousins to stay with us long enough to make his acquaintance.”
James is coming, Marianne thought, and the idea left room for little else. How had she not known? But of course he would make sure he had arranged things with his friend before telling her when he would arrive. He had stayed at Barton Park before; he would stay there again. Sir John would certainly expect to enjoy his company and would insist upon hosting him. As soon as he had settled on a date, he would write to her.
As for competition, Marianne thought nothing of that. She could not imagine James looking twice at either Miss Steele or Miss Lucy, despite the latter's good looks. Their insincerity would repel him.
Distracted as she now was, Marianne had no patience for Mrs. Jennings and her guests. It was fortunate that Elinor had enough for them both. “However did you and your cousins happen to meet?” her sister asked Mrs. Jennings. That lady was still in the midst of her account when Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret entered the room, followed by a maid with the tea things. Mrs. Jennings waved away Mrs. Dashwood's apologies for not having been on hand to greet her callers at once, and the lady talked so much, even answering her own questions at times, that the others could do little besides smile, nod, and enjoy their cake.
When their callers had left, the Dashwoods sat fatigued and silent for a few minutes.
“Goodnight,” said Margaret with a yawn.
“It is not six o'clock!” Elinor said.
“Mrs. Jennings nearly talked me to sleep.”
“Do not be unkind,” Mama said, but Margaret's yawn had been caught by the others, and soon they were following suit, laughing and snuggling comfortably into the cushions.
“I miss Papa,” Margaret said. Before sadness could overtake them, she glanced at Elinor and added with impertinence, “And I miss Edward.”
“We all do,” said Marianne. And I miss James, she thought.
Elinor caught her eye and smiled.
“It is a solace,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “to think that my girls may soon have homes of their own, though I shall miss you all terribly.”
The Dashwoods did not see nearly as much of the Steeles as their respective cousins had hoped, and when they did meet, their intimacy was not much forwarded. There seemed an embargo on the subject of gentlemen between certain of the women, so that when Mrs. Jennings entered into her favourite topic—indeed, the woman talked of little else where her single young friends were concerned—it often happened that she and Miss Steele carried on about the latter's doctor with scant participation from the others. When Lady Middleton and the children joined them, there was even less hope for sensible conversation. Miss Steele and Miss Lucy continued their practice of catering to the whims of the brats, however discommoding or ridiculous, and only succeeded in spoiling them further.
Sir John's enthusiasm for company did not dim in the face of such lukewarm greetings as were exchanged between the girls of the park and those of the cottage. On the contrary, when the passage of a fortnight in close proximity had not made such intimate friends of the young ladies as to render the two parties indispensable to one another, his invitations to dinner increased. He insisted that the Dashwoods should feel no obligation to reciprocate. “For we are always calling at the cottage whenever we like,” he said to Mrs. Dashwood, “and my wife prefers to dine at home, as you know. Besides, we are family!”
Marianne would have been more exasperated than she was by her near neighbours, but she was preoccupied. James had not written to announce a visit, though she expected word every day. She had no reason to distrust Mrs. Jennings's news on that head.
Neither had they heard anything from Edward, which was more troubling. It felt like a cruel trick had been played on her sister to be forever reminded of him by the presence of his former fiancée while the man himself was absent.
One day, while watching the wretched sisters follow Mrs. Jennings back to the park after a trying half hour, Marianne turned to see Elinor hurrying upstairs. Marianne followed her, and when they had closed the door behind them, she could see her sister's eyes fill with tears. Marianne embraced her. “That horrid woman, with her pretended sympathy and calculating looks and sly comments on the inconstancy of men! How dare she!”
Elinor tried to wave her off, but Marianne did not allow it. “She means to wound you, even now, when she cannot gain by it! Can you deny it?” Receiving no answer beyond a sigh, she asked, “Will you not write to him and beg him to come?”
Elinor turned to her, and Marianne marvelled at how quickly her sister could mask the violent emotions she must feel. If only she had displayed a portion of those feelings in Lucy's company! They might, as a result, have been spared that company for the duration of the Steeles' visit to Barton. Then again, there was the chance that Lucy would triumph over having provoked her target and be forever repeating the offence.
“You convinced me to write to Edward once,” Elinor said, “and I do not regret it, but I shall not do so again until I have more cause than the mean-spirited attacks of a woman I cannot respect. I shall get the better of it.”
Marianne could not help staring. “You always do,” she said, “though I know not how.”
That made Elinor smile. “I am sure you would prefer that I pull her by the hair and deposit her on our doorstep for her impudence.”
“I would not object to that,” Marianne admitted.
They laughed.
Several days of rain gave the Dashwood ladies a needed respite from callers. Their peace continued into the first day on which the sun was not constantly obscured by clouds, for Sir John and his lady left Barton to keep an engagement that had been postponed due to the weather, and Mrs. Jennings went to the shops. The servant who had conveyed this intelligence mentioned nothing of Miss Steele and Miss Lucy's whereabouts. Marianne did not concern herself with them. Even if the Steeles had not gone with the others, she doubted they would approach the cottage without Sir John or his mother-in-law at hand to smile on their neighbourly efforts. They would not visit from a genuine desire for her family's company. Lucy certainly would not.
The same rain that had kept neighbours from their door had likewise allowed for little variation in the course of their days. Thus, on the following morning when the post was brought in, Marianne took it up with eagerness. She was at first vexed to find nothing from Edward with which to console Elinor. Then all disappointment fell away as she recognised the colonel's hand. His letter was thin, so she did not expect the small note, addressed to M., that tumbled from it. She tore it open with relish.
I cannot wait to see you.The message was brief, but Marianne could barely hold the feelings it inspired. She felt them thrumming through her as she scanned the letter for particulars, and her excitement grew. “Mama!” she said, going through the house until she found Mrs. Dashwood. “The colonel is coming! He may even now be at the park!”
J.
For the next few hours, Marianne sewed badly, conversed with an abstracted air, and flew to a window at least once every fifteen minutes. Elinor abused her good-naturedly at first but finally took pity on her and suggested she leave off trying to be useful. “Do go and play your feelings into better order,” she advised, not unkindly.
Marianne was grateful to comply. She went at once to the pianoforte and lost herself in song after song. At length she recalled the way James had appreciated her playing, paying it the compliment of true attention, and her feelings spilled into her performance, varying the volume, if not the tempo—for her sense of rhythm was too solid to be overcome by such memories. Other memories intruded, those times that her former, less worthy admirer had joined her at the instrument. She began to tell herself that man had no real taste, but she knew it to be a lie. Willoughby had taste. He was genuinely musical and shared many of her opinions and preferences. He had as much appreciation as the colonel for a creditable performance. What he did not have was James's moral strength, or fortitude, or compassionate nature.
What he did not have, she felt with equal gravity and lightness, was her heart.
The next day, Sir John called to issue an invitation. “I expect Brandon at any moment,” he told the Dashwoods. “Come in the afternoon and stay to dine with us.” For once, Marianne was as eager as Margaret to be summoned to the Middletons' table.
The ladies, as a rule, were not ones to linger overlong at their toilette. On this occasion, Marianne deliberated over trifles and wondered at herself, for she knew James would hardly care what colour ribbon she wore.
They arrived in good time. Marianne's expectation had built up to such a degree that she could not help but be cast down when she saw everyone in the room except that one person she had most wished to encounter.
“Brandon will be some time yet,” Sir John explained. “He is scrubbing himself into a respectable state. You should have seen him when he arrived in all his mud! There are branches down hereabouts, and I understand he was as much off the road as on it for the last few miles.”
“He is not injured, I hope?” inquired Mrs. Dashwood as she and Margaret chose the seats nearest Lady Middleton.
“Oh, not at all,” cried Sir John. “Nothing so dire. But I had better go and have a look at the damage while there is still light, much as I hate to leave this merry party. The sooner I start, the sooner I can return.” He called for a servant, with whom he shortly left the house. Lady Middleton could not seem to make up her mind whether to be affronted by his abrupt departure or proud of his sense of responsibility, but she soon recovered her usual placidity under the flow of Mrs. Dashwood's gentle conversation.
Mrs. Jennings had greeted the ladies with enthusiasm, and seeing the eldest and youngest settled comfortably with her daughter, by means of much winking and gesturing induced Elinor and Marianne to take their places near her. “You missed a spectacle, that you did!” she said with a laugh. “The poor colonel refused to sit with us even for a moment for fear of ruining one of Mary's chairs, and he barely looked at either of my cousins! What an impression he made after I talked him up as quite the catch! We shall see if he an't in better spirits once his clothes are put to rights.”
Miss Steele, who had nodded throughout Mrs. Jennings's speech, wrinkled her nose as if in doubt that any mere putting to rights could put out of her head the sartorial disaster she had so lately witnessed. Miss Lucy, equally prevented from speaking by her cousin's refusal to stop doing so, occasionally directed a sharp glance at Elinor, as was her habit.
Marianne could not but be interested in any thing to do with the colonel. From the descriptions of his appearance, one would think the man had been unseated from his horse and flung into the mire! Her curiosity must have shown on her face, for Mrs. Jennings looked especially at her as she expanded on her theme, throwing out broad hints and making liberal use of speculation where knowledge was lacking.
Some minutes passed before Elinor's persistent efforts to change the subject bore fruit. Mrs. Jennings then talked of her shopping and of some small presents she had brought back for the girls. Marianne could care for none of this. Her mind wandered to wherever in the house James was. If only their meeting could have occurred at the cottage! “Vastly good of her to think of us,” the elder Steele was saying, and the younger followed with something unremarkable. Marianne's patience was tested to its limit. She sat on the edge of her chair and willed the gentleman to come down the stairs.
At long last, he did.
Marianne was made conscious by Elinor's gentle touch on her arm that she had begun to rise, and she sank back down and awaited James's approach. He at first addressed Lady Middleton and Mrs. Dashwood, and after a few moments he walked towards their group. That they all, save Elinor, must be staring almost rudely at him she did not doubt, but he did not appear to mind it. He greeted those known to him and suffered Mrs. Jennings's inelegant performance of his introduction to the Steeles with good grace.
“You left...everything well at Delaford, I hope?”
Marianne had not forgotten, in her eagerness for his company, what it must have cost him to leave his ward and infant cousin to the care of others at such a time, but she could not risk more without stirring Mrs. Jennings's penchant for latching onto the smallest detail to truss up as a tawdry bit of gossip. She would not tolerate seeing James's dearest concerns treated in that fashion. Her brief pause and earnest look must inform him.
He returned her look with a nod, and she knew he understood her. “You are kind to inquire,” he said.
All the same, Mrs. Jennings insisted on her say. “Delaford is no doubt better than it has ever been, I am sure!” she said. “You fuss over it so, I would not be surprised to hear you have increased your income by a hundred pounds a year. And if it continues to increase, you will soon need a wife to help you spend it.”
“You must excuse me,” Marianne murmured, and she went across the room to sit by her mother. The impertinent remarks directed towards herself were bad enough, but this! She smiled weakly at her mama and Margaret and even at her hostess, whose behaviour was at least better than her mother's, and because she could not help it, she glanced again and again at the colonel.
Marianne was not long left to grit her teeth and try to ignore Mrs. Jennings as the latter gave voice to her amusement. (“See how I have run your poor sister off with my teasing!” she could hear the lady telling Elinor. “She will come back, never fear!”) Sounds in the hall alerted them to Sir John's return. He was not alone, but from his offers of welcome, the person with him was not an inmate of the house.
“I left the men to finish the work and came back to you at once,” said Sir John as he stepped into the room, “for whom do you think I met on the road? It is your Mr. F, my dear Miss Dashwood!”
Marianne turned to see that to which Elinor's shocked face bore witness: there, looking rather shocked himself at the sight of Lucy Steele, and almost as muddy as James reportedly had been, was Edward Ferrars.
