Colonel Brandon's Diary (22 page)

I stopped, for I was finding it more difficult than I had anticipated.

‘I understand you,’ she said. ‘You have something to tell me of Mr Willoughby that will open his character farther. Your telling it will be the greatest act of friendship that can be shown to Marianne.
My
gratitude will be ensured immediately by any information tending to that end, and
hers
must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me hear it.’

‘You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October — but this will give you no idea — I must go farther back. You will find me a very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it
shall
be a short one. On such a subject,’ I said with a sigh, ‘I can have little temptation to be diffuse.’

I stopped a moment to gather my thoughts, and then I gave her an account of the whole: my love for Eliza, her marriage to my brother, her fall, her divorce, her child, and then her daughter’s disappearance.

‘I had no news of her for months, but she wrote to me last October,’ I said. ‘The letter was forwarded to me from Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party to Whitwell. Little did Mr Willoughby imagine, I suppose, that I was called away to the relief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but
had
he known it, what would it have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles of your sister?’

‘This is beyond everything!’ exclaimed Miss Dashwood in horror, when I had told her the whole.

‘His character is now before you — expensive, dissipated, and worse than both. When I came to you last week and found you alone, I came determined to know the truth, though irresolute what to do when it
was
known. My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then, but now you will comprehend it. To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see your sister — but what could I do? I had no hope of interfering with success, and sometimes I thought your sister’s influence might yet reclaim him. But now, I only hope that she may turn with gratitude towards her own condition when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza.’

‘I am very grateful to you, Colonel, for having spoken. I have been more pained by her endeavours to acquit him than by all the rest, for it irritates her mind more than the most perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. Now, though at first she will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier,’ she said with gratitude.

‘Thank you, you relieve my mind,’ I said.

‘Is Eliza still in town?’ she asked me kindly, showing a genuine interest in my dear Eliza’s fate.

‘No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, I removed her and her child into the country, and there she remains.’

Recollecting then that I was probably keeping Miss Dashwood from her sister, I left her, hoping that she could now give some solace to Marianne.

I called on Mrs Jennings today and was warmly received.

‘Ah, Colonel, you have done her good,’ were Mrs Jennings’s first words to me. ‘You have your chance, now. She is yours for a few kind words.’

I had thought about it over and over again, and although I wanted nothing more than to win her, I did not want to do so when she was weak and unable to resist. I wanted her love, not just her acquiescence, and she was in no condition to give it.

‘Oh, I know how it will be!’ she went on. ‘A summer wedding, and the two of you made happy.’

‘Please, I beg you, do not talk of it,’ I said, for I did not want her to distress Marianne.

‘We will all be talking of it soon!’ she said.

Fortunately, she was on her way out and so she could not talk about it any more.

I was announced, and when I went in, I saw Marianne sitting by the fire. I expected her to look disappointed at my arrival as she usually did, but instead she rose and came towards me with an expression of such sweet feeling that I was almost unmanned.

‘How good of you to call,’ she said, with a voice full of compassionate respect. ‘I never knew, never suspected, that you had had such a tragedy in your life. I always thought you a dry and soulless man. How easily we are deceived! And Eliza . . . how is she?’

‘She is well, thank you,’ I said, thinking how good she was to trouble herself with Eliza when she herself was suffering.

‘I am glad of it,’ she said sincerely.

She made no further allusion to Eliza, but she asked me if I was enjoying my stay in London, and talked to me for a quarter of an hour. In all that time, she spoke to me as though I was her fellow sufferer in grief, and I felt a pang at her heartfelt generosity, for I had had many years to get over my tragedy, whilst she had had only a day to accustom herself to hers.

 

 

I called on Mrs Jennings again this morning and found her from home, but Miss Dashwood was there, whilst Marianne was lying down with a headache.

‘I am worried for her,’ said Miss Dashwood, ‘for although her mind is settled, it is settled in gloomy dejection.’

‘If she should wish to go home before your visit to Mrs Jennings draws to an end, I will be very happy to escort her, and you, of course,’ I said. ‘I am entirely at your disposal.’

‘You are very kind, but we have decided to stay. My mother thinks it for the best, for here in London there are things to distract my sister, whereas at home there is no society or occupation, and every corner will remind her of Willoughby. I hope that, in a few days, she might be able to visit the shops, or go for a walk in the park, and the bustle of the scene will help to distract her thoughts. Then, too, our brother John will be in town before the middle of February, and my mother wishes us to see him.’

‘I think you are wise. Diversion must eventually lift her spirits. I only wish there was more I could do to help.’

‘You have already done a great deal. She no longer tries to excuse Willoughby, and this has given some rest to her thoughts. Then, too, in comparing her situation to Eliza’s, she realizes she is fortunate, which is a further source of — I will not say happiness, for she feels very deeply for your ward — but gratitude.’

Sir John and his wife called at that moment with the Palmers, and they joined in our conversation. Sir John was loud in his indignation.

‘I had always thought so well of the fellow, for I do not believe there is a bolder rider in England! It is an unaccountable business, but I may tell you, Miss Dashwood, I wish him at the devil with all my heart. I will not speak another word to him, meet him where I might, for all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert, and we were kept waiting for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of a fellow! Such a deceitful dog! Why, it was only the last time we met that I offered him one of Folly’s puppies! And this is the end of it!’

Mrs Palmer, too, was angry.

‘I am determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and I am very thankful that I had never been acquainted with him at all. I wish with all my heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it does not signify, for it is a great deal too far off to visit; indeed, I hate him so much that I am resolved never to mention his name again, and I am determined to tell everyone I see what a good-for-nothing he is. And to think, he is having his portrait painted and buying a new carriage and a new suit of clothes, whilst your sister is cast down in misery because of him.’

I could tell that such talk, though kindly meant, was distressing to Miss Dashwood, and so I turned the conversation on to less sensitive topics.

The visitors rose at last to take their leave, and I went with them. On the street outside the house, we met Mrs Jennings, just returning from her outing.

‘So, Colonel, have you been proposing to Miss Marianne?’ she asked.

I endeavoured to smile at her sally, but I fear it was more of a grimace.

‘No.’

‘Ah, me, I thought you would be married by Midsummer, but if you do not look sharp, it will not be until Michaelmas!’

 

 

And so Willoughby is married, and to neither of the young women whom he ought, by rights, to have wed.

They have had a narrow escape. And he, I hope, will think riches a sufficient recompense for the sweetness of the young women he has lost.

I called on Mrs Jennings again today, hoping to learn from Miss Dashwood how her sister had taken the news of Willoughby’s wedding, and I found on arrival that there had been an addition to the party, for some young relatives of Mrs Jennings had just arrived. I was pleased, for I hoped that they might be able to divert Miss Marianne.

‘You must let me introduce you, Colonel. Miss Steele and her sister, Miss Lucy Steele. We met in Exeter, and lord! Wouldn’t you know it, we found out we were distant cousins. So Lucy and Nancy came to stay with us at Barton after you left, and it did my heart good to see all the young people together, Nancy, Lucy, Elinor and Marianne. Well, my dears,’ said Mrs Jennings to her two young cousins, ‘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.’

I gave an inward sigh. There was no chance of the Misses Steele diverting Miss Marianne, for they were decidedly vulgar and she could have no pleasure in their company.

‘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. “My beau, indeed!” said I, “I cannot think who you mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.” ’

As she spoke, I found myself thinking that, although the Misses Steele were decidedly vulgar, they might do Marianne some good after all: Mrs Jennings must have someone to tease about love affairs and marriage, and in Miss Steele she had found someone who enjoyed the teasing as much as she did, so that Marianne would be spared her attentions.

‘Ay, ay, that is very pretty talking — but it won’t do — the Doctor is the man, I see,’ went on Mrs Jennings, enjoying herself heartily.

‘No, indeed! and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of,’ said Miss Steele, in high good humour.

Mrs Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she certainly would
not
, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.

I did not stay long; only long enough to ask Miss Dashwood, in a quiet moment when the Misses Steele were talking to Mrs Jennings, how her sister had taken the news of Willoughby’s marriage.

‘With resolute composure. She made no observation on it and shed no tears, at least at first; but after a short time she could not contain them. However, I hope they will do her good. Now that Willoughby has gone from town there will be no chance of her meeting him, and I hope to persuade her to drive out with me tomorrow. And, once our brother, John, arrives in town, she will go and visit him, too.’

‘If I can be of any assistance, you only have to say.’

‘Thank you. Your kindness and good sense have been a great support to me over the last few days,’ she said. ‘Indeed, I do not know what I would have done without them.’

‘My carriage and my time are at your disposal. A note will bring me to you at any time.’

I stood up to take my leave. As I did so, I heard Mrs Jennings saying to Miss Steele, ‘Miss Marianne had better look out, or her sister will have him yet!’

They giggled, and I felt annoyed, though on behalf of Miss Dashwood rather than myself. She coloured, but then we exchanged glances, for we each held the Misses Steele in the same estimation, and we both knew that Mrs Jennings could not help her nature.

I returned home, sorry that I had not seen Marianne, but full of hope that, now Willoughby was married, she would be able to forget him.

 

 

I dined with Sir John and his wife, and found that they had already met Marianne’s half brother, Mr John Dashwood, who was newly arrived in town.

‘Doesn’t seem to know much about horses,’ said Sir John.

‘Mrs John Dashwood is a woman of elegance and style,’ said Mary. ‘I believe she will be a great addition to our circle. She is particularly happy at the moment because her brother, Mr Edward Ferrars, is about to contract a brilliant alliance . . .’

Edward Ferrars. The name was familiar to me, though I could not recall where I had heard it.

‘. . . with the Honourable Miss Morton, the daughter of the late Lord Morton. She is a very accomplished young woman, for she paints delightfully, and I have it on good authority that her last landscape was exquisite.’

‘Oh, ay, it is a splendid match, for she has thirty thousand pounds,’ said Sir John. ‘A man might buy many a pointer for thirty thousand pounds! Though Mrs Dashwood did not say if he hunted. If he does not, I might ask him to stay with us at Barton.’

At the mention of Barton, I recalled that that was where I had heard the name of Mr Edward Ferrars, and that his name had been linked with Miss Dashwood. I hoped that she, too, was not to be disappointed in love.

‘Ferrars is staying with his sister at the moment. We should see something of him by and by,’ said Sir John.

I found myself interested in making his acquaintance and seeing what manner of man he was.