Sense and Sensibility
earnest assurance on _her_ side of her unceasing good wishes for his
happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on _his_,
with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of
expressing it.
“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him
out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”
And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the
past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of
Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.
When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people
whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a
great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important
secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to
it again as soon as Elinor appeared.
“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do
right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him
very unwilling to accept your proposal?”
“No, ma’am; _that_ was not very likely.”
“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon
that.”
“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I
can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation
necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his
ordination.”
“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly
you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord
bless me!—I am sure it would put _me_ quite out of patience!—And though
one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think
it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure
somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in
orders already.”
“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why,
Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”
“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the
Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.
Ferrars!”
The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation
immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for
the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.
Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still
without forfeiting her expectation of the first.
“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first
ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely
_may_ be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought,
for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the
ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen
beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It
seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to
do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them,
before Lucy goes to it.”
“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s
being enough to allow them to marry.”
“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year
himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for
it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford
Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t
there.”
Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not
waiting for any thing more.
CHAPTER XLI.
Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with
his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he
reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs.
Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her
congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in
her life.
Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and
she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their
being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.
So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor
that credit which Edward _would_ give her, that she spoke of her
friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to
own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion
for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would
ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in
the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was
not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly
anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;
anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly
resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,
of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.
It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley
Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his
wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel
it necessary to pay her a visit.—This was an obligation, however, which
not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance
of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with
absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her
sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was
always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood,
that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late
discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s
part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The
consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for
which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of
a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much
reason to dislike.
Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the
house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure
in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in
Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see
her, invited her to come in.
They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there.
“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: “I will go to her
presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the
world to seeing _you_. Very far from it, indeed. _Now_ especially there
cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites.
Why would not Marianne come?”
Elinor made what excuse she could for her.
“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal
to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—can it be true?—has he
really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was
coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.”
“It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford
to Edward.”
“Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection
between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the
value of this?”
“About two hundred a year.”
“Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that
value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and
likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred
pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this
person’s death? _Now_, indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a
man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in
a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced
that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human
character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may
probably be _this_. Edward is only to hold the living till the person
to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to
take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.”
Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that
she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel
Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which
it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.
“It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she said—“what
could be the Colonel’s motive?”
“A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”
“Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky
man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I
have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like
to hear it much talked of.”
Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she
thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth
to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly
impoverished.
“Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so
important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present, and I believe
it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may
be. When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.”
“But why should such precaution be used? Though it is not to be
supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in
knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, for _that_ must be
quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she
supposed to feel at all? She has done with her son,—she cast him off
for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast
him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable
to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account: she cannot be
interested in any thing that befalls him. She would not be so weak as
to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a
parent!”
“Ah! Elinor,” said John, “your reasoning is very good, but it is
founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s unhappy match takes
place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never
discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate
that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible.
Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son.”
“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory
by _this_ time.”
“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most
affectionate mothers in the world.”
Elinor was silent.
“We think _now_,”—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, “of
_Robert’s_ marrying Miss Morton.”
Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother’s
tone, calmly replied,—
“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.”
“Choice!—how do you mean?”
“I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be
the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert.”
“Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all
intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;—and as to any
thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that
one is superior to the other.”
Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His
reflections ended thus.
“Of _one_ thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and speaking
in an awful whisper, “I may assure you;—and I _will_ do it, because I
know it must gratify you. I have good reason to think—indeed I have it
from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it
would be very wrong to say any thing about it,—but I have it from the
very best authority,—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say
it herself—but her daughter _did_, and I have it from her,—that in
short, whatever objections there might be against a certain—a certain