Expectations of Happiness (2 page)

It was after several minutes, and only when Mrs Dashwood returned and the maid bearing the tea tray had set it down and left the room, closing the door behind her, that he seemed sufficiently comfortable to explain his visit. He had come to ask a favour, he said, clearly speaking with great reluctance. His wife, Mrs Palmer, was so bereft at the sudden death of her sister, she had been unable to rise from her bed, much less come downstairs and attend to the normal matters of the household, and as for his mother-in-law, Mrs Jennings, she was in no fit state to be of any assistance to Sir John. He wondered if Mrs Dashwood could be prevailed upon, adding rather lamely, “I am very reluctant to ask you, ma'am, since it must surely appear unreasonable to expect that you—”

But before he could conclude his sentence, Mrs Dashwood had risen and offered to go with him directly to Barton Park.

“Mr Palmer, pray do not say another word; of course I am willing to help. Hasn't Sir John been kindness itself to me and my daughters when we needed help, and have we not enjoyed the hospitality of Sir John and Lady Middleton on occasions too numerous to mention? Why would I not be ready to offer help at such a time as this? Elinor and Edward are here and they can attend to matters at the cottage. I can be ready in an hour.” Mr Palmer's expression was instantly transformed from one of grim austerity to pleasant relief as he thanked both mother and daughter for their generosity, twice over, before declaring that he would send the carriage to transport Mrs Dashwood and her things to Barton Park—within the hour.

He finished his tea and left soon afterward, and Mrs Dashwood rushed upstairs to pack her things, leaving Elinor and Edward shaking their heads at the strange turn of events. It had been an astonishing day.

But more was to follow. On the morrow, Elinor and Edward were preparing to walk over to Barton Park to call on Sir John, when an open pony cart arrived at the cottage bringing Margaret Dashwood. She explained that on receiving the news, she had travelled post to Exeter and taken the hack to Barton Cottage. “It was not very comfortable, but it was the only thing available,” she explained, pointing to the effects of the ride upon her clothes and hair.

While there was no real surprise in her arrival, for she had been expected, she had barely been seated twenty minutes and taken a cup of tea when she rose and declared that she wished to accompany her sister and brother-in-law to call on Sir John Middleton, because she could not stay for the funeral and would presently be returning to Oxford.

Elinor was outraged. “What? Having come all this way, why can you not attend the funeral? Think what it will seem like to Sir John, Margaret; he is Mama's cousin and was more than kind to us when Papa died and we needed help.”

Margaret shook her head. “I know all that, Elinor, and I am not ungrateful, but I cannot attend the funeral—it is not a question of time, it's just that I have no wish to meet all Sir John's fine friends who will no doubt travel down from London for the occasion,” she said.

“And why ever not? Why should their presence at the funeral trouble you?” Elinor demanded to know, but Margaret would only say that there may be some among them whom she did not care to meet.

“I cannot say more now; perhaps when things are more settled, I may be able to explain, but please believe me, Elinor, it is in all our interests that I wish not to be seen at the funeral. I will call on Sir John and Mrs Jennings today and spend as much time with them as you think fit, but I must leave on Friday. I have arranged to travel on the overnight coach.”

Elinor recalled that her young sister had always been very determined, and it would seem that she was even more so now. But the fact that Margaret would give no reasonable explanation for her actions disturbed and confused her.

When Margaret had gone upstairs to change out of her travelling clothes, Elinor confided in Edward. “What do you suppose lies behind this, Edward? Do you think Margaret has some kind of understanding with one of the gentlemen she expects to be at the funeral and does not wish it to be generally known? Unless that is the case, I can find no explanation for her conduct; Margaret is not usually unkind or insensitive.”

“Indeed, she is not, and I would not say she is being so on this occasion, my dear; she has travelled a great distance to be here and intends to spend time with the bereaved family, which is a kindness in itself,” Edward replied, being as usual cautious in making judgments. “As to your other proposition, I cannot be sure. I agree that it seems your sister has a very strong desire to avoid meeting a particular person or persons likely to attend Lady Middleton's funeral, but whether there is a matter of any understanding, I have seen no evidence of it.”

“Then why can she not tell me who it is? If it is someone she does not wish to meet, we may be able to arrange that she doesn't meet him—or her, as the case may be. Why all this secrecy?” she complained.

Edward was hard put to find an answer that would satisfy his wife, but being very fond of Margaret himself, he did try. “Perhaps, my dear, it is not something she wishes to speak of at this moment. She may not wish to reveal the identity of the person; I recall that she did say she may be able to talk about it when it was settled.”

Elinor grasped at the notion. “You may well be right, Edward, it is likely there is someone Margaret is in love with, but does not wish everyone—particularly people like Sir John Middleton and Mrs Jennings—to discover the association. You know how Mrs Jennings scents out a romantic involvement and then talks endlessly about it to anyone who will listen. I can well believe Margaret would hate that.” When Edward merely nodded, she continued, “Of course, that must be it. Poor Margaret, she saw at firsthand the teasing that Marianne and I endured—no doubt she hopes to avoid it until it is quite settled and then she will reveal everything and surprise us all.”

Presently, Edward and the two ladies walked over to Barton Park, where they were somewhat surprised to find Mrs Dashwood ably managing the household, a feat she had often been unable to cope with at Norland, surrendering it gladly to her eldest daughter.

Meanwhile, Sir John Middleton, with the support of Colonel Brandon and plenty of good wine, was bravely meeting and greeting the many neighbours, friends, and confreres who were arriving every hour to condole with him. In spite of being kept very busy with these duties, Sir John did find time to thank Margaret Dashwood, expressing his great pleasure at seeing her. “I appreciate very much your thoughtfulness in coming, my dear, and I am sorry that your sister Marianne is unable to join us. Brandon tells me she is unwell—she always was a delicate flower, I suppose,” he said with a sigh, adding more brightly, “Miss Margaret, it was two Christmases ago that we all met in London, and since then you have grown exceedingly pretty and elegant, my dear. I am sure your mama is prodigiously proud of you.” Margaret, who had been a little wary of meeting him, blushed at the compliments but was glad she had come.

Toward evening, when the house began to fill with more visitors, some from London and others from Bath, Margaret slipped away upstairs to spend some time with Mrs Jennings, who sat in her room, attended by her daughter, Charlotte. Finding the usually cheerful woman in a state of severe dejection, Margaret sat with her and tried to draw her into conversation, but to no avail. The usually loquacious and jolly Mrs Jennings appeared to have been stricken dumb with shock.

Later, Margaret went to talk to her mother and was amazed to find her bustling about with household activities, consulting the housekeeper and cook on the meals to be prepared for their visitors, organising arrangements for guests who were staying at the manor house, and ensuring that the maids and footmen were going to be correctly attired and knew their duties on the day of the funeral. To see her mother carrying out all these tasks, with hardly any sign of the muddle and confusion that had beset her at Norland, was as amusing as it was surprising to her daughter.

This did mean that, apart from an affectionate embrace and some quiet, tearful words, mother and daughter had little time together. Mrs Dashwood was saddened to learn that Margaret would not be staying to attend the funeral of Lady Middleton, but accepted her explanation that she needed to return to Oxford, assuming it had something to do with her continuing work at the seminary.

***

Returning later that evening to Barton Cottage, they dined and Edward retired to read by the fire, while Elinor followed her sister upstairs to the spare room, where Margaret was preparing for bed. Seated in front of the mirror, she brushed and braided her hair, which was a pretty honey-gold colour that glowed in the firelight.

Elinor, seeing her thus, was struck by the singular loveliness of her young sister. Following the marriages of her two older sisters, Margaret had grown up very quickly; she was now a very independent young lady, and as she recalled the bright, precocious little girl at Norland some years ago, Elinor struggled to contain her feelings.

She went to her and, standing behind her, looked into the mirror; their eyes met and they smiled. It felt as though they had moved back in time and were as they had been, arriving at Barton Cottage following the death of their father, having left their idyllic childhood behind at Norland. Elinor remembered the many times when she had brushed and braided her lovely hair when Margaret, finding it difficult to cope alone with the consequences of the death of their father, would seek out her elder sister and tearfully confide in her. Her childish fears had been simple but nonetheless important to her, and Elinor had always tried to understand and explain them away.

This time, Elinor was concerned that her efforts to help had been unsuccessful, because Margaret was unwilling to confide in her. Even as they looked at each other in the mirror, Elinor knew that Margaret was not going to explain why she had decided not to attend Lady Middleton's funeral.

She tried, asking gently, “Will you not tell me, dearest Margaret, what is troubling you? I can see there is something—I know it, I can read it in your eyes.” Then, persisting with a nagging doubt that had assailed her mind, she asked, “Is there someone who will be at the funeral that you do not wish to meet?”

Margaret looked surprised at the question, then smiled and said, “Dear Elinor, believe me, it is nothing of any consequence, nothing you need worry about, I promise. If it were, I should tell you and ask your advice, as I have always done.”

“And you do not need my advice now? Is there nothing I can do to help?” Elinor's eyes searched her young sister's face, but Margaret shook her head and said, “No, but I do love you for asking.”

So saying, she stood up and embraced Elinor, and they stood together for a long moment before breaking away to say good night.

Turning at the door to look at her, Elinor knew there was something troubling her sister; she longed to know and to help her, but had to be content that it was not the right time.

End of Prologue

The funeral of Lady Middleton and all the attendant formalities being completed, Elinor and Edward Ferrars prepared to return to the parsonage at Delaford.

Staying one last night at Barton Cottage, they had hoped to have Mrs Dashwood with them. Elinor had decided that it would be a good opportunity to consult her mother about her plans for the future. Would she wish to continue at Barton Cottage, now that Lady Middleton was no more and Mrs Jennings was most likely to move to live with her daughter, Mrs Palmer, at Cleveland? Mrs Dashwood was not on intimate terms with any of the other neighbouring families and might find the solitude depressing, Elinor believed.

Talking it over with Edward the previous night, she had been convinced that it was unlikely her mother would choose to stay. “I should be more at ease in my mind if I knew what Mama preferred, rather than propose a solution,” she had said, and her husband had suggested that it was possible her mother may be amenable to a proposition. “Perhaps your mother would consider a move to Delaford, seeing it is in the next county, where either or both of her two elder daughters could offer her a comfortable home?” he had said, adding, “Undoubtedly, Marianne would have the advantage over us, with a far more spacious establishment at the manor house; but were she to wish for a different environment or quieter society, then she would always be welcome at the parsonage.”

Elinor agreed and thanked her husband, pointing out that she could see no problem of space or comfort at the parsonage, which had been recently extended and refurbished for their use; although she wondered whether her mother would find some difficulty with the presence of her two young grandsons. “I wonder how she will cope with our boys; Harry and John
are
lively, though they are not boisterous or troublesome children. Do you think she may have a problem getting accustomed to them?” she asked.

Edward was quick to reassure her. “I doubt it, my dear. Your mother is a kind, warmhearted woman; she loves both her grandchildren. I cannot believe she will find them a hindrance to a comfortable life with us. But, as I said, should she prefer it, she may decide to divide her time between the manor house and the parsonage. They are at no great distance from each other and she may, if she chooses, move quite conveniently between them.”

Elinor smiled, but her husband could sense her anxiety and did his best to calm her fears. “You need have no qualms about asking her, my love; in the end, your mother will make up her mind and we will accommodate her wishes. There has never been any friction between us; you must not suppose that there will be any on this matter.”

Elinor, having discussed the subject with her husband, was ready to make the offer to her mother and wanted only some few hours of her time to do so. But they were to discover that, in the meantime, Mrs Dashwood had agreed to a request from her cousin, Sir John Middleton, to stay on at Barton Park for a while longer. Colonel Brandon, arriving at the cottage to wish them a safe journey and send a message to Marianne, brought the surprising news.

“Sir John is very grateful to Mrs Dashwood for her kindness in agreeing to remain awhile at Barton Park,” he said, explaining the situation. “I understand Mr and Mrs Palmer must return to Cleveland House today and Mrs Jennings is as yet unfit to travel, nor are the Palmers able to accommodate her needs at this time—they are expecting some of Mr Palmer's relatives to stay. This has placed Sir John in an exceedingly difficult situation. He was at a complete loss as to how to cope with matters concerning the running of his household and the care of his mother-in-law, who would be entirely alone,” Colonel Brandon reported. “Mrs Dashwood's agreement to remain at Barton Park has considerably alleviated his problem.”

He spoke with a degree of gravitas that ensured that Elinor would not laugh, but it left both Edward and Elinor at a loss for words. Never had it been supposed among members of their family that Mrs Dashwood would emerge as a saviour in the cause of domestic management. Her rather muddled ways of running her own household at Norland, her inability to maintain accurate accounts, her total lack of understanding of the need for economy—extending even to complete ignorance of the prices of various commonplace household goods—made the thought of her running the establishment at Barton Park seem a risible proposition.

Yet, it appeared that Colonel Brandon, generally a sensible and reasonable man, was taking it quite seriously and seemed to have no difficulty with the idea. “Do you mean, Colonel Brandon, that Mama has agreed to remain at Barton Park indefinitely, taking charge of the household arrangements for Sir John?” Elinor asked, and it was clear to her husband from the tone of her voice that she found the notion unconvincing.

Colonel Brandon took a while to absorb the point of her question and when he responded said quietly, “I am not privy to Mrs Dashwood's understanding of the situation, Elinor; I have not spoken with her on the subject. I know only what Sir John has told me. It seems they had a discussion after dinner last night, when he made his request for her help, and again this morning, before the Palmers departed, and have reached a mutually satisfactory agreement. Mrs Dashwood wishes me to assure you she is content to remain and help her cousin and Mrs Jennings through this difficult time and has asked that I convey her love to you and the children. I also have this note from her for you,” he said, handing over Mrs Dashwood's letter.

There were many other questions to which Elinor wanted answers, but she knew the colonel was unlikely to have them. Clearly his sympathies were with his longtime friend Sir John, and he was not willing to query the basis of an arrangement that could offer some relief to him in the awkward situation in which he found himself. He assured them also that they could use his carriage to return to Delaford, while he would follow on horseback not long afterward.

Handing over a sealed envelope addressed to his wife, which he begged Elinor to convey to her sister, he left them to return to Barton Park.

The conversation that followed between Edward and Elinor revealed as much of their own deep understanding of each other as it did of their tolerance of the frequently odd and occasionally bizarre behaviour of both her mother and Sir John Middleton.

Mrs Dashwood's letter was brief.

Dearest Elinor
, she wrote:

As I am sure Colonel Brandon will explain, Sir John has asked if I could stay on at Barton Park for a while, and in view of the dire situation in which they are placed, with Mrs Jennings being so poorly, I feel it is the least I can do to help.

I know you were hoping that we could have a talk about future plans, but I fear that will have to wait. I shall write as soon as I can find some time—which may not be soon, for there seems to be a great deal to be done here. Apart from Mrs Williams, the housekeeper, there is no one who seems to understand what needs be done, and even she waits upon my instructions at every turn.

It was clear to Edward that his wife was uneasy with her mother's decision to remain at Barton Park; he tried to forestall her expressions of concern with some comforting speculation.

“Perhaps, my dear, your mother means only to demonstrate her appreciation for the generosity of Sir John Middleton, by assisting him. It is a particularly difficult time for Sir John, especially with Mrs Jennings being unwell, and no doubt your mama wishes to help.”

Elinor turned and he could see tears in her eyes. “Edward, dearest, of course Mama is grateful and wants to help Sir John, but I have considerable reservations about this decision. Mama, as you well know, is not some well-organised manager, experienced in running a large household; she has little knowledge of the requirements of Barton Park and is unfamiliar with the staff. She has probably agreed on impulse with only the best intentions, but, Edward, if this were to lead to friction and muddle, I fear she will have done more harm than good.”

Edward felt this was a somewhat harsh judgement and said so, but his wife would not be comforted and they talked late into the night, trying to comprehend the reasons for Mrs Dashwood's action and wondering how things might turn out.

“How do you suppose Marianne will feel about it?” he asked.

“Marianne will probably accept it without argument; she, like Mama, is given to sudden impulses; they both love to make grand gestures without first working out the consequences. But I doubt if Margaret will,” Elinor predicted, before putting out the candle and pulling up the eider down. She was both weary and worried. “Oh Edward, this is such a mess. I had hoped that Mama would be here and we could reach some agreement as to her future, and now here we are, with so many uncertainties, leaving with no resolution at all. I cannot help feeling quite apprehensive about this situation.”

“Come now, dearest, there's no need to be so dispirited,” said Edward, trying to provide some consolation. “At the very least, we can be assured that your mama is happy with the decision she has made, and we know it is a temporary arrangement to assist her cousin over a difficult patch. I am quite certain that within the month, we will see her back home and possibly even settled at Delaford.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked, solemnly regarding his face. “I am not as certain as you are, but I know you mean to comfort me and I shall pray you are right,” she said and snuggled down beside him, enjoying the reassuring warmth of his presence.

For Elinor, one thing had changed materially with her marriage: While she could feel some anxiety about the conduct of her mother or sisters, she no longer spent lonely, sleepless nights pondering the whys and wherefores of every difficult situation they faced. The intimacy they shared, together with Edward's willingness to listen, analyse, and occasionally argue away her fears, had rendered her life considerably more tranquil than before, while the warmth of his affection had brought genuine contentment.

What had begun as a dutiful visit to attend the funeral of Lady Middleton had, without warning, given rise to an uncomfortable situation that could become a continuing source of aggravation. Her husband, aware there was little he could do to change the circumstances, put a comforting arm around her and was pleased to be rewarded with an affectionate if somewhat sleepy response.