Sanditon

by Jane Austen

  The latter angered, he was not formed for passion; but he felt it now, all his placidity was gone in a moment. It was a new, unnerving experience and he felt the sensation worth savoring. It had so little ill-effect on his frailty and put such an incredible feeling of powerful determination in his heart that he was not about to forego the pleasure of the pain too swiftly. He was silent, on the point of being overrun by his sentiments when a rational thought occurred. “Sidney cannot be made sense of, he rants and cries about Abigail, but I cannot for the life of me recall hearing that he has ever met her,” he thought. He smiled to himself. “I might be thought foolish,” he said aloud,“but I am convinced there can only be a misunderstanding at the root of this outburst.”

  Arthur was quickly by Sidney, anxiety made the latter breathe heavily; minor exertion was the cause of the former’s panting.

  “What business is it of yours, brother, to show concern for a woman you do not know?”Arthur demanded.

  “You describe her as a woman I do not know!” cried Sidney. “Why you are mistaken! I know her very well indeed and am convinced, though you may never comprehend the torment it causes me to say this, that I love her more than you ever could.” He was quiet for a moment. “And yet I love her only as she deserves, with a heart fully anchored by intensity, with a soul that perishes without hers, with eyes that are blind to all but the sight of her, with appetite, longing, admiration, and agony combined is how I love her.” These last three words were spoken with painful emphasis and the speaker, all his energy spent on saying them, seemed at once to lose height, weight, and composure.

  Arthur put his hand to his weary brother’s shoulder and said, with a wisdom beyond that expected of him, “But brother, you have not yet met Abigail.”

  There was something satisfying, Arthur felt, in clearing the matter up. So long had he felt himself inadequate to his sisters and both of his brothers. Now, with the prospect of his marriage, and the seriousness of matrimony and the life of a husband ahead of him, he felt himself superior, advanced. It was the first time he had ever experienced the delight of greater knowledge but he knew it to be something worth relishing.

  There must have been tears, for men (particularly those of a feeling nature like Sidney Parker) will be obliged to cry at some point in their lives, and what better reason had Sidney, that afternoon, to shed tears than in relief? What joy he felt on knowing his dear Charlotte to be unattached, what utter completeness and hope claimed him.With resolve he sought her, to be given another chance to declare himself in her power was bliss indeed, to be on the threshold of seeing her again renewed him, charged him, and made his stride and his intentions both purposeful and true.

  Mrs. Griffiths’s letter had been the sole cause of Sidney’s distress, it was her report alone that had persuaded him that his brother Arthur had set his sights on Charlotte.The relief he felt at finding himself mistaken was immeasurable.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sidney stood before Charlotte, yielding, willing her to want him, while she (had he but known it) wished nothing but to have him gone. She had failed to remove him with a blink of her eye for he was really there before her, talking, but she could not listen attentively. He spoke of marriage. “Oh! Pain of pains! Why does he come here to tell me of his own happiness? He cannot know I love him. There I must blame myself. Why should he think I feel anything other than contempt? Have I ever revealed my preference? He must think me impartial, he must see me as capable of delighting in Miss Lambe’s good fortune!”

  How many minutes passed Charlotte did not know, and many years later when it was discussed, with great hilarity, Sidney confessed that he had been unable to calculate the minutes that had been taken up by this rather preposterous second proposal. But he added that the moments when he ranted and while Charlotte failed to listen, seemed, at the time, to be endless. Of course they found their way around and over these obstacles and, imagine our heroine’s relief upon hearing that Sidney was not (nor had he ever been) engaged to Miss Lambe.

  “But the report I had was that Miss Lambe would very likely marry a gentleman who went to Eastbourne from Sanditon, a man with family in Sanditon,” said Charlotte, perplexed.

  Sidney laughed. “The man, if I am not mistaken, is surely our very own Sir Edward Denham.”

  “I did not know he was in Eastbourne! Did he not go to London? I thought it was you who was betrothed to Miss Lambe.”

  Sidney, now persuaded that Charlotte’s feelings were all for him, was compelled to take her hand in his. “If you had only known how I suffered, you could never have made the mistake you did in believing I could ever love another.”

  “Likewise!” cried Charlotte defiantly. “Had you considered my anguish you could not have presumed me to be engaged to your brother!”

  Such bewilderment as Charlotte and Sidney had endured was all the result of a few letters having gone between Miss Lambe and Mrs. Griffiths. Added to this was a pinch of misinterpretation on the part of poor Maisie.The unreliability of a writer with an injury to her wrist was not to be overlooked. Mrs. Griffiths’s inadequate postscript had left the matter of Abigail and Arthur’s engagement so poorly described as to leave it entirely open to conjecture. It was all highly alarming. A harp was to be considered a dangerous object indeed! Charlotte distinctly remembered Maisie telling her that Mrs. Griffiths’s wrist limited the nature of her correspondence. No written report, unless it contained the utmost in detail and confirmed fact, was ever to be relied upon again. Women, then, were not the only correspondents to depend upon!

  Charlotte and Sidney, quickly over their horror that such mistakes had been made, were soon inclined to reflect with gratitude on these trifling misunderstandings. For what, other than the misguided belief that Charlotte was to marry Arthur, would have brought her favorite back? If both Sidney and Charlotte were stubborn, then they were equally forgiving and within time, they concluded that Mrs. Griffiths and Miss Lambe had much to be thanked for, by being the main cause, inadvertently, of harnessing the pair of them together, finally.

  It is considered foolish of a woman to expect a renewal of regard to occur in the heart of a man who has once been refused! It is thought that there is not one amongst the male sex who would not protest against the kind of weakness a second proposal to the same woman might imply. Some (even those whose opinions we admire) believe there is no indignity so abhorrent to the feelings of men. If that were the case, second proposals would be unheard of; as it is, they occur frequently enough amongst the impassioned. Repeated proposals, scarce though they are, do happen and are generally a success so long as enough time has passed for the refuser to develop strong feelings of regret. When Sidney Parker, for the second time, proposed to Charlotte Heywood, he did so with grace, with genteel sincerity, and without any sign of amusement whatsoever other than a genuine soft smile. Charlotte was won at once. She accepted him, of course, and the two affirmed their devotion with the wordless affection that both had dreamed of savoring for so long.

  There, dear reader, would be a natural and pleasing end to this tale of Sanditon and, if life could be fashioned in so neat and polished a manner as novels, I would have it (as the person responsible for relaying this tale) that “Finis” be written on this very page.We have the knowledge of a double wedding to rejoice in; most convenient for Mr. and Mrs. Heywood, for Charlotte and Abigail could not prevail upon their parents to travel to Sanditon on more than one occasion. No, the sisters must combine their weddings. There was no other solution.There was no other means by which to lure their mother and father from Willingden. But what a happy situation—there is scarcely a more favored conclusion to a tale that I can think of than that which sees two sisters marrying on the same day!

  Additionally, we must gain some satisfaction in knowing that Mr. Parker and his cherished town are set for prosperity, but what of less passionate matters? Miss Lambe and Sir Edward Denham, it has been intimated, have formed a union. What of that circumstance? Could we bear to tear ourselve
s from this little part of the Sussex coast without first knowing more? And Maisie, we are acquainted enough with her now to be feeling a degree of fondness, are we not? I, in your position, would at least be eager to know if she became a great reader. Oh, and what of Lady Denham and her eager throng of potential beneficiaries? It would be a person in possession of a very dreary mind indeed who would not be inquisitive about that situation and I must confess I do not like the idea of writing for such dull elves.

  And so, for the moment at least, we must spare Sidney and Charlotte our scrutiny. Anything else might, very rightly, be considered impolite. We need not worry, however, they have kissing and cooing enough to occupy them while we concentrate on the others who now intrigue us. Maisie, for all her devotion to reading and writing, could not possibly have become accomplished enough by the end of the summer to write a letter of several pages in length to Charlotte, but, write such a letter she did.

  CHAPTER 29

  Charlotte had given no thought to Mrs. Parker’s tale of butlers and chambermaids. She was full in love with Sidney, greatly inclined to talk of dresses and wedding breakfasts with Abigail, and generally so taken up with the present that the past no longer held much fascination for her. It was all forgotten.

  All that was forgotten by Charlotte, however, had been dwelt upon with regularity by the Raynor family of Heddingham House in Essex. Lady Raynor, whose sensibilities were perhaps more tuned than her husband’s, had, even after a good deal of time had passed, lamented the loss of her good butler. And she had regretted the departure of her sweet-natured chambermaid with such deeply felt anxiety and grief as to render her quite stricken. Her husband’s sympathies could be relied upon. He was not a man inclined to mournful reflection himself but his wife’s heartache could not be ignored. On the matter of the removal of a good piece of family silver, he chose to remain silent. His wife, however, could not. Her refusal to allow that any member of their staff would steal from them was quite fixed.There was to be no argument.

  Sir Thomas Raynor, ever sensible of his wife’s affections for her departed staff, said only that he thought it a very great shame that such a scandal had visited them. He had grown disinclined to entirely trust anyone since the attempted seduction of his only daughter Rosamunde by a man from the South. His wife’s protests in support of her dear Stafford (the butler) and her little Jane (the chambermaid) were heard with all the gentility he could muster, but with very strong feelings of hesitation. He was never to be easily persuaded of anyone’s worthiness again. The possibility of deception on the part of one’s staff, he decided, must by necessity be considered an uncommon but genuine risk. An employer’s elevation could, he conceded, be viewed with avarice by dissatisfied servants. It was a constant peril and one he was never to be easy with. But, he would not lock away his possessions; he would not hide his silver.

  He would, however, make it a rule to hide his daughter.Where she was concerned, every measure of protection must be employed. Poor Rosamunde Raynor. She was well past coming out age but had ventured nowhere. She was denied parties, only allowed to attend teas or suppers where the guests were known to, and approved by, her father and kept in such a state of seclusion that all of her former prettiness had faded. Her fortune, therefore, was her downfall. It was her keeper. It was the very thing that made her, as far as her father could see, the likeliest victim of abduction that ever lived. So, she was kept quiet, wretched, and out of harm’s way in the great house on the Heddingham estate. If a young man called to see her father, Rosamunde was sent to her room for a rest, or to the library to pursue her studies, or to any other place in the house on any pretext whatsoever. So long as Rosamunde was out of sight, Sir Thomas’s wealth, which represented the girl’s eventual fortune, was out of mind.

  That he made his daughter unhappy was unknown to Sir Thomas. She, ever mindful of the very great disappointment her susceptibility caused him, elected to carry on with sweetness, affection, and quiet obedience. Guilt and her father’s oppression governed her. She never opposed his will, she never complained, not even to her mother who she knew to be openhearted, but she longed to breathe in life. She dreamed of dancing, of being allowed to feel the shoulder-to-shoulder bustle of a good party, and flirt a little with some nice young men. But it was not to be.

  Lady Raynor, her daughter’s compliance never questioned, feared more for the downfall of her chambermaid and her butler. There was something right in her fondness for her servants. Her daughter, she accepted, would one day marry, her servants, she was entirely confident, would stay with her always. They were worth cherishing. She cared for them, made them her family, and treated them with a real respect that some viewed as unnecessary and others viewed as admirable. Lady Raynor was not unfeeling, but, as poor Rosamunde never protested against the restrictions her father imposed upon her, she failed to recognize her daughter’s torment.

  The greater share of her, Lady Raynor’s, compassion was reserved for her two dearly missed employees. To trace them, without any intention of reprimanding them, was her object. In truth, Lady Raynor found it impossible to believe that any kind of union between the two had taken place. Oh, it was the accepted explanation. It was the myth, the gloriously indecent legend that circulated the world, but Lady Raynor was intent on an alternative.

  Well-connected persons like Lady Raynor are in the happy position of being able to afford hobbies. Where neither time nor money impose restrictions, pastimes are highly recommended. They keep the mind from deterioration and should be compulsory for women who have no inclination but to sit fondling pugs and fancying themselves frail. Lady Raynor disliked small dogs, never once considered herself frail, and therefore hurled herself into solving the mystery of her lost servants’ whereabouts. She consulted local people, employed the children of her tenants to ask questions, and finally, when two small but significant clues had been provided by a local grain farmer and the driver of a post chaise respectively, she traced the absentees as far as London.

  Her good butler was beyond what service would require of him. He had lost, along with his reputation, the control of his mind. But he was not to be deserted. He was being cared for by a certain Dr. Brown in a sanatorium in the town and Lady Raynor, satisfied that his care was, for the time being at least, adequate, wished to set about looking for her Jane. Dr. Brown was Lady Raynor’s salvation. His wife, who greeted Lady Raynor with politeness and concern, showed every sign of sympathizing with her visitor’s cause and every sign of fear for her husband should he not retire soon.

  “He is a martyr to his work, Lady Raynor,” said she. “But he cannot be forced. He only ever threatens to slow his career, but never to stop completely. I fear for him. I persuaded him to take a little break by the sea recently.We are only just returned; in fact, our being home is so recent that we have not yet unpacked all our trunks! That has been my only success. He will never take holidays. We have spent the chief of our time here. But, I am more hopeful now. My husband so enjoyed our journey into Sussex and dearly loved the little spot that we settled in and thinks it quite a good thing that I have the idea to go again.”

  All this was said with no indication on Mrs. Brown’s part that she felt resentment, but her worries were to be respected. Dr. Brown had long passed youth but he had an enthusiasm, a passion for his work, which made him unable to give it up entirely.

  In Dr. Brown’s care were three men who might fit the description Lady Raynor gave. None answered to the name of Stafford however. One, on Lady Raynor’s inspecting him, proved to be too bulky, too swarthy-skinned, and altogether too rough to be her butler.The next was too short, too roundedly fat and comical to be her butler but the last, she confirmed, was indeed her man. He had lost a little weight and it was greatly distressing for her to find that the man who had been with her family for all of her lifetime no longer recognized her.

  “Your Mr. Stafford arrived with a young woman,” explained Dr. Brown. “You know we have so many attached runaways here that at first it w
as thought that an unusual, dare I say, inappropriate alliance had been formed. That, you will be gratified to hear, was not the case. We make alarming assumptions in this business, Madam.We see many an unmarried woman with child here.Your Jane—you did say the name was Jane did you not?—well, she was different. She served more as a carer; her sweet nature made her a very good nurse. She was very attentive to Mr. Stafford. I must tell you, Lady Raynor, that he would only repeat the name Heddingham on arrival here.That is how the mistake in his identity came about. We have him down as a Mr. Heddingham! My assistant assumed it was his name and his companion did not correct us. But, and here is the only deception I am aware that she ever employed, she did not introduce herself as Jane. It seems there was much concealed.”

  Lady Raynor could not have been more pleased. She was beginning to think herself something of a sleuth.With Mr. Stafford so easily found she was confident that Jane would also soon be recovered.

  London was not Lady Raynor’s favorite place. Her house in Holland Park was elegant but she did not wish to stay there. It was easier, she concluded, to stay in an hotel, to order a good dinner without the complications that the organizing of one’s town staff very often causes. She duly acquired herself good lodgings and congratulated herself on her good fortune, her determination, and her success. Mr. Stafford, she was satisfied, would be well looked after by Dr. Brown until such time as she could arrange for something more tender in the way of care for him. His well-being, she felt very strongly, was entirely her responsibility.

  The hotel dining room was very fine indeed, and full.The liveliness provided ample diversion for Lady Raynor who, unaccustomed to dining alone, enjoyed the distraction that polite eavesdropping always brings. She took in all the particulars of her fellow diners. There were six families, several single young men, one old woman, and two men; one had the look of an eccentric about him and talked animatedly about matters of business. The latter two were soon intruded upon by two young women and their brother. There was great delight in the two groups being united. The meeting was obviously unexpected and sincerely thought to be fortuitous.