Expectations of Happiness

by Rebecca Ann Collins

“Why, Margaret, what has happened?” she asked, and as they went out and walked in the direction of the shrubbery, Margaret handed her the note and said, “That note from Mr Perceval was delivered just as I arrived at the front door of the manor house—you can read what it says.”

  Elinor gasped as she read it and clutched at her sister’s arm. “Oh Margaret, this is dreadful news—it is surely the very worst thing—the Percevals clearly know nothing of their previous association and have calmly delivered Marianne into Willoughby’s care! I cannot think of anything worse! Whatever is to be done now?” she cried, and there were tears welling in her eyes. It was clear that Elinor now thought the very worst had happened, and unless Margaret could convince her otherwise, she would surely feel the need to race off to the manor house to ascertain if Marianne was safe. Margaret did not believe that any good would come of such action and set out to advise her sister that it would be best to await some message from Marianne.

  “I did ask, very particularly, that a message should be sent to you as soon as Marianne arrived, so that we may know she was safely home. I think we should wait at least until some news is received. It is entirely possible that all will be well and Mr Willoughby will simply convey her to Delaford Manor and that will be an end of it,” she said, but even before she had finished speaking, she could see that Elinor was unconvinced. Her countenance made it clear before she spoke, “You cannot possibly know that, Margaret, not if you know what Willoughby is, not after you have heard him speak and understood the depth of his perceived grievances. Not only does he claim that Marianne is the great love of his life, whose loss means he will never know happiness again, he also carries a grudge—a most terrible hatred against Colonel Brandon, whom he blames for all his misery, which gives him two reasons for wanting to use such an unexpected opportunity. And though he did appear to accept that he had done great wrong by deceiving Marianne, he is also completely selfish and I cannot believe that he will let such a chance slip.”

  Though Margaret had not known it at the time, she had learned from both her mother and Elinor of Willoughby’s visit to Cleveland House. Despite her strong condemnation of his actions, Elinor had shown a degree of compassion that had surprised Margaret at the time, but with the passage of years following the marriages of Elinor and Marianne, she had moved out of the intimate circle of their family in Dorset, and Margaret had lost interest in Willoughby’s brief but intense affair with her sister. Elinor’s remarks raked up the memory, but she could not feel as perturbed as her sister, who doubtless still carried some weight of responsibility for Marianne. Still, Margaret begged Elinor not to allow her concern for their sister to besiege her mind to the extent that it would make her ill with worry.

  “I understand your concern, Elinor, but surely it is unlikely that in the course of one such encounter—a journey of perhaps an hour or two at the most—he could cause Marianne to subvert…” she began cautiously, but Elinor did not let her finish.

  “Do not forget that in the course of a few minutes, when he rescued her after her fall and carried her home to the cottage in the rain, she had been completely captivated, to the extent that Willoughby became the epitome of what she expected of a man. I know that she is several years older and she is a married woman now, but our sister has not quite given up on those romantic notions yet, nor has she attained a level of maturity that would let her turn her back on them,” she said. Elinor’s distress seemed intractable; Margaret had almost given up on persuading her to adopt a less woeful outlook, when the doorbell rang and the maid opened it and found outside a servant from the manor house. He had, he told the girl, a message from Mrs Brandon for her sister Mrs Ferrars. Hearing his words, Margaret and Elinor rushed to the door. He was to say, he said, that Mrs Brandon was back safe and well from Somerset. She was, however, very tired from her journey and had gone directly to bed. Elinor and Margaret looked at one another, thanked the servant, and instructed him to tell Mrs Brandon that her sisters would call on her tomorrow. They then returned to the parlour, embraced, and wept with relief.

  ***

  When Edward Ferrars returned home a few hours later, he found his wife and sister-in-law enjoying tea and toasted muffins with the two boys in the parlour and eager to hear all his news. Elinor had already decided that she would not involve her husband in what might or might not be a problem with Marianne and Willoughby. In any event, she had argued, they could not know whether there was a problem until they had seen Marianne on the following day. Margaret had agreed that ’twere best not to worry Edward with any of it. She knew that her brother-in-law, busy with matters of the parish and his own family, would probably find it an imposition to be burdened with such a question at this time, particularly since they could provide very little evidence of a problem. Like most men, she thought, Edward would attribute it to their excessive anxiety about Marianne.

  At dinner that night, therefore, their conversation was almost entirely about the successful meetings of the anti-slavery campaign that Edward had attended together with Dr Bradley King. He was quite elated with the success of their lobbying, which had elicited interest at a high political level in the Parliament, and was genuinely hopeful that Mr Wilberforce would win the day and get a bill passed, banning slavery in Britain and her colonies.

  “If we could only get as many people interested in our campaign as Shelley and Byron are attracting to the cause of the Greeks, we could do a great deal better,” he said, but added quickly, “but I am very hopeful, if only because Wilberforce is such a persuasive speaker and his sincere belief in the cause is so clear. He cannot fail.”

  “There is a great deal of conversation about it, but do you really believe that Parliament will pass a law to stop the loathsome traffic?” Margaret asked. She had heard much talk on the subject in Oxfordshire, but was far less confident that action would follow. “I understand that many wealthy British business enterprises are profiting from the use of slaves in the Caribbean colonies, and they are none too keen to stop the practice.”

  Edward agreed, “Indeed, you are right, Margaret, there is a strong lobby of businessmen in the colonies and here in Britain, too, whose enterprises do well out of slave labour in the cotton fields and fruit orchards of America and the Caribbean islands, but I am assured the tide is turning. Many more people are speaking out against it, and we have at last got the churches involved,” he said hopefully.

  “And so they should be,” said Elinor, who had not entered the conversation earlier and appeared rather lost in thought. Margaret was certain her sister was still troubled about Marianne—despite her assurances that she was not.

  Later that night, as she packed her trunk in preparation for her departure on Tuesday, there was a soft knock on her door and Elinor entered. “Edward has gone to bed; he is very tired after the journey from Bridgwater, and he has to be awake early for matins tomorrow,” she whispered as she came to sit on Margaret’s bed. “I am so grateful that you stayed, Margaret; I hope when we see Marianne tomorrow, everything will become clearer. It will be obvious if she is out of sorts and upset—I do hope she is not—and perhaps she will tell us about the meeting with Willoughby and we can judge from her demeanour if she has been affected by it or not.”

  “Do you expect that she will tell us?” Margaret asked, not entirely confident that their sister would reveal that Willoughby had been one of the party. But Elinor had no doubts at all. “Indeed, I do believe she will. It would surely be a way of asserting her complete indifference to him and demonstrating to all of us that he means no more to her than a casual acquaintance, whom she has met again by mere chance. Do you not think she will?” Margaret was silent for a while before she answered the question, “I hope she will; as you say, it will demonstrate clearly that he means nothing to her and that means you need no longer fear for her as you do.”

  “But you are not convinced that she will?” Elinor’s anxiety was obvious. Margaret was loath to add to her sist
er’s pain, but she had to speak the truth. “Sadly I am not, Elinor. I should like to think that Marianne will tell us about her meeting with Willoughby and how he came to convey her and the other guests to their homes, and perhaps she will tell us what they spoke of on the journey, since it is unlikely that they travelled in complete silence. But I am not at all certain she will,” she said and was saddened to see the look on Elinor’s face as she spoke.

  “If that is the case, it can only mean that she is unwilling to talk about him to us because she is either uneasy or still feels some affection for him, and we will not be able to mention him either, for remember, we are not supposed to know about Willoughby’s presence at Glastonbury at all.”

  Margaret nodded. “Indeed, since we cannot admit that we have read Mr Perceval’s note, we are not to know the identity of the kind neighbour who conveyed her home to Delaford. I fear, Elinor, we are in a quandary here—mostly of our own making,” she said with a wry smile.

  Neither had any answer to the problem they faced, and as it was late, they decided to leave the matter until the morrow. “Let us hope things will not be as difficult as we imagine; it is quite possible that Marianne will be open and cheerful and tell us all about it in such an offhand manner as to reassure us of her complete indifference to the charms of Mr Willoughby,” said Margaret, and though she smiled as she said it, neither she nor Elinor felt at all optimistic as they went to bed that night.

  ***

  It was around ten o’clock on the following day when Elinor and Margaret arrived at the manor house, expecting to find their sister either still upstairs or having a late breakfast. Instead, they found Marianne dressed and busy with one of the maids, arranging flowers for the main drawing room, which had been opened up and aired as though visitors were expected. She looked remarkably cheerful and greeted them with a degree of warmth that both sisters found quite a contrast to their earlier meetings. Margaret found it particularly interesting following on the rather languid mood in which she had found her on her previous visit. What, she wondered, had brought on this extraordinary breakout of energy and good cheer?

  Making a point of declaring their intentions openly, Elinor and Margaret began by revealing that they had arrived on Friday just in time to see her driving away in the Percevals’ carriage and to be told by the servant that they were going on an expedition to Glastonbury. When Marianne did not appear at all surprised, Margaret added the information that she had called at the manor house on Sunday morning and been advised that a message had been received about an accident to the Percevals’ vehicle, and since she was leaving on the morrow and would be away in France for the next four weeks, she had been anxious to see Marianne and be assured that all was well. “Which is why I made Elinor come with me. I wanted to be certain you were safe and well, and I see that is exactly how you are,” she concluded.

  To which her sister replied, “Indeed I am, and you need not have worried at all, Margaret, the Percevals were very kind and helpful and looked after all their guests, making quite sure we had every comfort.”

  “And you were returned home safely?” Elinor added in a matter-of-fact sort of voice, trying very hard not to give anything away. “Of course,” said Marianne, without missing a beat, as she completed an arrangement of roses, which she then carried to a chiffonier, where she took awhile placing it to advantage so its beauty was reflected in a large ornate mirror that hung opposite. This gave her time to compose her countenance, until she turned and said, “There, I think that’s the last of the vases, Molly,” and asked the maid to clear away the debris and have a tea tray prepared and brought into the sitting room.

  As they followed her to the sitting room, a light, pretty room with sunlight streaming in at the windows, she said, “I do prefer this room for most of the day and the main drawing room after dinner; we hardly use the other rooms, they are far too ornate for my taste. Don’t you agree?” and Elinor, who had not given much thought to the interior decor of the manor house, was at a loss for words, but Margaret responded quickly, “Indeed, I agree. I like this room—it is very like our sitting room at Barton Cottage. Did you have it recently redecorated?” To which her sister blushed and replied, “How did you guess? I could not bear the original heavy velvet curtains and gilt accessories, and soon after we were married, Colonel Brandon said I could have it all refurbished to my taste, which is what you see here. It did cost quite a lot, but Colonel Brandon said it was no matter.”

  The maid brought in the tea tray, and as they partook of tea and cake, Elinor had to ask, “Aren’t you going to tell us all about Glastonbury? I have never been.”

  “Nor have I,” added Margaret, and it was as though their words had opened the floodgates of a dam, for Marianne, hardly stopping to take breath, poured out all the information she had ever gathered about the ancient site for the benefit of her sisters. Every detail—from its Saxon origins, its early Christian heritage, to the Arthurian links and the romantic tales of Lancelot and Guinevere—were all retold with an enthusiasm that bewildered them. She revealed that she would have been ready and willing to climb to the summit of the mystical Glastonbury Tor, but the Percevals and their guests, the Hawthorne family, were far keener on their picnic in the woods, and indeed, she let slip that she had been somewhat disappointed at their lack of appreciation of the significance of the historical site. “One could wish for somewhat more imaginative and informed company when visiting such a place; it would make the endeavour more worthwhile, do you not agree?” she asked, and they had to agree. Margaret even added that she was glad that on their visit to Provence, they would have the guidance of an erudite friend who knew the area intimately and would inform them of all the significant facts.

  To this Marianne replied that Margaret was fortunate indeed, because she was sure that would vastly improve her enjoyment of the places they visited. “I could have wished for someone similar, who could at least share my interest in the place. But I suppose I must not complain too much—it was kind of the Percevals to invite me. They had very little knowledge of the history of Glastonbury, and now I have been once, I shall certainly look forward to another opportunity to visit the site, seeing it’s only in the next county and at such a short distance from here, and the next time I am determined to climb the Tor and enjoy the view, which I understand overlooks three counties, at least,” she declared.

  “Does it really?” Elinor was intrigued to know who in their party had climbed the mount and seen the view. Marianne hesitated but a moment before she responded, “The innkeeper told us—clearly he is a man from the village and was able to give us a lot of local information. He said climbing the Tor either at dawn or twilight would be the best possible experience—but of course, we were too late for one and could not stay for the other.”

  By the time they had heard all about Glastonbury, and a great deal more about the Percevals and their friends the Hawthornes, the maid had returned to take away the tea tray and Marianne changed the conversation, asking about Edward’s health and Margaret’s holiday plans, and it was plain to her sisters that she had no intention of saying anything to them about the chance meeting with Willoughby—or his good neighbourly act of kindness in conveying the stranded members of their party to their homes.

  So dismayed was Elinor by this lack of candour, for she had believed quite reasonably that if the meeting had held no particular significance for Marianne, she would have recounted it without reserve, that she felt she could stay no longer, or she would betray her concern. She also wanted time to talk to Margaret before she left the following day. Presently, she rose and warmly thanked Marianne for her hospitality, said she was very glad she’d had an enjoyable excursion even if it had not come up to expectations, and the sisters left.

  As they walked back though the woods, at first Elinor was tight-lipped, as though reluctant or unable to bring up the matter that was clearly foremost in both their minds. Then Margaret spoke, saying, “I can
not believe that she would recount all that trivial information about people we do not know at all—after all, who on earth are these Hawthornes?—while saying nothing about Willoughby driving her home!”

  Elinor’s voice shook and tears filled her eyes. “Margaret, it is exactly as you suspected last night—you did say that you were not confident that Marianne would tell us of her meeting with Willoughby; I know I believed she would, but obviously that was just my naive hope that he no longer meant anything to her. Quite clearly he does.”

  Margaret turned to her sister. “You cannot believe that, Elinor; why, it may be that Marianne feels a little awkward to mention him. She knows what we think of him; she may not wish to remind us of him; it does not necessarily mean that she cares for him.” But Elinor was adamant.

  “Why else would she conceal the fact that they met, that he is clearly a friend of the Percevals and conveniently offered to transport their guests—including Marianne—after their carriage was damaged? There is nothing awkward in such an incident—she could have related it quite naturally and shown us how little he mattered to her after several years. It would have set my mind at rest—but her total silence has roused all my fears.”

  Margaret did try to provide other, probable explanations for Marianne’s behaviour, but Elinor had a stronger recollection than Margaret of the period in which Willoughby had first met and courted their sister when their relationship had been cloaked in secrecy, leaving her family in complete ignorance of his intentions and her expectations.

  Elinor explained, “You were probably too young to understand at the time, but I did protest often to Mama that Marianne and Willoughby were constantly behaving as though their engagement was a fait accompli. But, though they behaved as though that were the case, neither of them said a word, and when he departed suddenly for London and became engaged to Miss Grey with her fifty thousand pounds, none of us had been given any explanation. Everyone else, including Colonel Brandon and Mrs Jennings, knew before we did. Marianne was humiliated and heartbroken, and all because we—Mama and I—had allowed the situation to develop and continue without ever asking a single question, as we were entitled to do.”