After Mrs King had left, Elinor went to her room, where Edward found her in a sombre mood. He had some news which he was sure would please her—a letter had arrived from Ireland: Colonel Brandon was returning some days earlier than expected. Elinor, delighted with the news, decided not to trouble her husband with the tales of Willoughby’s depredations that Mrs King had brought, for, as her friend had said, they may only be rumours and in the light of the colonel’s return to Delaford might not signify at all. Besides, there was much to be getting on with; the Palmers and Mrs Jennings were expected in a few days.
***
The Palmers, their two children, their nurse, Mrs Palmer’s maid, and Mr Palmer’s manservant as well as Mrs Jennings and her maid all arrived in two carriages, and for a while Elinor was afraid that there would be no room to accommodate all of them at the parsonage. Fortunately, before she began to consider sending a note to Marianne, requesting emergency assistance, Mr Palmer said the second vehicle and most of the staff, except for the nurse and his manservant, would be travelling on to Cleveland directly, leaving a smaller party at the parsonage. When Mrs Palmer claimed she would never find anything in her trunks without her maid, her husband, with characteristic disregard for her protestations, said she should not worry because no one would notice the difference. This brought the usual complaint of excessive drollery from his wife, but Elinor intervened to assure Charlotte Palmer that she would be perfectly happy to lend them her own maid for the duration of their stay. Although they stayed but a few days, Mrs Jennings and her daughter managed to recount such an enormous volume of information and gossip that left Elinor in a fever of apprehension.
On the first evening of their stay, Charlotte, who had not stopped talking and making whimsical comments since the moment of her arrival at the parsonage, broke the news that Lucy—Mrs Robert Ferrars—was pregnant again and that Mrs Ferrars, the mother of Robert and Edward, was said to be considering changing her will if it was a boy. Apparently she was determined to ensure that her grandson was adequately provided for.
Elinor glanced at her husband and found Edward looking amused, while Mr Palmer appeared as inscrutable as ever. Mrs Jennings then intervened to add that she thought it was all rather odd that Mrs Ferrars should want to change her will. “I cannot see that it will make any difference to her now, seeing that Edward and Elinor have already presented her with two grandsons,” said she, and Edward said in a very quiet voice, “Perhaps it is the fact that we live so far away, down here in Dorset. Maybe my mother has forgotten that she already has two grandsons.” This caused Mrs Palmer to shriek with laughter. “Forgotten that she has two grandsons! Oh, dear Mr Ferrars, you are become almost as droll as my Mr Palmer!” she claimed. Whereupon Mr Palmer looked accusingly at Edward as though he’d been robbed of a prize possession and, determined not to be outdone, added, “I believe it is the fact that your boys have never really been ‘presented’ to Mrs Ferrars that causes her to forget their existence. Edward, you must see to it that your two sons are taken to London and presented with due ceremony to their grandmother, without delay.” This proposition caused Edward and Elinor to smile, while Mrs Jennings laughed very loudly and tears rolled down Charlotte’s face as she giggled and cried, “Oh Mr Palmer, you are so droll! I ask you, Elinor, have you heard anything like it? Do you see what I mean?”
The next piece of information, however, was not anywhere as amusing as the first, although Mrs Jennings recounted it with a good deal of cheerfulness. “Mr Willoughby—I am sure you all remember him,” she said as they proceeded to consume the trifle and syllabub, “and of course, we all know how rich he became after marrying Miss Grey with her fifty thousand pounds—well, he may have to fight to keep his fortune, if his wife has her way. It is being said that Sophia Willoughby has instructed her lawyers to seek a judicial separation with a view to obtaining a divorce on the grounds of adultery.” She was very satisfied by the effect her statement had upon the rest of the diners, their silence denoting their sense of shock, as she went on, “Were she to succeed, I understand she may be able to recoup at least half of the money she brought into the marriage. If he does not pay up—and one wonders how much of it he has already squandered—I understand the court can compel him to do so.”
Elinor did not wish to reveal her prior knowledge of the story, but Mrs Jennings added for good measure, “Mrs Ferrars, we were speaking of this matter, Charlotte and I, on our journey here, and I said to Charlotte, ‘Although we felt very sorry for Miss Marianne when the business with Willoughby ended so badly for her, it is quite clear now that she has had a fortunate escape.’ If Sophia Grey could not hold him with her many thousands of pounds, Miss Marianne would not have had a chance. After a few years of marriage and a couple of children, he would have been off on the hunt again. What do you say, Mrs Ferrars, am I not right?”
Poor Elinor could barely speak, so mortified was she by the recollection of that dreadful time, and it was to the credit of the two gentlemen that the topic was changed and she was released from the obligation of having to answer what was clearly a rhetorical question. None of them had any doubt of the answer.
Earlier that evening Edward had been recounting to Mr Palmer some of his efforts on behalf of the abolitionists, and his guest, clearly bored with the gossip that his mother-in-law and wife were indulging in, put a pointed question to his host about the campaign, thereby ensuring some respite at the dinner table from domination by Mrs Jennings. “Is your group committed to complete abolition of slavery?” he asked, to which Edward replied, “Indeed we are, Mr Palmer, and we mean to get as many petitions as possible and submit them to Mr Wilberforce, who continues to press for total abolition in Britain and all her colonies. Unfortunately, the Act passed in 1807—the Slave Trade Act—only prohibits the shipping of slaves from Africa to the colonies in the Caribbean; it does nothing for the poor wretches who are already enslaved there, working for mainly British businessmen and plantation owners. Where do you stand on this question, Mr Palmer?” Edward asked.
Mr Palmer, whose politics were of the Whig persuasion, put down his glass, nodded sagely, and said, “I am with you, Ferrars, it is a most pernicious practice.” Edward looked pleased and said so, but since neither Charlotte Palmer nor her mother had very much to say on the subject, they fell silent, while Elinor, who took a lively interest in her husband’s work for the campaign, participated eagerly in the discussion that followed. When the ladies rose and withdrew to the parlour, Elinor feared her two companions would return to the subject of Willoughby, but, much to her relief, both women claimed that they were exceedingly tired after their long journey and chose to retire early to their rooms.
***
The Palmers stayed three more days at Delaford parsonage, during which time the ladies expressed a desire to call on Marianne at the manor house. Mr Palmer had already accepted an invitation from Edward to meet his friend Dr Bradley King, leaving just the ladies to make the visit. Elinor went with them, having first sent a message over to her sister to advise her of the impending visitation. She hoped by doing this to give Marianne time to prepare herself for the arrival of two women she had never suffered gladly. On their arrival around midmorning, however, Elinor was relieved to find that her sister and her servants had been busy preparing for their visitors, who were duly invited into the morning room, where their hostess, elegantly gowned and coiffed, greeted them with a degree of affability that Elinor was surprised to witness.
Trays of refreshments were carried in and tea was served in the finest china available at the manor, as Marianne played hostess with aplomb. Elinor could see that Mrs Jennings and her daughter were very impressed.
Earlier, as they had prepared to leave the parsonage, Elinor had steeled herself to make an earnest request that they would not mention Mr Willoughby or the state of his marital affairs in the presence of her sister. To her relief, both Mrs Jennings and Charlotte Palmer had agreed that it would not be appropri
ate, although the reasons they adduced for their restraint were puzzling. Mrs Jennings had declared that “it would not do to remind the dear girl of the misery he had put her through,” while Charlotte had giggled and added that “nor would it be wise to let her think that Willoughby might be free again, if his wife were to succeed in obtaining a divorce!” Shocked though she was by the sentiment, Elinor restrained herself, thanked them for respecting her wishes, and prayed silently that Marianne would, by her general demeanour, demonstrate to the ladies that she was content and happy in her marriage to Colonel Brandon.
And it was exactly what transpired, as they took tea, walked about the house, admired the garden, and talked for an hour or so of very little that was of any consequence. By the time they were ready to return to the parsonage, it appeared as though Marianne had completely convinced Mrs Jennings and Mrs Palmer that she was perfectly content in her role as lady of the manor. As they stood in the hall, about to leave, Mrs Jennings asked, “And when do you expect dear Colonel Brandon home?” to which Marianne replied with a smile, “We expect him any day now, Mrs Jennings, he is returning a week earlier than expected. Indeed, Cook is planning a celebratory dinner to welcome him home.” Whereupon Mrs Jennings responded with a great laugh and characteristic vulgarity, that she was sure the colonel would be looking forward to something more than a celebratory dinner on his return, adding with a wink and a nudge to her daughter, “Just ask my Charlotte, she knows all about it, Mr Palmer returned from two weeks shooting in Scotland, and though it is not plain to see as yet, Charlotte is in the family way again. So you mark my words, after six weeks away in Ireland, your dear husband will be looking forward to much more than a good dinner, and you, my dear, may have some happy news for us in the new year.”
While Charlotte Palmer and her mother alternately shrieked and roared with laughter, Elinor winced and saw Marianne’s face flushed with embarrassment, but neither of her visitors seemed to notice, and they left with more laughter and warnings of the consequences of the imminent return of her husband from Ireland, urging her to enjoy the fun while it lasted.
***
Elinor’s relief was great when the Palmers finally departed, for though they had been little trouble to her in a practical sense, their presence, intruding as it did upon the usual calm and quietude of her home, had prevented discussion of certain matters with Edward. She had wished particularly to tell him of her continuing unease regarding Willoughby’s presence in the neighbourhood and his contact with her sister, an unease whose intensity had increased considerably since the revelations from Helen King and Mrs Jennings that his wife intended to apply for a divorce.
On the evening after the Palmers’ departure, Elinor sensed that Edward was in a sufficiently amenable mood, with no parish duties and his sermon for Sunday completed well in advance, to let her take up the subject. It was a matter that had concerned her deeply, and yet she had tried not to trouble him with it unless and until there was something seriously worth talking about. Recent events and information appeared to her to provide an opportunity, and she decided to take it.
Once the boys had been read their bedtime story and put to bed, Elinor went to sit beside her husband on the sofa by the fire and he, sensing her need for comfort, put an arm around her and said, “I know how tired you must be, my dear, and yet you never complain of it. I wish I could do more to help. I would if you would only ask.” Elinor knew he was thinking that her fatigue was the consequence of managing their rather trying guests over the past few days; she smiled and said, “Thank you, my love, I know you would, but it is not the Palmers and Mrs Jennings who have me in this state; I wish it were, because it would then be just a transitory feeling of weariness, which I confess Charlotte and her mother seem to bring upon me—nothing that a long lavender-scented bath and a good night’s sleep would not cure.”
Her unexpected response caused her husband to sit up and look at her seriously, “Dearest, what else is it? You are not unwell? Tell me, Elinor, have you been feeling ill and keeping it from me?” She was quick to deny this and reassured him at once. “Not at all, Edward, you know me better than to think that. I am too sensible to conceal an illness, and if I had been feeling unwell, I’d have sent for Doctor Richards and had him prescribe some potion or other—not that they do much good—but I would not neglect it, because I know I need to look after my health for all our sakes.”
Edward was obviously relieved. “Thank goodness for that; well then, what is it that is worrying you? Elinor, you are not still anxious about that scoundrel Willoughby, are you? I did note that you looked rather shocked at the news that his wife was seeking a separation, but why are you astonished? Willoughby never cared for Miss Grey, he clearly married her for her fortune, and being the kind of man he is, bereft of all principle, bent only upon his own pleasure, it is not at all surprising that the marriage should fail. Why should that cause you to worry?”
Elinor sat up very straight and looked into his eyes as she spoke; she wanted Edward to understand clearly that her anxiety was not based on her knowledge of Willoughby and his marital problems alone. “Edward, I know that when I have spoken of this matter previously, you have tried, with the best of intentions, to reassure me, to tell me I was being too anxious, that there was no evidence of any danger to my sister from Willoughby’s presence in this area, and I have wished that was the case. However, in recent months, indeed since Margaret was here before she went to France, there have been several occasions on which I have seen and heard things that have filled me with disquiet, and while I have not wanted to trouble you with constant repetition of my concerns, I can ignore them no longer. I need your advice.” Edward could see from her countenance that her worries were too serious to be relieved with simple words of comfort.
Elinor continued, “The rumour—and I accept that coming from Mrs Jennings it can rate no higher than that—that Willoughby’s wife is attempting to separate from him, indeed is already living apart from him and may seek a divorce, has only added another element to my fears, that of Willoughby’s own situation and his lack of responsibility. If he is no longer restrained, even as a mere formality, by the bonds of marriage, what does he have to lose? Why would he not try his best to re-engage Marianne’s feelings, knowing that she was so besotted with him once, she was willing to throw everything, including her own reputation, to the winds for him?”
“And what is this evidence that you have seen and heard? Does it involve Marianne?” he asked, and she nodded and with great determination, held back her tears as she told him of what she and Margaret had learned and the information she had gathered from her friend Helen King. She spoke quietly, undramatically, attempting to convey her fears without hysteria, pointing out that it was her uncertainty that Marianne was happy and content in her own marriage that was at the core of her concern. “If I were as certain of her contentment as I am of my own happiness with you, I would not care if Willoughby were living next door, but I fear I cannot, I do not have that certainty.”
Edward’s expression had changed as she spoke, reflecting his response to her words; he could no longer speak lightly. “Dearest Elinor, I am sorry, I feel I have not taken your anxieties seriously enough, and I fear I have allowed you to carry the burden alone for too long. Perhaps it is because I have wished to believe that Marianne and Brandon are as contented as we are, but I realise from what you have said that things are not always as they seem or as we wish them to be. However, there is little we can achieve by worrying. Perhaps we should visit your mother tomorrow, and if I were to speak seriously with her about this matter and ask for her help, she might be willing to consider returning to stay with Marianne until Brandon returns, which I am reliably informed is to be very soon. In fact, I met his steward the other day when I was walking with Mr Palmer in the Delaford woods, and he claimed that the master was expected back any day now. What do you say to that?”
Elinor, happy to have finally captured his un
divided attention on this matter for the first time and convinced him to take it seriously, was content to agree to his plan. She hoped that Edward, for whom Mrs Dashwood had warm affection and respect, might well convince her of the need to return with them to Delaford.
Elinor’s fear that Marianne might be unwittingly drawn into the scandal of Willoughby’s divorce was a potent one, and it was possible that their mother’s presence at Delaford might, by inhibiting Willoughby’s visits to Marianne or her meetings with him, help avoid such a debacle. Eager to credit her husband with alleviating her distress, she agreed, “I think that may help, my love, if you can convince Mama that Marianne needs her more than Sir John Middleton does,” she replied, and they laughed together as he promised to try his very best. By the time they retired to bed, Elinor felt a small part of the burden of care had rolled off her weary shoulders.
Chapter Seventeen
Marianne was busy preparing for a visitor when the letter was delivered. Miss Eugenie Perceval was coming to tea, after which the two friends had arranged to drive out to attend a church function, organised by the eldest of the Perceval girls, who was married to the rector of a small parish in Somersetshire. Eugenie was to sing at the concert and had persuaded Marianne to accompany her at the pianoforte, on account of her elder sister Maria being taken ill with a severe cold.
The letter Marianne had received was from Colonel Brandon. She had assumed he was writing to confirm the precise date and time of his arrival; she knew already that he was returning early from Ireland, which was why Marianne did not open the letter immediately, leaving it on her dressing table to be read at leisure when she returned home later that evening. Marianne enjoyed pleasing an audience and looked forward to the concert; it would give her an opportunity to use the performance skills she had acquired and excelled at as a young girl.
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