Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

I f Edward Ferrars had once been entirely dependent on his mother for income and consequence, it was now his pleasure to find that he was no more so, since his marriage and the addition to their small income of his late mother's seven thousand pounds. And if this clever little scheme of buying into marine insurances paid off, the inhabitants of Delaford Parsonage might live very comfortably thereafter, when their fortunes had realized in two or three years. With Elinor expecting his third child, Edward sometimes wondered if the income of a clergyman would be sufficient to keep his growing family in true health and happiness, beyond the bare necessities of bread and beef and tea.

Still, they had more than he had ever hoped for. Happiness, he had often confided to Elinor, was as much dependent upon the comfort of being surrounded by those who loved you, and those you loved. In this there was nothing wanting, for he and Elinor and their children were as neat and loving a little household as could ever be. Yet coming from a family of tolerable affluence and as much consequence, Edward had once known the contentment of having no doubt of one's next meal, nor of his ability to do anything he wished in the world.

But upon his younger brother Robert had been bestowed the fortune and the estate that ought to have been his, and now, with this third child soon to bless them, Edward sometimes wondered at the sacrifices required by life. Never would he regret marrying Elinor Dashwood, and he could only count himself very fortunate indeed that events had conspired to his benefit, in not being obliged to marry the contriving Lucy Steele, who, when Edward had been cut off from his mother's fortune, had bestowed her affections on his younger brother Robert. But had his mother not cut him off, Edward and Elinor would now be living off his own sizable estate, and with all the surplus of fortune their own humble requirements would have found excessive.

As he sat at his desk in the Parsonage library, Edward wondered how his life might have turned out had he fulfilled his mother's hopes for him and gone into law or politics. She and Fanny both had always wished to see him distinguished in some way, to be made of A Great Man as Fanny termed it. But he had soon discovered that he had been born with no head for politics in particular or greatness in general. As for a career in the law, that required, it seemed, a character to which he could never aspire, one as much consisting of corruption and greed as it was purportedly needful of justice and godliness.

But owing to the generosity of Colonel Brandon in giving him the living, the church had served him well enough, and until their investments were realized, he and Elinor would be content with a modest style of living, even if Fanny despised him for his choices. The seven thousand pounds left him by the late Mrs Ferrars had been a fortune indeed, to a clergyman, and all his hopes now rested in its making them a tolerable income for his lifetime. Once they had made their fifteen or perhaps twenty thousand pounds, he would be able to do much with the interest off that. Indeed, if he could merely contrive to educate their children to the degree that they would have a liberality of ideas and opinions, and be tolerably well-informed, he would be content. But if fortune smiled upon them, then something very substantial could be given to Teddie, to launch him into the world; a naval position might be bought for him, perhaps, or a career in the army or the church, if he wished it. And Imogen, also, could anticipate a very good marriage with the dowry which could be provided for her with their surplus of money. And with a third child to bless them, male or female, he would find many uses for their promised fortune so that if he had had his way, very little would be spare for Elinor's promised new wall-prints.

These thoughts were not new to him; indeed he had many times dwelt upon the topic of their fortunes and the likelihood of doing more for his wife and children, once their fortunes had come to fruition. The irony of his wealth coming from so unlikely a venture as the coffee trade made him smile. Edward himself never drank coffee, for he considered himself the most English of Englishmen, but coffee plantations were, he was told, now the most promising venture, along with the usual tobacco and other commodities into which it was currently fashionable for English gentlemen to syphon their loose blunt.

Now Elinor interrupted these ponderings with her entrance, and she set down the tea tray which had become their habit to share in the afternoon.

‘You are deep in thought, my love!' Elinor laughed. ‘It must be something of the greatest import to occasion such a serious look as you gave me when I came in!'

‘Only how fortunate I was to find a wife who has mastered the art of a decent savoy cake,' replied Edward with a smile.

‘You tease me and you know it,' said Elinor with a laugh as she cut him a slice of the cake. ‘You know very well that Martha is the author of all our sweets. Mama declared long ago I was not as good a hand at baking as Marianne, who prefers sweet things herself. Besides which I do not have time to help in the kitchen these days, with the children so animated, and Marianne so unwell.'

‘How is Marianne?' asked Edward, taking his cup from her. ‘Did Abernathy come to her this morning?'

‘He has called again,' replied Elinor. ‘I went very early to receive him. He finds her no better that she was on Saturday, I am afraid. He is recommending for a doctor. We have had the nurse take the children all day, and she has her draughts, but she weeps frequently, Edward. I think we had best get a physician to look at her. I know the Colonel would call one at once.' She sighed. ‘I would write to him, but Marianne forbids me. He is to return in a few days at any rate. He may call the doctor then. Although I don't know that it will do Marianne any service to have the Colonel home.'

‘Not to have him home? But surely Brandon's presence would help to calm her state of mind?'

‘When I mention it, she is adamant that she will not have him. She tells me it is because she cannot tolerate any conversation, but I feel there has been some unhappy rupture between them.'

‘Upon my soul,' replied Edward warmly, ‘I hope it is not true! I believed Brandon to be so warmly attached to your sister that nothing could come between them—although I grant you, this presence of the boy in their household seems calculated against all that Marianne would have wished—but surely it is not so bad as an actual rupture?'

‘I cannot tell you. My sister seems to think the Colonel impervious to her state of mind—that his own state of mind is just as agitated, but over the death of Miss Williams. I would have thought that the boy's presence there might give some comfort to him —I supposed that was the reason he brought William to Delaford in spite of Marianne's history with—excuse me—John Willoughby.' Here, Elinor paused, not liking to speak of one whose perfidy ought to ensure that his name was never spoken aloud. She sighed. ‘If the boy's presence there brings the Colonel no comfort, however, then perhaps it would be doing a justice to Marianne to send him away to school, or to live quietly in another part of the country.'

‘My dear Elinor, it seems possible that we might have misjudged the situation. I think we ought to wait for Brandon to return and settle with Marianne on what ought to have been done weeks ago—send young William Ansell away to school. The child can only be a burden to Marianne, and likely why she continues ill.'

‘I can hardly say for certain, Edward, but I think—I hope—that you are right. Marianne must talk to her husband, for there seems much misunderstanding between them both just now.'

‘I hope it is not so, then,' replied Edward thoughtfully, taking another slice of savoy cake, ‘for I do not like to see poor Marianne suffer as she does. I would not like to see her sent away for a cure. She would be unhappier still, I think, to be sent away. Do these modern cures have any benefit at all? I have heard very little good of them.'

‘I cannot say, but I should not allow it, in any case,' said Elinor warmly. ‘Marianne is my sister, and I myself will nurse her, if need be. I have heard of women being obliged to undertake such things as purging, and ice baths in the middle of winter. Even if it is the latest in modern medicine, I can tell you for a surety that Marianne would not survive an ice bath, for she is too sensitive and catches cold too easily. No, I will nurse Marianne for as long as need be. I am persuaded, Edward, that the cause of Marianne's illness stems from the unhappiness which has been occasioned by this rupture with the Colonel. His return, and some rest, I think will soon effect a cure.'

‘You must not overtax yourself, Elinor, for you have our child to carry—and soon we will have three to care for.'

Elinor saw in his countenance something which gave her pause. ‘What is it, my dear?' When there was no reply, and he seemed in one of his frequent reveries, she said, ‘I hope you are not anxious about our living expenses? We are going on very nicely, and there is no reason to think that this third child will be a burden to our income—why, there will be no need of clothes, nor anything else for the baby, since it will have Teddie's and Imogen's things.'

‘Yes, quite so.'

She took his hand. ‘And besides this, we expect to have the money from our investment within the next two or three years, and then we shall be very content, Edward. You know I think little of money, but so long as it brings you some comfort, and relieves you of the burden of supporting a family on a clergyman's living, then I desire we would do very well indeed.'

Edward attempted to return her smile. ‘Of course. I only wish we knew a little more about this man, Claymore, and this insurance company he seems to be involved with. Sometimes I think, Elinor, that I was a little beforehand in investing, with only your brother's assurances that this Mr Claymore was an honest-dealing man. I ought to have taken your advice, perhaps, and invested less, or been more prudent, somehow.'

Elinor, upon hearing such a frank admission, gave way to astonishment. ‘What has occasioned this change of mind? Has Fanny written you anything to give you anxiety?'

‘On the contrary, I have not had a letter from her for some time. And I am sure she would warn me if she and John had heard anything amiss. Supposedly this Claymore is known to them both. Perhaps I am a fool to be fretting now, for the money has gone, come what may. But you were right to caution prudence, and perhaps I ought to have held back more of my mother's money. We could have had the interest from half the sum, and invested the other half. I was too hasty, Elinor. But it is done now.' Edward lapsed into silence and seemed to be lost in thought again.

Elinor, whose own notions and proclivity to conscientiousness obliged her to think the very same thoughts in private, scrupled too much however, to agree with her husband, whom she had no wish of offending. ‘I do,' she said carefully, ‘think we might have benefited by a little more inquiry into this Mr Claymore's character and conduct, but John I think, would never had approved the scheme if he were not confident in the gentleman.' She paused. ‘You would tell me, would you not, if anything has happened to give rise to such doubts now, a year after we have parted with the money?'

Edward seemed lost in thought, but after a moment said carefully, ‘It is nothing really. I have lately heard of a gentleman who lost his entire inheritance in a bad investment. Rubber, perhaps, or no—I recollect it was coffee, after all—but I now have a—a certain regret, Elinor—for not being more thorough in doing my own due diligence. But your brother, I am as sure as you are, would not mislead us. I must be content to wait—our money has gone out, it cannot be returned, so let us hope that it will be returned to us in good time and three or fourfold as promised.'

‘I think we have no choice but to wait, dearest, but there is no use of worrying when it can bring nothing helpful. We must, as you say, be content to wait. Perhaps if you are very anxious, I can write to my brother and ask him if he or Fanny has heard any news from his Mr Claymore. I was going to write today to Margaret anyway. I shall enclose a letter to John, also.'

Edward, who had slipped into one of his reveries, shook himself. ‘Yes, do that, my dear.'

When Elinor had gone away with the teacups and shut the door, Edward sighed deeply. He had not told Elinor of his own sudden misgiving at investing so much of their fortune into the insurance company scheme, and he could not explain his own sudden desire to check on the background of the company even though they had done their due diligence at the time.

He had had his solicitor research the company again, but this time he had ask Mr Pole to look into the background of John's friend, Mr Claymore. This morning, he had finally received a reply by mail and with it, a copy of an article ripped from the Morning Post, dated April 17 th , 1797. Now, he pulled the paper from beneath his blotter, which he had hurriedly slipped there when Elinor had come in. He would not for the world share his fears with Elinor, especially in her condition, but the newspaper article from three years ago had given him great anxiety. Opening it out again, he read over the article a second time.

‘Charged with fraud but released with no proof sufficient to give the police reason to detain the suspect, this morning a one Mr Tertius Claymore was released from gaol and let go free. The businessman, who has dealt in several different businesses in London since 1792, was detained five days ago, on three charges of Fraud. The defendants, Mr Wyley of London, Mr Abbott of London, and Mr Earnest, of Croydon, appeared in court to give evidence but whose testimonies were all rejected as hearsay and unprovable.

This sad misfortune runs thusly: These three gentleman, all upstanding citizens of this country, agreed to go into business with said Mr Tertius Claymore, in order to invest in the West Indies. This was by means of a purported investment into Mr Claymore's private interests in Saint Dominique—coffee plantations, to be precise. It transpired that after a certain time, all three gentlemen were informed that the aforementioned coffee plantations had burned to the ground, and they directly sought legal compensation though the insurances which they had been assured had been taken out.

Time passed and still they received nothing. They then received a letter each from Mr Claymore to say that the insurance company used by Mr Claymore, was refusing to compensate the investors, since they had discovered that the plantations had been burned down deliberately by the plantation workers, for reasons unfathomable. These innocent men were unable to claim their loss under insurance since sabotage was not part of the insurances offered by the underwriter. What was not known at the time, and was found during a private enquiry by the three gentlemen, at their own expense, was that the Insurance Underwriters, Mason Insurances was a company set up by Mr Claymore and at least one silent partner.

It is contended by the prosecutor, acting on the behalf of the three gentlemen, that this Mr Claymore had intended to defraud the investors by using his own public company to underwrite his personal interests in the Indies, and had conveniently arranged for the plantation to be burned to the ground—there are rumours that it did not actually exist and that investors had given their blunt for a fictional investment—and that he had kept the funds and made no refunds, thus benefitting himself considerably while hiding behind the public company.

The case was heard over three days, but unfortunately the evidence collected was not considered sufficient to prove a fraud, and as no witnesses were willing to come forward and testify, the case was dismissed and Mr Tertius Claymore was released.'

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