Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

NORLAND PARK

F our weeks had passed, each one more enjoyable than the last due to Margaret's growing friendship with Miss Edwin. She had taken her tea at Bramley four times, and Miss Edwin had called just as many times at Norland, the two women finding much in common. They had taken several walks together, sometimes accompanied by Captain Edwin, and Margaret had used these opportunities to question the sea-captain closely about life at sea, war in general and on the different places he had seen. The three of them had formed a camaraderie which was pleasant to Margaret and made up for the lack of candid, easy conversation which she could not enjoy when with Fanny.

She had had two letters already since her arrival, one from Mama, and one from Elinor, with a note from Marianne added on, and now, on a very sunny Wednesday morning, she wished to write her replies. After breakfast she excused herself to write to Delaford and to Barton Cottage, and afterward to walk to the post office, one of her favourite walks around Norland. To Margaret it was a rare treat to enjoy her solitude, and she looked forward to the walk on her own that she might have time to think her own thoughts, rather than to please Fanny who talked mostly of her own family, which had nothing to do with Margaret. To hear of the doings of Robert and Lucy Ferrars, who now enjoyed the fortune which ought to have been dear Edward's, and yet to remain silent on the matter, was difficult for Margaret. She sometimes wished to remind her sister-in-law of the indelicacy of such a topic when it was discussed with a sister whose interest and allegiance was so wholly for the happiness and fortunes of her own family!

It took her an hour to write the letters, and folding up the papers and sealing them both with her brother's seal, she put on her bonnet and gloves with a sigh of dislike. The way across the fields and through Norland wood was, at not above a mile and a half from Hadston village, an easy walk to one habituated to frequent exercise, and she left the house quietly, using her favourite gate, and was gone quickly up the path toward the fields, a favourite walk with all four Dashwood women when they had lived at Norland.

The day, although cool now and in full autumnal splendour, was pleasant enough and walking soon gave rise to pink cheeks and too-moist skin. She entered the woods, and with a glance to see that nobody could observe her, she sank to a fallen stump to remove her bonnet, boots and stockings and gloves. Uttering a sigh of relief, she gathered up her discarded items and continued her walk. For a time, she took pleasure in treading the soft mossy paths in bare feet, her discarded items in hand.

Coming out of the woods near the road to the village, she was careful to watch for people but the road was quiet, and she was able to wander along the grassy path beside the narrow river which flowed alongside the road. Presently she crossed the low stone fence which had always been a favourite sitting place for all the Dashwood girls in years past and picked her way down to the cheerful little brook which snaked its way towards the village.

Choosing a wide stone, she sat down upon its rough surface, with her bare feet in the water. There was no haste to take the letters, and so she closed her eyes and drew up her skirts a little more so that the babbling waters would not wet them. Soon she would put on her stockings and shoes again and walk the short distance to the village, but for a moment, it was wonderful to be free of such instruments of torture!

‘Good day, Miss Dashwood.' The voice called to her over the babbling of the waters, and she started, turning in astonishment to see whom was addressing her. Captain Edwin sat a short way along the same bank, partially hidden by a bush, a long fishing pole in his hand and a basket by his side. Margaret was surprised to see that he wore old breeches rolled up to his knees, his feet as bare as her own. He gave her a short salute and she could not but help smiling back.

‘Good day, Captain.' A little embarrassed, she drew her skirts down to cover her ankles, and blushed. ‘I did not see you there when I sat down,' she called over the water. ‘I—I had no idea of your being a fisherman, and yet I suppose it is a perfectly sensible pastime for a man who spends much of his life on the water.'

The Captain, rather than coming to her, beckoned with his hand, and she obeyed almost at once, her curiosity to see what he was doing overcoming her sense of decorum. She had walked together and talked together with he and Miss Edwin almost every second or third day, but had never been alone with him, and now she was suddenly a little shy. She wondered for a moment if it was not quite the thing to do. Elinor would be shocked to see her talking to a gentleman alone, and yet she felt that Captain Edwin was not one of the ‘wolves' which Marianne and her mother had warned her against.

Captain Edwin nodded at the grass. ‘Aye, I own that I prefer salt waters, but beggars, Miss Dashwood, cannot be choosers. And I am rather partial to a good trout besides! Will you be kind to a solitary fisherman like me and give me a little company?' His blue eyes danced with humour.

She smiled back. ‘With all my heart, Captain.'

He eyed the bonnet and boots on the ground beside her as she took a place on the bank next to him. ‘You will forgive me, but as my line is already cast, I could not come to you with ease. I see you are dressed for wading in the brook, however.'

His eyes laughed at her, or at least she thought they were, and she again hastily covered her ankles which poked out from beneath her skirts. ‘Yes,' she laughed, her cheeks blushing a little, ‘but pray don't mention it to Fanny, for she would never allow me outdoors again, let alone take me up to town with them next week! I am supposed to be too old for putting my feet in the brook. I promised Mama and Elinor before I came to Norland that I would try to be more ladylike. But I do love to be out of doors, and when the weather is so warm, it is very hard on one to always to keep on one's bonnet and gloves!'

‘And one's boots, too, I perceive.' He smiled. ‘You must be careful not to allow the grass to stain your gown, then. It is a little damp where you are sitting there.'

‘Oh, I never attend what stains are on my gowns,' she replied airily, ‘for I am always getting them dirty, I'm afraid! I suspect Fanny is becoming accustomed to my ways! Elinor says I am somewhat of a brown-skirts, a tom-boy, you know!'

‘Is that so!' He smiled. ‘And how do you like Norland Park now that you have returned? Has it changed much since you lived there?'

‘Yes, why, a little I suppose—but that is a natural consequence of five years out of the place. Fanny has an improving eye, and my brother the funds and a liberal hand to match, so it would be odd if they had made no changes!'

‘I confess I do not despise her taste. Despite that awful fountain! But the style of the place, I confess, is charming to me. I am interested in architecture, you know—my father had a bent for it, you see. So when I am invited to dine periodically, I aways think what a fine old place it is.'

‘I think it very beautiful—but then I am biased, I am afraid. Have you seen the lake? It is very pretty—and there is a boat that dear Papa used to take us out on sometimes.'

‘How delightful for you and your sisters! I have seen it, yes. I would like one day to fish in it—I hear it is well-stocked most years.'

‘John does not fish, I think. But Papa, when he was alive, always kept it stocked, although he never himself fished. I—I suppose you cannot fish when you are aboard your ship—but how odd, when there are so many more fish in the sea!'

‘No indeed, you are quite mistaken! It is true that I don't fish but the sailors do, and fish supplements our diet nicely when we can get something decent. Salt-pork day after day can get a little tedious!'

He baited his hook again, and she watched where the line met the water, as the brook tumbled and swirled about it. The water was shallow enough for her to see the bottom, and was sparkling clear in the sunlight.

Nothing was said for several minutes, and Margaret found the murmur of the water and the gentle warmth of the sun most restful in the respite of their conversation. Their silence was companionable, and any self-consciousness that had afflicted her when she had first sat down had quite disappeared.

At length, when they had contemplated the water for some minutes in this way, she stirred. ‘From what material is your line fashioned, Captain?' she asked curiously .

‘I like horsehair, straight and true, but many fishermen swear by silk, or gut, which are finer and more invisible to the fish.'

‘And your bait?'

‘It depends on what one wishes to catch. A worm, or sometimes a piece of fish, can suffice. You see these bright lures which look like little insects? These feathers imitate movement in the water currents. One must dangle something they cannot resist, while concealing from their sights the trap which will be their downfall.'

‘You make it sound rather foreboding! I am inclined to feel sorry for the fish, in that case!'

‘Fish live to be eaten, whether by another fish or by a man with a rod—nature is careless in these things.'

Margaret contemplated a moment. ‘But it seems so cruel that its life must be taken for the sake of another.'

‘Your kind nature prevents you from seeing the greater picture. It is the nature of man, is it not, to take by whatever means what he craves, whether the method be fair or foul. The creed of the natural world seems to me to be this; that the survival of those creatures who are the best fashioned for superiority is more likely in any situation where creatures must fight for their survival. The trout who grow in this stream eat smaller fish for food, and then I come along, with my new fishing pole here, and a piece of good line, and because I am smarter than the fish I prey upon, my survival is more guaranteed than is his. It is a universal creed, put in place by God, and which is simply built into our world, Miss Dashwood.'

‘I suppose it is. I never thought of it that way.' She was silent a moment. ‘But if that were the case, what would be the need for God to conduct our lives and decide our fates for us? By your construction of things, we are the masters of our own fate, depending on how hard we fight for survival.'

‘Indeed, Miss Dashwood. You are very right to consider it. I can only speak for myself, and I feel that God has much less to do with things than is generally thought.' He laughed. ‘But that is not to detract from any folk who pray for divine intervention on a Sunday— and do just as they like on Monday, I must add!'

‘I think poor Fanny might be one of those people,' Margaret laughed. ‘She is as determined to have her way as anyone, and I verily believe she would argue with the Lord himself if he happen to disagree with her.'

‘Mrs Dashwood is a very strong-minded female indeed. I believe she rules Norland with a firm hand!'

Margaret smiled and said nothing that would be construed against Fanny. While her sister-in-law was not recommended to her good opinion by any particular merit in general, Fanny had been, to a greater degree than usual, attentive to Margaret's comfort at Norland in the last few weeks, and projected daily how happy she would be when she had got Margaret to town, to be made much of by her friends. Any suspicion of Marianne's that Fanny had some scheme in mind had long since been put aside, and in Fanny's manner, Margaret detected nothing but a desire to do something for her husband's youngest sister, even if that desire had been promoted by John.

But the task at hand soon regained her attention and she asked curiously, ‘And your rod, Sir? Of which wood is it fashioned?'

‘Why, this rod is made of good lancewood, but bamboo is very popular also.'

They lapsed into a companionable silence once again, and Margaret pondered the complexities of being the master of one's own fate, and yet having to live on salt-pork and biscuits for months at a time, were she a sea-captain.

After a few minutes her companion handed her the rod. ‘Here, would you like to try it?'

‘Yes, certainly, but—what should I do?'

‘Have you never gone fishing with your brothers, or your father?' asked Edwin, handing Margaret the line .

She took it, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and held it firm. ‘I don't have brothers,' she replied, ‘and my father, when he was alive, was no fisherman. Oh dear, there is something—oh, it's a trout!' she cried a moment later as the wriggling silver creature was lifted up out of the water.

‘Well done!' cried the Captain. ‘You have just caught your first fish!'

Margaret flushed pink, although with pleasure at the catch or her companion's praise, she could not say.

‘You seem to me,' observed Edwin with a laugh, after he had disengaged the fish from the wooden hook and deposited it in a basket he had brought for the purpose, ‘to be a rather singular young woman—I own it is refreshing to see a young lady who can take hold of a fishing rod without so much as an exclamation of horror, and who has not the slightest whit of vanity which would prevent her from removing her stockings and shoes for the sheer pleasure of dangling her limbs in a cold stream!'

‘You are laughing at me!' she cried in astonishment at his familiarity, and unsure whether to berate him or take his teasing manner good-humouredly. She chose the latter but after observing his half-smile, said reprovingly, ‘It really is very ungentlemanlike of you to notice that I am without shoes and stockings, however amusing you find it. Besides, you are too—too—' she stopped, her cheeks crimson.

‘Old?' supplied he, laughing openly at her.

‘I wasn't going to say old! I was going to say—well, that you are a father, after all, although Miss Edwin doesn't seem to mind hats and gloves and boots as I do. But perhaps you can understand that a young lady might sometimes detest being wrapped up like—like a present waiting to be opened!'

‘Now that is a thought indeed!'

His eyes twinkled and she blushed, suddenly overheated again despite the cool air.

Captain Edwin had not noticed her discomfort however. ‘ And yet my Emily would think you very strange to hear you say such things! Are not fine gowns and the like, the paraphernalia of all females in search of a husband? It is their fishing pole, as much as this is mine!'

‘Perhaps some women use a fine dress and a pretty face to trap a husband as you would hook a fish,' replied Margaret warmly, ‘but as I am not searching for a husband, I have little cause to dress as if I am!'

If she had hoped her acerbic remark might render him silent, she had been mistaken. His countenance was amusement. ‘I suppose you will tell me that you despise bonnets and stockings and shoes, and corsets too—all the fripperies other young ladies depend upon! You are by far too much grown, at eighteen, to have such a disdain for all the accoutrements of fashionable life, surely? My daughter has enjoyed such things since she was a much younger age, and I was given to understand that most young ladies of your age do, husband-hunting or no.'

‘Then I must be singular, as you say, Captain, for I despise finery for itself! That is, I did not mean that other ladies should not enjoy a pretty gown,' she added hastily. ‘Miss Edwin's gowns always look very well indeed.'

‘I will tell Emily you said so, with your permission.'

‘Please do!'

‘She speaks very highly of you—and of your family in Devonshire. She thinks you a very unaffected and amiable young lady. As do I.'

‘Miss Edwin has been very kind to me,' said Margaret earnestly. ‘I have enjoyed our walks together very much.'

He became busy with his line for a moment and she was glad of the pause for her cheeks had become a little flushed. Presently he said, ‘And what is your opinion of Miss Rush and her sister? Have you been in company with them much?'

‘Not very much at all. I have met them both in the village of course, but we have little to say to each other, I am afraid. '

‘I cannot be false, Miss Dashwood. I admit I find Miss Rush so sure of her own consequence, and her manners so rehearsed, and her sister such a silly flirt, that I have been careful to warn Emily from making a friend of either of them.'

‘Miss Henrietta seems very—forward, it is true.'

‘The sooner they marry off Miss Henrietta, the better,' he replied rather grimly, throwing his line out once again. ‘Both girls, with their thousand pounds apiece, and excellent education, will make tolerably good marriages, I suspect.'

‘Miss Rush seemed very much pleased with herself,' replied Margaret carefully. ‘Fanny admires her fashion. Her gown was very beautiful, was it not?'

‘Her fashions, Emily tells me, are in the French style. But as you have already confessed your own dislike for finery and fashion, I suspect these charms hold no fascination for you.'

Margaret shook her head emphatically. ‘Fanny would have me dressed as fine as she, but you see, I am used to living in seclusion, in a quiet village, and to having my freedom. To be confined in fine clothing, day in and day out, would be as unbearable to me as to be confined always inside a house and never allowed to breathe the fresh sea air which we enjoy at Barton!'

‘Barton sounds a delightful place where one has no need of putting on the airs and graces of town folk.'

‘Yes, indeed,' continued Margaret earnestly. ‘At Barton Cottage, there was no need for fine gowns, but then, we have nowhere to go except sometimes to dine with Mrs Jennings and dear old Sir John Middleton and his wife, and if I like to go out in the mornings in my bare feet, for the sheer pleasure of it, there is no one to say anything, as long as my behaviour to others is as Mama expects. I daresay I have gotten myself into wicked habits, Captain Edwin! Elinor says I run wild! But you were not to have seen me here today, and I am quite truthful when I say I was about to put on my shoes and bonnet before I entered the village. I would not bring reproach upon my brother for worlds!'

‘I am very glad to hear it,' he replied with a smile. ‘But before you do put on the dreadful boots, may I trouble you to reach forward and untangle my line from that rock just before us? I cannot put down my line, or it will drift away with the current here.'

Margaret gladly did as was bid, and once the line was freed, she stepped from the brook, the hem of her skirts now dripping. ‘I am wet through,' she noted ruefully. ‘I had better go over there, behind that tree, and put on my stockings and boots…if you would be so good as to look away?'

‘Certainly. I find I must put my line back on the wind, and will be some minutes, I am afraid.'

Grateful, Margaret took her things some distance away, and was soon shod appropriately, her bonnet replaced.

The captain was engrossed with his fishing tackle, but looked up as she came to say goodbye. His look was one of admiration. She put a self-conscious hand to her bonnet, its white ribbons now tied neatly under her chin. ‘I wonder—I wonder if you might be so good as not to mention seeing me, if you should talk with John or Fanny?—'

‘Not a soul will ever know your secret, Miss Dashwood, I assure you. I would give you the trout to take back to Norland,' he added with a smile, ‘but I'm sure you won't want Fanny to know you have been engaging in such an unladylike activity as fishing with a pole! But will your gown dry? I hope you do not take cold from it!'

‘I won't,' promised Margaret. ‘I had better leave you—I still have my letter to post, and Fanny will be looking for me at home, it is nearly tea-time! She will be anxious.'

‘Then I am sorry I have kept you, Miss Dashwood. No, in fact I shall not to tell untruths. I am not sorry I have detained you at all, since the company has been charming! '

‘Then you are easily charmed,' laughed Margaret.

‘No, I am not easily charmed,' replied he gravely. ‘So, you are to go up to London soon with Mr and Mrs Dashwood?

‘Yes, on Sunday,' replied she, suddenly self-conscious.

‘So soon!'

‘Yes, I'm afraid so.'

‘Then Emily and I shall all the more enjoy your company tomorrow night when we come for your sister's evening party. What a pity it is however that we did not get to walk together one last time,' he added warmly. ‘Emily will miss you, I think—your companionship has meant much to her, with only her old father for company!'

‘I have enjoyed hers, very much,' replied Margaret warmly. ‘Goodbye, Captain Edwin. Until Friday.'