Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

W hen they returned home Fanny was still jubilant over what she called Margaret's conquest. ‘I've no doubt that we will receive an invitation to dinner at St. James-street very soon. Mr Ambrose was much taken with you, Margaret—did you not think so, Mr Dashwood? It was a great honour to be singled out by one so wealthy and with so much consequence. He is thought a most eligible bachelor, you know!' she added smugly. ‘He is well thought of in town, and his company is solicited by many females of taste, for he is known to be the most charming and amiable of gentlemen!'

Margaret took pains to speak her gratitude, but she hoped that Fanny had not interpreted Mr Ambrose's attention to her as a sign of his interest in her. Besides, she was not sure she liked him yet. He was, it was true, handsome in an unconventional way, perhaps even dashing, and his address with without fault. If he could satisfy her desire to learn more about the world, perhaps tell her interesting stories, then she would like to know him more! But although she had no reason to dislike Mr Ambrose, there was still something rather singular about him which she had detected. He had, she decided, a self-consciousness of his own importance, and she wasn't sure if she was amused or repelled by it.

But it seemed that Fanny had been very pleased with Margaret and the afternoon in general, for she was unusually cheerful with her sister-in-law for the rest of the evening. Margaret wondered at it, for Fanny had never shown much interest in her husband's half-sisters before this. Margaret had not needed this extended stay with her brother and his wife to know Fanny to be generally a rather cold-hearted creature, interested only in increasing her own consequence and devoid of real feeling for anyone but herself and her own. She had always thought Fanny to be wanting in real understanding, and insipid in her interactions with their family.

But Margaret conceded that while Fanny was perhaps not as warm as she could be, she did perhaps mean well. Perhaps she did share John's desire to see Margaret well-situated in life. But Margaret did not like to feel obliged by kindness, even from Fanny and John, into a union which she did not at present look for, however handsome and rich the gentleman.

They spent their first evening quietly in Harley-street, for which Margaret was grateful, at present so overwhelmed with the newness of the sights and sounds of the city that she was quite tired out. She slept very well in the pleasant room which had been assigned to her, and woke refreshed and ready to drink in every new sight and conversation which the day would afford her.

She had the previous day informed Fanny that she wished to call at Hanover-square directly after breakfast, to see her sister, and John had given his assent to pay the call. Fanny, she knew would not wish to go with her, for although the family in Hanover-square was respectable enough, they had nothing to recommend them to Fanny's notice, mixing as they did in different circles. She was, however, to have Fanny's dressmaker to her immediately after breakfast, and she reluctantly promised Fanny to stay an hour to be fitted for several more morning dresses and some more gowns suitable for evening parties.

‘We are engaged to Lady Hyatt tomorrow evening,' said Fanny, buttering her toast. ‘She is a widow, but was left very well provided for. She always invites us to her box at the beginning of the season. I suppose you can wear your white muslin this evening. But you will need at least four more gowns to carry you through the season. Margaret shall, of course,' she added turning to her husband, ‘require new bonnets, shoes, silk half-boots, gloves, stockings, lace, ribbands, and she must have a redingote. And a grey fur-trimmed cape. With a muff of fox fur, I think. But perhaps she should also have a black gauze cape—black gauze cloaks are worn as much as anything, here. Mr Dashwood, do you attend me?'

‘Yes, quite so, my dear,' replied John, emerging briefly from the recesses of his newspaper, ‘whatever you think best.'

After a hasty breakfast, Margaret was obliged to suffer being measured up, but all the power of choosing her own colours and fabrics was taken away from her by Fanny's insisting upon knowing better what was needed. Margaret, relieved not to have to choose her own implements of imprisonment, gladly relinquished this task to her sister-in-law and as soon as was able to be released from the dressmaker's tape measure, called a chair and was gone to see Marianne and the Palmers.

Within the half-hour, she was welcomed with subdued happiness by her sister, and great cordiality by Mrs Palmer. After ten minutes of general exchange, she was finally left in the drawing room at Hanover-square by a beaming Mrs Palmer, to enjoy a private interview with her sister. She noted with anxious care her sister's complexion. ‘You look paler than ever, Marianne. '

‘Let us not talk of me,' was Marianne's determined reply. ‘How do you go on at Harley-street? I hope they have been looking after you, dearest Meg! Your happiness is dearer to me than my own!' She took Margaret's hands rather dramatically, her voice strained, and Margaret guessed that all, indeed, was not well.

‘I am very well, Marianne, of course, and John has been very kind—we have paraded in Hyde park already and we are for the opera tonight—so I am as you see me, very well indeed—apart from Fanny's fussing about gowns—but it is you who I am in some anxiety about! There must have been some awful event, some dreadful occurrence to occasion this change in you, dear sister? You are as pale as Milky the cow! Do tell me what has happened!'

That was all the invitation needed. Marianne, half beside herself, unburdened her heart to her sister. ‘Oh Meg! I cannot tell you what I have endured these last few days since Brandon called here. I fear I have lost my husband, and I cannot tell a soul except you!' Marianne, looking most dreadfully white, grasped her sister's hands. ‘I fear I have done something unforgivable!'

‘Colonel Brandon called? Then he is here in town? But that is excellent news, is it not?'

‘No—yes, it is—I can hardly tell you, Meg. He has left town, I am sure—I have driven him away!' cried Marianne in despair.

‘I am certain that nothing you could do would ever drive away the Colonel!' exclaimed Margaret earnestly. ‘Surely there has been a misunderstanding?'

‘Indeed, I wish it were so,' replied a distraught Marianne. ‘But as it involves Willoughby himself, I fear I have gone too far for my husband to forgive me!'

‘Willoughby! What can you mean, Marianne? What have you had to do with Willoughby for these past five years? Why, nothing at all! How can the Colonel be angry with you?'

Marianne dipped her head. ‘I confess I have seen Willoughby, twice, in the past few weeks, not by my own volition, but because he came to see me.' She now related quickly all that had passed, and when she was finished, Margaret was silent for a time.

‘I see you are as shocked and disappointed in me as my husband,' said Marianne in despair. ‘And yet, what else ought I to have done?'

‘You mistake my silence, Marianne, for I do not blame you at all, but I confess I am mystified as to the behaviour of our dear Philip. I expected to hear you had done much worse! Nay, it is he who ought to be ashamed!'

‘There is more, Meg. Brandon told me himself—hinted, without giving details—that he had something to tell me. He said it was something to do with our circumstances—I haven't a notion as to what it is he refers to, but he implied that he had kept something from me. It has something to do with France, for he is bound there, for how long I cannot say. When he found that I have twice given Willoughby an audience, he refused to say anything more! He would not stay,' she added despairingly, ‘although I entreated him to remain! He is so angry with me as to perhaps not permit my return to Delaford, I think!'

Margaret took hers sister's hand. It was cold between her two warm ones. ‘Marianne, the Colonel loves you. Nothing you have done warrants such a response. I suspect there is more to these events than we are privy to, and I think we ought to wait for more news, or to consult Elinor or Edward, before we judge the matter as hopeless. Have you written to Elinor?'

Marianne shook her head. ‘I cannot bear her to know what has transpired—I am ashamed, indeed, Meg! Elinor, bless her loyalty, is no lover of Willoughby, either!'

‘You have done no great wrong, Marianne,' cried Margaret warmly, ‘and I doubt Elinor would think so either. You did not invite Willoughby—it is he who has done wrong by imposing upon your good nature in forcing an interview! Tell her, Marianne, for she may be able to talk to the Colonel on your behalf. I am sure she will see the matter as I do.'

‘How can you say that I am not to blame for all this?' replied Marianne miserably.

‘You erred, yes, in not telling the Colonel about Willoughby's visits, but regardless, you were not to blame for them, nor his requests. And after all,' Margaret added with compassion, ‘I can almost approbate his coming to ask, for as the boy's father, he must have some legal responsibility now that he is aware of William's parentage.'

‘That is not how Brandon views the matter,' replied Marianne with a bitter smile. ‘But I know not what I ought to do now. I thought to write to him, or if he is still in town, then I must try to go to him, if he will see me!'

‘Marianne, you must rest! For the time being, at any rate. Look at how pale you are, and you are trembling so! You have been so unwell these last weeks I fear that if you do not rest more, you will be forced again to your bed by decree of a doctor.'

‘There is nothing wrong with me,' cried Marianne, ‘except that I am separated from my husband's affections, perhaps forever!' Her eyes were bright with tears.

‘Perhaps you ought to lie down, and I shall try to discover what might be done to soften the Colonel. If he is still in town, I might at least go to him and seek an explanation. He would not refuse to see me!'

‘Pray, don't go, Meg. I couldn't bear to make it worse than it is. I will wait—I will compose myself and prepare for the worst. Oh Meg, it could not be much more so now at any rate!'

‘Then let me write to Elinor. She will know what to do—she can talk to the Colonel for you—try to set matters straight.'

‘I beg you not to tell our sister, for in her condition she would perhaps do mischief to herself, or to the baby. I cannot worry her, Meg. I must wait—that is all I can do—for my husband to make a decision—to decide if… '

She broke off, unable to continue, and her sister did what she could to comfort. Margaret was sure that the Colonel still loved Marianne, and only needed time. She counselled as much and urged her sister to write to Elinor, who would speak to the colonel for her. Marianne agreed with a weak smile, but Margaret knew that Marianne was not likely to consult Elinor unless it was very bad. Perhaps time would soften the Colonel, and surely his love for Marianne would soon prompt his affections toward her again.

Margaret spent a few more minutes in conversation with her sister, and when the servant brought tea things, Marianne permitted her sister to pour her a cup. She was still dreadfully pale, and after they had taken their tea she conceded to Margaret's request that she go to her room and rest. Margaret accompanied her sister there and waited until Marianne had lain back on the white muslin pillows. But once there she could not lie still and sat up several times. ‘It is no good, Meg, I cannot rest. I must see Philip, or be wretched! Ah, how my head aches!'

‘You must wait, dear, to see him—you must be patient! And besides, you do not wish Mrs Palmer to hear you and be feeling anxious on your account, do you?'

‘Ah, Meg, misery such as mine has no scruples, for I care not who sees or hears me. I am so unhappy that I must give it vent, although I show myself to all the world!'

‘You will care very much when Mrs Jennings comes to cheer you up with her incessant chatter! Now, try to sleep, and I will call again tomorrow, if can get away from Fanny. But let me now call for a draught!'

Marianne, making a supreme effort, gave her sister a weak smile and condescended to have lavender water and a draught brought up. Margaret, ringing the bell and ordering the needed medicines, stayed to see them administered, then took her leave once Marianne was finally quiet. Margaret then sent word to Mrs Palmer that Marianne was lying down with the headache and was not to be disturbed, and she kissed her sister tenderly and called again for a chair to return her to Harley-street, with instructions to the servant that if Marianne took a fit or became more unwell, that Margaret was to be summoned immediately. But in the meantime, she was resolved to send a servant to inquire if Brandon was still in town, and if so to beg him come to Marianne directly!

The servant, who had been sent to inquire at Brandon's club as to his presence, came back with news which astonished and alarmed her. Colonel Brandon had been in town for a week, but had left this morning on a ship bound for France, after doing some business with his solicitor. It was rumoured that he had been making enquiries as to postings in the army.

Margaret was puzzled beyond anything. Why would the Colonel be seeing his solicitor? Why should he seek a posting in the army, unless perhaps he was securing a place for young William? And why did he appear so secretive? What was it that he would not tell Marianne about his trip abroad? All was not right with her dear brother-in-law, she felt, and seeing her sister suffer so, she yearned to be able to go to the Colonel and beg with him to think of Marianne's nerves and put her at ease before she became truly ill with worry! She hoped that Marianne would write to Elinor, who would most certainly know what to do. If the situation did not resolve, she herself would write, despite promising she would not!