Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T he inhabitants of the Delaford Parsonage, for all their proximity to their relations, were quite opposite in situation and marital contentment to the inhabitants of the Great House. Mrs Elinor Ferrars took no greater pleasure than to be with her two children as much as it was possible, and besides not having the income for an extra servant to nurse them, was always naturally eager for their company and was content to dress them, school them in their letters and numbers, and generally amuse them herself.

She had not wished to send them off for a year or two to be weaned and trained to use a chamber pot, as was the custom for most middle-class homes. Her sister Marianne had had little choice but to send her own Clara and Eloise away for such nursing, even if she had wished to keep them with her, for the Colonel had insisted upon taking the burden of their care from her while she recovered from her lying in. But then, the dear Colonel had the income to afford what was to Elinor a luxury she herself could do without. But being with her children every day had meant that she had become closer to her offspring than most other mothers, and it was a relationship which gave her much pleasure. Teddie might be a handful, a harum-scarum by his father's calling, but he was a sturdy, charming boy, and as for Imogen, Elinor could not think of a more sweet-natured little girl.

When Bessie, the night nursery maid, came every afternoon to bathe and feed them their dinners, Elinor always left her children with a regret only assisted into contentment by the habit of looking out for her husband's return, for most days he was obliged by church business to be from home. Edward had a curate, of course, but he liked to give at least two sermons per month himself, and was active in looking after the needs of the Delaford parish.

Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars were known amongst their acquaintance to be the most happily married pair who ever lived, whose tastes and wishes were so charmingly aligned that never a cross word had passed between them since the day of their meeting, six years ago. It would have been difficult to say which had seen the highest good in the other, for they always both insisted each was the better of the two halves.

If it was surprising to some of their friends that Edward's quiet, extremely reserved manner, and Elinor's superior good sense and unimpeachable conduct had produced a marriage not of blandness and boredom but of constant harmony and cheerful society, not one of them had said anything to express it—indeed, the Ferrars were beloved by all their friends, and their company sought for card parties and dinners, whenever Elinor could manage to separate Edward from his duties.

The Parsonage itself had been much improved by the Colonel on their taking possession of it upon their marriage five years ago. Then, it had been what the Colonel had once described as a residence "small and indifferent", although Mrs Jennings, upon having these words repeated to her, laughed her disbelief, and lost no time in informing Elinor of the Colonel's delightful humility, and that she had it on the best authority that the house was said to have five sitting-rooms and several bedrooms. True, it was in a state of disrepair, and that they would need to "touch up the Colonel to do something" regarding the general appearance of the place. But at the time of their marriage, the needed repairs had been undertaken by a gracious Colonel Brandon, and only recently some new extensions added to either side of the house. Thus it had become sizable enough for the family of five which they were soon to be, and to accommodate the modest number of servants their small income would allow.

It was within these walls, in her bedroom, that Elinor now sat, her small looking-glass reflecting back at her a rather pretty countenance, all rosy cheeked and bright-eyed above a rather solemn dark blue muslin. Her long white linen sleeves ensured that the rapidly cooling air would not bring a chill to her skin, and the roundness of her belly was half concealed by the blue wrap which she pulled around her.

‘Will I do?' she asked her husband.

Edward, adjusting his cravat in the glass from behind her, said in amused tones, ‘Considering that you have no lady's maid, and I no valet, I think we are a more handsome pair than we deserve to be. But I am obliged to confess a shocking bias. To me, you could be wearing breeches, stockings, and have powdered hair and still look delightful.'

Elinor turned around on her stool and took his hand. She kissed it fondly. ‘One day I may just have to try the strength of that,' she laughed, ‘but we are not come to that yet. I think I would make a very good footman, however, if I were tried. I fancy I have the height for it!'

Edward smiled. ‘Yes, I rather agree with you on that. But with our little investment with Mason and Spiggs, and our hopes for a fine profit within another year or two, I am sure you will never be obliged to consider it.'

Only a year ago Edward had been approached by his sister Fanny to venture some capital into a business scheme authored by an associate of one of her acquaintances, a fellow who had purportedly enjoyed some success in the world of banking and coffee production, and now proposed to increase his profits by means of a new endeavour in the field of providing marine insurances to the ships which were importing coffee from the West Indies to England. It was proposed that Edward should invest into the company and that this investment should provide returns three or four-fold once the business had been made secure and was bringing in a decent profit. It appeared that Mason and Spiggs had already done decidedly well in banking and coffee production, and hoped for just as much success in this new venture. Besides which, Fanny and John themselves had invested in the past and been mightily pleased with their increase in income.

Fanny and Edward's mother, Mrs Ferrars, having recently passed from this world, had left twenty thousand pounds to be divided among her three children. Edward's seven-thousand-pound inheritance, suggested his sister, might be put to a more lucrative use than merely investing it and living off the interest as Edward had intended. Upon hearing through a close acquaintance of this promising new venture, Fanny had approached her brother with the suggestion that he might enter into the investment with confidence. The interest on even fifteen thousand would help them along remarkably! The scheme, they were assured, seemed to be solid and with the most certain outcome in the world.

Edward had discussed the matter with Elinor, and they had consulted, of course, Colonel Brandon, whose advice they both set more store by than any other. Colonel Brandon, although having a natural caution and prudence, had seen little ill in the scheme, besides it being rather speculative. He had suggested that they invest a little less than the seven thousand pounds, leaving them something in the unlikely event of a disaster. It was decided that a newly married couple with a slim income and two children to feed, and more children soon to bless their household, might do well to consider such an opportunity. Elinor, too, had been hesitant, but she had not wanted to dictate to Edward what he could do with his own money. She had merely cautioned prudence, and lower expectations than they had been led to believe in.

‘You know my feelings on that score,' Elinor sensibly reminded Edward now. ‘Until we see our money returned to us, three or fourfold, as promised, I shall set no store by promises alone. I only hope we do not live to regret parting with such a large sum, when it could have been invested and given us a regular income each year for many years to come.' She pulled a curl from each side of her hair to frame her face, and frowningly studied the result. ‘We must not put all our hopes upon the scheme.'

‘I know, my love, and I agree, but your brother would not mislead us, I think, and if we realise our little fortune—why, we will have triple or more, of what we could have made from modest investment alone. We will be able to afford more servants to help you, and you can have some new gowns without having to feel you are depriving the children of something they need. You know your morning dresses are getting shabby from constant repair! A family of five must have something more than eight hundred odd pounds a year to live upon! I cannot be easy knowing that I could do more for us all.'

‘Then you still do not subscribe to Marianne's opinion—that wealth has little to do with happiness?' Elinor teased. She handed him a modest gold locket.

‘Beyond a competence, you know very well I hold that wealth can afford no real satisfaction,' replied Edward warmly, fastening the chain around her bare neck, ‘but I confess that to add a room or two to this house, and to be able to pay the butcher's bill clear, and leave something for Imogen's dowry—well, when I have three sturdy children to educate, clothe and feed, it would be satisfaction enough for me! The difficulty of five living upon eight hundred pounds is something I often think on—fifteen hundred, I confess, would put me more at my ease, and I think might be considered by most people as a very moderate income, little more than above a poverty, for a family of five, even by your modest standards. The Colonel has two thousand a year and they are a family of six!'

‘Your poverty is my wealth,' replied a smiling Elinor. ‘I should hardly know what to do with fifteen hundred a year, let alone more!'

‘Then,' replied Edward with a teasing glint in his eye, ‘if our venture happens to afford us two thousand a year, you would not be tempted to order up the latest prints from London, or some new drawing materials?'

‘And now you tease me, for you know how much I should like it.' She turned from the glass and squeezed his hand. ‘Let us hope for the most satisfactory outcome to our scheme and if our little fortune is realized, I promise you I shall send to London with such a remarkably expensive order for prints and paper that you will think me the most excessive squanderer of your money and divorce me at once!'

‘I certainly would not,' replied Edward, feigning shock, ‘for I am a clergyman, and the scandal would be too great! But I might get revenge by sending you to London to enjoy yourself excessively on my money, for I know how you hate to spend it even now, when we have but little to spend; how much more of a punishment it would be to you when I give you twenty guineas to waste on frivolous new gowns and bonnets, and presents for the children and your mother! That shall be your punishment, I collect!'

‘That is a fittingly severe punishment, indeed,' replied Elinor, unable to contain her laughter. ‘I daresay I shall bear it well enough, however. '

‘I daresay you will,' agreed Edward obligingly. ‘I quite forgot to ask you earlier, how does your mama? Did not Margaret bring her for a visit today?'

‘Mama stayed at Delaford, as she was too tired to walk,' replied Elinor, standing from her glass and reaching for her bonnet, ‘but Margaret did come and spend an hour or two with the children.' She paused. ‘She seems to think Marianne unwell. I know my sister has been fatigued of late, but I—oh, the ribbands are tangled—will you be a dear?—thank you!'

Edward had already taken the white ribbands and proceeded to tie them neatly under his wife's chin. ‘Marianne, ill?' he asked doubtfully as he assessed his work and nodded his approval. ‘Since Saturday when we were all together at dinner? She seemed in tolerable health then.'

Elinor continued, ‘I confess I never thought of her being ill, but sometimes I perceive in her a sadness she cannot conceal from me, who know her so well. Do you think Margaret mistaken? I rather think she must be, for I'm sure Marianne would never conceal it from Mama if she were ill, and Mama would have told me.'

‘Why do you not enquire of Marianne herself, this evening? I am sure it is nothing. Margaret must surely be mistaken. Marianne seemed well enough at dinner last week.'

‘That is what I told Margaret, this afternoon. Besides, the Colonel would alert Mama or myself if he thought anything amiss. I suspect Marianne is a little tired, that is all. I will talk to her at dinner. Now, we are too early to arrive at Delaford—the clock has not yet chimed five. I think we might walk the long way, through the orchard, and still be early.'

They kissed the children goodnight and left the Parsonage, Elinor's arm tucked companionably into Edward's. And nothing else of note passed between a pair so comfortable with each other that their silences were other peoples' conversations.