Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

NORLAND PARK, SUSSEX

W hen the familiar hills of Norland's surrounds finally came into view, Margaret was both entranced and excited by the familiar scenes, and when the house appeared soon after, it was as the appearance of an old, beloved friend. Margaret was overwhelmed for a moment by nostalgia. Here they had all spent happy times indeed, when her father was alive and they had wanted for nothing. As the carriage drove toward the house, each glimpse of the estate brought forth memories. There was the dear old oak tree she had fallen from when she was ten, here the woody copse she and her sisters had walked in daily with their mama, there the little blue-doored ice-house which had provided her the best of hiding places when Elinor had come to call her inside to bathe.

The infamous fountain, of which she had heard a little from John's infrequent letters to his mother, and seen in the dreadful watercolour sent by Fanny to torment them all, she attempted to view with righteous affront as they drove up to the house, but even its stark, ugly lines and overblown marble effusions could not detract from her excitement to see again the place where she had spent her childhood. She had not regretted as bitterly as her mama and sisters their being obliged to remove into Devonshire, for that , at the tender age of thirteen, had been merely an adventure to her. But now she was returned, she surrendered to nostalgia with a wistfulness of which even Marianne could have been proud.

She was greeted by John and Fanny in the great hall, with enough warmth from the former to render the restraint of the latter almost nothing—but Fanny was ascending the stairs almost immediately to the larger of the drawing rooms, for Margaret it seemed was to be received in state—and half a minute found them all inside a room which ought to have been familiar to a younger Margaret, but was now not at all. Signs of the new inhabitants of Norland stood uncompromisingly in every place, for much of the old furniture was gone to leave room for newer pieces, her father's paintings removed from the walls and replaced with Fanny's own choices, and the cool green walls of the previous decade had now been papered over in a pretty lemon and rose pattern, which transformed the room greatly. Long windows, however, furnished her with the comfort of a familiar view, so often enjoyed in her youth, of the long driveway and pretty woods leading up to the house.

When she expressed her astonishment, however, that she should not recognise the room if not for the view, Fanny said in quite smug tones, ‘We new-furnished this room and all of the bedrooms almost immediately we entered Norland; they were excessively wanting attention. You were but a girl then, but you will remember well enough that the paint was not a little outdated—was it not, Mr Dashwood?—the very first thing we did was to have the walls in this room repapered—do you like the primrose?—a good deal more elegant, I fancy, than the dull blues and greens which had appeared to have taken a hold on the place while your father were alive—and you see the furniture is in quite a different style, and so the room must appear, I fancy, a good deal more elegant than to what you were used—but you shall soon know every room again, and, I flatter myself, approve what we have done to bring to the old place a more modern appeal. Certainly, our guests are quite in raptures at what I have managed to bring about here. "You have exquisite taste, Fanny" they say to me, and I can only allow that most of my acquaintance having very good taste themselves, that it must be true. I myself am in raptures with the new mode in furnishings, and you can see dear my Mr Dashwood has allowed me a liberal hand in transforming the old rooms.'

‘It certainly is very—pretty—Fanny,' said Margaret with only a slight hesitation, and she added quickly, ‘I daresay you thought it all rather faded and spent by the time you took possession! How new and how modern it all looks now!'

Fanny seemed happy to accept this compliment to her taste, and after John Dashwood had properly asked after his sisters and mother, and been gratified to hear of their being in perfectly good health, seemed to have nothing else to say, and Fanny was able to continue on to show Margaret over the rooms on that floor.

Perhaps Fanny may have been forgiven for seeming not to recollect that Margaret had already enjoyed thirteen years familiarity with the billiard room, the library, the study, the dining room, the breakfast room and the second drawing room, all of which had also benefitted by Fanny's improving hand and therefore were to some degree altered in appearance. But Margaret took this rather comical tour of her own home in good part, and affected to laugh a little and smile a good deal in general, which pleased her brother, who walked around with them as they went.

When Fanny had left John and herself alone, to see for the servant to take Margaret upstairs, John bestowed upon her an awkward smile. ‘It is good to see you in spirits, Margaret. You have not lost your natural innocence and openness, which, believe me, is gratifying to observe. I perceive that you do not appear to harbour in your bosom any of this modern conceitedness which seems prevalent in young ladies who spend most their time in town—but on that score I have always had very little anxiety, for all three of my sisters have always retained that humility which has so suited them to humble cottage life in a part of the country which must be largely indifferent to such things.'

Unwilling to give offence by making the only response which would have gratified herself, Margaret could make no reply to her brother's grandiose remarks. Humility indeed! She and her sisters had lived on a mere hundred pounds between them, rationing their sugar and tea and beef, while he and Fanny had lived in her father's house in a style which had never required them to give up anything in their lives!

But Fanny's return saved her the humiliation of having to find some reply, and after they had all entered the drawing room again, Fanny now invited her to sit until the servant came.

‘I suppose,' John continued in a tone most serious, ‘that you have thought of matrimony very much, since you are eighteen now. No, pray don't trouble yourself to reply, my dear, for all young ladies, I suppose, think of nothing but! However, I wish to assure you, that while you are with us, you shall be introduced to several of our eligible acquaintance—especially when we go up to town—I flatter myself that we move in circles more elevated than to those you are used, my dear—and I request only that if any gentleman takes in you a peculiar interest, or that you find yourself forming an attachment to a young man, that you tell me at once so that I can guide you as to behaviour and such.'

‘You are very kind, but?—'

‘—Fanny will, of course, be at your disposal for those types of conversations as young women like to have with their elders on such matters—but in the actual choice of a young man, I shall do my best to guide you as to which of them is more suitable, and how to behave towards the chosen fellow so as to secure an offer as soon as might be proper. No, no, you need not thank me, sister,' he added hastily as Margaret began to speak again, ‘for it is only right that things are done properly. It is natural that I should take an interest in these things, since we are family, and as your brother, it is my duty to see you well married.'

‘I am very much obliged to you—that is, you are so very kind, John, to think of me, but I beg you not to think of trying to find me a husband, for I have no thoughts of matrimony just at present. Mama needs me at home and I may not wish to marry for quite some time, I should think!'

Fanny now interjected, and was all astonishment. ‘But you must marry, if you are given the chance, for you have your mother to think of, and your sisters. Edward, now, will be quite unable to support you when your mother passes from this world, which I'm sorry to say cannot be long, so you would have to live with Marianne, and I am given to understand that while her husband is quite as secure as would support you all now, there is no telling what expenses he will have in future with so many children to provide for.'

‘I have not yet had any need to consider my future, nor the impertinence to speculate on the incomes of my sisters!' remarked Margaret with an ill-disguised indignance. ‘Besides which, I hardly think Mama almost in her grave just yet, Fanny!'

‘Was she not just this last winter excessively ill?'

John said very mildly, ‘You must not be selfish, my dear. If an offer of marriage were to be made to you while you are with us, and the gentleman is suitable enough, I should think you excessively singular to refuse, not like a regular young lady at all. I should think you quite as selfless as you ought to be, if you were to receive his attentions with favour. Besides, what pretty girl does not want to receive an offer, especially if she has not wealth to make her life smooth? For the poor, marriage is as much a matter of necessity as it is of choice.'

Fanny, seeing Margaret's countenance, hurriedly interceded. ‘My dear Mr Dashwood, you must not tax Margaret with these matters just now—when we are in town will be soon enough, I daresay.'

‘I daresay that is true my dear. There is no doubt,' added John reassuringly to his sister, ‘of your doing exceedingly well, Margaret, once we have you in town. You have looks on your side, you know. You cannot expect to be ignored by young men. You cannot hope for a man of great wealth or consequence, but a gentleman of a respectable profession, such as the clergy or the even the law, I think you may reasonably hope to secure.'

‘I must have my dressmaker in, Mr Dashwood,' interjected Fanny with impatience, ‘before all that is happen! There will be no young men until she is properly dressed. I dare say, Miss Margaret,' she added with a calculating smile, ‘that you had depended upon your brother's generosity in providing a few new gowns once you were here…no, there is no need to dissemble—you are, after all, a young lady, and all young ladies are concerned with fashion, however much they might run about denying it!'

‘I assure you, Fanny, that I never once thought of it! I should never expect anything from John! Mama had two new gowns made for me before I left Barton which I am sure will do me well enough!' Margaret was flushed with indignance, but although John gave her a very kind look, her denials went unheeded by Fanny at least.

‘No,' said that lady, ‘perhaps not, but I am sure your dear mother would have been in some expectation of it, for otherwise she should have not sent you here to us so—interestingly—attired.' Here she looked down at Margaret's rather faded travelling gown with distaste. ‘In any case, let us agree that you will like very much to have a few new gowns, for I am sure the new ones you bring with you are not as fine as might be expected in our circles! And then when you are in your finery, you shall wish along with the best of the young ladies, to have some young men to parade them for. Until then, do not make yourself uneasy about your gowns—we were not expecting anything very fine, and some days it will only be ourselves at dinner! I will go through your gowns once you are settled in. Tonight, however, I give you warning to wear whatever is your best, for we are to dine this evening with three families who live close by. I have thought of you alone, Margaret, in inviting them, for although we do not dine with our neighbours very often, between them they have pleasant girls and boys around your age, whom I thought might put you more at your ease, and whom might provide the company that you young people seem to crave.'

Margaret, having endured the unconscious insults to her dress and financial status, and her mother's life span reduced to the most prompt departure, could hardly make a reply beyond a faint, ‘I am much obliged to you, Fanny,' to these conjectures and efforts on her behalf. The interruption of the servant prevented a greater response however, and John Dashwood ended the matter quite entirely by saying briskly, ‘Let us not speak of these things just now—here is the servant to show you upstairs. We shall all be a merry party at table tonight, I collect!'