Chapter 30

by Jane Austen

　　Mrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return,and without waiting to have her request of admittance answered,opened the door and walked in with a look of real concern."How do you do my dear?"--said she in a voice of greatcompassion to Marianne, who turned away her face withoutattempting to answer."How is she, Miss Dashwood?--Poor thing! she looks very bad.--No wonder. Ay, it is but too true. He is to be marriedvery soon--a good-for-nothing fellow! I have no patiencewith him. Mrs. Taylor told me of it half an hour ago,and she was told it by a particular friend of MissGrey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed it;and I was almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I,all I can say is, that if this be true, he has useda young lady of my acquaintance abominably ill, and Iwish with all my soul his wife may plague his heart out.And so I shall always say, my dear, you may depend on it.I have no notion of men's going on in this way; and if everI meet him again, I will give him such a dressing as hehas not had this many a day. But there is one comfort,my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the only young manin the world worth having; and with your pretty faceyou will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won'tdisturb her any longer, for she had better have her cryout at once and have done with. The Parrys and Sandersonsluckily are coming tonight you know, and that will amuse her."She then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room,as if she supposed her young friend's affliction couldbe increased by noise.Marianne, to the surprise of her sister,determined on dining with them. Elinor even advisedher against it. But "no, she would go down; she couldbear it very well, and the bustle about her wouldbe less." Elinor, pleased to have her governed for amoment by such a motive, though believing it hardlypossible that she could sit out the dinner, said no more;and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could,while Marianne still remained on the bed, was readyto assist her into the dining room as soon as they weresummoned to it.When there, though looking most wretchedly,she ate more and was calmer than her sister had expected.Had she tried to speak, or had she been conscious of halfMrs. Jennings's well-meant but ill-judged attentionsto her, this calmness could not have been maintained;but not a syllable escaped her lips; and the abstractionof her thoughts preserved her in ignorance of every thingthat was passing before her.Elinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings's kindness,though its effusions were often distressing, and sometimesalmost ridiculous, made her those acknowledgments,and returned her those civilities, which her sister couldnot make or return for herself. Their good friend sawthat Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thingwas due to her which might make her at all less so.She treated her therefore, with all the indulgent fondnessof a parent towards a favourite child on the last day ofits holidays. Marianne was to have the best place by the fire,was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house,and to be amused by the relation of all the news of the day.Had not Elinor, in the sad countenance of her sister,seen a check to all mirth, she could have been entertainedby Mrs. Jennings's endeavours to cure a disappointment in love,by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a good fire.As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this wasforced by continual repetition on Marianne, she couldstay no longer. With a hasty exclamation of Misery,and a sign to her sister not to follow her, she directly gotup and hurried out of the room."Poor soul!" cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone,"how it grieves me to see her! And I declare if she isnot gone away without finishing her wine! And the driedcherries too! Lord! nothing seems to do her any good.I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I wouldsend all over the town for it. Well, it is the oddestthing to me, that a man should use such a pretty girlso ill! But when there is plenty of money on one side,and next to none on the other, Lord bless you! they careno more about such things!--""The lady then--Miss Grey I think you called her--is very rich?""Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever seeher? a smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome.I remember her aunt very well, Biddy Henshawe; she marrieda very wealthy man. But the family are all rich together.Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it won't comebefore it's wanted; for they say he is all to pieces.No wonder! dashing about with his curricle and hunters!Well, it don't signify talking; but when a young man,be who he will, comes and makes love to a pretty girl,and promises marriage, he has no business to fly offfrom his word only because he grows poor, and a richergirl is ready to have him. Why don't he, in such a case,sell his horses, let his house, turn off his servants,and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant you,Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matterscame round. But that won't do now-a-days; nothing in theway of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men ofthis age.""Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is?Is she said to be amiable?""I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly everheard her mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did saythis morning, that one day Miss Walker hinted to her,that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would not be sorryto have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison couldnever agree."--"And who are the Ellisons?""Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of ageand may choose for herself; and a pretty choice she hasmade"your poor sisteris gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by herself.Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear,it seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by weshall have a few friends, and that will amuse her a little.What shall we play at? She hates whist I know; but is thereno round game she cares for?""Dear ma'am, this kindness is quite unnecessary.Marianne, I dare say, will not leave her room againthis evening. I shall persuade her if I can to goearly to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.""Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her nameher own supper, and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she hasbeen looking so bad and so cast down this last week or two,for this matter I suppose has been hanging over her head aslong as that. And so the letter that came today finished it!Poor soul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it,I would not have joked her about it for all my money.But then you know, how should I guess such a thing? I madesure of its being nothing but a common love letter, andyou know young people like to be laughed at about them. Lord!how concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when theyhear it! If I had my senses about me I might have calledin Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it.But I shall see them tomorrow.""It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to cautionMrs. Palmer and Sir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby,or making the slightest allusion to what has passed,before my sister. Their own good-nature must point outto them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thingabout it when she is present; and the less that may everbe said to myself on the subject, the more my feelingswill be spared, as you my dear madam will easily believe.""Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terriblefor you to hear it talked of; and as for your sister,I am sure I would not mention a word about it to herfor the world. You saw I did not all dinner time.No more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they areall very thoughtful and considerate; especially if Igive them a hint, as I certainly will. For my part,I think the less that is said about such things, the better,the sooner 'tis blown over and forgot. And what doestalking ever do you know?""In this affair it can only do harm; more soperhaps than in many cases of a similar kind, for ithas been attended by circumstances which, for the sakeof every one concerned in it, make it unfit to becomethe public conversation. I must do this justice toMr. Willoughby--he has broken no positive engagementwith my sister.""Law, my dear! Don't pretend to defend him.No positive engagement indeed! after taking her allover Allenham House, and fixing on the very rooms theywere to live in hereafter!"Elinor, for her sister's sake, could not press thesubject farther, and she hoped it was not required of herfor Willoughby's; since, though Marianne might lose much,he could gain very little by the enforcement of the real truth.After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings,with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again."Well, my dear, 'tis a true saying about an ill-wind,for it will be all the better for Colonel Brandon.He will have her at last; aye, that he will. Mind me,now, if they an't married by Mid-summer. Lord! how he'llchuckle over this news! I hope he will come tonight.It will be all to one a better match for your sister.Two thousand a year without debt or drawback--exceptthe little love-child, indeed; aye, I had forgot her;but she may be 'prenticed out at a small cost, and thenwhat does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I cantell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place,full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with greatgarden walls that are covered with the best fruit-treesin the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner!Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time wewere there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightfulstew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing,in short, that one could wish for; and, moreover, it isclose to the church, and only a quarter of a mile fromthe turnpike-road, so 'tis never dull, for if you onlygo and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house,you may see all the carriages that pass along.Oh! 'tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village,and the parsonage-house within a stone's throw.To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park,where they are forced to send three miles for their meat,and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can.One shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down.If we can but put Willoughby out of her head!""Ay, if we can do that, Ma'am," said Elinor,"we shall do very well with or without Colonel Brandon."And then rising, she went away to join Marianne,whom she found, as she expected, in her own room, leaning,in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire,which, till Elinor's entrance, had been her only light."You had better leave me," was all the noticethat her sister received from her."I will leave you," said Elinor, "if you will goto bed." But this, from the momentary perversenessof impatient suffering, she at first refused to do.Her sister's earnest, though gentle persuasion, however,soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw herlay her aching head on the pillow, and as she hoped,in a way to get some quiet rest before she left her.In the drawing-room, whither she then repaired,she was soon joined by Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass,full of something, in her hand."My dear," said she, entering, "I have just recollectedthat I have some of the finest old Constantia wine in thehouse that ever was tasted, so I have brought a glass of itfor your sister. My poor husband! how fond he was of it!Whenever he had a touch of his old colicky gout, he saidit did him more good than any thing else in the world.Do take it to your sister.""Dear Ma'am," replied Elinor, smiling at the differenceof the complaints for which it was recommended, "how goodyou are! But I have just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope,almost asleep; and as I think nothing will be of so muchservice to her as rest, if you will give me leave,I will drink the wine myself."Mrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not beenfive minutes earlier, was satisfied with the compromise;and Elinor, as she swallowed the chief of it, reflected,that though its effects on a colicky gout were, at present,of little importance to her, its healing powers,on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably triedon herself as on her sister.Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea,and by his manner of looking round the room for Marianne,Elinor immediately fancied that he neither expectednor wished to see her there, and, in short, that hewas already aware of what occasioned her absence.Mrs. Jennings was not struck by the same thought;for soon after his entrance, she walked across the roomto the tea-table where Elinor presided, and whispered--"The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see. He knowsnothing of it; do tell him, my dear."He shortly afterwards drew a chair close to her's,and, with a look which perfectly assured her of hisgood information, inquired after her sister."Marianne is not well," said she. "She has beenindisposed all day, and we have persuaded her to go to bed.""Perhaps, then," he hesitatingly replied, "what Iheard this morning may be--there may be more truth in itthan I could believe possible at first.""What did you hear?""That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think--in short,that a man, whom I knew to be engaged--but how shall Itell you? If you know it already, as surely you must,I may be spared.""You mean," answered Elinor, with forced calmness,"Mr. Willoughby's marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we doknow it all. This seems to have been a day of generalelucidation, for this very morning first unfolded it to us.Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?""In a stationer's shop in Pall Mall, where Ihad business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage,and one of them was giving the other an account of theintended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment,that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The nameof Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated,first caught my attention; and what followed was a positiveassertion that every thing was now finally settledrespecting his marriage with Miss Grey--it was no longerto be a secret--it would take place even within a few weeks,with many particulars of preparations and other matters.One thing, especially, I remember, because it servedto identify the man still more:--as soon as the ceremonywas over, they were to go to Combe Magna, his seatin Somersetshire. My astonishment!--but it would beimpossible to describe what I felt. The communicativelady I learnt, on inquiry, for I stayed in the shoptill they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as Ihave been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey's guardian.""It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Greyhas fifty thousand pounds? In that, if in any thing,we may find an explanation.""It may be so; but Willoughby is capable--at leastI think"--he stopped a moment; then added in a voicewhich seemed to distrust itself, "And your sister--how did she--""Her sufferings have been very severe. I haveonly to hope that they may be proportionately short.It has been, it is a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday,I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now,perhaps--but I am almost convinced that he never wasreally attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and,in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.""Ah!" said Colonel Brandon, "there is, indeed! Butyour sister does not--I think you said so--she doesnot consider quite as you do?""You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerlyshe would still justify him if she could."He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removalof the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties,the subject was necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who hadwatched them with pleasure while they were talking, and whoexpected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood's communication,in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon's side,as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hopeand happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the wholeevening more serious and thoughtful than usual.