Margaret Dashwood

On Tuesday morning, after the exertion and excitement of the ball, Margaret’s need for fresh air and quiet exercise was excessive. She could not remain within doors, and, once out, she must get to the uplands. She could not be kept for ever from her favourite walk, she argued. In all probability her acquaintance had left the neighbourhood.

At first, when she gained the heights, she thought this must indeed be the case, for she could not see him anywhere. He was lying on the grass not far away. He rose at once and came towards her with reproach in his eyes. Where had she been? He had come here each morning during her absence. She found herself under the necessity of excusing herself for not having joined a stranger on his morning walk. Her excuses were accepted, or at least listened to, and they were off again across the downs. Delightful companionship! Delightful converse! Hot rooms and silly jests seemed far away in this place of open sky and distant prospects.

It was a happy morning and ended, as before, with the parting where they had first met. No promise was made of coming again, but Margaret felt that was understood and, though wondering at herself as she ran down the slope, she knew that she did not mean to fail him.

Now was the time when Mrs. Dashwood must be informed. It would not be right to keep her longer in ignorance. Margaret resolved to tell her mother, and perhaps she could arrange that they should meet. He would come to the Cottage. She was full of virtuous resolves, the performance of which she must, however, postpone, for as she opened the parlour door she heard the high-pitched laughter of Mrs. Palmer, and saw that she and her husband were sitting with Mrs. Dashwood.

Mrs. Palmer was Mrs. Jennings’s younger daughter, and consequently Lady Middleton’s sister. Except that both had been admired as beauties, there was no resemblance between the sisters. Lady Middleton seldom spoke more than was necessary, and Mrs. Palmer never stopped talking and laughing when in company. She had been married very young, and, if her husband seemed a little tired of his wife’s conversation and laughter, it was no more than other people felt with less cause. She had her mother’s great gift of good humour, and was really very pretty. On the whole, Margaret preferred her to her chilly sister and was usually not averse to her company. To-day she did not want anyone, and it was an effort to retain her composure.

“My dear Miss Margaret! How glad I am we have not missed you! It would have been shocking, and Mr. Palmer would have been so concerned, and so should I. Wouldn’t you, my love? Wouldn’t you have felt it detestable if we had not seen Miss Margaret?”

Mr. Palmer turned over his newspaper.

“He is so droll. He always pretends he does not hear me, but he hears very well, I know, and he would have been shockingly disappointed if you were not come in. You will wonder why we are come to Barton, though indeed we should have been long since. I have asked and asked Mr. Palmer to bring me, but he would not—always some excuse—until the day before yesterday he comes into my room, and he says, ‘Charlotte, will you come with me to see your mother?’ ‘La, my love,’ says I, ‘you do not mean it.’ And then it all came out. There is a Commander Pennington, an old friend of his, staying here. They were at school together, and he is bent on seeing him again. I knew it was not my mother he wanted to see, for they quarrel whenever they meet, though I believe they like each other very well all the same. Well, we only arrived this morning, and we are to go on to London to-morrow, so there is no time to lose. Mr. Palmer has been to see this Commander, but he was out walking. However, we have left a note asking him to dine up at the Park. Will you not come too, my dear? Mr. Palmer will be so delighted if you are one of the party, for you are a prodigious favourite of his. My love, do help me to persuade Miss Margaret to dine at the Park this afternoon.”

“I cannot persuade her if she has not been asked, can I?” was the only encouragement Mr. Palmer gave.

“La, my love, you know Sir John would ask her at once, and my sister would not mind whether she came or not. You leave all that to me,” with a burst of merriment.

Margaret excused herself from accepting this second-hand invitation on the score that she had been at the Park the day before and, though Mrs. Palmer laughed excessively at such a reason, she was obliged to accept it.

“Have you heard anything of the Commander?” asked Mrs. Palmer.

Margaret admitted that she had heard that he was staying in the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Dashwood added that she believed he had travelled with Miss Nancy Steele.

“La, yes, indeed! We have heard all about that,” Mrs. Palmer agreed contemptuously, laughing at the recollection.

Mr. Palmer laid aside his paper and got up to take leave. His wife was obliged to do as he did, and at last they were gone.

Margaret went to her room to think the situation out. Soon they must meet at the Park. If it were known that they had met before, who could tell what would be said? More than she could bear to listen to! Her mother ought to know of their acquaintance—of that she was convinced—but it would be easier to tell her later, when Commander Pennington was known to her, and when his quiet deference should have assured her that he had taken no liberty beyond what was natural and right.

Margaret decided, though with an uneasy conscience, to postpone talking to her mother for the present. This was made easier by Mrs. Dashwood retiring to her chamber with a headache, and she herself passed the evening with no company but the firelight and her own thoughts. Happy thoughts and restless thoughts, that ranged from the open down to the dining-room where they were all collected at the Park! Would he hear that she had been invited and had refused to give him the meeting? Would this anger him, or would he, as she thought, understand? In any case, she could hardly have accepted so careless an invitation. She did not want to meet him there, under the fire of comment, but it was inevitable in the next few days. She longed for the happy insensibility of Marianne and Willoughby, who had never seemed to notice what anyone said, but only what they said to each other. She recollected herself. She was going too fast. She had met the Commander only three times. Marianne and Willoughby had been constantly in each other’s society. She must not, would not, imagine so much when so little had occurred.

She took up a book and endeavoured to read. She opened the instrument and played, until she remembered her mother suffering in the room above. She returned to her seat by the fire and became again a prey to restless thoughts.

Tea came in, and she took a cup to her mother. As she descended the staircase there was a knock at the door and, there being no time to return to the parlour, she waited where she was while Thomas opened the door.

“Mrs. Dashwood is unwell, sir. She cannot receive visitors. Miss Margaret, sir? Step in, sir, and I will inquire.”

Margaret came down the stairs, greeted the Commander and led him into the parlour.

He had come, he said, to say good-bye. A post had arrived for him, and he had got employment. He was to be in the “Wren,” a sloop of war cruising in the Baltic, convoying, for the next six months. He had been dining at the Park, and was walking back to the farm. He could not resist coming. He would not intrude, but must leave early on the morrow, so took this opportunity——

He kept his eyes on her face anxiously, but Margaret’s habit of composure concealed her feelings, and he could not know what she suffered.

Thomas had told Mrs. Thomas, and Mrs. Thomas thought it her duty to inform her mistress that a strange gentleman had called to see Miss Margaret. Maternal feelings would no doubt have got Mrs. Dashwood off her bed even if curiosity had failed to do so. She occupied only a few minutes in arranging her dress, and came down to find her daughter and a strange man standing by the fire together. He was holding her hand, and it seemed not unlikely that more might follow.