Margaret Dashwood

The rehearsals were the perquisite of Sir John. It was at the Park that they were held. His drawing-room it was that was daily filled with guests; his servants that were daily called upon to provide casual meals; and his box-rooms and cupboards that were ransacked for stage properties. A very happy state of things for Sir John, who could never be too much in company, but less agreeable to his lady, who liked her household arrangements to move smoothly, and not to progress in jerks and runs.

Sir Francis and Lady Carey began to feel that their young people were accepting hospitality for which no return was being made. Though not fond of company themselves, this situation was not agreeable to them. They decided that some effort must be made, and the result of their consultation was that Walter Carey rode over to Barton on Sunday afternoon, commissioned by his mother to invite the party to Newton for the following day. There was to be a rehearsal in the morning; the whole party was to dine, and after tea more neighbours were to come in for a ball. It was to be a day of festivity, and Walter Carey looked as if he expected to enjoy it.

Elinor was at first inclined to excuse herself and to declare herself unable to leave her mother, but Walter immediately included Mrs. Dashwood in the invitation, and, though she laughingly declined on her own behalf, she was determined that Elinor should be of the party. It was just such a gathering as a young woman should enjoy, and Elinor could not be excused from enjoying it. She had been to many such parties at her mother’s instigation, and been exceedingly weary at them, and was really reluctant, but Walter’s smile carried the day and she consented to be made happy, so far as being continually in company for a space of twelve hours could make her so.

Walter rode off to secure other guests, brimful of pleasure himself and leaving a very fair amount behind him. The project would be an agreeable change to Margaret. Sir Francis and Lady Carey were superior in sense and taste to the Middletons, and, even had they been without these claims to her interest, they had at least the quality of being less well known. Every one must feel that a party was the pleasanter for Walter’s presence, and it was four years since she had been to Newton Hall. They were to be called for early by the Barton Park carriage.

The morning was fine, and they started for the drive of four miles in excellent spirits. Mr. Atherton joined them, and the barouche was full; Sir John driving with the manservant beside him, and Elinor, Miss Steele and Margaret sharing Mr. Atherton’s attentions between them. Lady Middleton had thought the day too long for the children, and stayed at home herself to be with them.

The drive through deep Devonshire lanes was a very pretty one, and all were delighted with the charm of the journey, and even more delighted to have it over, to judge by the pleasure expressed when they came in sight of the house, a fine Tudor mansion, with walled gardens, fish-ponds and wild shrubbery, all very much like many other country gentlemen’s seats, but not the less deserving of admiration on that account.

Walter Carey met them with enthusiasm, and Sir Francis with cordiality. It was to be the last before the dress-rehearsal, and Sir Francis was to be admitted as audience and critic, and, if Lady Carey could find time from her preparations for the evening, it was hoped that her opinion would be obtained too, though privately this was not considered to be of equal importance.

That the rout would only consist of four in place of seven noisy people was to be deplored, but much was said on the wisdom of avoiding excitement for children, and much was thought on the comfort of the young Middletons being absent from the party. It was hoped aloud that the four would be unruly and noisy enough for seven when the proper time came, but remembered in silence that the Middleton children had no idea of any time being unsuitable for noise and disturbance.

Mr. Atherton greeted his friends, the Carey children, with affection, and was dragged off at once to see the fish-ponds, Miss Fairfield going also to see that the little girls did not presume on his good nature.

The rest of the party were conducted indoors for rest and refreshment. Lady Carey, though not so anxious for elegance as Lady Middleton, kept an uncommonly good table, and the repast that awaited them of fruit, cakes and excellent home-made ginger wine was enjoyed without any demur as to the earliness of the hour. Mary and Henry Whitaker arrived on horseback, with their evening clothes packed in the saddle-bags, and everybody was ready for the rehearsal.

Sir Francis was accommodated with an armchair in the middle of the lawn, as sole audience, and the rest of the party went behind the bushes in order to make their entrances as much a surprise to Sir Francis as was possible. Elinor had offered her services to Lady Carey, and was within doors with her, helping in some of the preparations for the evening, which could not but be a strain on the best ordered house and the best trained servants.

The attendant Spirit had said some of his curtailed speeches, rather bashful at being the first to speak, and feeling sharply the incongruity of his riding-boots, when Sir Francis rose from his chair with a shout of welcome.

“Willoughby! On my life! What brings you here?”

Willoughby was coming across the lawn with his usual easy manner of being sure of a welcome wherever he might appear.

“I heard you had something of this sort going on, Sir Francis, and you know my passion for acting. We are staying at Allenham, so I came over to see if I could be of any use.”

The rout were being held in leash by Sir John, and Walter was looking round the bushes to see what the interruption was about, and Margaret, from her bush, peeped too. Walter, of course, knew nothing except that this tiresome fellow was interrupting the rehearsal, but Margaret was highly entertained. The meeting between Willoughby and Elinor employed her thoughts to the exclusion of all else. Just what degree of cold dignity would Elinor assume? This was an audacity of which few but Willoughby would be capable, but it formed a situation that had at least the merit of being worthy of observation.

Willoughby was given a chair, and his presence no doubt added zest to the acting. Walter was determined to make a good show before this older man, who was yet of his own generation. The Lady was more graceful, the Brothers more dashing, and the rout, if possible, more noisy than heretofore. Miss Steele especially surpassed herself in the spirit and vigour of her dancing, and Sir John was much gratified by Willoughby’s incessant laughter.

When all was over Sir John came to shake hands and be congratulated.

“Funny piece, isn’t it? That bit where we all come tumbling in ought to amuse our audience. I like to see a man laugh as you do. Shows a good heart!”

“I have been vastly entertained, Sir John,” replied Willoughby with a bow, and then, as Walter came up, he turned his compliments with a finer edge, congratulating the younger man on the fine speaking of the lines which the whole company achieved.

“Miss Margaret’s song is delicious. A most melodious voice, like her sister’s but not so full and sweet. Mrs. Brandon had the voice of an angel, unequalled in tone and expression.”

He spoke with great feeling, sighed heavily, and looked downcast.

This had the desired effect, for as they walked to the house Walter Carey said in an undertone to Margaret:

“I suppose he was in love with your sister, Mrs. Brandon. I pity him. It must have been bad to him to see her married. I wonder why she would not have him?”

Margaret made no reply, but thought with amusement how Willoughby had improved his position with those few words. He would now be regarded as the unsuccessful lover of Marianne, who would appear to have turned from the young admirer and married the rich, middle-aged suitor. Willoughby was to be pitied, but not to be blamed, Marianne to be wondered at, but not to be pitied. Perhaps both gained something by this re-arrangement of the facts.

They had now reached the house, and Margaret hoped to be in time to witness the meeting between Elinor and Willoughby. She was not to be disappointed. Lady Carey and Elinor were still upstairs when the rest of the party assembled in the drawing-room before dinner. Lady Carey appeared, greeted Willoughby as the last-come guest, and then made her stout, comfortable way to Sir John Middleton, who was to tell her how everything had gone at the rehearsal and all about the ducks and geese at Barton Park, and the prospects of a good fruit harvest—for Lady Carey was a real country dame, and a much better pair to Sir John than his more elegant lady-wife, at least in Margaret’s opinion. But then Sir Francis Carey, a fine scholarly gentleman, would have found Lady Middleton very fatiguing, so the re-arrangement of these pairs was abandoned by Margaret, and she continued to watch the door for Elinor.

She came. At sight of Willoughby her complexion changed. He came forward eagerly smiling, and with outstretched hand. She bowed decisively, managed to ignore the hand, and turned to Isabella Carey with some question about the rehearsal. Willoughby hesitated. Margaret saw him falter, but imagined him to be taking courage. With resolution he joined the group, and himself entered into conversation with Miss Carey, including Elinor in his remarks with courtesy and friendliness. He held her there with his attentions, would not allow her to escape him, and for a few minutes it appeared to all who cared to take note of it that Mr. Willoughby and Mrs. Ferrars were on terms of the friendliest acquaintance.

Elinor was determined to get away, and move away she did, but not till his purpose was accomplished, and Margaret was left in admiration of his ready wit and charming effrontery. She saw that her sister’s resentment was great. It was but natural that Elinor, who knew so much of the suffering Willoughby had caused to Marianne, should feel strongly in condemnation of this easy assumption of friendliness.

Margaret felt that she herself judged the case more correctly. She felt she knew more of his real feeling, his real regret, and she could not be blind to the fact that the line he was taking was really the one to do most honour to Marianne’s situation. If it pleased him to pose as the unfortunate admirer it was an indulgence which need not be denied him except in the interest of strict veracity, for, while it might seem that he gained somewhat in the eyes of the world in being thought unlucky rather than faithless, Marianne gained more in being supposed fickle rather than unfortunate. For it is well known that while to be crossed in love is highly honourable to a gentleman, in a lady it is correspondingly disgraceful; and while a change of heart is much to be deplored in a masculine lover, for a female to hesitate between two, and finally make her choice, enhances not only her own value but that of both her admirers; so that Colonel Brandon might be supposed to be a gainer by Willoughby’s affectation of love-lornity; and would doubtless be much gratified by the circumstances if it could be supposed that he would think anything at all about it.