Margaret Dashwood

The journey could easily be accomplished in a single day, but Sir John favoured an early start, and was at the door in his chaise before Margaret had finished breakfast. The morning was fair and, the parting over, Margaret settled herself to enjoyment. She was soon relieved of all necessity of attending to Sir John by the regular sound of his slumbers, and the remainder of the journey, with short halts for refreshment and change of horses, was spent by her in the delight of the scenery. She, who had become so greatly wearied by ordinary home-life with power of movement and change of occupation, was rested beyond measure by sitting still in a cramped space and listening to the snoring of her solitary companion. So great is the power of change of scene on a restless heart.

She arrived at Delaford feeling fresher than when she had set out. As for Sir John, when he had completed the series of jerks and groans with which he roused himself at the stopping of the carriage, he was ready to assert to Colonel Brandon that they had made a capital journey, were great companions, and that he himself had enjoyed every minute of it, though he knew Miss Margaret must have regretted that she had not one of her beaux with her in place of an old fellow like himself.

Sir John might talk about beaux here, but there was no one to heed him, and he was soon engaged in a rational conversation with Colonel Brandon while the sisters chatted in affectionate intimacy.

They were a party of five for dinner, as Edward Ferrars walked up from the parsonage to join them and to look in at the nursery. Marianne’s beauty, Colonel Brandon’s sense, Edward’s affection, and Sir John’s comparative quietness combined to soothe and comfort Margaret’s spirits, while the spacious dining-room and well laid-out garden, into which she strolled with her arm in her sister’s after dinner, helped to induce the sense of air and space, mentally and bodily, which was so exactly what she had desired. They sat under the trees while Marianne talked of the children, of her greenhouse, of the neighbours and of her husband. Margaret indulged her in sympathetic attention, and an hour passed till the cool of the evening suggested their returning indoors.

They were joined by the gentlemen in the drawing-room for tea. While sitting in the half-circle round the wood fire, which had been lit as a special grace for the travellers, Edward said suddenly:

“I am reminded, I do not know why, unless it is by the pleasant blaze of that fire, and the company of Marianne and Margaret, but I am reminded of a conversation we held long ago at Barton Cottage. Margaret then remarked how delightful it would be if some one gave us each a large fortune and we all went to work to find some way of using it. Do you remember, Marianne? I recollect that your mother said she would be puzzled how to spend it herself if her children were all to be rich without her help. Do you, Marianne, feel that you have no longer any wishes for yourself, but only for that fine boy upstairs?”

“Indeed, no, Edward! There are many things I should like to do. I would still like, as you suggested then, to endow young painters and writers; to buy books and pictures and music; to have my house often filled with needy artists, and in every way to assist and encourage them.”

Colonel Brandon was applied to, but would only say that, if he had a fortune given to him, no doubt Marianne would have the spending of it. He would have to make one stipulation, that he was allowed a library or a study, or some sort of snuggery to himself, and that no artist or musical or literary genius should have to be admitted.

“You would be a very poor host if you made such restrictions,” said Marianne rebukingly.

“I should be a very poor man if I could not have any place to myself. We could make it a shabby sort of hole with a north aspect and only one good seat by the fire, so that the geniuses would like the other parts of my house better, but one place of my own I must have.”

Marianne allowed him this indulgence with an affectionate smile, and Edward was asked to declare his wishes.

“I do not think I have any pronounced desires. I should find it very difficult to change my mode of life to correspond with wealth. I believe I must do as Colonel Brandon does, and leave the spending of it to my wife. What do you say, Margaret? It was you who first wanted a fortune.”

“I should travel,” said Margaret.

“By gad, that’s the thing,” said Sir John. “All my life I have wanted to go shooting in Scotland. Fine sport there, I believe! But, what with the expense of the journey and not having anyone to go with me, it has always been impossible. But there is nothing I should like more! Nothing on my life!”

“I do not see why we should wait for some one to give us a large fortune apiece before you have your desire, Sir John,” said Colonel Brandon. “I have a friend who has frequently asked me to go and shoot over the moors, and, though the journey would take some days, if you are not averse to travelling I should particularly enjoy it. Marianne will have Margaret here for companion, and we would not be away above a month.”

Marianne’s countenance showed that the conversation had taken a turn which did not please her; but the offer had been made and Sir John was accepting it with readiness. It was immediately arranged that when Sir John had recovered from the short journey and had a few days’ shooting round the Delaford Hangers, he should accompany his host on the longer expedition, and not return to Delaford till early in October. His home-going to Barton must be still more remote, but Margaret was not relying on his chaise to convey her, and was therefore indifferent to his plans.

Marianne was very unwilling to face so long a separation from her husband. She was always easily moved to joy or sorrow and had only just got accustomed to the ecstasy of her sister’s arrival, after a separation of four months, before she was called upon to face the grief of her husband’s departure on a visit of pleasure for the space of a few weeks.

In the meantime the days passed happily. Marianne’s nursery was well-ordered, and the two little cousins spent only a reasonable time with their elders, and were taught to behave themselves on these occasions. Sir John remarked with wonder that he should never have known there were children in the house, for nobody had to search for something they had taken, or mop up something they had spilt, or mend something they had torn. Her ladyship told him that their children were specially high-spirited, and he supposed that was the reason for their making such a commotion.

The evenings were spent at the instrument. Marianne could not bear to hear Edward read aloud, as she declared he lacked spirit in the performance, and she was too impatient to read well herself, but Margaret was very well pleased to listen again to her sister’s songs, and to take her place at the pianoforte when she was allowed.

The few days passed, and Colonel Brandon and Sir John started on their journey leaving a sensation of blankness behind them which would only be filled by prevailing on Edward to spend the day at the mansion-house.

He came. Played with his child. Talked of the news-sheet, and told them how far the travellers would be on their way, but it was clear that he was out of spirits, and it was not long before Marianne taxed him with this, and demanded to know the cause.

“I will not say that I am in low spirits,” he replied, “but rather that I am perturbed. A man does not know how to deal with domestic situations, and I feel I am threatened—that is, I expect—I mean my mother has written to say that she intends paying me a few days’ visit. She is coming with Robert. Lucy is to remain in London, which is a relief, but my mother and Robert will be with me from Monday to Friday next week. I am, of course, glad to receive my mother, but I could wish that Elinor were at home to help in her entertainment.”

“Oh, my dear Edward,” cried Marianne. “Be thankful that Elinor is not at home! It would be worse—ten times worse if she were. Remember, Mrs. Ferrars is your mother. She has no doubt some affection for you, but think how she dislikes Elinor, and think, only think, of her manners to her. You could not have brought me better news. I rejoice to think that my sister is spared this visit.”

Edward could not but look rather foolish at this fervent condemnation of his mother’s manners, but being a peaceable man, and having an affectionate regard for Marianne, he made no objection, contenting himself with the thought that it was not unlikely that in the course of the visit he must listen to even stronger reprobation from his mother of Marianne or other of his new connections. He would allow both criticisms and would agree with neither.