Sense and Sensibility (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Jane Austen

  Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.

  “Certainly, ma‘am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Mrs. Jennings, rather disappointed. “Then you would not have me tell it Lucy; for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.”

  “No, ma‘am, not even Lucy, if you please. One day’s delay will not be very material; and, till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do that directly. It is of importance that no time should be lost with him; for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination.”

  This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars was to be written to about it in such a hurry she could not immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a very happy idea; and she exclaimed, —

  “Oh, ho! I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write himself? Sure, he is the proper person.”

  Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s speech, neither did she think it worth enquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.

  “Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”

  “And so you are forced to do it. Well, that is an odd kind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write). You know your own concerns best. So good-by, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed.”

  And away she went; but returning again in a moment,—

  “I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at your leisure.”

  “Certainly, ma‘am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said, and more anxious to be alone than to be mistress of the subject.

  How she should begin,—how she should express herself in her note to Edward,—was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.

  He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door, in her way to the carriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular business.

  Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He, too, was much distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of embarrassment. Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but, determining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in form, as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair.

  “Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so,—or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though, at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford to-morrow.”

  “You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself, and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke). Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford, now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the living—it is about two hundred a year—were much more considerable, and such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your views of happiness.”

  What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him. He looked all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words,—

  “Colonel Brandon!”

  “Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the worst was over; “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern for what has lately passed,—for the cruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you,—a concern, which I am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and, likewise, as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”

  “Colonel Brandon give me a living! Can it be possible?”

  “The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where.”

  “No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in you; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all. I feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no orator.”

  “You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps, indeed I know he has, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation.”

  Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action; but she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to speak; at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,—

  “Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman.”

  “Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be; and as you will be such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost close to the mansion-house) it is particularly important that he should be all this.”

  Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the mansion-house much greater.

  “Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James’s S
treet,” said he, soon afterwards, rising from his chair.

  Elinor told him the number of the house.

  “I must hurry away, then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give you; to assure him that he has made me a very—an exceedingly happy man.”

  Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very earnest assurance on her side of her unceasing good wishes for his happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on his, with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of expressing it.

  “When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”

  And with this pleasing anticipation she sat down to reconsider the past, recall the words, and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.

  When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people whom she had never seen before, and of whom, therefore, she must have a great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important secret in her possession, than by any thing else, that she reverted to it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

  “Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do right? And I suppose you had no great difficulty—you did not find him very unwilling to accept your proposal?”

  “No, ma‘am; that was not very likely.”

  “Well, and how soon will he be ready? For it seems all to depend upon that.”

  “Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his ordination.”

  “Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings: “Lord! my dear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord bless me! I am sure it would put me quite out of patience! And though one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure, somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in orders already.”

  “My dear ma‘am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why, Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Fer rars.

  “Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr. Ferrars! ”

  The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either; for Mrs. Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

  “Ay, ay, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely may be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds! and to you, too, that had been used to live in Barton Cottage! It seemed quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do something to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it.”

  “But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s being enough to allow them to marry.”

  “The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a year himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t there.”

  Elinor was quite of her opinion as to the probability of their not waiting for any thing more.

  CHAPTER V.

  Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in her life.

  Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas. So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor that credit which Edward would give her, that she spoke of her friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was, moreover, truly anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns; anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could, of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

  It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel it necessary to pay her a visit. This was an obligation, however, which not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of a tête-à-tête with a woman whom neither of the others had so much reason to dislike.

  Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in Berkeley Street, and assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see her, invited her to come in.

  They walked up stairs into the drawing-room. No body was there.

  “Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: “I will go to her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the world to seeing you. Very far from it, indeed. Now especially there cannot be—but, however, you and Marianne were always great favourites. Why would not Marianne come?”

  Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

  “I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon‘s—can it be true? has he really given it to Edward? I heard it yesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.”

  “It is perfectly true. Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford to Edward.”

  “Really! Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the value of this?”

  “About two hundred a year.”

  “Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and likely to vacate it soon—he might have got, I dare say—fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this person’s death? Now, indeed, it would be too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may probably be this. Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation is old enough to take it. Ay, ay, that is the fact, depend upon it.
”

  Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and therefore must understand the terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.

  “It is truly astonishing!” he cried, after hearing what she said: “what could be the Colonel’s motive?”

  “A very simple one,—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

  “Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky man. You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however; for though I have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well, she will not like to hear it much talked of.”

  Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she thought Fanny might have borne with composure an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished.

  “Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present; and I believe it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may be. When the marriage takes place, I fear, she must hear of it all.”

  “But why should such precaution be used? Though it is not to be supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, for that must be quite out of the question; yet why, after her late behaviour, is she supposed to feel at all? She has done with her son,—she has cast him off for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence cast him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account: she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls him. She would not be so weak as to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent! ”