by Robin Helm
As he passed the music room, Miss Dashwood’s distressed tones drifted through the door. “If I don’t go back with her, Mr. Berridge will be most distressed, but I’ve hardly come! Can you not think of some reason I must stay?”
Pausing to listen would not do, but Conrad found himself backtracking to retrieve a speck of lint he’d passed and then moving at a snail’s pace to hear the verdict. This could be the solution to his library dilemma. If Miss Dashwood were to remove to home…
If only he could understand why the idea disappointed rather than relieved him. You enjoy your conversations.
“—believe I may have to allow Mama to see that I am fatigued. It may even be that I am unable to eat well. She, of course, will have opinions on the cause of my malaise and will wish to take care of me. That will provide you with at least another week or two until we see if Mama’s diagnosis is correct or not.”
“I would not wish you to miss meals on my account, Marianne. Surely—”
“I have no intention of going hungry. If I need something, I can always ask Hester to toast me some bread that I may eat in my rooms.”
The voices drew nearer, so Conrad scuttled down to the library door and slipped inside. Disappointment at hearing Miss Dashwood was to leave transformed into disappointment at their subterfuge. Her mention of studying the Scriptures after reading “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” had indicated a sensitivity toward spiritual things that he’d found pleasing, but deception, premediated and calculated…
It must be that I misheard. I did not hear all of the conversation. Perhaps all is not how it seems….
Just before dinner, Conrad discovered that he had not been mistaken. He’d gone for a walk in the garden and had found himself in the yew arbor, wishing for the book he’d been reading. Indeed, Miss Dashwood’s love of it as a naturalist’s reading room was not misplaced. Light could filter through in just the right places to fall on the page while protecting the eyes from the sun’s glare.
As if they sought him to torment him, voices once again intruded on him. This time Miss Dashwood spoke with her mother in low, conspiratorial tones.
Mrs. Berridge seemed aflutter with excitement, although her voice did hold a trace of concern in it. “—has told me that she is fatigued and has no appetite. I thought she looked a little pale. How has she seemed to you?”
Conrad held his breath and found himself praying for her complete honesty.
“I’ve not noticed her pale. A little quieter than usual, to be sure, but we’ve a guest whom she does not know well.”
“And her appetite?”
Again, Conrad strained for the answer with prayerful trepidation.
“I hadn’t noticed. I’m not in the habit of noticing, however.”
Strictly truthful to a purpose or as a habit?
“Well, I believe I know the cause, Margaret,” Mrs. Berridge continued as if Miss Dashwood hadn’t spoken. “I believe Marianne to be with child, and after the trouble she had with the boys, I would not feel comfortable leaving her until I know if she will suffer dreadfully this time, as well.”
With child? That is this scheme? To cause undue concern for Mrs. Berridge regarding her daughter? What will happen when the child does not manifest?
Miss Dashwood’s tones seemed much too calm not to have been calculated as she protested. “I cannot imagine that is what Marianne meant to tell me. She is not usually so vague or evasive. You must be mistaken.”
“Indeed, I am certain that I am not. Watch and see if she does not refuse most of her meal at dinner and retire early. She might even go up to eat with the boys and stay upstairs for the night. She did that often while carrying John.”
“I wouldn’t remember.”
Not thirty minutes later, as Conrad entered the library again, he came upon Miss Dashwood telling her sister what her mother had said. “—expects you to eat with the boys! I think this—” She broke off at the sight of him.
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Mrs. Brandon gave him a warm smile as she turned to go. “You’ve not intruded at all. My sister was just sharing some of my mother’s concerns for my health.” To Miss Dashwood she added, “And Mama is correct. I will, of course, be dining with the boys. I shall require extra rest in the coming weeks…”
The younger lady stared after her sister with eyes troubled by confusion. However, when she turned to Conrad, she’d transformed that confusion into yet another of her enigmatic smiles. What did this one signify? Secrets? Maidenly modesty over such a delicate condition being discussed in mixed company? He could hardly imagine that she would be much bothered when so little was said.
“Have you ever wondered, Mr. Thayer, if your entire family had gone instantly and irrevocably mad?”
He shouldn’t ask the question, but Conrad found himself unable to resist. “Would that not mean that you were included in the madness?”
She regarded him for several long seconds before turning to go. “Such madness of theirs is enough to drive me to it as well, I suppose.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As she’d declared, Marianne did not make an appearance at dinner. Mama fidgeted with her food in a deplorable show of poor manners and a heartwarming display of true concern and affection. The Colonel, seeing the evident distress, assured his mama-in-law that Marianne had only overextended herself on an extraordinarily long walk that afternoon and the continued sunshine had made her overheated.
“She’ll be well in the morning.”
Mama nearly dribbled her soup before saying, “If you are certain …” with the sort of inflection that implied that she did not think as much at all.
It was time to put this silly overconcern for her safety out of everyone’s mind. “I do hope that Father Berridge will now understand that I am quite safe here. There is no concern for highwaymen at all. As I was telling Mr. Thayer earlier, it is likely that someone overheard a complaint of such fiends in Haselbury Plunkett and quit listening after Haselbury, assuming the rest of the name to be Brian. It’s happened before.”
Mama just gave her a knowing smile and nodded. “I will be certain to reassure Mr. Berridge that your safety is assured with the Colonel and Mr. Thayer here to protect us.” After another bite, one which did not threaten to spill all over the place, she added, “He might enjoy your explanation as to the rumors.”
“Will you stay long, then?” It would not do to hint that her mother should leave so quickly after arriving, but the most Margaret could choke out as a suggestion only touched the edge of courtesy. “A week?”
With a knowing look at the Colonel, one Margaret knew only too well, Mama smiled. “Assuming the Colonel has no objections, I should like to remain until I know Marianne to be in perfect health and comfort.”
“We will, of course,” the Colonel assured her, “be happy for you to stay a week….” A twinkle formed in his eye as he caught Margaret’s dismay. “Or even seven or eight…” again, after the slightest pause he added, “months.”
***
As much as she wished to return to their nightly library vigils, something about her mother’s presence in the house prevented Margaret from pushing the boundaries of decorum again. Yes, Marianne knew she wished to and that it was likely she would. Still, with her sister’s supposed exhaustion, one might assume the worst, and that would never do. Unfortunately, two nights absent in a row would leave Mr. Thayer as victor in their stalemate. Her competitive nature protested.
Four more nights passed without so much as a hint of whether they’d caught the intruders or not. If things managed to remain quiet, Margaret felt certain the rest of the house might not know anything had happened unless the Colonel chose to disclose it. Deep in her heart, she knew that he would not.
While she spent her spare hours in the library, Marianne and her mother conspired to convince each other of Marianne’s non-existent delicate condition. She wanted nothing to do with it. It’s enough that we have to be so careful of Mr. B
erridge’s feelings. This is excessive and unnecessary.
On the fifth day of her mother’s visit, a Sunday, Mr. Thayer rode with them to church. As he helped her into the carriage, Mama noted that she’d hardly seen the man all week. “I wondered if you had left us.”
Could you say anything more ludicrous and embarrassing, Mama? You saw him at dinner last night and breakfast not thirty minutes ago.
“I am kept busy with errands, but my visit will likely extend some weeks rather than be cut short. I hope that is not an inconvenience?”
A vague awareness of her mother’s interest in him had hovered over the visit—much like the pall of death, in fact—but now it became acute. She hopes he will take notice of me. How exasperating!
Even worse, a sinking, drowning sensation followed when Margaret realized her annoyance lacked substance. I enjoyed our discussions, but I’ve not thought much of him all week. That proves my disinterest in him beyond that of acquaintance.
What else had been discussed while Margaret ruminated, she never did learn. The Colonel kept the boys in good order, Mr. Thayer ensured she and her mother were comfortable, and Marianne remained at home again feeling “out of sorts.”
Her brother-in-law, Edward, was rector of the church and greeted the family on their arrival. In the family pew, her oldest sister, Elinor, sat with their three daughters and small son. As she expected, the children turned and squirmed their greetings to her and Mama while Elinor smiled benevolently on the scene.
The service passed with little notice by Margaret, her thoughts engaged in a dozen other arenas. However, near the end of the sermon, Edward’s voice pierced her mind and settled deep down in her heart. “Saint James warns us to keep our thoughts and words simple and true—to keep our yeas, yeas, and our nays, nays. Prevarication becomes an uncertain footpath that first makes one stumble and if not corrected, ensures one falls.”
If I am aware that someone believes that which is untrue and do not correct it, am I guilty of deception by omission? I cannot help but feel I am. But do not feelings lie? I should ask Edward—or Elinor, perhaps. I could tell her the whole of the thing. She would know what is best. She always does.
A glance at her mother’s placid face decided for her. If Mama knew her concerns, and hopes, of course, were for naught, it would hurt her. That realization alone hinted that she knew the answer to her question.
Elinor’s children joined with John and Christopher to play along the side of the church where grass softened their many falls and trees shaded from too much sun, as if such a thing could be achieved. Mama spoke to Edward about the sermon while Margaret pulled her sister aside. It took only a moment to make the situation understood. “Should I say something?”
“It sounds to me as if you have and Mama disagreed. You cannot insist on her accepting your view of the matter.” Elinor linked arms with her and walked a bit. “I understand Marianne’s reasons for keeping Mama here. They don’t wish to see you go so soon, but it was imprudent and unnecessary. A note from Edward would have reassured Mr. Berridge with little fuss and no elaborate schemes necessary.”
“Send one, please. With all haste.”
What Elinor didn’t say scolded louder than any fishwife on market day. Before Margaret could devise a change of conversation, Elinor did it for her. “Mr. Thayer seems… attentive.”
A glance toward the front of the church showed him standing apart and seeming to watch them. Margaret allowed herself the luxury of a sigh. “And Mama sees every look or courtesy as prelude to a declaration and proposal. It’s enough to drive one mad.”
“You’ve no interest? He’s handsome in exactly the way I’ve always heard you say you prefer—right down to the cleft in his chin.”
Why did I ever admit that? The question was one she’d asked more than once and likely would ask again. Without bothering to suppress a sigh, Margaret admitted, “He is interesting, to be sure, but he invades my sanctuary and interrupts my solitude.” The memory of the past week filtered through the morning’s sermon prompted her to add, “Or he did before Mama arrived. I’ve hardly seen him since, which should assure all of the Dashwood ladies of my continued status as the family spinster. Every family needs one, and I am all there is left.”
After assuring her that they neither required or desired anything of the sort, Elinor returned the conversation to that which soothed Margaret’s rumpled spirits best. “Never fear, dearest. I’ll ask Edward to write Mr. Berridge, assuring him of your perfect safety in the neighborhood. Then I’ll visit Marianne and ask her to assure Mama that she is perfectly well. All three of us will, in turn, express our concern for Mr. Berridge’s comfort without her there to ease his mind about parish troubles, and she’ll be on her way by Thursday, I am certain.”
With a kiss to her sister’s cheek and a wave, Margaret almost flew to the carriage in relief. If Elinor said it would be so, it would be.
***
The tête-à-tête with Mrs. Ferrars reminded Conrad of the ones he’d seen with Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Berridge. Had Miss Dashwood drawn both of her sisters into the little drama? It seemed as much. Mrs. Berridge wasn’t a clever woman—not like her younger daughters, anyway—but she was kind and rather endearing. Her concern for the health and welfare of Mrs. Brandon shouldn’t be manipulated in this fashion. The disappointment…
Wishing to have one’s own way in a matter is no reason or excuse to play such games.
The morning’s sermon pricked his conscience, or perhaps his conscience didn’t need pricking. Regardless, after returning home, he searched and found Brandon out on the lawn with the boys who threw sticks for the dogs to retrieve and bring back. “May I have a word?”
“Of course? Have we news?”
So absorbed in his current mission was he that Conrad almost didn’t know what the man meant. Just as he would have asked, the meaning became clear. “Not as yet, but I have devised a plan that might draw our ‘highwaymen’ to the house—in full daylight.”
“I want to hear of it, of course, but first, what troubles you?”
Conrad laid out the whole of the affair—from the first overheard conversation to the day’s latest confabulation. “I suspect the conversation to be a similar one.”
“It is possible, but I suspect Elinor has been brought in as a voice of reason and to aid in sending her mother home to Reverend Berridge.”
Perhaps he’d been too discreet. Brandon didn’t seem to grasp the true issue. “Colonel, I don’t care to contradict you, but I don’t believe you understand what has been devised. Your wife and sister—possibly both of them—have conspired to convince your mother-in-law that your wife is with child when she is not—”
“Is she not?”
The question ruined the rest of Conrad’s argument. He stared at the Colonel in a most undignified manner and yet seemed incapable of doing anything else. “She is?”
Brandon’s only response was a smile. “Time will tell, I suppose.”
The boys ruined any chance of a continued conversation. They broke in with pleas for a walk down to the pond and more paper boats with wax painted on the bottom. “Auntie Margaret will do it if we ask her, I know she will,” John insisted.
Before he could be drawn into the play, Conrad excused himself and strode back toward the house. One last glance over his shoulder showed Colonel Brandon staring back after him.
Smiling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Any other young lady would have burst into tears. Miss Dashwood only looked at him, jutted her chin out, and turned to go. Everything within him demanded that he call her back—follow her, even. Instead, he watched her go and allowed the pain of remorse to fill him. You’d no call to speak sharply to her. She’s none of your concern. If Brandon doesn’t—
It wasn’t the first time in the last few days that Conrad’s thoughts had turned to the Colonel and his acceptance of the strange status quo of his household. No one could accuse Brandon of anything other than being a man of integrit
y and worthy of respect. So, why was he at peace with such a deception being perpetrated on his mother-in-law?
I must ask. That would be the proper course of action instead of all this pointless speculation.
All three ladies were away from home—Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Berridge in the little village to do some shopping. Miss Dashwood had taken the boys to visit her other sister for the day. The Colonel, however, remained at home to look over accounts. Conrad found him in the library.
“What news have you, Thayer?”
“None, although after careful thought, I do believe your revision of my plan to a nighttime scheme is the best course of action.”
“Excellent. Do I set it in motion?”
Hoping that Mrs. Berridge might be on her way after this discussion, Conrad shook his head. “Not yet, if you don’t mind. It is possible that I could be called back immediately after the transfer, and I would like to trespass on your hospitality a bit longer. I’ve not explored even half of your library as yet.”
The Colonel assured him of his welcome for as long as Conrad wished to stay. “The whole household will not like to see you go.” When Conrad didn’t move, Brandon leaned forward. “Was there something else?” The barely repressed smile hinted that he knew there was.
“Our conversation the other day. You were not troubled by what I said. I wondered why.”
“Perhaps because I know the reason for it all.” After a moment’s thought, the Colonel continued. “It isn’t my place to speak for Margaret, but I will encourage you to tell her what you’ve told me and ask her the question. I’ve always found her forthright and forthcoming both.”
“I annoyed her this morning.” The confession proved more difficult than he’d expected. “I was annoyed myself and spoke sharply. I doubt she has any desire to speak to me, much less to explain herself when I’ve no right to ask in the first place.”
