Willoughby had no difficulty in obtaining from Mrs. Grice the
whereabouts of his “friend,” Richard Pennington. Consequently, when the
letter-bag was opened on board the “Wren,” among other correspondence
the following letter engaged the attention of the Commander:
ALLENHAM COURT,
_August 5th, 1813_.
DEAR PENNINGTON,
Imagine my chagrin on hearing you had been in my neighbourhood in
April. My wife and I were staying at Allenham at the very time you
were at Grice’s farm. A most annoying circumstance that I did not
know you were there! I am here again, this time alone, for which I
am duly grateful. Mrs. Smith has been unwell and wished to see me. I
hear that you expect to be in England in October. Do, my dear friend,
like a good fellow, come to me at Combe Magna. To be eternally shut
up with one woman is more than any reasonable man can stand, and,
although I get what society I can, none is more desired than yours.
I cannot come here again unless I am summoned by the all-powerful
Mrs. Smith. You know how she can keep me on a string. I have
therefore no certainty of seeing you unless you will be compassionate.
Here nothing is thought of but a play in Sir John Middleton’s garden.
Do you remember how we quizzed “Five Hundred Hours at Brighton”? This
is just such another. Comus booming and mouthing, the Lady piping and
squealing, and two girls standing about with their hands on their
hips and calling each other “Brother.” And then the rout. Ye gods!
The rout! Sir John in purple, a middle-aged spinster in red, and
about ten children in home-made masks. True it was “unruly,” and so
far in accordance with the author’s intentions. The only relief was
Sabrina, a very pretty young person indeed with plenty of fair hair
and a good singing voice. The part was taken by her at the last,
as Miss Margaret Dashwood was taken very ill the day before. Young
Walter Carey believes her to be dying, and is frantic with grief and
anxiety. A touching spectacle! If she dies he will have to begin
all over again with some one else, as he is the only son and the
baronetcy must be carried on. Margaret is a sweet girl, though not
the equal of her sister, Mrs. Brandon, but the gods defend me from
the eldest sister, Mrs. Ferrars! How she came to be married no one
knows! Was anyone ever better cut out to be an acid spinster? She
blesses the home of the Reverend Edward Ferrars, who can hardly speak
above a whisper and does not know one end of a gun from the other.
The mother is an amiable woman enough.
Do, my dear Pennington, take pity on me and come and spend a week
with me in the autumn, shooting my covers. I shall depend on your
giving me your society. Till then I shall be prodigiously bored.
Your most attached
JOHN WILLOUGHBY.
Such was the account of the doings at Barton that travelled out to
the Baltic, and was taken on board the “Wren.” In the same letter-bag
came out the orders from the Admiralty recalling the sloop of war.
The “Wren” was to proceed to Portsmouth, where the crew would be
discharged. Richard Pennington’s gravity of demeanour was the
subject of comment among the men. They would be glad to get on shore
themselves, and see their homes and wives again, but the Commander
looked as if the order for recall was bad news.
The theatricals met with more general approval than would be supposed
from Willoughby’s account: but as with him, so with all, it was Miss
Fairfield’s performance that was most admired. A very pretty girl and a
stranger (for who had noticed the Careys’ governess?) was bound to be
an object of interest in a neighbourhood where strangers were rare and
beauty not common.
Mrs. Dashwood had made a point of speaking to her at once, and thanking
her for her kindness in taking her daughter’s place, and, when she
left to return to Margaret, others followed, asking Lady Middleton for
the introduction, or introducing themselves, until an admiring cluster
gathered round the place on the lawn where Sabrina stood in her filmy
draperies. All of which was more gratifying to Miss Fairfield than to
the other young ladies, who had all done their best, and had learned
very much longer parts. But rewards are most unequally distributed
in this world, and there could be no question that, whoever deserved
recognition, it was chiefly to the attendant Spirit, whose boy’s voice
had happened to be delightful in the summoning song, and to “Sabrina
fair” herself, who had taken no great pains with her part, that it was
given.
There was to be an informal ball at the Park in the evening. Sir
Francis and Lady Carey took their little girls home, but kindly left
Miss Fairfield to enjoy the dancing. However humdrum a life she might
look forward to on the morrow, the afternoon and evening of this day
were all that could be desired.
Mrs. Jennings had planned to walk down to the Cottage early in the
morning after the play to inquire for Miss Margaret and to tell her all
about it, but Margaret’s indisposition increased, and a week had passed
before she could sit up in her room and take any interest in affairs
outside it.
Elinor and her mother nursed her with the greatest affection and
concern. Every day a messenger came from the Park bringing fruit,
flowers and inquiries, and every day Walter Carey rode over from Newton
for the same purpose. Elinor, though she did not always remember to
give Margaret messages from Mrs. Jennings and Sir John, never failed
to inform her of Walter’s visits, and it was not long before Margaret
became aware that her sister had formed plans and hopes for her, which
were to terminate in her becoming the future Lady Carey of Newton Hall.
She was gradually becoming stronger, but was not considered well
enough to read, or to bear anyone reading aloud to her. Her mind was
consequently unoccupied, and all the hopes and fears and longings she
had hardly kept at bay now overwhelmed her.
Compared with Walter, of whom so much was known, how little she knew of
this man who occupied her thoughts. She had seen him only four times,
and hardly as many hours had been spent in his society. He came of
“low people,” said Sir John. Walter was the only son of a baronet. His
profession was precarious and arduous. Walter’s position was one of
ease, and would be one of wealth. “The hardships of a naval officer’s
wife,” said Mrs. Palmer. The beauty and comfort of Newton Hall again
came to her mind. “No stability of character,” Elinor had said; but
what did she or Mamma or anyone else know about that? “I will come
back. You will wait,” he had said--and with that she saw again his
grave face, and, try as she might, she could not displace it with
Walter’s good-humoured smile. She must see him again before she could
decide. If he disappointed her--were not what she remembered--she might
turn to Walter; but, at the thought, she felt again the old hope and
fear and longing with which her thoughts began. Over and over again,
round and round with the persistence of a feverish brain, and the
monotony of a tired one, until she imagined she would be glad if she
could think that she need never see either of these men again as long
as she lived.
A week had passed in restless questionings and decisions. She was
sitting in her room and hoping that the long-deferred call from Mrs.
Jennings would be deferred still longer when she heard that lady’s
voice in the hall. Her mother was out walking, and her sister was in
charge. Mrs. Jennings had endeared herself to Elinor in past days, and
was always sure of more indulgence from her than from others of the
family, and Margaret had little doubt that the visitor would be brought
upstairs before long.
Soon she could hear snatches of their conversation as they ascended the
staircase.
“You could have knocked me down with a feather, Mrs. Ferrars. Indeed,
I can hardly believe it yet. Lady Middleton, too, is surprised beyond
measure. What your sister will say I do not know! It is the sort of
thing that could not have been foreseen, nor prevented, or we would all
have acted very differently. She should never have had your sister’s
part at all in my opinion.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Jennings came in, a look of such extreme
melancholy on her round, rosy face as made it exceedingly difficult
for Margaret to avoid laughing at so incongruous an expression. It
was evident, however, that something real, or at least real to her
visitor, was causing the trouble, and Margaret quickly assumed a look
of sympathy as she held out her hand.
It was taken in both of Mrs. Jennings, and almost in tears she cried:
“Oh, my poor dear! Do not you be sorry for me, my love! Be sorry for
yourself! I can hardly bear to tell you, after all the teasings and
jokings I have done, but your beau is to marry some one else, and how
he can choose so beneath him when he might have had you is more than I
can understand.”
Margaret’s look of bewilderment brought her sister to her help.
“Mrs. Jennings has come to tell us of Mr. Atherton’s engagement,”
Elinor said quickly. “A source of congratulations to us all, dear Mrs.
Jennings, believe me. The vicarage needs a mistress and Miss Fairfield
will be a most agreeable neighbour to my mother and sister when she
becomes Mrs. Atherton.”
The relief sent the blood to Margaret’s cheeks and the smile to her
lips. Mrs. Jennings could not now imagine her to be otherwise than
pleasantly affected by the news, and, as soon as this was understood
and believed, the story could be unfolded with all the enjoyment proper
to the recital.
“It seems he first noticed her at the picnic, so I say it is another
marriage to the credit of Barton Park, for you must have seen, my
dears, that Sir John is for ever planning to bring young people
together, and let them have a chance to make it up between themselves.
Well, then, it all began at the picnic, and then it went on at the
rehearsals. There they were behind the same bush all the time, every
rehearsal, and she so sweet and willing, and ready to do every one’s
bidding. Then off you all went to Newton, and it seems he passed some
of the day with her and the children, and you may be sure it was her he
was thinking of and not the children. I hope they may have some little
ones of their own, for I am sure they both know how to manage them,
which is more than my daughter Middleton does--but it’s early days to
think of that. Then, in the evening he schemed to get a dance with her
when she was playing for the ball. He says you helped him there and
indeed he is very grateful to all who have brought them together. And
over head and ears in love he is--I will say that for him--and it is
to his credit too, for she hasn’t a penny piece, but he goes on about
her as if she had a hundred thousand pounds. All the time I thought him
wanting to marry you; I never thought him such a pretty-behaved fellow
as he is, though my daughter Middleton liked him more before this
happened she says. However, that’s neither here nor there, for Miss
Fairfield likes him enough for ten, and that’s all that matters to him.”