part0012

The week after Mrs Jennings’ and Sir John’s visit, the Bennet ladies were invited along with the family at Barton Park to dine with Colonel Brandon at Delaford. The Colonel was not much in the habit of entertaining, but he would occasionally host a small, informal dinner for the closest people of his acquaintance.

When Elizabeth and her relations arrived at Delaford, they were surprised to note that among the guests there was a gentleman they had not previously met. He was soon introduced as Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, known to Colonel Brandon from his previous years of active service. The newcomer, they were told, was visiting his erstwhile fellow officer and longstanding friend, on his way from Plymouth to London.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was a pleasant man of about thirty, of easy manners and gentlemanlike address. He bore Lydia’s interest in his regimentals quite cheerfully and with admirable composure, but it was Elizabeth’s conversation that attracted him the most. After dinner, he sat with her and Colonel Brandon and, with increasingly more frequent contributions from the latter, they talked so agreeably of London and Devonshire, of the pleasures of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, so as to render even the taciturn Brandon more talkative than Fitzwilliam had ever seen him.

It was a most enjoyable evening, which not even Lydia’s ill-judged interference could spoil. At everyone’s request, Elizabeth finished by playing for the company, and Colonel Brandon offered his services in turning the pages. Her playing had improved substantially over the last few months, and her performance was applauded by many, but appreciated by a handful. Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every song lasted. Lady Middleton often called him to order, wondered how he could fail to pay attention to the music – then asked Elizabeth to sing a particular song which Elizabeth had just finished. Mrs Bennet, Mrs Jennings and Lydia were engrossed in their merry chatter to the exclusion of all else, and it was only Kitty, their host and Fitzwilliam who paid her the compliment of attention.

Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself more attracted than he would have thought by the lady’s fair countenance and lively spirit but, as he was an honourable man and a good friend, he refrained from enjoying her conversation as much as he would have otherwise been inclined to, and rejoiced in the obvious improvement in Colonel Brandon’s spirits, which the charming Miss Bennet had wrought.

They did not see him again after that. Much to his regret, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not extend his stay beyond a se’nnight. As he told his friend upon his departure, it would have been remiss of him not to devote some time to his parents, before he was expected to meet with his cousin in town, to travel together into Kent.

Around mid-April, as expected, the Miss Dashwoods and their widowed mother made their appearance in the neighbourhood, and settled at Barton Cottage. Elizabeth and her relations were among their first callers, after Sir John and Mrs Jennings of course, as they could equal neither Sir John’s solicitude as cousin and landlord, nor Mrs Jennings’ curiosity and penchant for gossip.

Elizabeth was delighted with her new neighbours who, happily, were now settled less than two miles from her home. Mrs Dashwood was a respectable, amiable woman, and her daughters were just as pleasant an addition to the neighbourhood. Elizabeth found herself agreeing with Sir John, although his opinion was ill-founded. He thought they would become fast friends with the Miss Dashwoods because of similarities in age and circumstances, while she discovered soon after making their acquaintance that they were well-informed young ladies, of good manners and no affectation, and was glad to find them so. The eldest, Miss Elinor, was two years her junior, but Elizabeth might have thought her older than herself, because she reminded her greatly of her sister Jane. The second, Miss Marianne, undoubtedly the handsomest, was also the most vivacious. As for the youngest, Miss Margaret, while well-bred and charming, at only thirteen she could not be regarded as a possible companion .

Of all three, before long Elizabeth found herself drawn more towards the eldest Miss Dashwood. Although Elinor did not often display easy humour and openness of manner, her reserve did not suggest a wish to keep others at a distance, and it seemed to want but a longer acquaintance to be overcome.

When progressive intimacy allowed them to know each other better, Elizabeth discovered she was correct in her estimation, and that Miss Elinor’s good sense and sound opinions matched her own far better than Miss Marianne’s exceedingly romantic notions. Yet she could not help finding the second Miss Dashwood endearing, and trusted that in a few years’ time her fanciful opinions might settle into something everybody else could understand – not just herself.

Elizabeth readily agreed, grateful for such pleasant companions settled so close to her new home. Their society was a most fortunate substitute for the happy hours spent with Charlotte, and went a long way towards making her miss Jane less.

Over the past weeks, they had encountered Mrs Dashwood and her daughters often, for they were all frequently invited at Barton Park – and little did Sir John and Mrs Jennings know that they were greatly instrumental in bringing the four young ladies closer, for the mutual tendency to shrink from intrusive manners made them appreciate each other even more.

Kitty and Elizabeth arrived at Barton Cottage in no time at all, only to discover that Miss Marianne had suffered a mishap. She and her sister Margaret were lured out the day before by a reprieve in the blustery showers. Elinor and their mother could not be persuaded, and the younger girls set off by themselves. They gaily climbed the steep hill behind the cottage, when suddenly the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in their faces. Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged to turn back, and they ran as fast as they could towards the garden gate, but a false step brought Marianne to the ground .

“I was about to return to the house and call to Mamma and Elinor for assistance, but luckily Colonel Brandon was passing up the hill but a few yards from us, when the accident happened.”

Restlessly perched on a stool by the side of a blushing Marianne, Margaret told the rest of the story. The Colonel had dismounted and rushed to her sister’s aid. Marianne tried to raise herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in the fall, and she could barely stand. There seemed to be no other option, so the gentleman took her up in his arms, carried her down the hill, brought her into the house and seated her in the parlour. Despite Mrs Dashwood’s entreaties, he declined her invitation to stay for refreshments as he was dirty and wet, but requested the honour of calling upon them on the following day to inquire about the patient.

Elizabeth and Kitty voiced their concern, only to be told that the pain had subsided, more readily so after the draughts supplied by the apothecary, but Marianne was still unable to stir from her reclining position on the sofa, which vexed her greatly, because she could not enjoy the good weather that was now established at last.

“It could have been much worse, dearest,” her elder sister offered with a smile, by way of consolation. “Had you been farther from home, or had the Colonel not been around to help, you might have caught a severe cold.”

Marianne smiled and held her hand, and Margaret giggled.

“I would not have thought the Colonel equal to such exertions at his stage in life.”

Elizabeth was shocked at such a statement from the well-bred Miss Margaret, and wondered if she had been spending rather too much time with her sister Lydia. In the first respect at least, her sentiments were shared by the eldest Miss Dashwood and her mother, who promptly checked her interference and bade her to refrain from such remarks.

“But he wears a flannel waistcoat and complains of rheumatism! Marianne, you told me so yourself,” cried Margaret, which earned her a “Tsk!” from her mother and a blushing reprimand from the sister whose aid she had attempted to enlist.

“Apparently my younger girls think five-and-thirty on the brink of decrepitude and infirmity,” smiled Mrs Dashwood apologetically towards the visitors, whom she had grown to regard as other daughters. “At this rate, my dears, you must be in continual terror of my decay, and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty,” she concluded, making everyone laugh and Marianne’s blush deepen.

Elizabeth glanced at her younger friend with a diverted smile. Miss Marianne had expressed some very decided opinions in the past. At seventeen, she had seemingly relegated people like the Colonel to nightcaps, powder gowns, tisanes and slippers warmed before the fire – so it must have come as a great surprise to see him in the posture of a romantic hero materialising from the mists of the downs to come to her rescue.

After a while, Elizabeth decided it was time to excuse themselves and said so, but Marianne begged so insistently for the pleasure of their society that they were persuaded to stay a little longer. It was no hardship, for the company was amiable, cheerful, and not lacking in sense.

“Will you read for us, Elizabeth?” Marianne asked some time later, at a lull in conversation.

Elizabeth readily acquiesced and rose to choose a book from the pile Marianne kept on a small table by her side. Her eyes fell on the one on top, a slim volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, beautifully bound and lovingly worn, an obvious favourite. She opened it at random and began to read. She had a soft, warm voice and she read well, but her inflections did not do justice to Marianne’s notions about how Shakespeare’s sonnets should be read.

“Oh, Elizabeth, for shame!” she exclaimed, with all the tender admonishment of a close friend, when she could hold herself in check no longer. “How can you read this so evenly and tamely?”

“It was well read, Marianne,” her sister disagreed, raising her eyes from the sketch she was putting the final touches to – a remarkably accurate rendition of Barton Cottage.

“I am sorry it was not to your satisfaction, Marianne,” Elizabeth replied with good-humour, and offered her younger friend the book. “Would you kindly show us how it should be done?”

With a smile, Marianne took the book, but she barely had the time to declaim two verses with all the deep passion they inspired in her, when the door was opened and Colonel Brandon was announced.

He advanced and greeted the ladies with all the reserve they were accustomed to finding in him, and it was only for Elizabeth that he had a friendlier, more open smile, readily returned. He then turned towards Marianne, offered her a beautiful bouquet, no doubt plundered from his well-kept hothouses, and begged leave to inquire about her injury.

Her cheeks overspreading with the deepest blush, Marianne bent over the flowers to inhale their scent, then recollected herself enough to reply to his inquiries and thank him for his assistance the previous day. In that, she was seconded by her mother and elder sister, who insisted he be seated and partake of refreshments. The invitation was accepted with quiet pleasure, and Brandon took a seat alongside Elizabeth.

It was difficult, perhaps impossible, to revert to the earlier, playful tenor, and much as Elizabeth, Kitty, Elinor and Mrs Dashwood sought to further the conversation, Brandon could not fail to see that he had interrupted a light-hearted morning call between close friends. He stood to take his leave, but Marianne shyly yet decidedly insisted that he ought not leave them so soon.

“I should not wish to disrupt your day,” he awkwardly said.

“Perhaps if you would resume your reading, Marianne?” Elizabeth suggested.

Blushing violently, Marianne protested against such a scheme, but in the end relented and took up the book when Colonel Brandon walked over to the window and the extensive views seemed to command his full attention.

Elizabeth smiled to herself to note that Marianne’s reading was even more subdued than hers had been when she had earned the younger girl’s censure. Yet as she read on, her friend grew progressively less aware of her audience, and of the gentleman whose presence had so intimidated her before. Her voice grew stronger, once more infused with passion, raising with deep feeling or sinking to a whisper, until the sonnet ended and, turning the page, she began to read another one.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love… ” she read, until to her utmost surprise she heard another voice reciting very softly, but with an intensity which even she could not have found deficient.

It was only to Elizabeth and Marianne that the Colonel’s whisper was audible, from where they sat.

With the wisdom of one four years older, Elizabeth pretended not to hear the words said almost to himself as Brandon stood unnaturally still, his gaze fixed over the valley, on the scenery beyond – but Marianne stopped reading and turned her head to steadily regard him, her countenance a study in undisguised astonishment and bemused admiration.