Kabanata Kabanata 13 · Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from

. Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from

what Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued,

and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for they did

not go at all.

By ten o’clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they

were to breakfast. The morning was rather favourable, though it had

rained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky,

and the sun frequently appeared. They were all in high spirits and good

humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest

inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.

While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the

rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;—he took it, looked at the

direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.

“What is the matter with Brandon?” said Sir John.

Nobody could tell.

“I hope he has had no bad news,” said Lady Middleton. “It must be

something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my

breakfast table so suddenly.”

In about five minutes he returned.

“No bad news, Colonel, I hope;” said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he

entered the room.

“None at all, ma’am, I thank you.”

“Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is

worse.”

“No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business.”

“But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a

letter of business? Come, come, this won’t do, Colonel; so let us hear

the truth of it.”

“My dear madam,” said Lady Middleton, “recollect what you are saying.”

“Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?” said

Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter’s reproof.

“No, indeed, it is not.”

“Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.”

“Whom do you mean, ma’am?” said he, colouring a little.

“Oh! you know who I mean.”

“I am particularly sorry, ma’am,” said he, addressing Lady Middleton,

“that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which

requires my immediate attendance in town.”

“In town!” cried Mrs. Jennings. “What can you have to do in town at

this time of year?”

“My own loss is great,” he continued, “in being obliged to leave so

agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence

is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell.”

What a blow upon them all was this!

“But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,” said

Marianne, eagerly, “will it not be sufficient?”

He shook his head.

“We must go,” said Sir John.—“It shall not be put off when we are so

near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.”

“I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to

delay my journey for one day!”

“If you would but let us know what your business is,” said Mrs.

Jennings, “we might see whether it could be put off or not.”

“You would not be six hours later,” said Willoughby, “if you were to

defer your journey till our return.”

“I cannot afford to lose _one_ hour.”

Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, “There

are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of

them. He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this

trick for getting out of it. I would lay fifty guineas the letter was

of his own writing.”

“I have no doubt of it,” replied Marianne.

“There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of

old,” said Sir John, “when once you are determined on anything. But,

however, I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two

Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked up

from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual

time, on purpose to go to Whitwell.”

Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of

disappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be

unavoidable.

“Well, then, when will you come back again?”

“I hope we shall see you at Barton,” added her ladyship, “as soon as

you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to

Whitwell till you return.”

“You are very obliging. But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in

my power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all.”

“Oh! he must and shall come back,” cried Sir John. “If he is not here

by the end of the week, I shall go after him.”

“Ay, so do, Sir John,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “and then perhaps you may

find out what his business is.”

“I do not want to pry into other men’s concerns. I suppose it is

something he is ashamed of.”

Colonel Brandon’s horses were announced.

“You do not go to town on horseback, do you?” added Sir John.

“No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.”

“Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you

had better change your mind.”

“I assure you it is not in my power.”

He then took leave of the whole party.

“Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this

winter, Miss Dashwood?”

“I am afraid, none at all.”

“Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to

do.”

To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.

“Come Colonel,” said Mrs. Jennings, “before you go, do let us know what

you are going about.”

He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room.

The complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto

restrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and

again how provoking it was to be so disappointed.

“I can guess what his business is, however,” said Mrs. Jennings

exultingly.

“Can you, ma’am?” said almost every body.

“Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.”

“And who is Miss Williams?” asked Marianne.

“What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have

heard of her before. She is a relation of the Colonel’s, my dear; a

very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the

young ladies.” Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor,

“She is his natural daughter.”

“Indeed!”

“Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will

leave her all his fortune.”

When Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret

on so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as

they were all got together, they must do something by way of being

happy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although

happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a

tolerable composure of mind by driving about the country. The carriages

were then ordered; Willoughby’s was first, and Marianne never looked

happier than when she got into it. He drove through the park very fast,

and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till

their return, which did not happen till after the return of all the

rest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said only in

general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others went on

the downs.

It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that

every body should be extremely merry all day long. Some more of the

Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly

twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment.

Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.

Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor’s right hand; and they had not been long

seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to

Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, “I have found you out in

spite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning.”

Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, “Where, pray?”

“Did not you know,” said Willoughby, “that we had been out in my

curricle?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined

to find out _where_ you had been to. I hope you like your house, Miss

Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I

hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I

was there six years ago.”

Marianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed

heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they

had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr.

Willoughby’s groom; and that she had by that method been informed that

they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in

walking about the garden and going all over the house.

Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely

that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house

while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest

acquaintance.

As soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it;

and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance

related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true. Marianne was quite angry

with her for doubting it.

“Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we

did not see the house? Is not it what you have often wished to do

yourself?”

“Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with

no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.”

“Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to show

that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to

have any other companion. I never spent a pleasanter morning in my

life.”

“I am afraid,” replied Elinor, “that the pleasantness of an employment

does not always evince its propriety.”

“On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if

there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been

sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting

wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.”

“But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very

impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of

your own conduct?”

“If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of

impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives.

I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation. I

am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs.

Smith’s grounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr.

Willoughby’s, and—”

“If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be

justified in what you have done.”

She blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her;

and after a ten minutes’ interval of earnest thought, she came to her

sister again, and said with great good humour, “Perhaps, Elinor, it

_was_ rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby

wanted particularly to show me the place; and it is a charming house, I

assure you.—There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a

nice comfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it

would be delightful. It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides.

On one side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a

beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church

and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so

often admired. I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be more

forlorn than the furniture,—but if it were newly fitted up—a couple of

hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest

summer-rooms in England.”

Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others,

she would have described every room in the house with equal delight.