Chapter Fourteen #4
Mrs. Norris nodded to Edmund before continuing her lecture.
“You, Edmund, have tried to be a kind cousin to the poor creature, but you would have done better to leave her be this afternoon. Though I suppose she only wished to heighten the intensity of her pitiful disappointment, the exercise must have done her some good, and ought to be encouraged more. See how sullen she is now—she ought to have walked a while longer.”
Elinor schooled her countenance to conceal the protective indignation she felt at her aunt’s unfair oversimplification.
Though it was true that Marianne had a flair for the dramatic, Elinor could not doubt the depth of her sister’s present despair; she knew that Marianne felt the departure of Willoughby keenly, and her current sulking was brought on by the return of Colonel Brandon to Norland.
Beside her, Edmund replied, “I believe I thought of what comfort it would bring Cousin Elinor and Aunt Margaret, to in turn comfort Cousin Marianne. But I cannot disagree with the benefits of exercise—indeed, Elinor, I approached to inquire after your health, for I thought you were looking rather low yourself. Perhaps we must follow our aunt’s advice, and take a turn about the room. ”
It was handsomely done of him, and Elinor smiled at her cousin as she took his arm, happy not only for his company but for the escape from their aunt.
“I am sure you are right,” she replied. When they had moved some distance from Mrs. Norris, Elinor allowed herself a moment of discreet laughter.
“I thank you for that—I knew not how to get away! But I hope I do not really appear so dispirited.”
“Not terribly so—I think I know you well enough to guess that your cares are more for others than yourself, and I admire your compassion.”
Elinor smiled softly. “I might say the same to you. The feelings you have expressed to me lately show a very admirable concern for your family,” she whispered.
Edmund smiled back, but it did not reach his eyes. “Concern is nothing when it cannot be acted upon. I have tried—but at present I can do no more; I find myself wishing something, anything, would simply happen already.”
“I cannot agree with you—but I suppose in a week or two I may begin to feel the same,” Elinor admitted, keeping her voice low as they traversed the room.
Apparently desirous of speaking more of the terrible secret, Edmund led Elinor into the music room, where Miss Crawford was playing her harp for Colonel Brandon again.
This brought Elinor some little joy, for she was pleased to see her friend from Devonshire finally granted some of the happiness he deserved.
Unfortunately, Marianne was still brooding across the room, staring daggers at the poor man.
Elinor and Edmund positioned themselves at the back of the music room, with all the appearance of wishing to listen to the performance—here they might speak privately in plain sight, and the beauteous sounds coming from Miss Crawford’s instrument might protect them from being overheard in the adjoining parlor.
Edmund had released her arm now, but stood nearby, and leaned closer still as he asked, “Forgive me—would knowing what we know be of any comfort to Marianne?”
“Oh dear, no—oh, please do not say anything,” Elinor said, her brow furrowing with worry.
She had still not completely processed the enormous revelation, but at present she was not at all comfortable with the knowledge, and scarcely trusted herself with the secret, much less Marianne.
Where Elinor preferred to think it over and bide her time, Marianne would make the information known at once, if only in the hope of bringing Willoughby back.
And yet, if such information could achieve his return where affection alone could not, Elinor would be obliged to think much less of the man she still wished to call her brother.
“Of course—I really think it better that way, but I would defer to your judgement if you thought it might cheer her.”
“Oh, no—it hardly cheers me. I am sure I no more desire this house than you do,” Elinor replied with a bitter laugh.
“What a pity that those most worthy of wealth and consequence are often those pure enough in spirit to not desire such a station.”
Elinor smirked. “This might be one of your sermons. But I hope you do not think me wrong to be so dismayed by the truth.”
“Not at all—you have said yourself, it is just what I would feel in such a position. Were there nothing else at stake, I should think it best not to rob a man and his family for something past their control.”
“Yes… and yet I understand there is far more in it than that.” Elinor pinched at her temples, feeling a headache coming on.
She had no wish to suffer the pain of a megrim, nor be obliged to retire early.
She and Edmund had been merry enough together at dinner, and she longed to return to a happier turn of conversation.
“Forgive me—might we speak of something else? Tell me more of Thornton Lacey, if you would. Your future parsonage sounds lovely indeed, from your last account of it.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yes, Marianne has commended me on my capacity to wax poetic—this afternoon she was very keen to know if I favored Scott or Cowper, if I believe in second attachments, and if I have any appreciation for drawing. I am sure I might make a little watercolor of Thornton Lacey, and send her into absolute raptures.”
Elinor smiled wryly, catching Marianne’s eye across the room and arching an eyebrow at her sister.
Marianne perked up for a moment, giving her sister a knowing grin, and Elinor knew at once what Marianne was about.
These were just like the deficiencies Marianne had objected to in the earliest days of their acquaintance with Edward Ferrars; Marianne had assumed much from the growing intimacy their shared secret had lent Elinor and Edmund.
With a subtle shake of her head, Elinor turned her attention back to her cousin. “Yes, Marianne was much impressed with you, after the hour you spent reading aloud to us in my chamber, day before last.”
“Well, I am sure I had no notion of impressing anybody—I only wished to give you some comfort.”
“I suppose you have achieved both,” Elinor replied.
She felt a sudden heat spreading across her cheeks, for Marianne was watching them still, and it was the first time such a notion as that had crossed Elinor’s mind.
She was now very aware of Edmund’s proximity, his physicality, and she felt some panic that she might betray these unsettling new thoughts.
How had she never noticed how handsome he was?
Ah, but when she recalled him carrying her up the stairs—she could well imagine the impression such a thing could make on Marianne’s sensibilities.
Happily, John interrupted them. He had gone first to speak with Colonel Brandon, offering him a letter that caused the colonel to quit the room directly.
Now he approached Elinor with a charming smile.
“Dear sister—but now I am thinking of letters, for I had occasion to write one today, and I am sure you can guess the recipient.”
Elinor could indeed, though she could not imagine what John meant by it, or why he was giving her such a look of forced cheer.
After such thoughts as she had been entertaining of her cousin Edmund, she could scarcely speak the answer to John’s question, and merely shook her head, hoping to keep her countenance a blank.
“Edward,” he cried. “You see, it is Edward I have written to—and what do you think, but I have begged him to join our merry party! Am I not a good brother?” He leaned in, attempting a very shabby whisper.
“I had thought the colonel—ah, but no matter. How handsome a couple he and Miss Crawford make—and foolish me for separating them just now, but the poor colonel had a great matter of business! Edward has no such weighty matters to distract him, though, Sister—I am sure I need not tell you what a fine addition to the party he shall make! Well! Shall I tell your mother and sisters? I daresay it will bring poor Marianne some cheer—poor girl! I am sure I would summon Willoughby back in a trice if I could….”
Without waiting for any reply, or making any acknowledgement that Edmund had heard the whole of his fatuous communication, John gave a terribly awkward waggle of his eyebrows and moved away.
“Oh, dear,” Elinor sighed, feeling her headache grow worse. “That was… painful.”
“That he would call you sister? Or… but surely the rest of it must give you joy. I have heard nothing but praise of Edward Ferrars from your family.”
To swoon a second time in three days would certainly satisfy Marianne’s notion of a heart full of feeling, but Elinor had no wish to risk another such display. She knew she ought to be happy to hear of Edward’s coming to Norland, but that John was so eager gave her some pause.
Edmund drew closer still, and laid a hand on her shoulder; her remaining composure nearly evaporated. “Elinor, you have that wild look about you again—perhaps I can escort you to your room, before you give your mother a fright.”
“Yes, I should retire.” She gave a shake of her head, as if to dispel the throbbing and dislodge the abundance of thoughts that she could not connect sensibly.
“Sit, sit,” he urged her. “I will go and tell your mother you mean to go up.”
He was gone but a moment, and Elinor was grateful for his discretion.
When she had come in from the rain and fainted after Edmund’s shocking revelation, her great aunt Prudence had been far too eager to seize the opportunity to put Cousin James forward.
“Oh!” Elinor groaned as she suddenly apprehended the reason for it.