Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (45 page)

“Well,” she said, when he was decent once more.

He cleared his throat. “Well,” he echoed, staring out the window.

They were both as confused as a person could be — that they both still desperately wanted and loved each other was undeniable, but they were each painfully aware that their circumstances had not changed. There was simply no feasible solution to be had. They were not to be.

Elinor accepted this first, and, with more effort than she’d thought she had the ability to exert, she kept her eyes diverted from Edward’s and resumed their earlier conversation.

“As I was saying … ” She took a deep breath and told herself that if she could just get through this conversation, she would be free to fall to pieces when he left. But she would not break down in front of him. He was the one who had chosen to marry another, even after having been given an out by his very betrothed. The situation was out of her hands, and she would not debase herself by showing her weakness. “I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the living — it is about two hundred a-year — were much more considerable, and such as might better enable you to — as might be more than a temporary accommodation to yourself — such, in short, as might establish all your views of happiness.”

Such a turn to the conversation would be shocking under the most normal of circumstances, but the fact that they were discussing this after what had passed between them not five minutes earlier was far too strange for Edward to comprehend. What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him. He
looked
all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words —

“Colonel Brandon!”

“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern for what has lately passed — for the cruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you — a concern which I am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”

“Colonel Brandon give
me
a living! — Can it be possible?”

“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where.”

“No,” replied be, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in
you
; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness … I owe it all. I feel it — I would express it if I could — but, as you well know, I am no orator.”

Elinor lowered her eyes and whispered, “There is no denying the truth of your statement. But you have other ways of communicating which I have always found to serve me quite suitably.”

Edward gaped at her, hardly knowing what to say … which was appearing to be quite a normal state for him as of late.

“And besides, you are very much mistaken regarding this matter anyway. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps — indeed I know he
has
, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation.”

Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to speak; — at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said —

“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman.”

“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he
should
be all this.”

Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the mansion-house much greater.

“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, soon afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give
you
; to assure him that he has made me a very — an exceedingly happy man.” It was true, of course — until now Edward had feared the very worst for his future, having been cast aside by his mother and left with no skills or prospects. Colonel Brandon’s offer had saved him.

Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very earnest assurance on
her
side of her unceasing good wishes for his happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on
his
, with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of expressing it.

“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”

And with this anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent. She supposed it was finally time to move on, for she would never be with Edward again, and it would do no good to wish it so.

When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do right? — And I suppose you had no great difficulty — You did not find him very unwilling to accept your proposal?”

“No, ma’am;
that
was not very likely.”

“Well, and how soon will he be ready? — For it seems all to depend upon that.”

“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his ordination.”

“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord bless me! — I am sure it would put
me
quite out of patience! — And though one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in orders already.”

“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why, Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr. Ferrars!”

The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs. Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely
may
be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it.”

“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s being enough to allow them to marry.”

“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t there.”

Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not waiting for any thing more.

Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in her life.

Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas. So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor that credit which Edward
would
give her, that she spoke of her friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns; anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and scarcely resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could, of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel it necessary to pay her a visit. This was an obligation, however, which not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much reason to dislike.

Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see her, invited her to come in.

They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room. Nobody was there.

“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: — “I will go to her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the world to seeing
you.
Very far from it, indeed.
Now
especially there cannot be — but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites. Why would not Marianne come?” —

Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s — can it be true? — has he really given it to Edward? — I heard it yesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.”

“It is perfectly true. Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford to Edward.”

“Really! — Well, this is very astonishing! — no relationship! — no connection between them! — and now that livings fetch such a price! — what was the value of this?”

“About two hundred a year.”

“Very well — and for the next presentation to a living of that value — supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and likely to vacate it soon — he might have got I dare say — fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this person’s death?
Now
indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! — I wonder he should be so improvident in a point of such common, such natural, concern! — Well, I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character. I suppose, however — on recollection — that the case may probably be
this.
Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.”

Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.

“It is truly astonishing!” — he cried, after hearing what she said — “what could be the Colonel’s motive?”

“A very simple one — to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”