Jane Odiwe - Willoughby’s Return

“Oh, Marianne, how can you say so? That song has such romance. And I am sure I have heard you sing it often!” Margaret declared, shuffling the pile of music in search of something else. To sing with Henry was a delight and she could not wait to do so again.

“It is a favourite song of mine, though I seldom hear it sung nowadays,” spoke up Mr Willoughby, whose eyes did not leave Marianne's.

“I daresay it has resonances for most of us,” Sir Edgar added with a wistful expression, and though his wife insisted that it had been a special song for her also, Marianne could not help feeling that her spouse's fondness for the air was due to the memory of someone else from his youth. Willoughby's words would not leave her; and now Margaret and her mother were staring in her direction, surely with the remembrance of times past.

Although Marianne was delighted to see how much Henry and Margaret were enjoying one another's company, the conclusion of the evening could not come soon enough. Listening to her sister and her beau, their voices twinned in song, brought forth more disturbing emotions than she was prepared to admit, and when finally Mrs Dashwood made their excuses, she was very relieved to say goodbye. Fortunately, Mr Willoughby made no further attempt to talk to her on any subject. It was only when they were safely settled in the carriage to make the journey home to Delaford that she recalled his entreaties to speak to her on a subject of a delicate nature. Although she could not be sure, she had a feeling that his appeal had something to do with someone else from his past, a lady that occupied a presence in each of their minds and concerns.

Much to Marianne's surprise and great joy, Colonel Brandon did return on the following evening. He entered the house with the same bluster as he had left it, but his wife could immediately sense and observe the change in him. He looked older and weighed down by his worries; she was shocked to see the extra grey hair at his temples and his pale complexion. Marianne was sure he had lost weight, too; had Eliza not been feeding him properly? Unable to bring herself to ask too many questions, she felt duty bound to enquire after the child.

“Lizzy was stable when I left,” sighed Brandon, removing his cloak and hat, “but I do not think we have seen the last of her illness, however reassuring the apothecary meant to be. Mr Oliver has my complete faith in his ability, he is the best man for the job, but Lizzy has succumbed to such putrid infections before and with each one she is left weaker than the last.”

“The child is in good hands, William,” Marianne answered. “It was right that you should come home. I am sure Eliza was very grateful to you for your assistance but she is more than capable of nursing Lizzy back to health.”

“Eliza is a wonderful nurse,” he agreed and paused as though conjuring a picture of her in his mind. “Her sweetness of temper and patient disposition are qualities rarely seen in human beings, I think. It is very touching to see the care she lavishes on her daughter with not a thought for herself. Many a time, trying to persuade her in the early hours that she should go to her bed was an impossible task. We kept vigil together, more often than not…”

Brandon trailed off at this point; Marianne watching him closely became aware that he was lost in thought.

“I am very tired, Marianne,” he said at last, raking his fingers through his dark, untidy mane. “If you do not mind, I will retire to catch up on my sleep.” He dropped a kiss absently on the top of her head, before turning wearily, his shoulders hunched and his gait ponderous.

Marianne watched him slowly climb the stairs. “My fears are not allayed,” she said to herself. “The disappointment and frustration I feel threaten to spill out in a torrent of fury. I want to shout at him, demand that he show some interest in James or myself. He has not asked one word about how we have fared in his absence; his only conversation involved those others of whom I have little care!” Sitting up until the early hours made her feel no better. It was only when Thompkins disturbed her as she slumbered in a chair that she forced herself to bed. As she moved quietly about the bedchamber, being careful not to wake her husband, she was momentarily moved by the expression on his face, soft in the glow of candlelight. He looked like a small boy; the cares of the day seemed to have left his countenance as he smiled in his sleep. Marianne smiled too, until she began to question the subject of his dreams. Who was it that made him smile spontaneously in his sleep like that? Climbing into bed, she nestled down into the cold sheets until she found the warmth of her husband's body. Wrapping herself around him, she only felt comforted when he turned in his sleep, responding to her touch by taking her in his arms.

Margaret took the shortcut through the park to the rectory. Deep in thought, she felt in raptures at all that she saw about her. Every tree, every leafless twig seemed to possess magical properties that she had not noticed before. The sun shone like spun gold in a heavenly sky, the air was never so sweet, and the entire world seemed an enchanted haven on this mellow December morning. Her thoughts were occupied not only with a young man who was becoming very dear to her heart but also with the fact that she would be leaving for London within a couple of weeks. Unable to settle to anything at Delaford, she had decided to visit her eldest sister and cousins to bid them a fond farewell. Elinor would, no doubt, have something to say on matters of the heart before she left, but today she felt she could endure anything.

“I am in love with Henry,” she told herself and said it out loud to the horses in the fields as she walked. Her excitement at the trip to London was boundless; after all, she imagined that they would be able to meet frequently. On his marriage Colonel Brandon had swiftly left his bachelor lodgings in St James's Street and found him and his new wife a fine house in Manchester Square. As the Lawrences had their own establishment in Portman Square, Margaret was certain there would not only be frequent calls, parties, and the like but also every chance of bumping into Henry in the street and round the town. Lower Berkeley Street was all that would separate them. Margaret's heart leapt at the thought.

Anna greeted Margaret with great excitement and hugs of affection. Elinor bade her sister sit by the fire whilst she poured fragrant tea and proffered a dish of buttered muffins.

“How is everyone at Delaford?” she asked. “I expect you are all in a state of high expectation and nervous tension. Have you packed every last gown that you own?”

“I have been packed for a week, Elinor, and I confess, I cannot wait to be gone to town. I am almost giddy at the thought of all the balls and dances. I only wish everyone were so keen. Perhaps I should not say so, but some people do not seem to share my enthusiasm. My sister, for one, is so bad tempered lately and as for my brother Brandon, I have never seen him so ill-disposed.”

“Oh, Margaret, they will have a lot to organise. It is no mean feat removing an entire household to another part of the country,” urged Elinor. “Do not be too hard on them. Perhaps you should be helping out a little more.”

Margaret hesitated. She didn’t like to tell tales but despite her happiness at the prospect of the London venture, she was more than a little disturbed by the present atmosphere at Delaford Park. “Well, Mama is doing all she can, of course,” she started, taking a moment to sip her hot tea and reflect on her concerns. When at last she spoke, her words rushed along like the brook at Barton, tumbling and gathering pace with every breath. “Elinor, I think Marianne and William have fallen out with one another. I do not want to tittle-tattle but they seem so at odds with one another just now. It is not right. Marianne is silent and grave; she hardly utters a word or even looks at her husband. William has been out on business every day since he came back from Lyme and spends all his time writing long letters when he is not spending it with little James.”

Elinor looked thoughtful. She knew if anything were to discompose Marianne more and upset her temper, it was her husband's visits to Lyme. Marianne's irrational jealousy of Brandon's ward and child, which Elinor knew her sister found hard to curb, must be at the root of this present situation. However, she knew Marianne would be most upset to have it talked of and discussed, even if with another sister. Elinor chose her words carefully.

“I am sure it is nothing which won’t blow over eventually, Margaret,” she assured her sister. “I daresay the trip to town with all its last-minute arrangements is taking its toll. You’ll see, everything will be fine when you get to London.”

“But it is the one thing that is spoiling everything,” cried Margaret, putting her plate down with a petulant sigh. “We were to have such fun, but we won’t have any with such disagreeableness. Mama has noticed it, too. She said William is too occupied with other concerns and should look to his own home.” Margaret stole a glance at Elinor, who wore a most concerned expression.

“I hope it was only to you that she voiced these fears,” she said at last.

“Yes, well, not strictly speaking. I was passing Marianne's dressing room and I heard her and Mama talking. I heard other things, too.”

“Margaret, no good ever comes of eavesdropping, you should know better,” scolded Elinor. “I do not wish to hear any more. Now, tell me, how is young Mr Lawrence? I am well aware that he has been to Delaford several times lately to call on you, but I have never had a chance to quiz you about the evening you spent at Whitwell. Indeed, I have almost thought you all avoiding my enquiries, so many times you and Marianne have omitted to furnish me with the events of that meal.”

Being very careful to stick to her subject, Margaret informed her sister of the pleasant evening she had spent in the company of Henry at Whitwell. Elinor's interest in the conduct of that young man and her questions about the songs they had sung together exhausted the topic of Whitwell quite enough, Margaret thought. Would it really matter if she did not mention Willoughby's presence to Elinor? Margaret was undecided and indecisive, not wanting to ask herself why she kept back the information. But she knew that once out, it would prompt many more questions, which she would find tiresome and troubling to answer. Apart from the memory of a wonderful evening spent with Henry, the one other recollection that stayed so prominently in her mind was that of Marianne and Willoughby, arm in arm, walking into dinner. So it was with a glad heart and a clear conscience that she listened to Elinor's following entreaties to enjoy herself in London, remembering to act thoughtfully and prudently on all occasions.

Margaret took her leave soon after. “I wish you would come, too,” she begged Elinor. “You never go to town and I am sure you would love to go shopping and see the sights.”

“Oh, Margaret,” Elinor cried, “believe me, I have all the sights I could wish to see here at Delaford. Why should I wish to go to London with all its noise and dirty streets? I have only to look out of the window to satisfy any longing for variety. Besides, Edward prefers to stay here and where he is happy, so am I.”

Margaret looked back with envy at her sister as she set off down the lane, waving until the house and the sight of Elinor standing at the gate was out of view. Elinor and Edward had the perfect marriage to her mind. “And that is just how it shall be for Henry and I,” thought she.

Elinor tied on her apron and walked out into the herb garden. So that was why Marianne had not called. Something must be quite wrong. If either sister were to go away, they never left without first saying goodbye. “And if I know my sister,” Elinor thought to herself, “the fact that she has not been to see me for three days must mean that there is something she feels uncomfortable discussing with me. She knows I will see through her straight away; even when she was a little girl she could never hide her feelings from me.”

Cutting sprigs of thyme from the herb garden for a tisane, Elinor gathered the leaves into her large apron pocket before heading for the kitchen door where she was sure of a warm welcome from the cook and the kitchen maid. Standing on the threshold, she paused to look back at the vista. From here, she could see the mellow brick and the smoking chimneys of Delaford House itself. “Perhaps Marianne will come this evening,” Elinor thought with the hopeless certainty that she wished in vain.