Margaret Dashwood, Or Interference

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXXVI CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVIII CHAPTER XXIX

Chapter I

MARGARET DASHWOOD was an observer of life. Her temper was calm, her manner gentle, and she was able to listen to the accounts other people gave of their activities without the appearance of fatigue. The circumstances of her life up to the age of seventeen had combined to increase in her these qualities, so valuable to her acquaintance, so agreeable to herself, and so baffling to those desiring a nearer intimacy. She was the youngest of three daughters, not so accomplished and self-reliant as Elinor, not so handsome and impulsive as Marianne, and less attractive than either, if to be immediately noticed is to be attractive.

Their mother was a widow, whose income, though possibly equal to her expenditure, was consistently below her wishes, and the three Miss Dashwoods were obliged to suit their requirements to their mother’s purse rather than to her heart.

Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood had lived for ten years with his uncle, the owner of a large estate in Sussex to which Mr. Dashwood was the heir. The property was inherited, but enjoyed for only a twelvemonth, and Mrs. Dashwood became a widow with a small income.

The idea of wealth takes root quickly in the mind, and Mrs. Dashwood was not easily convinced that she was now unable to afford indulgences for her daughters. Her own tastes were simple, or became so after her change of situation; and, in order that Elinor and Marianne might be suitably attired and escorted, her own pin-money was severely taxed. Margaret, as the youngest daughter and not yet grown up, had a more personal experience of the family economies than her sisters, and she learned more of the meaning of the word “poor” than either of them was ever to know.

Six months after her husband’s death Mrs. Dashwood removed, with her daughters, from Norland Park, in the county of Sussex, to Barton Cottage, near Exeter. Margaret was only thirteen at the time of this removal and, though deeply mourning the loss of her father, with whom she had been a special favourite, her feelings on leaving her home were tinged quite as much with excitement as with regret. She had found, however, that, if she wished to be left in peace to her own reflections, it was wise to agree with outward fervour with Marianne, whose sensibilities were of such a nature as to brook no opposition, least of all from a younger sister.

In Marianne’s company Margaret expressed undying sorrow at parting from the woods of Norland—but she ran away if her father’s name occurred. With her mother she said little of regrets, but something of the joy of living in a cottage, and possibly keeping pigs and poultry; and with Elinor her subjects of conversation were still more limited for, as a rule, to her eldest sister she said nothing at all. She was quite willing to admire Elinor for her wisdom and elegance, but was not very fond of her society, and did not covet her notice, which usually took the form of gentle reproof or a slightly satirical approval. Margaret did not feel that she merited either. Most of her time was spent with Marianne, who would read aloud to her and rhapsodize with great spirit, if no older listener was to be secured. With her mother she was always happy, for Mrs. Dashwood restrained her grief when with her child, though she was in the habit of indulging it more freely with her elder daughters.

The new owner of Norland, John Dashwood, the son of Mr. Dashwood by a former wife, early took up his residence accompanied by his wife and little son, now the heir to the property. Margaret soon contrived to dismiss her brother and his wife from her thoughts as “very disagreeable.” When obliged to be in company with them she merely thought of something else, and in this way escaped much that tried her mother and sisters almost beyond bearing. Her little nephew, Harry, she loved dearly, and amused him untiringly, and in this way gained approval and some degree of liking from Mrs. John Dashwood. Margaret was as unaware of this honour as she would have been indifferent had she known of it.

In one respect Elinor became the subject of special interest and reflection to Margaret during the months that followed their father’s death and before their removal was decided. Mrs. John Dashwood’s brother, Edward Ferrars, had come to pay a short visit to his sister, and remained to pay a long one. Wherever Margaret went in the garden or shrubbery she found Edward and Elinor there before her, pacing the walks in earnest talk or sitting on a garden-seat while Elinor drew and Edward read aloud to her. It was Margaret’s first experience of the kind, and she found it exceedingly interesting, so much so that on more than one occasion she felt inclined to call her mother’s attention to it, but the habit of silence prevailed and, later, her thoughts were distracted by her mother’s announcement of the pending removal.

The day came for their departure, and Marianne’s tears flowed freely in the carriage as they drove away from Norland. Mrs. Dashwood did not restrain her grief, and even the self-contained Elinor was moved. Margaret, however, held her perfectly dry handkerchief up to her face and peeped over it at the countryside and villages. By and by she was able to put away the appearance of sorrow, and on the second day could enjoy the journey without pretense. Elinor was determinedly full of interest and admiration. Mrs. Dashwood responded quickly to this happier mood, and even Marianne brightened as the beauties of Devonshire came in sight. Barton Cottage itself was pronounced bearable, and its situation was found to be perfection.

Here Margaret was to live and grow up from thirteen to seventeen—when our story opens—and much was she to observe in those four years.

She was to see how lovers advance and retire, set to corners, and set to partners not only in the ballroom. She was to find from Sir John Middleton and his wife, their near neighbours, that kindness could be inconvenient and that children could be troublesome; from Colonel Brandon that a brother-in-law could be old enough to be her father; from Edward Ferrars that a brother-in-law could be sober enough to be her grandfather; from Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, that sweethearts were a good joke; from Miss Steele that beaux were vastly entertaining; and from her own sisters that lovers caused more grief and pain than she would have supposed possible.

CHAPTER I

ON an April day in 1813, Margaret Dashwood and her mother were driven up to the door of Barton Cottage. They left many interests behind them at Delaford. Elinor Ferrars at the parsonage, and Marianne Brandon at the mansion house, the husband of each, who seemed to Mrs. Dashwood as dear as her own sons would have been if she had had any, and two attractive grandchildren, one in each household, made up the number to six dear ones left behind. It would not have been unlike Mrs. Dashwood’s warmhearted nature to have entered her own home in dejection of spirits; but this was not the case. She hurried in, full of interest and happiness, and Margaret followed with the book and purse left in the carriage.

“Has Mr. Atherton arrived?” Mrs. Dashwood asked the waiting maid, “Not yet.” “That is well. Have you his room prepared? Miss Margaret and I have had some refreshment on the road. Tell Mrs. Thomas to keep back dinner till Mr. Atherton arrives. He will be here before three o’clock Iam convinced.”

Mrs. Dashwood greeted the other servants, who were assembled to meet her, with the sweetness of address to which they were accustomed, and joyfully turned to the parlour, whither Margaret had preceded her.

“What a lovely fire!’’ she said. “And a wonderful basket of flowers from Sir John. What a kind neighbour he is! To-morrow, my love, you and I must walk up to the Park.”

"And the next day Sir John and Mrs, Jennings will come to us,” went on Margaret.

“And the day after Lady Middleton and little William,” continued Mrs. Dashwood.

“And after that we go there again,” finished Margaret.

“You do not intend any objection, my Margaret, surely? They are kind neighbours, and must be treated with attention.”

Margaret replied that she felt no objection that she could urge. “On the whole I prefer visiting them to receiving their calls. We have the pleasure of the walk, and can end the visit when we choose, and though doubtless we interrupt their occupations sadly, it is better than being interrupted ourselves.”

Mrs. Dashwood had done less than justice to Sir John Middleton’s neighbourliness of spirit. The flowers were no more than the herald of his goodwill. She was still re-arranging her dress in her bed-chamber when she saw from her window Sir John and Mrs. Jennings crossing the lawn, and heard them tapping on the window to announce their arrival to Margaret. Mrs. Dashwood entered the sitting-room in time to catch Sir John’s inquiry as to how many beaux Miss Margaret had left disconsolate behind her at Delaford, and to hear Mrs. Jennings’s hearty rejoinder on Margaret’s behalf, ‘‘Miss Margaret has only to waggle her little finger to have them all after her, but she will not take the trouble.”

Margaret’s composure remained undisturbed, and she turned a smiling face to each in turn without exerting herself to make any other reply.

Mrs. Dashwood’s entrance stopped the flow of gallantry by diverting the attention of the two visitors to herself.

“And how is dear Mrs. Ferrars? And Mrs. Brandon too? As beautiful as ever, I will be bound, and the children will be old enough to fight each other now. My daughter Middleton is desirous of hearing all about them. She has an idea that Miss Marianne’s boy—I should say Mrs. Brandon’ s— is taller than William was at his age and cannot rest till the matter is decided, and, for my part, I hope, ma’am, that my grandson has the advantage of yours, or we shall never hear the last of it from the child’s mother. Is it not so, Sir John? Lady Middleton is determined to have her boy the taller.”

“For my part, I do not care which has it, ma’am,” replied Sir John, “ but I hope William will be the better sportsman when they are both full grown, and that is all there is to say about it.”

“You will find us all poor company after the party at Delaford, Miss

Margaret,” went on Mrs. Jennings. “There is not a young man within ten miles, but we have one treat in store for you. Who do you think is coming to the Park this afternoon?”

Margaret was unable to make any conjecture.

“Well, then, what do you think of Miss Nancy Steele?”

Margaret’s smile gave very little indication of her thoughts, which were briefly that the addition of Miss Steele to the party at Barton would neither lessen its dullness nor add to its happiness. One merit in the arrival she could perceive: Miss Steele’s beaux would prove a subject of conversation more accessible than her own, as Miss Steele would herself gladly supply all the material required for Mrs. Jennings’s and Sir John’s wit, and would join with enthusiasm in the laughter raised.

Sir John’s next care was to secure the promise of a speedy visit from the ladies, and was for urging them to return with Mrs. Jennings and himself at once to dine at the Park, and thus secure the earliest possible meeting with Miss Steele. To this Mrs. Dashwood would not consent, and pleaded fatigue and the necessity of seeing her household, in vain. Sir John would not give way unless confronted with some better excuse than what he surmised was mere disinclination. He pressed his point so urgently that Mrs. Dashwood thought it best to admit that it was not in their power to accept his invitation. They were expecting the arrival of Mr. Atherton that afternoon.

“Ha ha! Miss Margaret,” ejaculated Mrs. Jennings, “I was sure there was some beau in the question. Don’t tell me but that Mr. Atherton is young and handsome.”

Sir John unwillingly admitted the prior claim of a visitor in the house, and bowed himself out, but with the assurance that he would wait on Mr. Atherton at the earliest possible opportunity on the morrow.

Mr. Atherton was a stranger to both households, if the term may rightly be used when letters have been exchanged. Both Mrs. Dashwood and Sir John had reached this stage of intimacy with the expected guest, as Mr. Atherton was the new vicar of Barton and had been presented to the living by Sir

John, but owed his introduction to the neighbourhood to a member of the

Dashwood family.

Mrs. John Dashwood of Norland Park and Lady Middleton were in the habit of meeting yearly in London. There was a certain lack of heart, and excess of formality on both sides, which endeared them to each other, and so far as either was capable of friendship they were friends. Therefore when the living of Barton fell vacant it was not long before Lady Middleton had confided to Fanny Dashwood her hopes and fears in the matter. Sir John’s judgment was not to be trusted, and the new incumbent might be far from presentable if the choice were left entirely to her husband's discretion.

“My dear Lady Middleton, there can be no occasion for you to see anything of the man,” Mrs. Dashwood declared. ““My own brother, it is true, is in orders, but it is by no means the rule for the profession to be adopted by people of birth or consequence. Take my advice, and have very little to do with the parsonage. You would not like to see your darling William and Annamaria intimate with the parsonage children ? ”

“It is different in your case, Mrs. Dashwood,” replied her ladyship. “Sir John is so fond of society and entertainment that I am convinced he will have the new vicar constantly to the Park. Poor old Mr. Tillis was bedridden, so could not visit, but I am sure things will be different now, and consequently it is of the greatest importance that he should be of good appearance and gentlemanly bearing.”

Mrs. John Dashwood sympathized with her friend on her husband’s regrettable lavishness of hospitality, a fault of which her own spouse was altogether free, though she sometimes suspected him of over generosity in other directions. Nothing was too much for him to do, no trouble too much for him to undertake on behalf of his father’s widow and her daughters.

“1 am telling Lady Middleton, my love," she went on as her husband entered the room, “how your father’s death left the care of his second family on your shoulders. Two of them have, as you know, ma’am, made most creditable marriages, entirely due to their brother’s untiring efforts on their behalf, and now there is poor little Margaret, by far the most affectionate of the three, but we can hear of nothing for her.”

As Lady Middleton was tolerably well acquainted with the facts she might have been surprised by this account of the courtship and marriage of the two elder Miss Dashwoods, but the truth is that she heard none of it. Her attention had been caught by an annoying tear in her best India muslin and, when she had disengaged her thoughts from this disaster, they had flown back to the possible inconvenience of an unsuitable appointment to the living of Barton.

“Perhaps Mr. Dashwood could help us,” she said, and related to him her perplexities and fears. He was all attention and sympathy. Such a danger must at all costs be averted, and he begged for a few moments’ quiet while he considered the matter from every point of view.

This was readily agreed to, and ten minutes complete silence granted him. The time was pleasantly spent by the two ladies in discussing the merits of a fine darn as compared with a new breadth, Mrs. Dashwood arguing economy and Lady Middleton fearful that no darn could be finely enough executed to please her. Meanwhile, Mr. Dashwood paced the room with his hands behind him in anxious thought. When he reseated himself in his chair, and brought the points of his fingers together, his attitude and expression were those of quiet satisfaction.

“Your ladyship,” he began, “I think I may congratulate myself on having solved your problem and our own at one and the same time. Two birds with one stone in fact, though I flatter myself that this idea of mine is more—or rather I should say less—in fact there is no killing in the question; quite the contrary. I happen to number among my acquaintance a certain Mr. Atherton, a very fine young man indeed—quite a presentable figure. He has moderate means, but wishes to improve his position, and considers taking Orders. The offer of the living of Barton should settle the matter. I am inclined to think that your ladyship and Sir John would find him acceptable. Other developments, my dear Fanny, we may hope will follow.”

Lady Middleton neither knew nor cared what the other developments might be. Her carriage was announced at that moment, and she departed to acquaint Sir John with Mr. Dashwood’s suggestion.

Once more John Dashwood’s generous plans seemed successful. To confer benefits at the expense of his acquaintance was ever before him, as his duty to society. Sir John seemed only too glad to be spared trouble and responsibility. Mr. Atherton was in due course made known to Lady Middleton; and, though Sir John could not spare time while in town to meet the young man himself, he was satisfied if Lady Middleton was pleased. He wrote a friendly letter offering the living. Mr. Atherton wrote a politely grateful one accepting it, and plans for the improvement of the vicarage were immediately put in hand. Improvements are seldom rapidly accomplished, and these took so long that Mr. Atherton had taken Orders, and was prepared to enter on his new duties before the house was ready for him.

Mr. John Dashwood, however, would not submit to a postponement of the happiness he proposed for his sister and her mother, and for Sir John and Lady Middleton, and for Mr. Atherton himself. He generously provided for the comfort of the latter by writing to implore his mother-in-law to despatch an invitation to the new vicar to enable him to begin his duties from Barton Cottage.

With unfailing courtesy and hospitality she readily agreed. The invitation was sent, and accepted, and Mr, Atherton was momentarily expected.

Chapter III

MRS. DASHWOOD’S attempt to exclude Mr. Atherton’s name from her conversation with Sir John was not caused by any wish on her part to keep the intended visit a secret. She was well aware that nothing of the sort was possible, but she would have been better pleased if Sir John and Mrs. Jennings had accepted her first excuses. Though accustomed to their raillery on the subject of courtship she never became reconciled to it, and had a habit of avoiding all mention of young me when in their society. She had therefore desire o postpone for herself and Margaret the witticisms which she knew to be inevitable as soon as Mr. Atherton’s arrival should be known.

Marianne had once remarked that, though the rent of Barton Cottage was said to be low, they had it on very hard terms, as they were under the necessity of dining at the Park whenever anyone stayed with either family. Mrs, Dashwood had long ago decided that she did not choose to accept such frequent invitations; but in her own case she felt that she paid over and over again for the advantages of her pretty house in the annoyance she experienced in having her daughter’s affections and prospects made the subject of continual joking and surmise on the part of Sir John and Mrs, Jennings. The real regard which the family at Barton Cottage entertained for Mrs. Jennings’s kindness of heart did not lessen their disapproval for the freedom of her manners; and Sir John, in the course of the four or five years of their acquaintance, had developed no such admirable qualities as to make his tedious vulgarity endurable. Mrs. Dashwood was too truly amiable to speak either of or to her neighbours in any censorious fashion, but she often marvelled at the calmness with which Margaret received their sallies, and wondered if her youngest daughter could be lacking in some of the fine sensibility which so distinguished Marianne, and the delicacy of feeling which was Elinor’s greatest charm.

Margaret had long ago made up her mind to present a calm front to Sir

John’s attacks and his mother-in-law’s jocularity. She had a painful remembrance of the day when she had hinted before Sir John at the secret of Edward Ferrar’s attachment to Elinor. She had suffered in consequence. Elinor had felt the indignity of this public discussion of her private affairs, and Margaret had incurred her resentment. This had been no light matter in Barton Cottage. Miss Dashwood had a manner of expressing herself which, though perfectly gentle, was none the less reproving, and neither her mother nor her sisters could face the possibility of Elinor’s displeasure with equanimity. Margaret came to dread Sir John’s jokes, his drinking to her sister’s best affections, his allusions to the letter F, his sly inquiries, fully as much as Elinor could herself; and, while Miss Dashwood could feel that these annoyances were entirely undeserved, to Margaret’s distress was added a sense of guilt, which only increased as time went on and she became more fully aware of her mistake.

When her sisters married, and she herself became the object of the raillery at Barton Park, she made up her mind that smiling calm would prove the best defense; that she would show nothing, and if possible feel nothing, of vexation, and that no one, not even her mother, should have reason to suppose her affected by any remark on the subject of love and marriage. Margaret and her mother occupied themselves in silence for some time after their visitors had taken their leave. Mrs. Dashwood had spent some months with her married daughters in the quiet elegance of their homes, where beaux and courtship were not the subject of attention. She felt her serenity threatened by the recent incursion, but Margaret, as she sat engaged with some needlework, looked so unconscious of any disturbance that Mrs. Dashwood’s spirits returned to their usual level.

“T look forward eagerly to the arrival of our guest,” she said. “He will bring us some news of your brother and his wife.”

“We may hear how little Henry says his piece, and what schemes for economy my brother has in his mind,” replied Margaret, “but I do not expect news.”

Though Mrs. Dashwood’s contempt for John and Fanny could hardly be a secret to anyone but herself, she was always ready to champion the absent; and she now remarked with approval that Fanny was indeed a devoted mother, and that John’s caution in expenditure might be of great service to little Henry.

Margaret’s reply was that she considered Mrs. John Dashwood an admiring rather than a devoted mother, and that she did not think her brother was really consistent in his economies, which were prompted more by meanness than by caution.

Mrs. Dashwood admitted that she preferred wise expenditure, and the conversation was not continued.

A slight shower was followed by sunshine so brilliant as to draw Mrs. Dashwood to the window in admiration. She was just in time to see a curricle draw up and a very fine-looking young man descend.

“This must be our guest,” she cried, and noted with approval his air of fashion and the becoming cut of his many-caped driving coat.

A moment later and he was bowing to the ladies in the parlour, and expressing his felicitation in being admitted to their quiet home circle. He had, he said, spent the night at Exeter, and been so overcome by the beauty of the Cathedral and the charm of the surroundings that he had been in no great hurry to continue his journey. However, here he was at last and, had he known that so much beauty and so much charm awaited him, he would have been up betimes in order to make his stay the longer.

Mrs. Dashwood replied that they were themselves but just returned home, and rang the bell for Thomas to show her guest to his apartment.

Mr. Atherton’s conversation could be checked, but could not be diverted. He had come prepared to admire Margaret, and admire her he would. He was in the habit of recounting his experiences, and recount them he would. The dinner-table served as an appropriate opportunity for both. Mrs, Dashwood and her daughter must perforce listen, and no interruption beyond the offering of a dish by Thomas, or some gentle direction to the Servant on the part of Mrs. Dashwood, was possible. He was sure of his audience and of their attention, and took all else for granted.

After a careful description of his journey he allowed himself to return to more personal topics.

“T have had the pleasure of meeting your son and his charming wife, madam. They were so good as to ask me to dine with them and, after dinner, I had the felicity of beholding a portrait of yourself and your two lovely daughters, the work, so I understand, of your eldest and most highly gifted daughter. I was therefore in some degree prepared—I may say I expected almost a disappointment, but such is far from being the case.” Mrs. Dashwood thought it best to misunderstand, and said with a pleasant smile that Barton was a pretty, agreeable place and the neighbourhood a good one, She could answer for it that Mr. Atherton would find it no disappointment, but possibly beyond his expectations. Mr. Atherton would not allow his compliments to be so misinterpreted. His gallantry must not be wasted on the village of Barton when it was intended to bring the smile of pleasure to Miss Margaret’s bright eyes. He said as much, and received no reply from either lady. However, he was satisfied that his meaning had been made clear to them, and was for the present content to leave the subject of Margaret’s beauty and to display the perfection of his taste in some other particulars,

“You have a very pretty dining-parlour, madam, and a charming prospect, but that mulberry tree is too near. Take my advice, madam, and have it cut down. You would then secure a beautiful open view across the valley.” Mrs. Dashwood was so good as to give her reasons for sparing the tree. They were that the tree was an old one and supplied some shelter from prevailing winds, and that she and her daughter were partial to the fruit. Mr. Atherton considered these excuses should weigh but lightly against the improved health which might be expected from the removal of the tree. Trees too near a house were unhealthy. Small rooms were also to be deplored. Did Mrs. Dashwood not consider this dining-parlour too small for comfort?

“Our party is a small one,” replied Mrs. Dashwood. “It is large enough for my daughter and myself, and it is seldom that we have any company.”

“Still, a spacious room is much to be desired. I would never willingly dine in a room less than twenty feet long. Twenty feet or perhaps twenty-two. The feeling of being cramped for space is, I think, intolerable. I should recommend your throwing this room and the adjoining one together. You would then have a very handsome room, one of which you could be justly proud.”

“But I should have only one parlour,” Mrs, Dashwood protested, “‘and there is a passage between this and the sitting-room.”

“All the better! You could include the passage, and have a noble room indeed. A sitting-room could very easily be built on the lawn there. True, you must then cut down the mulberry tree, but that would be all to the good. They are untidy trees, and the wood is, I believe, capital fuel.” Margaret suggested that these improvements would be expensive.

“No, I assure you, the cost would be trifling,” was his reply. “My father’s own brother enlarged his house in some such way, and the cost was really nothing, a mere song, and the improvement beyond all words. His room was majestic. No other description would suffice. Truly majestic!”

Mrs. Dashwood declared that she and Margaret lived so quiet a life that a cosy room was all they desired.

Mr. Atherton considered this point, but would not concede it. It gave him, however, a fresh impetus. He now perceived another subject on which his advice might be of value.

“But, madam,” he protested, “is it well, do you think, to lead so quiet a life? You should travel. Nothing so enlarges the mind and refreshes the intellect as travel. Let me urge you to take Miss Margaret travelling.”

“We are but just returned from a visit,” said Mrs. Dashwood, still smiling, “and I think we are ready for a little quiet. The garden is a pleasure, and my daughter has her instrument.”