It is only by travelling the globe that we are able to appreciate different cultures and learn of the events faced by those born outside of our own neighbourhoods. Margaret Dashwood had travelled very little outside of her own imagination in her short life. Born at Norland Park in Sussex, she had made the journey to Barton Cottage in Devonshire, following the death of her father, and that had been the limit of her physical journeys.
In her mind, however, she had climbed snow-capped mountains and sailed across stormy seas; she had crossed deserts and slaked her thirst in lakes that stretched further than the eye could see. She was completely fascinated by the geography of the world and, although grateful for the opportunity to study the atlas of the world and many other books in her brother-in-law's library, she longed to experience these sights and places for herself.
It was three years since Marianne had married Colonel Brandon and in those years, Margaret had grown into a beautiful and confident young woman. Her chestnut brown hair fell to her waist in natural curls; her big brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm when her interest was caught by a new discovery; and her smile shone brightly in her oval face. Her previous excessive sensibility had given way to sense as Margaret and her mother had spent a great deal of her time in the Colonel's house and company. The quality of conversation and thought that she had been exposed to during this time had opened her mind to all manner of new ideas and concepts and she was always eager to learn more from those willing to share experiences and knowledge with her.
Margaret sighed as her mother's voice disturbed her thought and recalled her to her present circumstances. Her imagination had been most active that morning, as she had travelled to Italy and worked her way from the mighty Alps in the North, passed Lake Garda, afforded a passing glance at the Arena in the ancient city of Verona, before moving on to Florence where she had imagined herself to be a daughter of the Renaissance. She was just leaving Tuscany with the intention of moving towards Rome, when her mother called to her, shaking her out of her reverie.
It had taken Mrs. Dashwood no fewer than three attempt to get her youngest daughter to respond to her. This was not the result of disobedience on Margaret's part, more a measure of the degree of her absorption in her occupation. It took some time for Margaret to recall her exact whereabouts and the time of day. Italy slowly disintegrated to be replaced by an English mansion house in Delaford.
Mrs. Dashwood clucked and fussed over Margaret as she entered the dark wood-panelled hallway from the library where she had been travelling the globe. Margaret had been enjoying the afternoon sun in her favourite chair in a south facing alcove, and it took some time for her eyes to adjust to the dim light as she passed through the door. Margaret allowed her mother to tame a stray curl that had escaped and smoothed her dress into some semblance of neatness.
"What were you thinking, Margaret? You should have been in the Drawing Room half an hour ago." her mother almost hissed at her, displaying a desperation that was so unlike her gentle mother that Margaret looked at her in astonishment.
"Whatever is the matter, Mama?" She asked in a puzzled tone. She had no idea why her mother was fussing over her so intently. He listened to the sounds of voices coming from the drawing room. "Surely it's only Sir John and Lady Middleton?" She listened again, "Oh, and Mrs Jennings."
"And Lady Stanton is also here." Her mother muttered in an undertone. Margaret's eyes widened a little as she understood a little better her mother's concern. Lady Stanton was a fierce old dragon of a lady who owned much of the land adjacent to Colonel Brandon. She was infrequently seen in company, preferring to remain at home, where she ruled her husband and her servants with a sharp tongue and an iron fist.
Margaret had never met the woman before, but Marianne had assured her that she was a formidable character, being both inclined to ask questions of a demanding nature and ungracious in her responses. Margaret was not the type of girl to be frightened by a challenging old woman, even if she was a member of the landed gentry whose family stretched back for generations, but she did not relish being interrogated all afternoon.
"What is she doing here, Mama?" she asked her mother in a resigned, rather than fearful tone.
"I'm not sure, my dear, but she has upset poor Marianne's plans most dreadfully. It is really inconsiderate of her." Her mother was indignant and Margaret smiled fondly at her.
Mrs Dashwood entered the large Drawing Room with Margaret following. After Magaret had been greeted enthusiastically by the other guests, and teased by Sir John about her lateness, she brought her youngest child before Lady Stanton for her inspection. She was sitting in the most comfortable chair in front of the large fireplace. Margaret curtsied gracefully and smiled politely while the old woman peered at her through her pince-nez. Margaret took the opportunity to form her own opinion of the woman in the chair before her.
Lady Stanton was a small woman with the pale skin of a woman who spends little time outdoors. Her hair, which had once been so dark as to appear black, was now liberally replace with grey, and it had been drawn back into a plain and severe bun which did little to soften the woman's harsh and bony features. Margaret was not impressed with her initial observations and she had grown tired of smiling long before the other's scrutiny was complete, but drew upon all her reserves of good manners and remained calm and dignified throughout.
"She doesn't have your looks, Marianne." The old woman didn't exactly cackle, but she came close to it, Margaret thought as she gazed at her. She waited respectfully for her to continue. "Well, do you play the piano, too? Your sister is thought to perform adequately, I have heard."
Margaret scarcely knew how to reply to this. Marianne was known throughout the neighbourhood as being a highly accomplished pianist. She was tempted to defend her, but then, on meeting Marianne's eyes as she looked over to her, she decided that the old woman was just trying to make mischief.
"No, I don't play well at all, your Ladyship." Margaret replied simply and emotionlessly. Lady Stanton looked a little surprised at her abruptness. She continued her questioning,
"Do you draw? Or do you prefer sewing?" Her enquiry irritated Margaret who did neither of these, not through lack of ability, but an unwillingness to spend her time employed in a manner which did not interest her.
"No, Ma'am, I do neither." Again, Margaret spoke without further explanation which aggrieved Lady Stanton who demanded brusquely, and even a little rudely,
"Do you have no talents then, Miss Dashwood?"
Margaret was pondering this question and trying to frame a suitable reply when her brother in law interrupted the conversation.
"Margaret's talents are intellectual, Lady Stanton." He informed the older woman pleasantly. "She speaks French and Italian and is becoming most knowledgeable about the geography of the world."
"Geography!" The word was spat out of Lady Stanton's mouth as if it were something excessively distasteful to her. "What use is Geography to a woman? You'll be telling me that she is studying mathematics next." Colonel Brandon smiled in amusement at her horror and raised his eyebrows at his wife. Marianne responded by calmly pulling the bell located next to the fireplace to summon the servants.
Lady Stanton looked around the room until she could see Mrs Dashwood. "My dear woman, what are you thinking of? Geography! Whatever next! What husband wants his wife to know about geography? How will that help her run a household?"
Mrs. Dashwood was at a loss as to how to reply to Lady Stanton. Indeed it was a question she had asked herself a number of times, but had been unable to find a solution. At an age of sixteen, most girls were interested in coming out and dancing at balls; in conquests and rich husbands, but as she had grown older, Margaret had displayed an independence of thought and was disinclined to consider marriage. With her sisters' marriages, it was no longer of material importance for Margaret to marry well and so she pursued her own interests.
"It will probably help me as much as being able to play the piano helps Marianne." The words were out of Margaret's mouth before she could stop herself. She could tell by the shocked expression on Lady Stanton's face that it had not been a good response. The woman was clearly unused to anyone disagreeing with any of her opinions. Her eyes narrowed and she looked as if she was about to launch into a tirade of abuse aimed at Margaret when Marianne came to Margaret's rescue by announcing that the servants were ready to bring tea in.
Colonel Brandon took the opportunity to inquire after Lord Stanton while the servants were in the room and Sir John, who had overheard Margaret's ill-judged response, beckoned her over to him so that she would be out of Lady Stanton's direct line of fire when the servants left from the room.
Mrs Jennings began talking loudly to Marianne about her dear daughter, Charlotte and her youngest grandchild who was just recovering from a bout of the measles. Margaret smiled to herself when she saw how civilly Marianne responded to her conversation now; marriage must have mellowed her, she thought. It didn't seem that long since Marianne had found the other woman to be little more than ridiculous.
The conversations ebbed and flowed as tea was taken. Lady Stanton appeared to have forgotten Margaret and Mrs. Dashwood was intensely grateful for this, she was worried what her daughter might say if pressed further by the old woman. She was mistaken in this supposition, however, for Lady Stanton rarely forgot anything and was merely allowing herself time to watch Margaret as she conversed with the others in the room.
A short time after tea had been cleared away; Lady Stanton rose to take her leave of Colonel Brandon. He made as if to follow her from the room, but she brushed him away, saying,
"No, not you, Brandon, Miss Dashwood can accompany me to my carriage." She turned her beady eyes on Margaret who raised her head in horror to look back at her. Margaret heard her mother gasp in horror as she rose to stand. Lady Stanton crooked her finger at her, beckoning Margaret to her side.
"Come here, Miss Dashwood, I require your assistance to walk to my carriage." The words were spoken without emotion; neither warmth nor censure; and Margaret had to breathe in deeply before she could summon the courage to move towards the older woman.
She felt everyone's eyes on her as she offered her arm to Lady Stanton and she felt acutely self-conscious with every step that they took from the room. The woman said nothing to her as they progressed to the front door and Margaret began to relax slightly as the stepped outside. She felt bony fingers tighten on her arm as they reached the steps; she noticed Lady Stanton's carriage below them and ventured to ask,
"Would you prefer me to summon your footmen, my lady?" in a soft voice. Lady Stanton responded by clutching even harder and drawing herself closer to Margaret.
"No, Miss Dashwood, although I am sure you would prefer it." Her voice had a trace of amusement in it and Margaret looked down at her in astonishment. There was no doubt about it, Lady Stanton was almost smiling. Margaret looked away and continued the slow walk down the steps.
As they reached the carriage, Lady Stanton's footmen moved forwards, unbidden, to help. Margaret extricated her arm from the other's grasp and was about to step back when the old woman said,
"My grandson is visiting us next week. I think it would be a good idea for you and your mother to come to dinner at Stanton to meet him." Margaret looked at her in surprise, her mouth was suddenly dry and she could not speak. "I will send the carriage at 6 o'clock on Thursday," the old woman continued. "Will that be convenient?"
Margaret managed to rouse herself enough to nod and reply,
"Yes, ma'am. I am sure we have no previous engagement."
The footmen settled Lady Stanton into her carriage. She leant forward and looked at Margaret before saying,
"Very well then, Miss Dashwood. We will expect you on Thursday."
With that, she gave an imperious signal to her footmen and the coachman urged the horses forward. Margaret stood watching the carriage move down the driveway before turning to re-enter the house and impart the news of their forthcoming visit to her mother.