Thank you so much for the reassurance that I'm not totally boring the pants off of you all! It is very much appreciated.
Thank you also to those people/that person who nominated me for a Highclere Award. I am bowled over and humbled by this, but extremely happy!
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"If this good weather holds much longer," said Mrs. Jennings, at breakfast the following morning, "Sir Charles will not like leaving Barton; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure. Poor souls!"
"That is true," cried Edith, in a cheerful voice. "I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country." It was a lucky recollection; all her good spirits were restored by it.
"At any rate," said Mary, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, "I dare say we shall have Sir Charles and Lady Carson in town by the end of next week."
"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Elsie always has her own way."
"And now," silently conjectured Mary, "Edith will write to Combe by this day's post."
But if she did, the letter was written and sent with a privacy which eluded all Mary's watchfulness. Whatever the truth might be, it pleased her to see Edith happy. And Edith was in spirits; happy in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of a forthcoming frost.
The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs. Jennings's acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and Edith was all the time busy observing the direction of the wind and imagining an alteration in the air.
The Miss Crawleys observed Mrs. Jennings's style of living, which was invariably kind. Everything in her household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at all upset the feelings of her young companions. Despite this, Mary found little to amuse her.
Colonel Strallan, who had a general invitation to the house, was with them almost every day; he came to look at Edith and talk to Mary, who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much concern his continued loving regard for her sister. She feared it was a strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which he often watched Edith, and his spirits were certainly worse than when at Barton.
About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Gregson had also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from a morning's drive.
"Good God!" cried Edith, "he has been here while we were out." Mary rejoiced to be assured of his being in London. "Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow." But Edith seemed hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings's entrance, escaped with the precious card.
This event, while it raised the spirits of Mary, restored to those of her sister all their former agitation. From this moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every hour of the day, made her unfit for anything. She insisted on being left behind whenever the others went out.
Mary's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street during their absence; but a moment's glance at her sister when they returned was enough to inform her that Gregson had paid no second visit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.
"For me!" cried Edith, stepping hastily forward.
"No, madam, for my mistress."
"You are expecting a letter, then?" said Mary, unable to be longer silent.
"Yes, a little, not much."
After a short pause. "You have no confidence in me, Edith."
"Nay, Mary, this reproach from you: you who have confidence in no one!"
"Me!" returned Mary in some confusion, "indeed, Edith, I have nothing to tell."
"Nor I," answered Edith with energy, "our situations are alike. We have neither of us anything to tell; you, because you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing."
Mary was distressed by this accusation, which she was not at liberty to break.
Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it aloud. It was from Lady Carson, announcing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and cousins the following evening. Business on Sir Charles's part, and a violent cold on her own, prevented their calling on Berkeley Street. The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that they should both attend her on such a visit, Mary had some difficulty in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of Gregson; and was not disposed to leave, unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.
Mary found that disposition is not materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled in town, Sir Charles had contrived to collect around him nearly twenty young people and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair of which Lady Carson did not approve. In the country, an unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it known that Lady Carson had given a small dance of eight or nine couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.
Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party. Edith gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it was enough—he was not there—and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to receive or communicate pleasure. Never had Edith been so unwilling to dance in her life as she was that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise. She complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.
"Aye," said Mrs. Jennings, "we know the reason very well; if a certain person who shall be nameless had been there, you would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited."
"Invited!" cried Edith.
"So my daughter Carson told me, for it seems Sir Charles met him somewhere in the street this morning." Edith said no more, but looked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this situation to be doing something that might lead to her sister's relief, Mary resolved to write the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears for the health of Edith, to procure inquiries into Gregson's affairs which had been so long delayed.
After breakfast on the morrow Edith was again writing to Gregson, for Mary could not suppose it to be to any other person.
About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on business, and Mary began her letter, while Edith, too restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one window to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.
Mary's letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and Colonel Strallan was announced. Edith, who had seen him from the window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he entered it. He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing satisfaction at finding Miss Crawley alone, as if he had somewhat in particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word. After a pause of several minutes, their silence was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Mary was not prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He tried to smile as he replied, "your sister's engagement to Mr. Gregson is very generally known."
"It cannot be generally known," returned Mary, "for her own family do not know it."
He looked surprised and said, "I beg your pardon, I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally talked of."
"How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?"
"By many. But still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to support its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today, accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Gregson in your sister's writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I could ask the question. Is everything finally settled? Is it impossible to…? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of succeeding. Excuse me, Miss Crawley. I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do. Tell me that it is all absolutely resolved on."
These words, which conveyed to Mary a direct avowal of his love for her sister, affected her very much. She was not immediately able to say anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give. The real state of things between Gregson and her sister was so little known to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable to say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced that Edith's affection for Gregson, could leave no hope of Colonel Strallan's winning her, and at the same time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought it most prudent and kind to say more than she really knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though she had never been informed by them of the terms on which they stood with each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their correspondence she was not astonished to hear.
He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak, rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion, "to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Gregson that he may endeavour to deserve her," he took leave, and went away.