‘You cannot blame yourself,’ I told her.

‘But I do, Colonel, I do!’ she said in anguish. ‘And now she is ill ...‘’

I tried to comfort her.

‘It is no good,’ she said, ‘I can see by your face that she is very ill. Tell me truthfully, do you think she will die?’

‘Oh God, I hope not!’ I cried, unable to contain my feelings any longer.

She regarded me in surprise, and then a look of understanding crossed her face.

‘You care for her as much as I do.’

I could not deny it.

‘I love her,’ I said wretchedly.

She took my hand.

‘I am so pleased,’ she said, with a tearful smile.

Her kindness cut through the last of my restraint.

‘It is hopeless,’ I said. ‘Even if she recovers, it is hopeless. She can never love me.’

‘You are wrong, Colonel. She can, and I believe in time she will. She is an intelligent girl, for all her sensibility, and she cannot help but see, when her hurt has subsided, that Willoughby was nothing but a tawdry tale bound in gilt and leather, whereas you, dear Colonel, have in you the poetry of Shakespeare, though your cover is not so fine. If she lives ...’ Her voice broke, but then she recovered herself. ‘... If she lives, it will be my greatest happiness to do anything within my power to promote the match.’

‘You are too good,’ I said, overcome. ‘But I hope for nothing for myself. If I can but see her well, I will be happy.’

‘Amen,’ said her mother.

We both of us wished the journey over and at last ... at last ... we approached Cleveland.

‘Good Mrs Jennings! To stay with Marianne. But Elinor, my Elinor....’

The carriage stopped, and without waiting for anyone to open the door for her, without waiting even for the steps, she sprang out and ran to the door.

I was beside her; I lifted the knocker; it dropped with a hollow sound; and the door was opened by the butler. Miss Dashwood was behind him and received her mother, who was nearly fainting from fear.

‘It is all right, Mama, it is all right! The fever has broken. She is sleeping peacefully.’

Marianne, well! I thanked God.

I stood back so that mother and daughter could comfort each other and then, seeing that Mrs Dashwood was trying to walk into the drawing room, but that she was still weak with shock, I supported her on one side whilst her daughter supported her on the other, and between us we helped her into the room.

She began to cry with joy, and embraced her daughter again and again, turning to press my hand from time to time, with a look which spoke her gratitude and her certainty of my sharing it.

As soon as she had recovered herself, she left the room with her daughter, and the two of them went upstairs to see Marianne, whilst I sank into a chair. All the anxiety of the last few days flowed over me, and I sat still and silent until the weakness had passed, and then I gave thanks, over and over, for her life being spared.



Tuesday 18 April

I woke at three o’clock this morning, sitting in the chair in the drawing room. I was stiff and uncomfortable, but my discomfort was soon banished when I remembered that Marianne was out of danger.

I went into the hall and, passing the maid coming downstairs with a bowl of water, asked if Marianne was still sleeping.

‘Yes, sir, sleeping like a baby,’ said the maid happily.

I returned to my room where, stripping off my clothes, I fell into bed.

I awoke early, feeling much refreshed, and was soon downstairs. The news from the sick room was still good, and I made a hearty breakfast, then went out for a ride. The world was new-dressed in the freshest of greens, the leaves unfurling from the trees, and the pine cones budding on the branches. I rode on, breathing deeply, filling my lungs with the air that was rich with the smell of spring, and as I did so, I found hope stirring in my breast. Hope!

I tried to fight it down, but it would not be denied. Marianne was on the way to recovery. The world, which had been dull and hard and grey, was full of joy and optimism, from the brilliant blue of the sky to the diamonds of dew that caught the sunlight and reflected it in rainbow hues.

I rode until I had rid myself of all my energy and then returned to the house.

I went inside and found Mrs Dashwood sitting down to breakfast. Her cheerful look showed me that her daughter continued to mend.

‘Ah, Colonel, I am so pleased to see you. Is it not splendid news? Marianne has passed a quiet night. Her colour is good and her pulse strong. We will have her well again before long.’

I could not hide my delight.

‘To have a true friend such as you, Colonel, has been a great relief to me, and to Elinor. She has spoken of your steadfast friendship, and she is as grateful for it as I am. And she is just as pleased about your attachment to Marianne.’

‘I should not have spoken to you as I did last night,’ I said, for I had not asked her permission to court Marianne.

‘Come, now, you are made out of flesh and blood, Colonel, and not stone. Could you help speaking in such circumstances? And I am very glad you did. Only give it time, and I am sure you will have your heart’s desire. Marianne’s heart is not to be wasted on such a man as Willoughby. Your own merits will soon secure it.’

‘I allowed myself to hope for it once, but after seeing her so ill, I believe her affection is too deeply rooted for any change, at least not for a great length of time; and even supposing her heart again free, I do not think that, with such a difference of age and disposition, I could ever attach her,’ I said.

‘You are quite mistaken. Your age is an advantage, for you have overcome the vacillations of youth, and your disposition is exactly the very one to make her happy. Your gentleness and your genuine attention to other people is more in keeping with her real disposition than the artificial liveliness, often ill-timed, of Willoughby. I am very sure myself that had Willoughby turned out to be as amiable as he seemed, Marianne would not have been as happy with him as she will be with you.’

I could not help but be cheered by her words, for I knew that it meant I had her permission to court her daughter and win her, if I could.



Saturday 22 April

Marianne was well enough to move into Mrs Palmer’s dressing room today, and Miss Dashwood said, ‘My sister would like to see you, Colonel.’

‘Me?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Yes,’ she said with a smile.

I followed her to the dressing room, where I was relieved to see that Marianne was sitting up, but horrified to see her so thin and pale. There were dark rings under her eyes, and a lack of animation in her eye.

‘Ah, good Colonel, it pains you to see me like this,’ she said, seeing my expression.

‘It does,’ I confessed, going down on one knee beside her sofa, so that I could be on a level with her.

‘But if not for you, it would be far worse. You brought my mother to me, and for that I can never thank you enough.’

‘No thanks are needed,’ I assured her.

‘But I wish to thank you anyway,’ she said warmly, and with more animation. ‘I have been very much deceived in one friend this year, but I have been humbled by the devotion of another.’

Devotion. Yes, she had chosen her word well, for I was devoted to her.

‘Anything I can do for you, you have only to name it,’ I said.

She gave a weak smile.

‘There is nothing more I need, only to be here, with my friends.’

‘And to get strong,’ put in her mother.

‘Yes, indeed, to get strong.’

She sank back, and I stood up, for I did not want to tire her. I left the room, and as I went downstairs, I did not recognize myself in the mirror, for I looked so different. I wondered what the difference was, and then I saw that I was smiling.

Monday 24 April

‘Mrs Jennings, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for all you have done for my daughter,’ said Mrs Dashwood at breakfast this morning. ‘To stay with her and care for her, when your own daughter has just had a child, was friendship indeed.’

‘I couldn’t do any less, not when she was my guest,’ said Mrs Jennings good-naturedly. ‘I’m just glad it all turned out so well.’

‘Marianne is so much recovered that I think it is safe to move her, so we must trespass on your hospitality no longer. ’

‘My dear Mrs Dashwood, it is no trespass, I do assure you. You must stay here as long as you like,’ she said.

‘That is very kind of you, but I think it is time for us to go home.’

‘You must accept the use of my carriage,’ I said. ‘It will make Miss Marianne more comfortable on the way.’

‘Colonel, you have done so much for me and my family, you have earned the right to call my daughters Elinor and Marianne.’

I thanked her.

‘I accept your offer of the carriage. You must reclaim it by visiting us in a few weeks’ time, when Marianne has fully recovered. ’

I was delighted to accept the invitation.

Wednesday 26 April

The morning was all bustle as preparations were made for the Dashwoods’ removal. Maids ran to and fro with rugs and stone hot-water bottles for Marianne, to keep her warm on the journey; footmen carried boxes and bags downstairs, and coach-men loaded them on to the carriage.

When all was ready, they took their leave, with Marianne taking a particularly long and affectionate leave of Mrs Jennings, for I believe she felt she had neglected her hostess’s kindness in the past, and then I handed her into the carriage.