Chapter Text
Book The First - The Violate Vow
by Col. L. Brandon, Esq.
For Eliza -
I am in horror
That you died in squalor
Chapter 1
This is not a happy tale. If you like stories that end with love and marriage, I suggest you put this one away and read something else. This is not a happy tale, because nothing that could be called good, fortunate, or even pleasant ever happened to the three Dashwood children, Elinor, Marianne and Margaret. I regret that you had to hear about it from me, but that is the simple truth.
Their story begins one day at Norland Park, in the county of Sussex. The three children enjoyed sitting out on the lawn in the summertime, drinking tea or barleywater, and basking in the warm weather. But tragically, this was the last warm weather they would experience for some time, for a great winter was to begin in the lives of the Dashwoods.
Elinor Dashwood, the eldest, was a keen student of human nature. She enjoyed reading short stories, novels and plays, of which there were several in her father's library, although she had not yet read them all. Today, she was reading Histoires ou contes du temps passé by Charles Perrault, a frightening collection of stories in French, which, as I'm sure you know, is a foreign language, and, in my opinion, Elinor was very clever for being able to read it.
Marianne Dashwood, the middle child, was more romantic than her sister. She occasionally read books, but had no great love of them, for her true passion was horses. But if there were no horses present, as at this moment, she preferred to gaze idly into space, dreaming of the great passions, of the exciting happy adventures which she was certain were waiting in her future. I am sad, sadder than you know, to inform you that she was mistaken.
Margaret Dashwood, the smallest child, was thirteen, but terribly shy, and rarely spoke before strangers. She had a quiet way of speaking that was incomprehensible to anyone but Elinor. But she had a very keen eye, which could read text that was either very faint or very small, and could make out figures at a great distance.
"…brother…" mumbled Margaret.
"What was that Margaret?" asked Marianne, dazedly.
"She said that our brother, John, approaches from the house, and has a sombre expression," explained Elinor. "Look!" She pointed at the house, where a figure (no bigger than an ant at that distance) was walking towards them.
I have since been to Norland Park, and walked this distance with a sombre expression, and I may tell you that it would have taken Mr John Dashwood many minutes to complete the journey. You may well imagine the consternation with which the Dashwood children awaited his approach.
"My dear sisters," he began, "I have most terrible news to impart. Our father, Mr Henry Dashwood, is dead."
The news hit the children hard, for they loved their father dearly, and their great uncle, the previous squire of Norland Park, had died only one year previously. Marianne and Margaret began to cry. Elinor remained composed. There was silence.
"To impart means to tell," he explained, slowly.
"We know what it means," said Elinor. "Of what… Of what did he die?"
"We do not know. The physician is examining him presently."
Elinor imagined all sorts of strange manners of death she had read about. Being eaten by lions, tumbling off a high tower, getting fired out of a cannon. She couldn't imagine her father dying in any of those ways.
"I don't understand. He was in good health only yesterday. Did he consume anything unusual?" She inquired.
"The physician has already asked me as much, and as I told him, we all consumed the same food, except for a special tonic prepared by my dear wife Fanny to help his depression," explained John, with a tone as if he was explaining that two and two made four.
"…sad…" muttered Margaret.
"Sorry Margaret, I didn't quite catch that, did you say you are sad? I'm not surprised-"
"What my sister means," interrupted Elinor, "is that our father exhibited none of the symptoms of depression, and so an antidepressant tonic was completely unnecessary."
"Well, that's as may be, but it can't have done him any harm. An antidepressant, Margaret, is something that prevents depression. It doesn't cause death, quite the opposite!"
Margaret rolled her eyes.
"Depression means sadn-"
"We know what it means," snapped Elinor. "But this tonic might actually have been a poison. Do you still have the bottle?" Elinor knew about poisons. She had read Plato's Phaedo, and the description of Socrates' death by drinking hemlock.
"I followed my wife's instructions to the letter." He withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket and read, "Be sure to rinse the bottle thoroughly after use, otherwise the tonic will not work." He put the paper away, smiling proudly. "I did exactly that, so the tonic definitely worked."
"What?!" Elinor gasped.
"And, Elinor my dear, it couldn't have been a poison. Unlike you, dear sister, I have lived in the world a little. I have seen poison bottles, and they all say POISON on the label, with a drawing of a skull," he outlined a skull in the air with his finger. "This one said TONIC, and there was no skull, so there you are! Now, let us return to the house, your mother will want to see you."
Elinor was exasperated, but saw the futility of arguing with her brother. The three sisters walked slowly back to the house, tears running down all of their cheeks now.
"…murder…" said Margaret.
"I didn't catch that Margaret!" shouted John, who was leading the way.
Elinor thought fast. "What my sister means is that she could really murder some tea and cake." Margaret scowled at her. She shrugged.
"Me too, Margaret," laughed John.
And I'm sorry to say that a dark cloud then covered the sun, and the three daughters shivered all the way back to the house.
Chapter 2
There is no need for me to explain how distraught were the three Dashwood children as they walked toward the house that had been their father's until an hour previously. Nor is there anything that could comfort them for their loss, except the company of each other in their grief, and the sympathy of their mother. Mrs Dashwood awaited her daughters in the hallway, a kindly, well-meaning woman.
"Oh, girls!" She cried, "What a terrible thing has befallen our family!"
The four of them embraced tearfully.
"…destitute…?" asked Margaret.
"I didn't quite hear that, Margaret," said her mother.
"My sister asked whether we are to be homeless, since our brother will inherit our father's property," explained Elinor.
To add to their woes, was the cruelty of their great uncle, who had left only a life interest in the estate to their father, and thus could their father leave them no inheritance. Instead, I regret to say, John inherited the entirety.
"Oh, do not worry on that score, sister!" said John, "I gave our father a solemn vow that I would look after the three of you if he were to die. Now, we only have to wait for my wife to get here, and then we can discuss the details."
"Oh, that is very good of you, John!" said Mrs Dashwood, with a tone of great gratitude.
"…uncle…" muttered Margaret, sadly.
"Sorry, what did you say sister?" asked John.
"What my sister said," explained Elinor, "is that she is reminded of the occasion last year on which our great uncle promised us one thousand pounds apiece, which never materialised owing to a tragic transcription error."
This terrible occasion, which presaged - a word which here means foretold - the future woes of the Dashwood children, was brought about when their father's uncle was writing his will with an absent mind. Intending to write down '£1000', he inadvertently left off the '1', thereby leaving his great nieces the sum of '£000 each'.
If he had simply left them nothing at all, their father would have inherited the three thousand pounds and could have simply given it to his children. But, as I have learned in my investigations, fate has never been kind to Elinor, Marianne and Margaret Dashwood, and instead, owing to the unprecedented nature of the bequest, a lengthy legal case began.
Some lawyers argued that the uncle had clearly meant '£1000', but others had thought that the three zeroes were instead indicative of the magnitude of the uncle's dislike for his great-nieces. At length, the case was found in favour of the Dashwood children, but all three thousand pounds had been used up in legal fees. I have been to see the lawyers in question, and I have drunk with them the wine which they purchased with the Dashwoods' inheritance, and I must tell you, reader, that this wine has undertones of grief and tragedy, and a sorrowful finish.
"Oh, there is no risk of such happening again, sister! Your father made me promise most decisively. And besides, Fanny is so generous, she told me very strictly to not agree to any gift for you without discussing it with her, for she thinks I can be mean, and would like to be certain that any such gift truly lives up to our father's wishes. She really is my better half!" John looked wistful - wistful here means longing, like when you remember a delicious meal you had a long time ago.
It was not long until Fanny Dashwood arrived with her mother, Mrs Ferrars. Fanny Dashwood was a strange-looking woman, very tall, with long hairs sticking out of her ears, and a large red boil on the end of her nose. Mrs Ferrars was quite the opposite, short and squat, with the face of a pug.
As I'm sure you know, if you ever inherit a house upon the death of its owner, it is customary to give the grieving residents of that house ample time to arrange somewhere new to live. Unlike you, dear reader, Fanny Dashwood did not know that this is customary. Or if she did know it, she did not care about it, for no sooner had she arrived than she had given "one week" as the time at which she expected Mrs Dashwood and her daughters to have vacated Norland Park.
"One week, Mrs Dashwood," announced John, smiling, "is that not very generous of my dear wife?"
Mrs Dashwood was outraged. "And how am I supposed to find a new property in one week, with no income to speak of?"
"My dear Mrs Dashwood," said Fanny Dashwood, in a simpering voice, "The bible tells us that in one week did the Lord God create the heavens and the earth and all life upon it. I think it would be very irreligious of you to say you cannot simply move from one house to another in such a time."
Mrs Dashwood turned purple with fury. "Mr Dashwood. I would speak with you." She took his arm and walked toward the study. Fanny Dashwood followed. "In private!" she shouted. John Dashwood shrugged at his wife, who looked outraged.
I have said that nothing good ever happened to the Dashwood children, but I'm happy to inform you that I was misleading you slightly. For Mrs Dashwood, through sheer passion and fury, was able to negotiate one month of time for her and her daughters to find a new place to live.
Of course, as you may imagine, Fanny Dashwood was not happy about this. As soon as was possible, she confronted Mrs Dashwood, saying, "My dear Mrs Dashwood, if you close yourself again unchaperoned in a room with my husband, I will have no choice but to tell all the neighbourhood of your slatternly, adulterous nature. I little thought that, after the untimely demise of your own husband, you would be so keen to move on to mine." Mrs Dashwood, who had only just recovered, turned purple once again.
Chapter 3
Unable to live under such conditions, Mrs Dashwood was in fact capable of finding a new residence within a week. A cottage on the estate of her cousin Sir John Middleton, in Devonshire - Devonshire, as I'm sure you are aware, is the finest county in all of England - but it would nonetheless take the remainder of the month to determine which items in Norland Park belonged to the estate, and which to Mrs Dashwood.
One day, Fanny Dashwood, who had so far claimed everything for herself, said, "My dear Mrs Dashwood. I believe there are several linens in the attic rooms which we should decide between us how to divide."
Mrs Dashwood was amazed by this clear sign that Fanny was desirous of reconciliation, and so keenly joined her in the attic, but she was mistaken to do so. For, only a few minutes later, Fanny Dashwood came down the stairs shouting, "Oh, husband, something terrible has happened! Come quick!"
Now, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but if you have any attachment to Mrs Dashwood, stop reading now. Instead make a cup of tea, have a biscuit, do anything else. You will not enjoy what happens next.
You are still here? Well, if you insist, I will continue.
John Dashwood, Mrs Ferrars, and the three children all ran out into the garden, where Fanny Dashwood led them round to the side of the house, and they found Mrs Dashwood's body, splayed out upon the terrace, in a pool of blood.
"Mama!" cried Marianne, running to the body.
Elinor was in shock.
Margaret looked up at the house. "…defenestrate…" she said.
"What is that idiotic girl saying?" asked Mrs Ferrars, in her normal irate mode, for unfortunately, though you, dear reader, do not know it yet, Mrs Ferrars was not a kindly old woman.
"What my sister means," said Elinor, holding back tears, "is that the attic window is wide open, and Fanny may have pushed our mother out of it."
Everyone looked shocked, then looked at Fanny.
"How dare you!" she shouted at Elinor. "Of all the ungrateful-"
"My dear, this is quite simple to resolve," interrupted John, calming his wife. "You were in the attic at the time, were you not."
"I was."
"Well then, did you see yourself push Mrs Dashwood out of the window?"
"Certainly not," she announced.
"There you are," said John to Elinor. "You have it from an eyewitness." He looked very pleased with himself.
Only Elinor and Margaret thought this an unreasonable conclusion. Marianne continued to cry.
"Well then, what did happen?" asked Elinor.
As I'm sure you know, there is a common phrase that one should not speak ill of the dead. This means that, when someone has recently died, you should refrain from saying nasty things about them, whether they are true or not. Regrettably, neither Fanny Dashwood nor Mrs Ferrars were familiar with this saying, and if you are uncomfortable with speaking ill of the dead, you should skip this next section.
"Mrs Dashwood and I went to the attic. I offered her all the linen, for I am generous in that way," began Fanny Dashwood, with a barely hidden smirk.
"I know you are my dear," smiled John.
"Thank you, husband.” She simpered, before turning back to them. “The ungrateful woman said that wasn't good enough, and she wanted the very tiles from our roof, for she said she could not be happy unless she knew we were cold and shivering and wet in our beds every night."
"The infernal cow!" shouted Mrs Ferrars.
"She climbed out of the window, to get the tiles, meanwhile hurling insults about me, and you husband, and you mother, and wishing death upon us all, when she slipped and-" she brought her hand to her mouth.
"Oh, my dear wife, you feel it keenly, even though she was so awful to you. How noble, how generous of spirit-"
"…vertigo…" whispered Margaret.
"Margaret, I don't know what you said but can't you keep quiet? My wife is terribly upset by the death of your mother!"
"What my sister said," began Elinor, "is that our mother was afraid of heights, and would never voluntarily climb out of a window."
"You have heard from an eyewitness what has happened! We'll have no more of this insubordination, now go to your rooms!" shouted Mrs Ferrars. These Dashwood children, so gentle were they in spirit, that they had never been shouted at in such a manner in their lives. And though they had barely spoken to Mrs Ferrars before, and had no reason to obey her, felt so intimidated by her tone that they did as they were bid unquestioningly, regretfully leaving their mother's body on the terrace.
Chapter 4
Once the children had assembled in Elinor's room, they were able to express themselves freely. Marianne cried loudly, Margaret stared as if in a daze, and Elinor tried to keep calm.
"Oh, what are we to do!?" said Marianne, in despair. "Two parents dead within a week!"
"…retribution…" said Margaret.
"Sorry, what was that Margaret?" asked Marianne.
"What our sister said, was that she would like to get revenge against our sister-in-law for murdering both of our parents. I agree, Margaret, but for now we simply have to survive, and get out of this house," said Elinor.
"How can we go anywhere, for we have no money?" asked Marianne.
"Our brother promised our father he would give us some inheritance, we must trust in his goodwill," said Elinor, though she had little faith in what she said, and I regret to say that she was right to feel so.
For as this conversation was taking place upstairs, a different one occurred in the sitting room.
"My dear husband," said Fanny, in a plaintive tone, "I am sure when your father asked you to assist your sisters, he did not mean financially. Perhaps he meant it more spiritually, that you should pray for them perhaps. He was a devout man, after all."
"Prayer is very powerful," interjected Mrs Ferrars, though according to my investigations, she had never prayed in her life.
"I would like to agree with you, my dear, for you are normally so reasonable in these matters, but I clearly remember my father making mention of a specific numeric figure. I believe it was one thousand pounds for each of my sisters. I cannot renege" - to renege here means to backtrack, to ignore a promise, or to generally be a slimy worm who deserves nothing better than eternal damnation - "on such a specific promise."
They sat in silence for a period, while Fanny Dashwood considered this.
"One thousand pounds of what, exactly, husband?" she asked.
"Err, of money, I assume."
"Did he actually say so?"
John thought for a moment. "No, I don't believe he did."
"Well then, he may equally have meant one thousand pounds … of wheat flour? Or one thousand pounds of cheese? Or perhaps one thousand pounds of water?"
"Would that be a desirable inheritance?" he asked, quizzically.
"It is not for you, husband, to query your father's wish. One thousand pounds of water apiece will do them very nicely, I should think."
"It is much more than they deserve!" added Mrs Ferrars.
"Very well, wife. You are always much better at this sort of thing than I. I'm sure you have the proper understanding of my father's wishes."
"Indeed husband, I am glad you see sense. I will prepare the water in the kitchen, you may tell your sisters to go there at once."
The husband and wife went their separate ways.
The Dashwood children were just on the point of discussing how likely it was that they would receive anything at all from their brother, when he knocked on Elinor's door and entered.
"Ah, sisters. I come bearing good tidings."
The sisters' eyes were alight with anticipation.
"As you know, I made our father a solemn vow to make sure you were provided for after his death. In fact, I promised him that I would give you each the sum of one thousand pounds. I am happy to tell you that my wife is preparing the pounds and they are waiting for you in the kitchen."
The children were smiling for the first time since news reached them of their father's death. Elinor knew that one thousand pounds apiece would let them get away from Norland Park to Devonshire, and live a life of tolerable comfort until they wed. Marianne believed - unreasonably, I regret to say - that one thousand pounds might attract a handsome husband. Only Margaret queried the likelihood of Fanny giving up such a sum.
"…trap…?" she inquired, as they made their way downstairs.
Elinor considered this, it was possible, however she did not think her brother would lead them to their death. "I don't think so, Margaret, but we won't have long until we find out."
It is hard to imagine the emotions of the Dashwood children, whose two parents had died within a week, as they opened the door to the kitchen expecting piles of banknotes, only to see their sister-in-law with three large buckets of water and scrubbing brushes atop the kitchen table.
"Ah, girls, here is the advance on your inheritance," she said with a sneer, gesturing to the buckets.
"I- I don't understand. Where are the pounds?" asked Elinor.
"These buckets, girls, can hold ten pounds of water. You will start with ten pounds of water apiece. When you have scrubbed the kitchen floor, you will get another ten pounds. You will then scrub the buttery. Once that is done you will receive more water and scrub the hallway. Once the entire house and terrace is cleaned, I expect your inheritance will have run dry!" she cackled.
Marianne began to cry.
"Inheritance means something you get when-"
"We know what it means!" shouted Elinor.
"…Cinderella…" said Margaret.
Chapter 5
The book which Elinor was presently reading, as I have told you, was Histoires ou contes du temps passé by Charles Perrault, a collection of fairy tales, which, as I'm sure you know, are a type of old short story featuring magic. Cinderella, or, The Little Glass Slipper is one of the fairytales contained in this collection.
It is the story of a young woman, Cinderella, forced by a wicked stepmother to perform menial tasks about the house, while the girl's father is cowed by his new wife's force of personality. When Margaret said, "…Cinderella…", she meant that the situation of the Dashwood girls was reminiscent of this story.
In the story, Cinderella is eventually saved by her fairy godmother, who intervenes to give her a beautiful dress and sends her to a ball where a rich and handsome prince falls in love with her. That is a happy ending. But I regret to tell you that this story does not have a happy ending. There is no fairy godmother, and there is no handsome prince.
By the time the Dashwood children had finished scrubbing the house, their backs were aching, their knees were raw, and their hands were covered in blisters. Margaret was looking out of a window, for she could work no more, when she saw something in the distance.
"…pumpkin…" she said.
"I didn't hear that Margaret, what did you say?" asked Marianne.
"What our sister said," explained Elinor, "is that a carriage is approaching the house."
The three sisters watched out of the window as the carriage approached. When it pulled up, they observed keenly as a young gentleman alighted from the carriage and entered the house.
"Could this be a handsome prince?" wondered Elinor aloud.
"What fine horses!" exclaimed Marianne.
They ran downstairs to the hallway to observe this new guest. He was certainly handsome, but he did not seem to be a prince. Marianne sighed romantically as she beheld him.
"Ah, Edward, may I introduce my three sisters to you?" said John Dashwood, "Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret". He now looked at them and saw how dirty and blistered they were. "My word girls, what have you been doing?"
"We have been washing the floor, brother," explained Elinor.
John Dashwood looked blankly at them as though they were insane.
"I am sorry, Edward, they have always been an unmanageable trio. Sisters, this is Edward Ferrars, brother of my wife."
They all bowed to each other. I am pleased to say that, even in the most difficult circumstances, the Dashwood children did not forget basic courtesy.
The three children were required by their sister-in-law to sit obligingly in the drawing room as conversation proceeded between the four adults. They were ignored except when Mrs Ferrars described them as "quiet and ungrateful brats".
Then, when Mr Ferrars was observed by his sister to be gazing at Elinor, she said, "I don't wonder you find her shocking to behold brother. Would you believe this girl and her sisters managed to blow through their entire inheritance in one day of profligacy?"
"Indeed!" he said, apparently amazed. Though in spite of many inquiries, I have been unable to determine whether or not he believed his sister.
Elinor was on the point of contradicting her sister-in-law when she said, "Profligacy means great expenditure."
"We know what it means," she responded, and then forgot what she had meant to say.
Later, Mr Ferrars approached Elinor and asked, "Miss Dashwood, were you truly cleaning floors earlier, or was that some sort of jest?"
"It is true, Mr Ferrars," she replied, "we were forced to do so." Tears came to her eyes at the thought.
"Were you indeed!" he said, shocked, and I am pleased to say that for once someone other than myself and their parents seemed to care for these poor Dashwoods. "And who forced you?"
"…sister…" muttered Margaret.
"I'm sorry, Miss Margaret, I didn't quite catch that," said Mr Ferrars.
"What my sister means, is that-"
And unfortunately for the Dashwood children, at this very moment Fanny Dashwood perceived that they were talking to her brother and sent them to bed.
"They have had a very long day, brother. Indeed it was only this morning that their dear mother fell tragically to her death," she explained.
Edward Ferrars looked curiously at his sister.
Meanwhile upstairs the children had perceived a potential ally in their plight.
"…prince…" said Margaret.
"What was that, Margaret?" asked Marianne.
"What our sister means, is that through the assistance of Edward Ferrars we may be able to escape this house and our sister-in-law's tyranny," explained Elinor. And I would like to say that Margaret was correct, but as you will see, reader, things are never quite so simple.
Chapter 6
The following morning, the Dashwood children had congregated in Elinor's room to commiserate - commiserate here means that they were sad together, for being sad alone is so much worse - when there was a knock upon the door.
"Oh no! Surely it is our sister-in-law, come to give us more work to do about the house!" cried Marianne.
But it was not Fanny Dashwood, for when Elinor opened the door, they found Mr Ferrars.
"Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne, Miss Margaret," he bowed. They bowed. "We must be quick. As you know, the rules of chaperonage prevent me from entering your room, and if we talk too long in the hallway we may be overheard. Am I to understand that your brother is treating you ill, has murdered both of your parents, and is making you carry out housework? If it is so, simply say yes, and I will do my best to get you out of this house and to safety immediately. Otherwise, say no."
The three children felt relief at once, for Mr Ferrars was behaving exactly as they had hoped he would. All Elinor needed to do was say yes, and their immediate problems would be solved. However, I am very sorry to say that Elinor was scrupulously honest, and would not lie to a man as good-natured as Edward Ferrars. She could truthfully answer yes to his entire question, except that it was not their brother but his wife who was the source of their ill-treatment. Therefore Elinor, regrettably, said,
"No."
Mr Ferrars looked quizzical.
"Then what-"
"What is going on, brother? Are the damned children bothering you?" It was Fanny Dashwood, who had overheard their conversation and was approaching.
"Not at all sister, I was simply rousing them for breakfast."
"Come to breakfast yourself, brother. I daresay the children can manage well enough on their own," said Fanny Dashwood, and she and her brother walked arm-in-arm to the breakfast room.
At breakfast, the three children were again required to sit in silence as the four adults talked, with an occasional disparaging comment from Mrs Ferrars. But as breakfast neared its conclusion, Edward Ferrars said,
"Miss Dashwood told me that she and her sisters were forced to clean the house yesterday. Is that not most extraordinary, sister?"
Fanny Dashwood gave Elinor a look of the deepest hatred. I may tell you, reader, that I too have received such a look from the same person, and it is not at all pleasant. Elinor shivered.
"Indeed!" said Fanny Dashwood, "And who forced them to do this thing?" She communicated with her eyes that if Elinor told the truth, she would be severely punished.
Elinor, however, was made of stern stuff, and would not quail in the face of her sister-in-law's abuse. She took a deep breath, and said -
And at this point, reader, I must point out an unfortunate grammatical and social quirk of the English language. You see, in our culture, the most senior living member of a family with a specific surname is known as Mr Surname, Mrs Surname or Miss Surname, while the less senior members are Mr Forename Surname, Mrs Forename Surname, you get the idea I am sure. For example, before their father's death, the Dashwood children would have called him Mr Dashwood, and their brother Mr John Dashwood, but now their father was dead, John had become Mr Dashwood. As Elinor was about to speak, I am very sad to report that the impact of her mother's death on her sister-in-law's seniority occurred to her, and, scrupulous as she was, instead of saying Fanny, Fanny Dashwood, or Mrs John Dashwood, or even your sister, which would have immediately explained everything to Mr Ferrars, she instead said,
"Mrs Dashwood."
There was silence in the room, for several seconds, until Mr Ferrars said, "Your mother made you do this horrid thing?"
And before Elinor or either of her sisters could object, Fanny Dashwood (which name I use, for you see the confusion of using her proper name) was standing up and saying aloud, "Poor children, to be so mistreated by their abusive mother!"
"Infernal woman!" interjected Mrs Ferrars.
Marianne burst into tears at this unjust abuse of their mother, which Mr Ferrars, regrettably, perceived as the relief of some childhood trauma.
"Indeed, sisters, I had little idea you were so mistreated by your mother. I had thought the news of her death would be unpleasant to you, but now I see it is but the greatest relief!" said John.
"…wife…" said Margaret.
"Sorry Margaret, what did you say?" asked John.
Elinor was on the verge of explaining her sister's meaning, when Fanny Dashwood interjected.
"Allow me to explain her meaning, brother, for I believe I have the gift of understanding her. So traumatised are she and her sisters by their mother's treatment, that to remain any longer in this house is utterly insupportable. She begs that we will assist in moving their belongings to the barn, where they will be very happy to sleep hereafter."
And I'm sorry to say that both John Dashwood and Edward Ferrars were so moved at the thought of the children's mental suffering, that they immediately got to work on removing all of Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret's property from the house and placing it in the barn.
As her brother came down the stairs carrying a pile of books, Elinor stopped him, saying, "Brother, you do not need to do this, we-"
"Do not worry, sister," he interrupted, "Mr Ferrars and I will get you out of this house and into the barn as soon as possible!" And he rushed past her.
Then Mr Ferrars came down the stairs with a case full of clothes, and Elinor said, "I beseech you Mr Ferrars, please-"
"Miss Dashwood," he interrupted, "nothing could be more important to me than the comfort of you and your sisters!" And he followed his brother-in-law to the barn.
"He is terribly handsome," said Marianne.
"He may be so, sister, but he is still taking all our belongings to the barn. I wish we could stop them doing this." said Elinor.
"…futile…" murmured Margaret.
Chapter 7
The gentlemen joined a local fox hunt that day, while Mrs Ferrars and Fanny Dashwood remained in the house. The Dashwood children sat, each on a bale of straw, surrounded by their property, wondering how they would sleep in such a place. And if you have ever tried to sleep on a bale of straw, as I have, you will know that they were right to wonder.
"It is terribly romantic that we are to sleep out in the open like this!" said Marianne.
"I do not believe I will be able to sleep, sister, for fear of our sister-in-law. We are frightfully exposed here," said Elinor.
"…devil…" said Margaret.
"I'm sorry Margaret, I didn't understand what you said," queried Marianne.
"What my sister said, is that our sister-in-law approaches at this very moment, and carries a suspicious object!" cried Elinor.
For though the house was far from the barn, with Margaret's keen eye could she discern Fanny Dashwood's figure walking toward them, with something ominous in her hand. When last I visited Norland Park, I also walked this distance with something ominous in my hand, and I may tell you that it is a journey of several long minutes.
In these several minutes, the Dashwood children were able to hide themselves in the hay loft - which here means, an elevated part of the barn from which they may see everything but not be seen themselves - and observe their sister-in-law.
Upon her arrival, she called, "Girls! Are you here?"
The children were silent.
Satisfied, she walked to the pile of the children's property and rummaged through their clothes, removing any loose coins she found and placing them in her own pocket. Marianne gasped when she saw this. Fanny Dashwood immediately looked up at the hay loft, and Elinor was certain that she saw a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.
She took up the suspicious object, which appeared to be a large clay bottle, and proceeded to distribute its liquid contents over the bales of straw. The children looked on, confused. When she had done this, she threw down the bottle, took out a small metallic box, and placed it on the ground where the bright sunlight reflected off its lid. After a minute, she took up the box and emptied that, too, onto a bale. She let out a single "Ha!" of laughter, threw down the box, then returned at once to the house.
The children, sensing urgency, ran down immediately from the hay loft.
"My coins!" cried Marianne.
"Worry not about your coins sister, I believe there is something urgent about those suspicious objects our sister-in-law left behind," said Elinor.
She picked up the clay bottle, it had a familiar smell, but she could not place it. She looked at the bottle's side.
"There is writing here, but it is too faint to read!" she cried.
Meanwhile Marianne had picked up the small box, it had a glass lens inset in the lid, and some fragments of cloth inside. She looked at its side.
"There is writing here too, but it is too small for me to make out!" she moaned.
They both looked at Margaret.
"…Chekhov…" she said.
"What was that, Margaret?" asked Marianne.
"What my sister means," explained Elinor, "is that no matter how useless a skill may seem, there will inevitably come a time in one's life when it becomes of the greatest utility."
Margaret read the bottle.
"…brandy…" she said.
Elinor knew about brandy, for she had read John French's Art of Distillation in her father's library. "Brandy is a distilled form of wine, which causes inebriation, and is very flammable," she explained.
Margaret then read the box.
"…tinder…" she said.
The Dashwood children did not need Elinor to explain what tinder meant, for they saw it used every day by the servants. Though they had not seen a tinderbox like this one, and I suspect you have not either. I myself found it in the ruins of that very barn, and I hold it in my hand as I write. The glass lens in the lid is a most ingenious design, which allows the char cloth within to be ignited by the sun's rays alone. And, just in case you do not know, the word ignited here means -
"Fire!" cried Marianne. And the three Dashwood children fled from the barn just as the small conflagration caused by the tinder and the straw bale encountered the first droplets of the brandy, and soon became a very large conflagration indeed.
The Dashwood children took shelter behind a nearby oak tree, for the heat of those flames was very intense. They looked on in horror, as the barn and all their worldly possessions went up in flames. Elinor was on the verge of tears, they had lost everything.
"…prince…" said Margaret, pointing into the distance. The children looked where she pointed, and beheld a gentleman in a dashing red coat coming swiftly towards them upon an elegant white horse. In a matter of seconds they could make him out, it was Mr Ferrars!
Marianne did not need to ask her sister's meaning, for as soon as she saw Mr Ferrars, she cried, "Oh, Heavens!" and began to swoon, before her sisters caught her.
With single-minded focus, Mr Ferrars galloped straight past the tree behind which the children sheltered, dismounted, and ran directly into the flaming barn, crying, "Dashwoods!".
The children were horrified. They ran to the door of the barn, but the flames were now too high and hot for them to enter.
"Mr Ferrars!" shouted Elinor, "We are out here!"
"Mr Ferrars!" cried Marianne, "We are already safe!"
"…Ferrars…" said Margaret.
But it was no good. The children stood helpless, tears streaming down their face, as the fiery barn collapsed around the one person who had been willing to help them. At length, they realised there was nothing they could do. They were alone and friendless in the world, and had no money or property even to sell.
"Where can we go?" asked Marianne, between sobs.
"We cannot return to the house, it is not safe for us there. We must go to Devonshire, where we were to have lived with our dear mother," said Elinor, who had just about stopped crying.
"But how?" cried Marianne.
"…Chekhov…" said Margaret, for the second time.
Marianne helped her two sisters up onto Mr Ferrars’ horse, for Margaret was small, and Elinor was no horsewoman. Then she climbed up herself and took up the reins.
"Which way is Devonshire?" she asked.
Elinor pointed in the direction of the setting sun. And the three Dashwood children, who had already been through so much, began their next great journey, which, I am so terribly sorry to say, would not be their last.