Sally started packing efficiently whilst Marianne darted round the room selecting any object she deemed necessary to her travelling arrangements. She tried not to think about her husband who lay ill, or how dangerously sick he had become to necessitate an express letter from Miss Williams, but tried instead to focus on practicalities. What would Elinor do, she asked herself? And what was she to do about Margaret? Perhaps Mrs Jennings would take her in whilst she was away.
Entering Margaret's room, Marianne proceeded to wake her. “Margaret,” she said softly, trying to make the shock of waking in the middle of the night less great, “I am sorry to have to tell you but I have some bad news.”
Margaret struggled to sit up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“I have to go to Lyme. William is very ill and I cannot delay a moment longer. I am to take the coach immediately; Reynolds and Bertram will accompany me, so you do not have to worry. I want you to go to Mrs Jennings, do you understand? You cannot stay here on your own. Write to me in a couple of days and let me know that all is well. I am so sorry to leave you, Margaret. Indeed, I am sorry that you have had such a miserable time in London and that all I am doing is prolonging the agony. I meant you to have the time of your life.”
“Marianne, I have had a wonderful time, truly,” Margaret answered sleepily. “Do not worry about me, I shall be fine. Kiss William for me and do not fret, Marianne, I am sure he will be on the road to recovery as soon as he hears that you are on your way.”
“Yes, I must send a note immediately, so that Miss Williams will expect me. Goodbye, Margaret and don’t forget to write.”
As her carriage moved away, the horses galloping down the dark streets, Marianne was filled with a sense of dread now that she had time to think about the situation. It was now easy to see why she had not heard from William. If he had been ill he could not write. It was typical of him not to want to distress her, and she reasoned that he had probably thought he would be set to rights within a day or two. Eliza had not specified what sort of illness he had contracted, but Marianne thought she could guess. Having spent so much time nursing little Lizzy had brought him into close contact with the little girl. Marianne did not want to think about the possibilities. She felt consumed by guilt that as her husband had lain unwell she had been conducting herself disgracefully. “How could I have been so stupid?” she asked herself. “How could I have jeopardised my marriage, my home, and the love of my husband and child for a moment of folly?” Swept up by her emotions, she decided she had behaved as badly as Willoughby had ever done. The kisses she had bestowed on that gentleman were as reprehensible as any act of love they might have indulged upon. Marianne prayed to be forgiven. She prayed, as she had never done before. All she wanted was to see Brandon and see him well again.
Chapter 37
On the third day Marianne entered Lyme, weary but thankful she was nearing her destination. She had made occasional visits to the watering hole in the past with her sister Elinor and the children on hot sunny days and remembered them with happiness. The splendid situation of the town with the principal street almost rushing into the water looked very different in the winter light. Everywhere was shut up; only the fishermen were to be seen on the Cobb, their boats bobbing on the water, their nets prepared for fishing. In warmer weather the pleasant little bay would be lively with bathing machines and company in the season. Her eye sought the beautiful line of cliffs stretching out to the east of the town; they passed through Charmouth, backed by dark escarpment, trotting down narrow lanes and past Pinny, finally entering the village of Wolfeton Fitzpaine where the forest-trees and orchards waved bare, skeletal arms as if to hasten the warmer winds of summer.
They were soon stopped outside a cottage in the centre of the village, a neat-looking house with mullioned windows to either side of a canopied doorway over which was trained an old rambler. There was a small garden to the front behind a wicket fence with a bench under a window and a stone path winding between the flower beds, where the first signs of spring were starting to sprout in the form of green shoots. Now she was here, Marianne felt very apprehensive. With anxious fears attending every step, she was assisted down from the coach and took a deep breath as she looked toward the house. Before she took another step, the door was flung back and a young girl, her dark hair framing her pretty features, rushed down the path to take Marianne's hands in her own.
“Mrs Brandon, thank heaven you are here. William has been calling for you since breakfast. I know he will feel better the moment he sees you.”
Marianne was touched by her warm reception, her worries subsiding as she entered the house, following Eliza into the parlour. A fire roared in the grate, which made the dark room appear quite cheerful. William, a diminutive bundle, lay on the sofa, which was doubling up as a makeshift bed complete with pillows and blankets. He was sleeping, lying so still that Marianne rushed forward with a cry. He looked like a small boy, she thought, his sweet countenance lost in dream and his hair tousled. Then his eyes opened.
“Marianne, you’ve come,” he said weakly. “I prayed that you would.” He started to sit up until Marianne scolded him to lie back down.
“I’ll leave you together if you’ll excuse me,” said Eliza, bobbing a curtsey. “I’m so glad you are here, Mrs Brandon. I am honoured that you could come.”
“Thank you, Miss Williams, for writing to me and allowing me to intrude upon your household.”
“It is the least I could do…” Eliza faltered before leaving the room.
Now she and Brandon were alone Marianne felt awkward, unable to look at her husband with all the expression of love she hoped to endow. How she wished she could erase the recent past, strike it from her existence and her memory. “How are you, William?” she managed to say at last.
“I am all the better for seeing you, my darling. Come here, let me look at you.” Marianne stepped forward, glowing under William's scrutiny. “I thought I might never see you again.”
“Oh William, I wish I had known sooner.”
“Even so, I did not imagine that I would see you here.” His eyes held hers for a moment but she could only look away. “Come here, my darling.”
Marianne rushed to his side and sat down on the small stool at the side of the sofa. She put out her hand to stroke his face and felt alarm at the touch of his fevered brow and pallid complexion. “Why did you not let Eliza write sooner?” she asked with fear in her voice. William's breathing was shallow; he appeared a shadow of the man she knew, as he lay languid and low.
“I did not want to worry you, my darling. Besides, I wanted to be sure.”
Marianne took a wet cloth from the bowl on the table at her side, wringing out the cool water before applying to William's forehead. His eyes were closing again as he grew restless and feverish.
“I wanted to be sure you came because you wished to be with me,” he muttered faintly before he fell into a slumber.
Marianne did not move, keeping watch over her husband's disturbed countenance as he slept. A half hour passed, during which William's repose became more and more troubled. Marianne, who steadfastly watched his continual change of posture and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of delirious murmurings which passed his lips, was on the point of rousing him from his sleep when William, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and with feverish wildness, cried out, “Marianne is lost to me. Fetch Marianne, if she will come. Tell Willoughby I need her.”
“William, I am here; Marianne is with you, my darling,” she cried, concealing her terror, and assisting the Colonel to lie down again.
Marianne recognised with anxiety that he was not himself, and whilst attempting to pacify him, eagerly felt his pulse. It was very low and so fast as to give real concern. William was still talking incoherently so that her alarm increased rapidly. She quit the scene, running to find Eliza to ask her advice. Miss Williams was in the kitchen attending a small girl that Marianne knew was Willoughby's child the instant she saw her. The shock was great and for a moment she could not speak. Lizzy had her mother's dainty frame and pretty countenance, but the dark eyes that looked at Marianne from under arched brows were Willoughby's, with the same intensity of expression.
“Miss Williams, Brandon seems quite delirious. He only spoke to me for a moment before he slipped away into a deep sleep during which he has become most agitated. I cannot wake him. He doesn’t see me. I think we
